We Were Once

by Scott, S. L.

  “It doesn’t matter what I know. You signed a confession.” He pulls the handcuffs from his loop.

  My legs wobble as my head lightens, trying to process what he just said. “What confession?”

  Suddenly, the sympathy makes more sense. “Were you under duress when you signed the paperwork?”

  The beat of my heart rattles against my rib cage, shaking hands ready to fight for my freedom. “That wasn’t a confession. It was—”

  “Put your hands behind your head,” he says, moving in. “And get on your knees.”

  “No.”

  Pulling his gun, he aims it at my chest. I duck my head and drop to my knees as blood rushes through me, the sound in my ears making me squeeze my eyes closed.

  Forget the pain, the visions of happier times, of mangata. Forget the sight of Chloe bare beneath me, her laughter filling my ears and her smile gentle like the breeze reminding me I’m alive.

  “I didn’t sign a confession.” Tears fill my eyes unexpectedly. “I swear to God.” I slowly put my hands behind my head. My injury flares with fire licking up my back and side.

  My wrists are twisted down and snapped into metal cuffs. It’s not the pain that gets to me and not the nosy people who’ve gathered to watch this arrest go down. It’s my mom when she discovers what’s happening. Her tears and cries as she comes running.

  A look of utter devastation on her face is the last thing I see as I’m being driven away, breaking every promise to stay out of trouble that I made to her. But sometimes life doesn’t work out the way we plan.

  29

  Chloe

  There’s a state of unconsciousness when you waver between lucidity and dreaming. The always felt presence of my mom and the faintest scent of her Chanel perfume fragrant the air. But it’s not her that kept my mind at peace while asleep.

  It was Joshua.

  I can feel him around me as if his arms are holding me. His lips kissing me as he whispers, “I love you,” in my ear. He’s here even when I can’t respond. I feel him, a dream so real that the heat from his cheek still warms mine. So real that I rush through the fog to find him.

  Disappointment greets me when he doesn’t. Too dark to see much, my eyes go to the light sneaking in under the door.

  My body hurts, needing a good stretch from lying around too long. I never did like lazy days unless I was being lazy with Joshua on the couch or in bed. That’s my favorite way to spend my time, the days when neither of us had to leave for hours. Giddiness slinks up my spine, and I smile.

  Wanting to find him, I flip the blanket from my waist, but pain grapples its way up my arm when the IV is tugged. I stare at my hand, the bruising that blotches the top, and the needle. Why would I . . . My eyes begin to adjust and then go wide as fear grips me. Monitors on my left, an unfamiliar window on the right. Bed rails keeping me contained. Voices on the other side of the door.

  My heartbeat spikes as alarm rings through me.

  The door flies open. My mom rushes in with a nurse, both of them on a mission. “Honey, you’re awake!” Tears spring to my mom’s eyes as her voice trembles in relief. Patting down my hair, she kisses my head. “I’ve been so worried.”

  Gently reaching as not to anger the IV, I hug her. “I’m okay, Mom.” My voice is cruddy, so I peek over to see if there’s something to drink.

  “Water?” She pours a cup, and I sip, holding the rail next to me. “Do you need more? Are you hungry? How do you feel?”

  The lights are brightened but kept at a comfortably dimmed setting. I’m dodging questions until my throat feels coated enough to ask, “I’m fine. What happened? Why am I here?”

  “You were thrown from the car during the accident.”

  Accident? I’m staring at her, waiting for more, something that can lead me to a place where what she said makes sense. But it’s not her words that give me a clue. It’s when I shift. “My legs?”

  The nurse comes around the bed, angling it up. “How’s that?”

  The points of pain are too vast to keep track of. “Why do I hurt everywhere?”

  Standing back, she says, “The doctor will be in shortly. Let me know if you need anything.” She hands me the call button. “Just push this.” She sees herself out, quietly closing the door behind her.

  My heartbeat has settled, but my mind is still racing. I’ve ignored the throb in my head, not realizing until now that it’s not just a headache. Touching the side, I ask my mom, “Thrown from the car? Do I have a concussion?”

