The Way We Break

by Cassia Leo

  He hasn’t called me in more than a week. I assumed he’d packed up his suitcase of lies and headed back to the level of hell from which he came.

  I hit the red button to decline the call and glance at Liam to make sure he didn’t notice the name. I should really change Houston’s name in my phone to something that will remind me not to answer. Heart Obliterator is one option. Lying Cheating Demon from Hell is another. Or maybe, God of Orgasms. I bite my lip at the thought of that one. That would definitely not keep me from answering his calls.

  I went more than five years without having sex with anyone. Now, it’s been three months since my sex marathon with Houston and I can’t stop thinking about it: his smooth skin sliding over mine, his strong hands gripping my ass, his hot mouth between my legs, his cock stretching me, sending me soaring into a blissful sex haze.

  A couple of minutes later, my phone vibrates again and a voicemail from Houston appears in my inbox. I stare at the message for a while, wondering why the voicemail is so long. One minute and thirty-six seconds. His messages are usually ten to fifteen seconds of him begging me to call him back. Of course, today is December 4th. Maybe he just wants to talk to me about Hallie.

  Or maybe he went by my apartment and realized I’m gone.

  My heart pounds with anticipation. I want to check his message so badly, my finger itches to hit play. But I can’t. And not just because I’m sitting here with Liam.

  I can’t check that message because Houston and I are over. All we ever brought each other was one layer of pain mortared atop another. I need to tear down the monument of memories I’ve worshipped for the past five and a half years. Shed the pain like a bear sheds its winter coat. It’s time for me to come out of hibernation and move on. Okay, maybe that’s too many metaphors, but they’re all accurate.

  I delete Houston’s message without listening to it and instantly I’m filled with a deep heaviness in my gut, not unlike the way I felt after Hallie died. Like the world was spinning around me, but I was completely still, weighed down by the force of my grief. Certain that at any moment, I would be knocked off my axis, set adrift in the universe, flailing in the ether for all eternity.

  My phone begins to vibrate again, but this time it’s Kenny. He’s probably going to try to convince me to stay in Portland again, but I really don’t need another lecture right now. Not when my stomach is still aching from deleting Houston’s message. I’ll call Kenny back in four hours, when we get to our place in California. Until then, it’s just me, Liam, and Def Leppard.

  December 4, 2014

  The words on the screen blur into a soft network of incoherent lines. I can hear the faint ringing of a telephone in the distance, but can’t break myself out of the haze. I try to blink, but my vision only sharpens for a split second before everything goes into soft focus again. All I see is her.

  Her features slackened. Golden-brown hair fanned out across her pillow. Blue eyes vacant. Skin so cold.

  All the PTSD therapy and the blackout drunk episodes had no effect on my recollection of Hallie. The day she died is seared into my memory like a scar from a cigarette burn. For so long, I tried to ignore that scar, but I’ve finally accepted that it’s a part of who I am. I have to wear it proudly, like a war wound.

  Now, if I could only get Rory to do the same.

  Five weeks since I ran into James at her apartment and she still refuses to take my calls. And her nosy neighbor has made it pretty clear I’m not welcome to knock on Rory’s door anymore. But Rory has to see me today, or at least speak to me.

  I close the email I received from my divorce lawyer and lean back in my chair. Suddenly, the simple decor in my Barley Legal corner office seems too simple. I took down the one picture I had of Tessa, which used to sit on my glass desktop. It would be weird to put up a picture of Rory, but I need to put something up in here. It feels sterile.

  I pick up the phone and call my assistant into my office. Adaline arrives promptly with her iPad Mini in hand, ready to take notes. I hesitate for a moment, realizing how odd my request is going to sound.

  “I’m going to send you some pictures of my sister. I need you to get them printed and framed. They’re for my office.” I rise from the desk and head for the closet in the corner to retrieve my coat. “I’m going out for a few hours. I’d appreciate it if you could have that done by the time I get back.”

