by Cassia Leo
“Yeah, let’s just stick with that story for now,” I reply. “I’m not used to this relationship bullshit.”
“Thanks, man,” he says and I congratulate him, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when your best friend is getting married to the person he’s been in love with for six years. But something is off. He has a faraway look in his eyes, and I hope he’s not thinking about the one person who’s not here with him today. “Hey, Claire is pregnant,” he says, and his smile returns. “Don’t tell anyone. I’m going to tell everyone at the reception.”
I can’t help but grin like a crazy person as I slowly nod my head. “You just had to outdo me, didn’t you? Now what? I’m gonna have to get married on a fucking tightrope?”
“I’ll be there to cut the rope.”
When we head back to the big tent to wait for Claire to make her big entrance, I don’t have to wait very long before Senia comes walking in wearing a black dress that hugs her gorgeous body, her hair pulled back exposing her slender neck. She walks with such grace and confidence.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, and she smiles as she hooks her arm in mine and we set off down the aisle.
Something about watching all your best friend’s dreams come true in a single moment is really fucking emotional. I manage to keep my cool, but I understand why ladies cry at these things. I understand why Jake was crying during his vows. Weddings are intense.
Senia cries throughout Chris and Claire’s entire wedding ceremony and she sobs uncontrollably when Chris, Claire, Jake, and Rachel all get on stage and sing “Your Song.” When Chris and Claire break the big news about Claire’s pregnancy to the crowd, I have to hold her to console her.
“This is the most beautiful wedding ever,” she says with a deep sigh, then she uses a fancy napkin to soak up her tears.
“Yours will be better.” She looks up at me in total disbelief. “I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Four Years Ago
Thirteen months ago, I walked into Mrs. Langley’s art class and my eyes settled on a skinny girl with dark hair sitting in the corner of the class. I knew from the moment I saw Ashley that she was the girl from my last day at Elaine’s house. What I couldn’t see just by looking at her slumped shoulders and round brown eyes was that she, like me, had never spoken to anyone about what happened that day. She told me later that the reason she was removed from her aunt’s home was because her aunt died in a freak car accident the week after Ashley and I met. It turned out her aunt was the woman sitting in the corner of the bedroom that day. When I asked Ashley why she hadn’t told anyone, she replied, “Because she’s dead now. She can’t hurt me any more.”
But she was wrong. Dead or not, the memory of what happened in that back bedroom on that day and in the days after I left Elaine’s were like pieces of glass in Ashley’s skin. If she kept still, didn’t talk to anyone or do anything, she could just ignore them. But just the slightest movement, the littlest reminder, and the pain would come rushing back. Just a few months ago, she broke down in the middle of the mall when she saw a toddler in a stroller with her hair styled in pigtails.
Sometimes, she goes catatonic for hours at a time. Her adoptive parents have done everything to get her the help she needs, but she’s refused to talk to anyone about what happened. Until I walked into that art classroom.
She was silent for four years until we found each other. Now, after thirteen months of sharing our secrets and learning to trust, it’s all over with a single sentence.
“He makes me happier than you do.”
“Because he doesn’t know you. I’m the only one who knows you.”
Her face has a blank quality; her eyes a remoteness that tells me she’s bluffing. She doesn’t want to do this.
I knew when Ashley moved into the dorms at Duke a month ago that things would be difficult for us. I thought we’d have a rough nine months, then everything would go back to normal once I graduate from high school next year. I’ve been making the thirty-minute drive out to see her three times a week. I guess it wasn’t enough.
“I can’t be with you any more. He’s better for me. We’re in the same classes and we like the same music and—”
“Music?”
The only music Ashley ever listens to are my band’s songs, some of which I wrote for her, and the stuff I add to her iPod. She’s told me repeatedly that my music is the only music she feels safe listening to. Apparently, the day I met Ashley at Elaine’s was a trial run to see how Ashley would perform, and she passed the test. After I left Elaine’s, her aunt was disappointed, but she insisted that Ashley could still entertain the johns with stripteases. Ashley effectively blocked out the memory of the music she was forced to strip to, but she was left with a crippling fear of one day encountering one of those songs.