  Although she appears relieved to see me, my mom harbors concern in her eyes. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  I stare at an empty corner of the room, trying to summon my memories. Opening that door has Joshua filling my brain. “Chasing the moon,” I reply, lost in the feel of freedom but unable to make sense of it.

  My mom’s head tilts as she asks, “What is chasing the moon?”

  “I have no idea. It just came to me. Other than that, I remember Dad giving me the car. Where’s Joshua?” I cover my stomach, trying to settle the churn. “I want to see him.”

  The remote to operate my bed suddenly becomes the most interesting thing she’s ever seen, avoidance at its worst. “Are you comfortable? Hungry?”

  My chest squeezes. I touch her forearm in a silent plea to look at me. When she does, I whisper, “Was he in the accident? Is he okay?” I’m not sure I even hear myself as fear runs through the question.

  “He’s fine, Chloe.” With my fears confirmed, I watch as she slumps. It’s an odd sight from a woman who’s always poised. “I checked with his nurse several times when he was in recovery. He’s strong. He’s a fighter.” Resting her hand on my leg, she adds, “You shouldn’t worry about him. You need to focus on your own recovery.”

  “There’s nothing to focus on but lying here, Mom,” I lie, knowing there’s underlying issues—little aches inside every time I take a breath, fire burning through my ribs on the right side. I don’t want to be the cause of worrying her more than the obvious exhaustion already tugging at the corner of her eyes.

  I can’t think clearly as I try to whittle through what she seems willing to share when it comes to Joshua. Nothing makes sense to me, except him. But my emotions are burning through my energy reserves, and I start to fight against the inevitable sleep. I need answers. “If something’s wrong, I need to know.”

  “I don’t know the details.” She brushes it off.

  It’s not like her to be evasive, but I don’t have the strength to piece the puzzle together. “Mom, please, just be honest with me.”

  Staring into my eyes, I see the debate in hers. “I don’t agree that you need to be focused on his recovery instead of yours, but I understand why you are.”

  I find little comfort in her words, craving to hear him tell me not to worry instead. My stomach is tied in knots when I look at her, and ask, “Where is he? I need to see him.” Pushing off the bed again, I say, “I’m going to find Joshua. I don’t care how much pain I’m in, everything hurts worse without him.”

  Every movement—big or small—is a reminder how my body is betraying me, leaving me trapped in this bed and worried sick. An accident . . . that I have absolutely no recollection of being involved in has put me in the hospital. What did it do to him? I cover my face as the tears flood forth, my shoulders shaking from the pain in my body and the ache in my heart.

  She takes my hands and holds them. “Chloe, I need you to listen to me.” I look at her through my tears. The reality of what happened still escapes me, but the repercussions embed themselves deep inside me. “Your condition is delicate. Try to remain calm.”

  “I’ll calm down when I see him.”

  “He’s been discharged.”

  “What? When?” I ask, searching the table and tray for my phone but not finding it. Her silence is telling, so I glance up. “He’ll want to hear from me. Where’s my phone?”

  “Honey, he left.”

  “He left?” My hand covers my chest
to keep my happy heart from beating wildly. “That’s great news. He’s doing well. Thank God.” Patting my hair, I add, “Will you help me shower? I bet I look awful, and I know I smell.” The laughter trickling through me feels like much-needed medicine. “Can I borrow some lipstick?”

  “Chloe?”

  “I want to look nice for him when he comes to see—”

  “Chloe!”

  I startle. Even that hurts. “What?”

  “Josh returned to New Haven five days ago.”

  The bomb is dropped, my thoughts scattering in the aftermath. “Five days ago?” Swallowing hurts my throat, so I sip more water, trying to come to any conclusion in my favor that would have him leaving while I’m still here. Her tone . . . The empathy in her eyes . . . Turning toward the window, I say, “He didn’t abandon me if that’s what you’re thinking.” He wouldn’t. I can still feel him holding my heart in his hands.

