by Sonya Jesus
“You don’t like her, do you?”
“Man, you can’t ask me loaded questions when I’m getting loaded.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to want to tell you the truth, and you don’t always like the truth.”
“You’re right.” I lie back and stare at the stars, the quantity of alcohol in my stomach spluttering around. “Maybe she’s right too.”
“What about?”
“About me only wanting to break up with her because she ripped up Thorn’s picture on the anniversary of her death.”
“Damn...”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, man. I know that’s the only one you had. The cops took everything else from the house.”
The alcohol is working on my system. “Maybe honoring Thorn’s memory is keeping me from moving forward or some shit like that.”
“Visiting Penny’s grave doesn’t help,” he chimes in. “It’s sweet, bro. Reading her a fairy tale. Being home and surrounded with things that remind you of her is hard. Shit, it’s hard on me, and I barely even talked to her.”
“Guilt,” I admit.
“It’s not guilt, Kai.” He turns his head to face me and balances his cigarette between his lips, so he can place his hand on his heart. “It’s pain. That jar holds—how many pennies are in there?”
“One thousand forty-eight.” He knows I count them. He’s counted them with me.
“Holds one thousand forty-eight Thorns that prick your heart every time you touch them.”
We’re both silent for a moment.
“You want to know what I think?” He reaches over to the guitar case and holds up the jar. “You got to cut the vine.”
I swallow hard, feeling the tension build. “I’m not ready.”
“Yes, you are.” He shakes the jar. “You wouldn’t have brought it with you if you weren’t ready.”
Tears bite at my eyes, nipping at the ducts. “No one ever loved her, Ledger.” My words get trapped in my throat. “She deserves someone to love her.”
“She’s not coming back, Kai.”
His words fucking hurt.
“You can’t love someone new if you still love someone old.”
“I never got to tell her I loved her.”
He nods his head and buries the blunt in the sand. “Tell her now, Kai.” He pats my leg encouragingly. Three taps, the last one with a friendly squeeze. “Come on, get up.” He unscrews the jar as he stands and kicks my foot.
“What are you doing?” I get up so fast, I feel nauseous and light-headed. “Don’t—” I’m too sick to feel angry. Not drunk, not completely, but feeling awful.
“Give me your hand.”
“No!” I laugh and heave at the same time. “I’m not holding hands and forming a trust circle. Give me my damn pennies.”
“First off, you’re a dick. My trust circles are awesome.” When I’m upright, he pushes me toward the ocean. “Second, I don’t want to hold your hand. Ever.” He smacks my hand and smiles wide. “Palm up. You need this, trust me.”
I’ve trusted Ledger most of my life, so I trust him again and do as he says. He fills my palm with a handful of pennies that takes about one-fifth of the jar. “Throw them into the ocean.”
“No.”
“Soften the load on your shoulders, brother.” He holds the jar up to the light. “You’ll still have a lot, but you deserve to reduce the burden.” He mimics the motion I need to follow, swinging his arm out when the wave comes. He makes sense, but this and the book are all I have left of her. And only the pennies are truly ours. “You deserve to be happy. You don’t have to suffer because you survived.”
I squeeze the pennies in my hand and throw them out into the ocean.
Already, I feel lighter.
And like shit.
I wake up next to Ledger on the beach, the sun shining in my eyes. He’s dick down, ass up, and cradling the empty bottle in one hand, the other is sprawled against my chest. The massive headache splitting my brain open doesn’t allow me to speak, so I nudge his hand off and try to get up. On my knees first and then, once all the contents of my stomach have settled, on my feet.
“Five more minutes, babe,” he mumbles in his sleep as he feels around for me on the towel, or rather the girl he thinks he fell asleep with.
I press the space between my brows to assuage the vein throbbing between my eyes and stumble over the cheap Irish whiskey bottle.
Another bottle? I pick it up and kick Ledger’s foot so he can wake up. “When did we get another bottle?”