“You’re lying to yourself or you’re lying to me. I can’t figure out which one it is.”
She shakes her head adamantly. “No, I’m not. I don’t love you. I … I love him. He’s better for me.”
“Stop saying that.”
“He is!” Her hand trembles as she jams it into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out the necklace I gave her three months ago when she graduated. She holds her palm out and the gold heart glints in the mottled September sunlight. “I don’t want this.”
“I don’t want it either. It’s yours.”
“Take it or I’ll throw it away.”
“Then fucking throw it away.”
She stares at the necklace for a moment and her cool composure is beginning to evaporate. “I don’t want it. Why can’t you understand? I don’t want anything from you.”
That’s when I realize she doesn’t want the necklace because she wants to leave every trace of her past behind her. Not because she doesn’t love me. If she didn’t love me, she’d throw it away.
I turn around to walk away and she calls out to me. “Tristan! Please take it!” I continue down the concrete path in the campus courtyard. “Tristan!”
When I turn around, she seizes the opportunity to hurl the necklace at my face, then she spins around and runs off in the direction of the dorms. I pluck the necklace off the concrete and tuck it into my pocket. I think I always knew this would happen. Though I certainly did try, I knew nothing and no one could fill the hole in Ashley’s soul. And I may never forgive myself for that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Senia
Recovering from the wedding – and hangover – of the century would be a lot easier if Tristan had his amazing steam room to sweat out the two bottles of vodka he drank last night. Ugh! Just the thought of it makes me sick. I’m glad I’m pregnant and I don’t have to deal with hangovers for at least another eight months.
“So I take it we’re not going to breakfast with everyone before they leave for their honeymoons?”
He grunts and, for a moment, I think this is his response. Then, “You can go. I can’t eat anything right now.”
I prop my head up on my elbow as I trace shapes on his bare back with my fingertip. “Were you drunk while Chris and Claire were singing last night?”
“I don’t remember,” he mutters, then he shifts a little and the way the muscles in his back flex under his skin is so sexy. “Can you get me a bottle of water?”
“Yeah, and I’ll order you the room service hangover cure.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. Probably Gatorade and a butler to hold your puke bucket.”
I continue lightly stroking his back and he turns gingerly onto his side to face me. “I don’t need any of that shit. I just need you and some water.”
I slide out of bed and grab a couple of bottles of water out of the mini-bar. I set one down on the nightstand then I open the other and hand it to him. He guzzles half the bottle in one shot then he twists the cap back on and beckons me back into bed.
“I promised your dad I’d keep my dick in my pants while we’re in Vegas.”
“
“He made me promise. But don’t worry. I canceled tomorrow’s flight. We’re leaving tonight instead. We’re not staying another night in this hotel room. Besides, I think the point is moot now that he knows you’re pregnant.”
“What time is our flight?” He grins as he takes the bottle of water and lightly presses it against my bare belly. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. “That’s cold!”
“I know, unlike you,” he says, tossing the bottle onto the floor as he lifts my camisole and leans in to take my nipple into his mouth.
All I can think of, as he uses his fingers to stimulate me, is those two minuscule sentences he uttered last night, which obviously meant nothing to him. Yours will be better. I promise.
I push him away and he looks confused. “I have to take a shower,” I say, sliding off the bed again.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. I want to shower alone.”
He sits up in the bed looking even more stupefied. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, I’m just … I …” I roll my eyes at my inability to form a complete sentence. “I think we should talk about what’s going to happen when you go on tour.”
He reaches for the other bottle of water on the nightstand and shrugs. “What’s to talk about? I’m not going on tour. I’m staying here.”
“When did you decide this?”
“Last night.”
He stares at the gauze taped to his wrist for a moment, almost as if he can’t remember getting the tattoo, then he rips it off. He gazes at his wrist for a moment then lets out a deep sigh before he chugs some more water.
“When were you going to tell me?” I ask as I approach the bed. I want to see that tattoo.