  She nods and flashes me a cutesy grin. “I’m on it.”

  Pulling on my coat, I return the smile and head out of the office quickly. A few of the girls in the office have taken to flirting with me ever since the divorce was finalized. Though Rory is rejecting my every advance, I have no intention of getting involved with anyone right now. Even a no-frills fuck with a random girl would probably just overcomplicate things if Rory ever found out.

  That said, I am a man and I have thirsts that need to be quenched. I sometimes find myself wondering if I should just go back to Tessa. Her therapy must be going well. She hasn’t tried to contact me in about three days.

  Maybe I don’t deserve Rory after what I did to her. Maybe she’s better off with that guy she’s been hanging out with for the past few weeks. Liam.

  Just thinking his name makes me sick. I don’t want to imagine what he might be doing with Rory. The thought of his hands or his mouth on her lights a fire inside me. Every atom of my being still feels possessive toward Rory. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe I’m possessed by her. Either way, I can’t entertain thoughts that I don’t deserve her or that she should be with someone else.

  Rory and I are better together. We’re like beer and pizza. Or beer and a Blazers game. Or beer and anything.

  I slide into the driver’s seat of my SUV and shake my head at this thought. I haven’t had more than a single beer in one sitting in more than two weeks, which is a huge accomplishment for me since I usually toss back at least three or four beers anytime Troy and I have lunch together. And we usually do lunch about two or three times a week.

  I haven’t felt like drinking much lately. My mind is too busy trying to figure a way out of this mess I’m in with Rory and her family, and my family. I’ve had so much on my mind, getting drunk seems like the last thing I need right now.

  As I’m turning the key in the ignition, a knocking on the window startles me. It’s Troy. He’s gesturing with his palms turned up as if he can’t believe I’ve forgotten something important.

  I cock an eyebrow as I lower the window. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, man. Where are you going? You know the rules. It’s beer o’clock all day today.”

  “Nah, I gotta stay sober today. I’m going to run a few errands, then I’m going to see Rory.”

  “Again?”

  “She can’t keep ignoring me. At least, not today.”

  He nods in agreement, though I detect a hint of pity in his eyes. “Hey, I don’t know if today is the right day to bring this up, but…”

  “But what?” I ask after a long pause.

  “Well… Um… Will you be my best man?”

  “Your what?” I reply with a chuckle. “Is this a joke?”

  He looks me dead in the eye. “No bullshit. We’re making it official on May 30th.”

  The ridiculous grin that spreads across his face tells me he’s very sincere, and happy. I knew Troy and his new girlfriend, Georgia, were getting serious, but I never expected to get this kind of news just five weeks after my divorce was finalized, and especially not today. But it’s exactly the kind of news I need right now. It gives me hope. If Georgia can get this bastard to settle down, then I still have a shot with Rory. I just have to remind her why she’s loved me for more than half her life.

  “I guess I’ll be throwing you the bachelor party this time,” I reply with a wink.

  “Like yours? Fuck no,” Troy insists, shaking his head. “Georgia will call off the wedding if I pull some shit like that. Let’s do something local and a bit more low key. Pub crawl or something.”

  I g
rin as I remember the debauchery of the bachelor party Troy threw for me in Vegas before I married Tessa. I got married on zero sleep, yet I still had a few beers to “calm my nerves” before I got up on the altar to say I do. Now I realize the only reason I had a “last meal” bachelor party was because I felt like a prisoner shuffling toward my execution. I allowed myself to be emotionally blackmailed into marriage because I thought marriage would help fade the scars of my previous heartbreak.

  Now all I want is my Scar back.

  “I’ll figure something out,” I assure him. “I gotta get going. I’ll be back later.”

  Troy nods and begins to turn around.

  “Hey… thanks,” I call to him.

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “For what?”

  “For asking me today.”

  His face gets serious, but he forces a smile. “We all loved her, man. Sometimes a little good news goes a long way.”