He grumbles and flips on his back, using his T-shirt to shield the sun from his eyes. “Shh. Women make so much less noise in the morning.”
Vague memories of me chucking pennies into the sea all night and confessing my love to Thorn filter through the fogginess. I find the jar on the floor next to my guitar case, with one penny left.
“Fuck me!” I groan and sit back down, hanging my head low and cradling the almost empty jar in my hands.
Ledger chuckles, still with his eyes closed. “Nah. I’m good.”
I also notice we are a lot farther back then we used to be and my guitar isn’t here, just the case. “Where’s my guitar?”
He groans and removes the T-shirt from over his eyes. “I don’t remember you being this chatty in the morning. No wonder you prefer to wake up alone.”
“Screw you.”
“Your guitar is in my car. You left it there after serenading me all the way to the liquor store. I managed to convince you into leaving it behind so you could go buy us some more booze.” He holds the bottle of Gran Patrón up. “The good stuff this time.”
“The good stuff mixed with the crap stuff is a bad combo.” I clutch the jar. “What the hell happened?”
“I was sober for most of that,” he says, glancing down at the jar. “I’m so proud of you. I know that wasn’t easy. Shit, you made me want to cry. It was all tortured and healing at the same time.”
“I barely remember it.”
“I recorded it,” he says and pulls out his phone. “You’ll have to watch it later; my battery is dead.”
I feel around the extra-large towel for my phone, to find it in the sand, screen down and dead. Probably fell asleep with the flashlight on.
“What time is it?”
Ledger glances at his watch. “Seven-thirty.”
“Damn. We have practice this morning.”
“Coach will have our balls if we don’t get there on time.” We got there late once after a gig, and he made us agree to only play at The Reef when we were off-season. He’d kick us out of the Rugger Loft and stick us in The Dungeon with the freshman.
I hang my head in my hands, and Ledger hands me the bottle he had been cradling. My hand flies out. This guy’s nuts. “No… I need coffee.”
“It’s to rinse your mouth out, dickhead.”
“Oh.” I swig some Patrón around in my mouth and spit it out onto the sand. “Still need coffee and a change of clothes.”
“We got about twenty minutes.” Ledger pulls his T-shirt on and goes into captain mode. “You go get something to soak up all this alcohol. I’ll get our gear and meet you out front of Joe’s.”
“Grab my overnight bag from the bathroom? Under the sink.”
“No problem. Get your ass up so I can take this to the dorm.”
After we pack up, he takes the bottles and my jar in the guitar case along with the towel, and I take my ass to Jumping Joe’s, hoping to beat the crowd. The whole way there, despite knowing the way, I feel lost.
Out of place.
Off.
Like the day started wrong, or my life didn’t make sense.
It could be the hangover or the thousand tiny holes in my heart, or it can be the uncertainty of starting new, of healing once the mourning stage is over. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It feels like chaos inside me, and I don’t know how to settle it.
I open the door to Jumping Joe’s and head fo
r the line. I hate crowds—not that it matters—most people kind of keep their distance unless they know me. I’m happily pleased with the lack of student bodies needing coffee.
A couple of people who are in line turn around to face me and quickly drop their eyes. Freshman chicks. They either don’t want to piss Vanessa off, or they are too shy to go for what they want. I’ve been told, by Ledger, that I don’t have one of those approachable face-types, like he does.
Mine is a permanent resting dick face, the male version of resting bitch face. I prefer to wear my what-the-fuck-do-you-want question on my face rather than waste time and effort engaging in conversation.
It comes in handy on the field. I swat at some sand stuck to my elbow as I read the menu. It took me way too long to figure out I didn’t have to say these stupid names my freshman year and that they change them every year to make it harder for us upperclassmen, but it’s not hard to figure out.
I just rather not use them. But it’s upperclassmen duty to keep the rouse going. When it comes to my turn, I glance behind me; the lanyard around her neck is a good sign she still hasn’t figured things out around here.