He watches me as I approach with one eyebrow cocked mischievously; he knows I want to see his new ink. He holds his wrist out for me to see and now I’m confused.
“I was going to tell you today, I guess.”
“What does one-two-three mean?”
“I’ll tell you later. You’re not ready.”
I turn to head back toward the bathroom. “You need to tell me what time our flight is, so I can be ready.”
“I have a plane on standby until seven p.m. I was thinking we could join the mile-high club tonight.”
I stop at the bathroom door and look over my shoulder. The sly grin he’s wearing is hot enough to burn a hole in those thousand-dollar sheets. Who cares about what he may or may not have said at the reception last night? The sexiest, sweetest, most complicated guy I’ve ever known just gave my best friend a house for her wedding gift and asked me to join the mile-high club. I’m thinking he kind of has the hots for me.
I beckon him with my finger and he chuckles as he slowly slides off the bed. But we never make it to the shower together, because the phone call Tristan receives at that moment changes everything.
Chapter Thirty
Nine Years Ago
I try not to cry as I ride my bike back to Grandma’s house – my house – but I can’t fight the tears. I don’t know what I just did to that girl, but I know I hurt her; and I know that neither of us will ever be the same.
I keep my hoodie pulled low over my face despite the fact that it’s a ferociously humid afternoon in the middle of September. Sweat drips down my face and neck. It even drips down my forearms and my hands begin to slip on the handgrips of my bike. But I’m hopeful that if anyone sees me crying on the corner of Avent Ferry and Gorman, they’ll think it’s just the unbearable heat that’s reddened my eyes and moistened my cheeks.
I make it home a few minutes past three in the afternoon. Letting my bike drop onto the parched lawn, I race up the porch steps and throw open the front door without regard as to whether anyone is standing on the other side. The tiny air-conditioning unit that juts through the half-open window has done a pretty successful job of keeping the house cool and I quickly peel off my hoodie to let the cool air wash over my overheated skin.
“Tristan! You’re soaking wet!” Grandma cries as she enters the living room from the kitchen, wringing her hands on a damp towel that hangs loosely from the pocket of her apron. “And you’re red as a lobster! We’re you riding your bike in this heat? What – what’s that on your T-shirt? Is that … blood? Are you hurt? Did your mother hurt you?”
For the briefest of seconds, I consider telling her everything. Then I think of that shotgun in my face, and the look on Grandma’s face if she ever finds out what I’ve done, and I know I’ll never tell.
“Got a bloody nose on the way over here,” I reply, smiling for the first time in weeks. “I’m okay now.”
She tilts her head as she reaches up and brushes my sweaty hair away from my face. “You’re not going back there, are you?”
I shake my head, too afraid that if I speak something may slip out.
“Good.” She pulls the towel out of her apron pocket and drapes it over her shoulder. “I just made some of your favorite lemon cookies and I’ll make you a sandwich. You must be hungry. Go on and take a shower and get changed.”
She looks at me for a moment and I have a feeling she wants to say something too. Maybe Noah’s mom has been here and she wants to reprimand me. Or maybe she somehow knows what happened at Elaine’s. Either way, she doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, Grandma.”
“For what?”
“For leaving you.”
Something about these words gets to her and she bats her eyelashes to blink back the tears. “You go on and get clean.” I turn to head for the bathroom, but she grabs my arm. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?” I nod and she responds with a nod. “Go on now.”
As I make my way to the restroom, I peek into Grandma’s bedroom to get a glimpse of Molly. She’s sitting on Grandma’s bed watching The Lion King 2, but she whips her head around at the sound of the door creaking open.
Her smile beams as she shouts my name four times in a row. “I’m watching Simba. Wanna watch?”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“No, don’t go away,” she cries as I begin to close the bedroom door.
I open the door and she smiles again. “Come on. You can watch Simba,” she says, patting the mattress for me to sit down. “You can stay.”
I chuckle as I take a seat next to her and she wiggles with excitement. “Thanks,” I whisper. I think that’s all I needed to hear.