  We nod at each other to acknowledge the depth of this gesture, then I watch for a second as he heads off into the boxy brick building known as Barley Legal headquarters. I pull out of the parking lot behind the building and set off toward Morrison Bridge.

  My favorite tattoo studio in East Portland is owned and operated by the coolest tattoo artist I’ve ever met. It helps that Miss Mayhem is also the hottest woman over forty I know. She’s never actually told me how old she is, but she’s been tattooing since 1986, and that’s all I need to know. She only hires female artists, though she occasionally hires male “guest” artists. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that all three of her female employees are smoking hot and insanely talented. But I don’t go to Mayhem Tattoo for the eye candy. I go for the quality ink. And I guess the scenery isn’t so bad.

  When I enter the tattoo studio on Burnside, I’m surprised to see a guy with bluish hair sitting behind the counter. Must be one of those “guest” artists. Miss Mayhem works by appointment only and she’s usually booked out two to three months in advance. But I can usually get a walk-in appointment with one of the other female artists.

  “Is Missy here?” I ask, so he knows I’m on a first-name basis with his boss.

  He looks up from his phone screen and shakes his head. “Nope. She’ll be back in a few minutes, but she’s all booked up.”

  “How about Vega or Nancy? Or Katy?”

  “Katy should be here in about an hour, but she has two appointments before she starts taking walk-ins.”

  We stare at each other for a moment, knowing I have no other choice but to ask if he’s available. He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the question.

  I let out a sigh. “Are you taking walk-ins?”

  He smiles and nods. “I’ve got about ninety minutes before my next appointment. What do you need?”

  I pull off my coat and hold out my left forearm so he can see where I covered up the date of Hallie’s death with some leaves. Above the leaves, the word REMEMBER is now covered up with a rose. My arm itches with guilt just looking at it.

  “Missy helped me cover up some words a few years ago. I want to bring ’em back.”

  The guy chuckles as he holds his hand out for me to shake. “I’m Zack.”

  “Houston,” I say, shaking his hand.

  He nods over his shoulder. “Come on back.”

  He leads me into a private suite and I lie in the chair as I begin discussing the tattoo I want to get to replace the one I covered up. I explain in detail the shape of the hand that will be reaching for the rose and where I want him to put the date of Hallie’s death. When I’m finished, Zack’s tattooed arms are crossed over his chest and his eyebrow is cocked skeptically.

  “December 4, 2008?”

  “Yeah, you think you can do that in ninety minutes?”

  “December 4, 2008?” He repeats this as if I haven’t said it at least three times in the last five minutes.

  “Yeah,” I reply, trying not to sound too annoyed.

  He shakes his head. “That’s crazy, bro. Some girl just came in here today and got that same date inked on her left arm.”

  “What?”

  “Same exact fucking date? That’s some crazy shit, right there.”

  I sit bolt upright in the chair. “What was her name? What did she look like?”

  He tilts his head as he tries to remember her name, then he shrugs. “I can’t remember her name, but she had red hair. Pretty face, sweet body. She just left like an hour ago.”

  I resist the urge to give him a thwack on the head for having impure thoughts about Rory. “Where did she go?”

  His eyebrows knit together in disapproval. “Are you some kind of stalker or something?”

  “What? No. That’s my—she’s my ex. That date is… significant to both of us.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, then he smiles and nods. “Now I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Her tattoo.”

  “What was it?”

  He purses his lips and shakes his head. “Nah, I won’t even try to pronounce that shit. You gotta see it.”

  Pronounce? Did Rory get a tattoo in a different language? What could it possibly be if she also included the date Hallie died?

  Then I remember a phrase Rory and Hallie used all the time: No friendship, no love. Maybe she got that tattooed on her arm in another language. That sounds like something Rory would do. Maybe she even did it to piss off her English-teacher mother. That’s definitely something Rory would do.