“Chocolate Beast, Knight.” Code word for ‘small mocha latte’ this year. “A Bitter Queen and a Princess Pie.”
The girl beside me snorts, apparently finding it hilarious, but she’s easily put on the back burner when I notice Vanessa standing just outside the glass door of Jumping Joe’s.
My ears pound as the cut-up pieces of Thorn’s photo float to mind. Flashes of our fight mix with the sound of waves carrying the coins with them, and I find myself empty. I swipe my palm over my face and back up to massage my temples.
I can’t think right with her face stuck in my head, and I can’t love anyone with Thorn still in my heart. Until last night, I had never told anyone how hard it is to not know what happened in those last minutes when she was breathing.
They caught Gaspar del Rio on camera. It had leaked onto the Internet years ago. I watched it over and over, hoping one of those bodies didn’t belong to Thorn, but there were only two people in the car when they crossed the border to Canada. DNA evidence put her in the car, and in the close-up video, I saw the red hair poking out through her hoodie before Rio threw her over. Then shot his wife before throwing himself in.
My heart still hurts when I think she suffered—that maybe he did something to her before he killed her. Or worse … that she was alive. Maybe Thorn had been sleeping or drugged, and when he threw her, she woke up and screamed. Maybe she called for me, or thought of me, or didn’t think of me at all. Maybe she catapulted into the water, thinking she was alone or that no one cared.
Maybe she died alone, just like she lived alone.
Thorn. I call to her in heaven. I’m sorry.
“Kai?”
I’m losing my damn mind, but I check anyway. I scan the crowd for her long red hair, knowing it won’t be here, and chalk it up to memories—memories that don’t fade easily.
“Kai Madison?” The familiar voice cuts through my pain, and I turn around to find the same blonde girl who snorted at my order, staring up at me.
Thorn.
My heart invades my throat, blocking my respiration and driving all the blood with it when it sinks back down to my stomach. My fingers tremble, and it takes a second for my brain to kick in and tell me to search for the birthmark, but I can’t see it. Her straight hair blocks it.
The girl in front of me looks like my Thorn. An older, different version of her, but maybe I’m just grasping at strangers’ faces, hoping to mold them into the girl my heart aches for. When I blink, I turn away and close my eyes for just a second, telling myself it’s not possible.
She’s dead.
Thorn is dead.
When I open them, blue eyes study mine—familiar blue eyes that reflect me in them. But it can’t be Thorn. Even if she had contacts on, which would explain the no glasses, things are off about her.
There’s nothing imperfect.
“How do you know me?” The words come out rushed and harsh, not exactly how I intended.
She shies away, just like Thorn would, and it hits my heart with a longing to touch her—to feel her skin next to mine, something I haven’t felt in a long time. I step forward, ready to throw my arms around her and pick up where we left off, when some dude’s voice stills me.
“Rose?”
I growl in his direction, only registering the name after the fact. I’m too busy rolling the name around in my mind to identify him. Penelope Rose Thornton.
My Thorn. “It’s—”
She turns toward the person calling her name, and I catch a glimpse of her chin beneath her hair.
No birthmark.
Not Thorn.
Instantly, I hate her for looking like the ghost of the girl who haunts my heart, and yet, I want to know her. I want to know why she knows my name and if she knew my Thorn, but I can’t handle it now—I can’t handle her face.
“Who the hell are you?” My mouth speaks before I can stop it. Shit.
She swivels on her heel to face me. Her lip snarled at me. I note the slight dip of a Cupid’s bow, one that Thorn didn’t have before. “What?”
I need to get out of here. I’m too hungover to deal with a doppelgänger. I grab the two coffees, and when I turn, she bumps into me. Right into the damn coffee, spilling the hot drinks all over my chest.
“Oh, my God!” she squeals and touches my chest, lifting my T-shirt up and charring my insides with her soft fingertips. “I’m so sorry!”