Chapter Thirty-One
I can hardly understand Molly through her sobs. I want to tell her to calm down, but I also want to tell her I’m sorry that I’m not there. She finally calms down enough to say that Grandma was coughing up blood this morning. Then she passed out in the shower and hit her shoulder on the bath faucet handle, cutting her shoulder very badly.
“She’s on a respirator,” she whimpers. “It’s really bad. You need to come home.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t leave the hospital. Just stay there, okay?”
“Okay.”
Senia and I get dressed and leave our belongings behind. I’m the only one in the band that doesn’t have an assistant, but that’s because Jake and Chris’s assistants have always been more than willing to provide their help free of charge. I’m sure one of them won’t mind packing up my stuff and bringing it back to Raleigh. But, after this, I’ll definitely have to get an assistant of my own. I can’t pay other people’s employees in sexual favors any more.
Luckily, the plane I chartered for Senia and me to fly back to North Carolina today is equipped for long flights and will get us there in a little more than five hours. Once the plane is in the air, Senia unfastens both of our seat belts and leads me to the lounge area in the center of the plane. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’m not in the mood for sex right now, so I just go with it. She leads me through the lounge area and into a bedroom near the back of the plane.
“Lie down,” she says as she closes the door behind her.
I do as she says. I fully expect her to start stripping for me, but all she does is kick off her heels then she lies down next to me. She laces her fingers through mine as she stares at the curved ceiling.
“My grandma passed when I was ten. She lived with us from the day I was born until the day she died. When I lost her I thought that I was being punished for all the bad things I’d done. I was ten so that was a very long list of despicable things like pinching my sisters, lying to my parents, and cutting off my Barbie doll’s head.” She takes a deep breath and I can’t decide if she’s trying to calm herself or gather strength. “It took me a while to realize that my sisters’ sins were much worse than my own and there was no way God would punish my sisters by taking my grandma’s life. But before I figured that out, I went to my mom and told her I was afraid I’d killed Grandma with my petty crimes. She laughed and told me that Grandma didn’t die for my sins. She died because she was too old.”
She turns to face me and I’m not sure I understand what she’s getting at. “My point is that even the people who love you, with all their good intentions, don’t always know the right words to say in these kinds of moments. I wish I knew what to say to ease your mind. I wish I could say that your grandmother is going to be fine and that you’d actually believe it. I wish I could say that Molly’s going to be fine. But I can’t predict the future and something tells me that you don’t want to hear meaningless words of comfort right now. So, I’m sorry that I don’t know what to say. But if there’s anything I can do, I’m all yours.”
I lean over and kiss her forehead then pull her closer so she can lie her head on my shoulder. “You can just lie here with me.”
I turn my face into her hair and breathe in her scent. She still smells a little like the champagne that was practically raining down from the heavens after Chris and Claire made their big announcement yesterday. Everyone is so happy for them to have a child after everything they went through. I’m even happy for them. But I’m sure Senia probably felt a pang of longing for some of that excitement to be directed toward us.
I wasn’t that drunk when I told her that her wedding would be better. When everything calms down with Grandma and Molly, and Senia and the baby are settled in with me in the condo Chris just offered me last night in exchange for the house I gave him … then I’ll ask her to marry me and we’ll be able to plan the kind of wedding she deserves. It won’t be a surprise wedding, but I’ll make sure to have plenty of other surprises planned for her along the way.
I glance at the tattoo on my wrist and smile as I realize I got this tattoo because it has three meanings. But now it has four.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The hospital parking lot is full at 7 p.m. on January first. Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure there are dozens or hundreds of people who are here to grieve the loss or injury of a family member, but all I want is to push past all their grief and declare my grief more important than theirs.
How do I even begin to grieve when I can’t accept what’s happening?
We enter the intensive care unit and the woman behind the information desk directs us to my grandmother’s room with a grave expression. Why can’t she muster a cheerful expression, just for this single moment? Why do I have to bear the brunt of her pity? I’m sure she gets so much bad news all day; it must be difficult to appear to be anything other than completely exhausted.
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