  “No friendship, no love,” I say the words aloud and Zack nods in agreement.

  “Yeah, and something else in French.” He stares at me for a moment then sighs. “You’re gonna make me say it.”

  I give him my best pleading face.

  “Okay.” He clears his throat. “La dollar exquisite. I mean, exercise. I mean, holy fuck, I’m butchering this.”

  “La douleur exquise?”

  Zack points at me excitedly. “That’s it! Whatever the fuck you just said. Yeah, that’s it.”

  I leap out of the chair. “Where did she go?”

  He shrugs. “Beats me. She left with some other dude.”

  A wave of jealousy surges through me and I clench my fists to stanch the emotion. “Thanks, man. I’ll have to come back and get this tat another time.”

  “No worries, man. Good luck.”

  I shake my head as I head out of Mayhem Tattoo, thinking about how this total stranger knows way more about my personal life than I intended when I walked in here today. I jump in my car and fly back across the river toward Rory’s apartment building. I don’t care if Liam is at her place, and I really don’t give a fuck if her neighbor calls the cops on me today. Rory still loves me and that tattoo she got on her arm is solid fucking proof.

  La douleur exquise is a French saying Rory used when we were together. She said it was the perfect phrase to describe how she felt for so many years while Hallie was still alive. The pain of wanting me and not being able to have me for fear of ruining her friendship with Hallie. She once confided in me that our relationship made her feel guilty, like she was doing something wrong. She compared herself to a kid who throws a house party the moment their parents go out of town.

  “It’s like, Hallie’s gone now, so it’s time to party.”

  “It’s nothing like that. You know she would have wanted this as much as we do,” I reassured her. “She was always trying to push us together.”

  Getting that phrase tattooed on her arm tells me Rory is still in pain. She knows she can have me, but she still feels this insane obligation to Hallie. And she probably thinks she can’t trust me anymore. I’m going to show her she’s wrong.

  I park in front of the building and head up to the eighth floor, my heart pounding with the anticipation of seeing Rory’s face. I don’t even know what I’m going to say to her. All I know is it’s time for Rory to stop trying to write me out of the story. It’s our fucking story. Not Rory and Liam’s.

  I knock on the door loud enough for someone inside to hear, but I hope i
t’s soft enough that it doesn’t attract the neighbor across the hall. More than a minute passes with no answer. I knock again, just a bit harder, and sure enough the door across the hall creaks open.

  “I thought I told you to leave that sweet girl alone.”

  I grit my teeth and force a smile as I spin around. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know if Rory is home?”

  “You know damn well she does not want to see you. Am I gonna have to call the police?”

  I nod as I set off toward the elevator. “Right. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” she calls out. “She don’t even live here no more.”

  I stop in the middle of the corridor and spin around. “What?”

  “You heard me. She don’t live here no more. So don’t come back, ya hear?”

  The tension in my shoulders eases a bit as I head back toward the elevator. I’m on a fucking wild goose chase. Where the fuck is Rory? Did she move to get away from me?

  Fuck. I really fucked up this time.

  I sit in my car for a few minutes, trying to think of my next move. Finally, I decide to go to Zucker’s and see if I can catch her working.

  I haven’t tried to talk to Rory at work. I don’t want to be responsible for jeopardizing her job. I couldn’t live with myself if I got her fired or even reprimanded. Not after everything I’ve already done to her.

  But today is different. Today she’s hurting without me just as much as I’m hurting without her.

  It takes me another twenty minutes to get to Zucker’s and figure out that Rory no longer works there. She’s moved out of state, and her coworker Bella is hesitant to give me her forwarding address.

  Technically, I’m Bella’s boss since I own half the stake in the wine bar where she’s working at this very moment. But technically, Rory no longer works for Zucker’s, so she no longer works for me. Therefore, Bella is not allowed to give me her forwarding address.

  I flash Bella my best puppy-dog eyes. “I know she’s talked to you about me.”