My eyes are locked on hers, burning in her presence. Her friend offers her some napkins, which she places on my body, soaking up the coffee pooling in the dips of my abs with one hand and holding my T-shirt with the other. Her blue eyes look up at me through lashes coated in dark mascara, blinking their sorry every few seconds.
My hands are outstretched, holding the two cups that still have coffee out to the sides, sucking in the air around me and admiring the blue crayon underneath her lower lashes, making her eyes even bluer than the blues I’ve ever known.
“I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”
I don’t feel the burn or the sting of the hot coffee. All I feel is her—I mean Thorn—everywhere.
“Let me get you some more coffee. Or pay for your dry cleaning?” she stumbles with her words awkwardly. My heart pounds erratically, my breath no doubt matching the rhythm.
“I feel awful—and your skin is red. Great.” She waves the wet napkins in the air and chews on the inside of her lips, just like Thorn. She even sounds like Thorn, but fuck me, everyone probably sounds like Thorn. I have nothing left of her, and it’s only a matter of time before I forget everything about her.
“Are you okay, Kai?”
She knows my name, but she’s not Thorn.
“Why. The fuck. Are you. Talking to me?”
Her blue eyes glass over, hardening like ice, and almost as quickly, the ice melts and there’s a sheen over her irises. I should care, but I’m so damn tired of caring. Of hurting.
The guy who was waiting for her glares at me, his eyes narrowing as he stares in my direction. I’m not in the mood to have a showdown, so I leave. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“What about your shirt?” she asks.
I don’t bother to turn around. I can’t look at her. Right about now, I’d rather deal with Vanessa freaking out on me than Rose.
5
Fly-half
Kai
Ledger and Vanessa are waiting just outside. Neither notices my pissed-off mood, or if they do, they assume it’s because of Vanessa.
“Morning,” she says warmly and rests her arm on my bicep.
I glance back inside to find the Thorn look-alike sliding her coffee cup through a sleeve. When I turn back around to tell Ledger I forgot his breakfast, lips are planted on mine.
“What are you doing, Vanessa?” I push her away and run my hand down my damp shirt, smoothing out the cool material.
; Ledger drops his bag on the floor and rummages through his gear for some painkillers. He shakes the container in the air, rattling the circular pills inside. It’s a jab at Vanessa—calling her a pain in the ass and inconspicuously telling me to get rid of her—but it goes over Vanessa’s head.
“Four?” he asks as he unscrews the cap.
I nod curtly as he spills them out into the palm of his hand, pops four in the mouth, and holds the other four between pinched fingers. He balances the container between his teeth and grabs his coffee from my hand. Whatever is left of it.
I swallow mine, then chase them down with the little bit of coffee that’s not on my shirt.
“Are you not feeling well, baby?” Vanessa asks.
I snort coffee through my nose. She’s got balls, I’ll give her that. “What did you call me?”
Ledger drops the capped container in his bag and zips it shut with a whistle that doesn’t go over well with the female in our group. He straightens himself and holds his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me, Vani. He’s the one who snorted.”
She hates being called Vani. “You can leave,” she growls.
“No,” I interrupt. “You should leave. The only type of people I’m dealing with this morning are the ones who lack a pair of tits.”
“What do you mean?” She pouts her artificially plump lips, her bottom lip protruding outward and covering her upper lip.
I used to think it was cute, now it’s just ridiculous. “We broke up.”
“No, we didn’t; we took a break. Break over.” She earns herself another mumbled comment from Ledger, who shoves my bag toward me with his foot.
“Vani, you may not want to go there right now.” A fair warning, she does not heed.
She furrows her brow and puts her hand on her hip, tilting her body toward him and snapping, “Vanessa! My name is Vanessa! Do not call me Vani, Brighton.”
“Why? Afraid it has too nice of a ring to it?” Ledger quips back. “Vani Brighton.”