The Truth About Heartbreak

by Celeste, B.

  Guilt nips at my insides. “I should have told you about her sooner, but I didn’t want to deal with it. And then … things happened with Isabel and I just couldn’t stay.”

  Dad clears his throat. “I’ve had her looked into, River. Savannah Scott has multiple charges against her for possession and drug use, as well as DUI’s that she’s been running from. I never heard back from the private investigator I hired all those years ago because she’d been hiding and didn’t want to be found.”

  Mom nods slightly. “She came up to me about a week or two after you went to California. I was doing some grocery shopping when I saw a woman who looked a lot like you, and a part of me knew then and there who she was. But, sweetie, she wasn’t well. She approached me and accused me of stealing you away, and when the police were called after she refused to calm down, she ran. There were marks on her arms that the police recognized as needle marks from drug use. The security tapes explain her behaviors. She’s still using, River.”

  The few times Jill answered my questions about my birth mother, she wouldn’t give me many details. Looking back now, I think it’s because she wanted to protect me from the truth. Nobody wants to accept that their parent chose drugs over their own child.

  “She called me,” I whisper.

  A small gasp escapes Mom.

  I play around with my food some more, not very hungry all of a sudden. “I knew something wasn’t right with her, because she acted like she was fine one second and then would go off the next. And I knew that it was probably drugs, because Jill told me that she struggled with addiction. But I thought after all these years, maybe she was better. It’s why I wanted to find out about her. And knowing that she hasn’t gotten the help she needs just makes it worse.”

  Filling them in on what she told me is probably a bad way to go about our dinner. It’s not a light topic, especially when I admit that she practically threatened me for money. Dad goes rigid and red-faced, and Mom covers her mouth with her hands as tears slip down her cheeks.

  But unlike all the other times I blame myself for what they feel, I acknowledge that this isn’t my fault. I am not my birth mother. I share her blood, but nothing more. And it makes me angry knowing that what she’s doing impacts the only parents I’ve ever known, ever loved, because I know she won’t stop.

  Mom dabs the cloth napkin against her damp cheeks after I finish talking. Dad tells us to finish eating and that we’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.

  “We shouldn’t let her ruin your first night back,” he tells us, gesturing toward our barely-touched plates. The food is probably cold, but none of us cares. “We’re just glad you’re back with us, River. We’ll make sure she gets the help she needs.”

  But I know more than anyone that people only accept help when they admit they have a problem. I don’t know Savannah Scott, but she doesn’t seem like the type of person who will accept anything but money. And knowing Robert James, he won’t be willing to settle.

  For the night, I try pushing through every truth I’ve finally spoken aloud to enjoy a meal with my family. My real family. And I manage to crack through the barrier of unknowns that hold me back to realize that this is right where I belong.

  River James.

  Daughter of Robert and Bridgette.

  Sister of Oliver.

  Best friends with Stephanie.

  And in love with Everett Tucker.

  43

  Everett / 27

  The sound of my phone going off a little past one in the morning has me groggily answering in a less than pleased tone.

  “This better be important.”

  “There’s a fire,” Gordy rushes out. “You need to get to Painter’s Choice ASAP. Chief has been trying to get ahold of you but we couldn’t wait any longer.”

  Bolting out of bed, I find a pair of pants that are on the floor and slide them on. “What the fuck, why didn’t you lead with that?”

  My apartment still has the scanner that would alert me to get to the station. The cabin is isolated enough where things like that don’t work as well here, the frequency gets lost.

  “Just get here. It doesn’t look good.”

  My heart is hammering with adrenaline as I run across the room for the rest of my clothes, slide into the closest pair of shoes, and hurdle past furniture with keys in hand toward my car. “What’s happening? Fuck, Gordy. What is going on?”

  I break about three different traffic laws getting to the station where the first crew is already gone. Gordy tells me the smoke was noticed a little after twelve thirty, and the flames soon spread after that. He stays on the phone with me until I get into my gear and haul ass over to the studio. Even from the station you can see black smoke filling the sky and the glow of flashing lights from first responders. Gold and yellow lights glimmer against blue and red, and I wonder what I’ll be walking into.

  My heart feels like thousands of needles are being shoved into it while I’m still awake, like I’m being cut open without anesthesia. I haven’t had a chance to see River yet, because she only got back two days ago. I was going to see her once I got my shit together, once I figured out what to say.

  I love you doesn’t seem like enough.

  I need you doesn’t cover what I feel.

  But thinking that I could walk into a situation where I won’t ever be able to tell her either of those things, along with the array of speeches I want to shower her with, completely fucking ruins me.

  I’m fueled with desperation and adrenaline when I get there. Frantically searching for River in the massive crowd of first responders and bystanders, I’m suddenly choking on air and smoke, on things unsaid.

  When Gordy sees me, he comes rushing over with fear loitering his blue eyes. “I tried to stop her, man. She said she needed to go back in to—”

  “What?” I growl, shoving past him violently and rushing toward the entrance without a second thought.

  Chief tells me to stand down until they can get the flames down—that there’s already one person inside going after River. But I refuse to stand here and watch the building fill with flames while I sit back and do nothing.