  “I’m not insinuating anything,” she replies, dragging my attention back to her. She drops her gaze, not able to look at me. “Chloe . . .” Her readjusting the blanket becomes a distraction for both of us, so I clamp my hand down on hers to still it. Her eyes carry the pain I feel inside. “You need to think about you right now. School is back in session, but your recovery isn’t going to be quick. This will put you a semester behind, if not more, if you don’t heal.”

  Heal? Her tone twists my emotions while my head swims in a million thoughts about Joshua and why he’s not here. His healing is important, but he wouldn’t leave me without saying goodbye. He wouldn’t let me take a breath without testing to make sure it’s clear. He loves me like I love him, and there’s no healing without him here.

  This doesn’t make sense. “You say that like I’ll never see him again. Why?”

  She’s the one looking toward the window as if it will shed light on the situation. “I don’t know, honey.”

  That’s it. That’s all I get. Maybe it’s all she has to give. Maybe it’s the truth. Maybe he left without thinking twice about me? My heart would know, so I don’t think so.

  She won’t, or can’t help me, so I’ll do what I can to bring her peace and then suffer in silence until she leaves. “Don’t worry about me or school. I’ve missed what? A few days?” I shrug nonchalantly, fighting the ache to keep a straight face for her. “I’ll contact them and make up the work. My professors will understand.”

  I take the opportunity to leverage my dad’s connection for the first time, but on my terms. “And if they don’t, Dad can call. You know him. He’ll convince them.”

  Seeming to surrender, she sighs. “You’re just like him. Determined to your own detriment.” A kiss to my cheek is given. “You need rest.”

  I nod. “Do you mind getting me a phone?”

  “I’ll pick one up tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  When she leaves, I carefully hold my side where I can tell I’ve broken a rib. My breaths are shallow, and I can feel my toes.

  I’ll survive.

  I’ll heal.

  I’ll be back on track with my life soon enough, except for the seed of doubt nagging the back of my mind. Joshua wouldn’t leave me. Him being home is a good sign that he’s not badly injured. That’s great, actually. I hold up my hand and look at the tattoo—it’s ours. Binding us together forever. That can’t be removed . . . the tattoo . . . or our love.

  We’re forever.

  With confidence that I’ll get to talk to him tomorrow, I close my eyes, feeling his love comfort me back to sleep

  30

  Chloe

  He hasn’t answered his phone for five days straight. How is that possible?

  I’ve made almost as many calls to the diner, but I’m told he’s not working, and his mom isn’t available. Why hasn’t he called me back? Why hasn’t Patty?

  Not a text or call. No letter. No contact at all.

  It doesn’t make sense.

  “Patty has to answer eventually,” I convince myself, listening to the ringing on the line one more time before hanging up disappointed again.

  I lean against the molding that frames the windows and stare into the distance, quietly summoning my phone to ring in my hand. Please. Please, call me.

  The sun shines through the shutters of my childhood room, the ocean close enough to lose myself in the roll of the waves. Throwing the stupid phone to the bed, I open the window to hear the sound of the roar, hoping it drowns out the sadness I feel.

  My phone rings, and I dive to answer it, instantly reminded of my broken rib. Holy damn. It doesn’t deter me from answering. “Joshua?” The desperation comes through.

  “You still haven’t heard from him?” Ruby usually has me smiling, but even she can’t turn my mood around today.

  “No. Any word there?”

  “I drove by the diner. There’s a sign on the door with odd hours. Sorry for the inconvenience. Blah. Temporarily closed.”

  “That is odd. Nothing else?”

  “No, but I can track down his friends.” I hear her snapping her fingers in the background. “Didn’t you say they hang out at Lucky’s?”

  “Oh God, no.” Humiliation seeps into my bones just from the thought. “That would be just . . . What if Joshua is ghosting me? I’d look like a crazy ex-girlfriend. No.” Vehemently shaking my head, I add, “No.”

  “Yeah, that would be embarrassing, but at least we’d get an answer.”

  “No, Ruby.”

  “How about I cruise by Josh’s house tomorrow?”

  Such a simple offer that complicates things. I feel shame for admitting it, but I say, “I don’t know where he lives. He . . .” A lump in my throat forms, making it hard to speak. “He lived with me.” He still takes up space in my heart free of charge.

  She says, “He’s not been over there. I would have heard. I can hear everything through these walls and vents.”

  That gives me pause, embarrassment topping all my other emotions when I remember how she once told us she could hear even our most intimate moments. Then I cringe, dropping my head forward. “I can’t have this conversation with you, Ruby.”

  “Then we won’t, Clo. I’ve been watering your plants.”

  I’d forgotten we exchanged keys when we moved in. But that I had forgotten about Frankie and Dwayne Evans . . . a lump forms in my throat because that’s all that remains. “You said plants? Both of them?”

  “Yes.”

  He wouldn’t leave me and his bonsai behind. Would he?

  Tears well in the corners of my eyes when I realize that maybe it’s a parting gift since there isn’t anything else there. No Joshua. No me. Nothing of us, and I didn’t get so much as a goodbye. “I don’t understand. Please help me understand, Ruby. How could he do this to me?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Guys are so dumb.”

  “I wish so badly that I could remember.”

  “Do you not remember anything about the accident?”

  No. I don’t remember anything except that Joshua was driving. We were laughing . . . “I remember feeling happy. I can’t describe it better than that. I sound like a fool.” Frustrated, I shift the phone, lowering my head. “We were laughing. We—wait. Ruby, why would there be odd hours at the diner? Where’s Patty? Why won’t she call me back?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to ask anyone that. But I’ll try to, okay?”

  “Please. I just can’t believe he’d leave me like this. My heart hurts worse than my wounds.” Every part of me is in pain.

  “I know, Clo. I’m so sorry.”

  Laying my head down, I close my eyes. “Help me. How do I make the pain go away?”

  “It won’t stop hurting until you come to terms with the truth.”

  “And that is?”

  “He left. That fucker left with his tail tucked between his legs, sneaking off in the night when things got heavy.” I hear a harsh breath through the line. “Here’s the good news, Chloe. Now you know who he really is, and as much as it hurt
s right now, he’s saving you heartache later.”

  Sitting up, I move to the end of the bed, defeated in so many ways. “I just . . . I can’t wrap my head around him leaving me while I was in a coma. What did I do wrong?”

  “It’s not you, girl. It’s him.”

  Reaching for something that will help makes sense of this, I ask, “What if something’s wrong? He’s injured or—”

  “No. Don’t do this to yourself. Josh being MIA from your life speaks volumes. It’s time you listened.” I know she’s only looking out for my best interest, but her advice doesn’t reach the part that needs to hear it most—my heart.

  I switch the phone to my other ear and lie back on my bed. “I’m returning tomorrow. My professors have been understanding to this point, but I need to be present.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t sacrifice the credits.” She laughs. “You’re the most ambitious person I know.”

  “I’ve worked my whole life for this.” How did I become so utterly distracted by a man that I lost track of that? He hasn’t even checked on my well-being since I came out of a damn coma. Did I know Joshua Evans at all? “It means a lot to know I have a friend, Ruby.”

  “I’ll always be there for you. And for real, I’m happy to go look for him or his friends—” she says, but mumbles, “the lowlifes—when you get here.”

  “I appreciate that. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

  “Hang in there.”

  “I will. Take care.” Hanging up, I hold the phone to my chest. As much as I appreciate her, the weakness I feel for him makes me angry. Why did things go bad? Does he blame me for the accident? After days of overthinking this, it’s all I can come up with. But I’m still so foolish. “Call me, Joshua,” I pray in a wish that slips out to sea.

  Hours pass as I sit at the window, staring until the moon reflects off the surface of the furious ocean. I understand the rage. I feel it inside, the grief drowning in the anger.

  How can he do this to me? How can he walk away? Does he not feel the searing pain I feel inside?