  For the first time ever, I disobey Chief and rush into the flames. My mind is on River, just River, not the heat or the smoke or the chance I won’t make it out. It’s her I’m worried about. I’ve had training, and unlike anyone else Chief sends in here, I know the building.

  I see Fred’s fleeting form in the back office of the studio and tell him to get out.

  “Chief said—”

  “I know this place better than anyone,” I snap, shoving him toward the door. He shakes his head, about to argue with me, when cracking wood sounds from above us. Pushing Fred out of the way of the breaking beam, I move a second before it lands on me.

  “Fuck!” Adrenaline has me running toward the stairs, which thankfully, doesn’t hold as much smoke. But when I get upstairs and see River’s door cracked open, I notice the thick gray fog filling the main room.

  Crawling on the floor, I make my way around the room, feeling for River. From her room, I hear a raspy cough, and immediately make my way toward the sound. I move faster than I ever have during training exercises, suddenly realizing everything I have to lose. River is curled on her side on her floor, clasping something tight in her arms. I can’t tell what it is, a book maybe, but she’s holding onto it like her life depends on it.

  If she came in here for a fucking book, then I’m going to have some serious words with her when we’re outside.

  “River?” I’m hovering over her now, seeing the soot on her face and sweat coating her barely covered body. She’s in a pair of sleep shorts and a tight tank. One of her thighs and forearms are burned, and when she opens her eyes, they’re red and drained of life.

  Scooping her up and cradling her close to my body, I quickly make my way toward the front of the apartment. She doesn’t say a word. Maybe she doesn’t realize it’s even me that’s holding her like this, but there’s no time for pleasan
tries.

  Another crack echoes in the building and something behind us falls. There’s breaking glass, so I assume a window busted. I don’t stay long enough to find out whether it’s from the heat or the place falling apart. I’m halfway down the stairs when my foot goes through the weakened wood and another beam falls in the main studio. River flinches into me, so I hold her tighter.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s okay, Riv.”

  Her face burrows into my chest as another wrack of coughs takes over. She’s inhaled too much smoke and I can see her getting weaker. The beam that just fell is blocking part of the way out, so I need to carefully side-step it to get us closer to the front door.

  What I don’t expect is the sudden blast coming from the back of the downstairs office, blowing me out of the way and falling with River still latched in my arms. I try taking the brunt of the fall, but we both land on our sides onto sharp glass that came from a shattered window. My gear protects me from getting cut, but River is bleeding.

  Quickly sitting up and examining her cuts, I graze her face with my covered hand to get her to look at me. “Baby? I need you to stand up. Can you do that for me?”

  She’s still holding onto whatever item she came in to save, but her body is weak as it lays there. Blood pools from behind her and I start to panic thinking the glass cut something important.

  “River, look at me,” I demand firmly, hovering over her to try blocking out the elements that surrounds us. “You need to get up and walk out of here. Bridgette, Robert, and Oliver need you to find that strength.” Voice cracking, I brush her defeated, tired face. “Baby, I need you to find that strength. Don’t you dare leave before we get our chance at happiness.”

  I’m choking on words and emotions as I stare at her beat-up body. Her hand is shaky as it unwinds from the book and brushes my arm. Her cough is choked, but she manages to nod. I help her sit up, then stand, and guide us to the door, avoiding the fallen debris, glass, and other dangers that threaten us.

  She makes it to the door, but before I can follow her, another beam breaks off the ceiling and barrels toward me. I’m not quick enough when I bolt back, and the beam shoves me down and traps my right leg with a sickening snap. Pain shoots through my leg as I try shoving the beam off my body, knowing damn well my leg is broken, but it’s too heavy.

  My name is being yelled from outside, but the sound of the crackling flames around me drowns them out like they’re miles away. I hear one of the voices and know it’s River. She’s screaming for me, and I want to tell her it’ll be all right. The ache spreading through my leg worsens when I try moving the beam again, making me curse and lay back down to catch my breath.

  I feel too warm in my suit as I try fighting my way out from under the wood pinning me to the dirty floor and hear more creaking like another is about to fall.

  Swallowing past my sudden fear, I think about River. If she can make it out of here, so can I. The guys will find a way—I’ll find a way.

  Don’t you dare leave before we get our chance at happiness.

  I wonder if she got up because of me or her family. Her family means the world to her, it’s why she kept pushing me away when I tried telling her how I feel. I wouldn’t mind if that’s what it was, the reason she survived. But knowing even a small part of her conscience was standing for me, waiting for me, makes me need to get out of here.

  Before I can muster another maneuver, something hard smacks into my helmet and everything goes black. The last thing I remember is seeing River’s young, thirteen-year-old terrified face when she saw me for the first time.

  I wonder if she’ll look the same when they carry my body out.

  44

  River / 23

  The hospital is too quiet. There aren’t any monitors or conversations that dull the wandering thoughts bouncing around in my aching head.

  When I wake up, I find Mom and Dad sleeping in chairs beside my bed. Their bodies are in weird contorted angles that will probably give them both backaches later, but I doubt they care. They’re holding hands and their chests rise and fall at steady rates, which calms me from the memories of what happened.

  The blinds on the windows are closed, but it looks dark out still, and when the nurse comes in to see if I’m awake, she quickly asks how I’m feeling.

  “Wh-what time is it?” My voice is hoarse from my scratchy throat. When I drag in a small breath, my chest burns.

  “Just after six in the morning.”

  She pours me a glass of water from the pitcher on the tiny table next to my bed. Putting a straw in it, she holds it up for me to take a sip. My dry lips crack when they wrap around the end, but I manage to take a few sips before leaning back into the firm mattress.

  “Your voice is going to be like that for a while,” she explains softly, setting my glass down but keeping it in reach for me. “When they first brought you in, we had you wear an oxygen mask. I’m not sure if you remember. You were in and out of it, but you’re in good hands with Dr. Woodrow. On a pain scale of one to ten, how are you feeling?”

  Dad stirs awake first, quickly waking Mom when he sees me.

  Sitting up and wincing over the pain shooting down my back, I wet my bottom lip. “I guess a six or seven.”

  Her smile is sympathetic. “I’ll get you some pain medicine, okay? The doctor will be in to check on you shortly.”

  She exits, leaving me with my worried parents. They quickly surround me, both being careful not to hug me too tight or tug on the wires I’m attached to. It isn’t until I return their embraces that I notice white gauze wrapped around my right arm.

  “You have second degree burns on your left leg, right arm, and both your feet,” Mom says, brushing her thumb across my cheek. “There are a few cuts on your back and shoulders from where you landed on some glass, but none of them needed stitches.”

  “One cut did need to be glued,” Dad adds, squeezing one of my hands between both of his. “When we got the call that there was a fire, we didn’t know …” He chokes up, tears watering his dark eyes. “They didn’t know if you could get out. It wasn’t until Everett went in that we had any hope.”

  “E-Everett?” My hoarse voice is ugly, and it makes me want to down the entire pitcher of water hoping it’ll help.

  “Don’t you remember?” Mom asks, sitting on the small space next to my leg. “Everett is the one who got you out.”

  Suddenly, I’m all too aware of what happened, and I try getting out of bed. The blanket is tangled around my legs and the wires and needles I’m hooked to aren’t easy to maneuver. “He was t-trapped. There w-were pieces of the ceiling falling everywhere. He said—”

  It’s Dad who eases me back down. “The chief managed to get in and pull him out. Last I heard, he’s in surgery, but he’s going to be okay.”

  Tears well in my eyes over the thought of him dying because of me. I’d gotten out when the smoke first started filling my small apartment, but I couldn’t leave my book or pictures behind. So, I ran back inside despite the entire fire department yelling at me to stay back. They couldn’t catch me before I ran upstairs to get the first edition copy of The Scarlet Letter I found while I was at an old antique bookstore in Cali. I couldn’t lose it. The bookmark I used while I finished reading it was the picture of me and my birth mother.

  After seeing her at the restaurant when I was out with David, I couldn’t look at her the same. But it was her phone call that made me take the image of us out of the frame. I’m not sure why, because she didn’t really do anything to me that I didn’t expect. But having her in the frame where she looked at me every night … it was too much.

  I didn’t walk away from Everett and the scandal. I left because of her and the truth. I’ve wanted to know where I came from for years, but having the option is something I told myself not to anticipate. In fact, I accepted never knowing who my mother is or why she gave me up. Realizing I’ll probably never see her or how much we look alike or the things we have in common is easie
r, especially now that I know she hasn’t really changed from the stories Jill told me of her giving me up. She’s had twenty-three years to change and she chose not to.

  “H-He could have died because of me.”

  Tears stream down my face that Mom quickly wipes away. “He’s a firefighter, baby. This is what they do and risk. But he’s fine, you both are. That’s what’s important.”

  Trying to swallow, I wince. Reaching for the water, Dad quickly passes it to me, positioning the straw where I can easily sip.

  “Do they know what happened?” I manage to ask when my throat feels a little better. The water is a little cooler than room temperature, so it soothes my sore throat enough to make it hurt less.

  Mom runs her fingers through my hair like she always does when she wants to comfort me. She started doing it after I got the flu when I was fifteen. It was the day after my birthday and I had a high fever, so she sat in my room and combed my hair with her fingers and read to me from a poetry book that I’d gotten out of the library at school.

  It’s her who fills me in on developments of the fire. “The police would like to speak to you, just to get an idea of what you might know. But Chief Anderson went in when they said it was clear to look around and see where it started. We haven’t heard more than that because we’ve been here.”

  Dad tells me to try getting some more rest because it’s early. I manage to sleep for about twenty minutes before the doctor comes in to check on me. He explains my injuries and how important it is to keep them clean and says there are two police officers outside who need to get some information from me.

  Mom steps out so we can talk, but Dad refuses. He holds my hand as I tell them what happened, not that it’s much. I woke up at midnight when I heard a fire alarm downstairs go off. By the time I went to investigate, there was smoke and flames coming from the back office by the heater. I tell them it was probably the heater that started the fire—it has been broken for a while and kicks on whenever it wants. They say they’ll check it out.