I riffle through my closet and grab a pair of black skinny jeans and an equally black short-sleeve top. On a normal night, I would brush my hair and make myself look presentable. But since I currently give no fucks… I drag my hair up, combing it with my fingers, and securing it with an elastic band. It’s sloppy and tired looking and I don’t give a shit. If Shelly wants to force me to go out, she will suffer the consequences of my appearance.
Undoubtedly, Shelly will give me a ration of shit, but whatever. She can suck it up like I am.
Minutes later, a knock raps at the door. “It’s open,” I scream, louder than necessary.
The door opens and three pairs of feet trample across my wood floor. I remain on the couch, staring at the unlit fireplace. Visually tracing the rough grain of the chopped raw wood in the firebox. Pondering if I will ever get to light a fire and snuggle close to Gavin. I briefly close my eyes and take a deep breath. Nowadays, no breaths seem deep enough.
“Why the hell is your back door unlocked?” Shelly asks in her best motherly tone.
And I don’t want to listen to her lecture me, just because it is all I have heard for days. If she felt an inkling of what I do, she wouldn’t bother with such frivolity. “Because I’ve only been home for fifteen minutes and knew you guys would be here soon.”
Shelly walks over to me and points her finger in my face, her other hand on her hip. “That’s no excuse. Lock your freaking door.”
I shake my head at her. “Yeah, sure thing Mom.”
Erin and Jonas walk over and stand beside Shelly. I scan them head to toe. Everyone looks great. Hair, attire, overall presence. Me? Looks like I rolled out of bed five seconds ago. But I am not out to impress anyone, so who cares. If people stare, let them.
“You ready to go?” Jonas asks, voice soft with a hint of concern.
“Yeah, let me lock up and we can go.” I smirk at Shelly and rise from the couch. I give Luna a couple pets and kisses, then we head out.
The drive to Tampa is a blur. Traffic is busy as usual, but I just stare at the lights along the highway. Shelly, Erin, and Jonas try to include me in more than one conversation, but I wiggle my way out of each one. Nothing I have to say matters right now, so it is better just to stay silent and stare out the window.
After we find a place to park, we walk down the sidewalk to the club. Music shakes the walls of the surrounding buildings. Car exhaust floats in the air. Bright headlights blind us as we head to the club’s entrance. And I am numb to it all.
Once inside, we find a tall tabletop with stools near the bar. Jonas goes to the bar and buys us all a round. When he returns with our drinks, I practically chug the entire beer. Tonight will be a long night. One of many, unfortunately.
Forty-five minutes and three more beers later, I am somewhere between tipsy and drunk. And for the first time since we arrived, I listen to the music playing. Some electronic dance music I haven’t heard before. The beat holds my attention while the bass resonates in my bones. If I wasn’t in loner mode, I would head out to the dance floor and give everyone the show of their life. But thankfully, some microscopic piece of logic still resides inside me.
Micah comes over to the table and shoots the shit with Jonas for a few minutes. Moments later, Jonas, Shelly, and Erin get up and go out to the dance floor. Leaving me alone with Micah. Who has hated me since Shelly and I became friends in the third grade. But the way he regards me right now is different. A sort of sympathy residing in the lines of his face. Sympathy he has never directed at me a day in his life.
“How are you?” Micah leans over and asks.
I bring the bottle to my mouth and finish off my beer. “Tired of people asking me how I am. You?”
“I’ve been better.” I catch him glancing over at a woman behind the bar. She’s pretty—simple makeup, darker blonde hair piled high on top of her head, a smile that would light up the night sky.
“Who is she?” I openly point at the woman behind the bar.
“Could you please stop pointing?” A few seconds after I comply, he continues. “That’s Peyton. She’s the new bartender.”
“And how long have you been in love with her?”
If Micah had a drink, he would have spit it across the room. Did I hit the nail on the head or what?
“I’m sorry, what? She’s only been working here for a couple weeks.”
“The length of time she’s worked here and how you feel about her are irrelevant. How long have you been in love with her?”
He stares at me like I have two heads. “You’re right, it’s irrelevant. But you know what isn’t? You and Gavin.”
I roll my eyes. Nice change of subject. One I cannot ignore or evade. “Ugh, can you please not join the Save Cora and Gavin party? If someone isn’t talking to me about it every day, the daily flower deliveries are. Isn’t it okay for me to just want to go bury myself in blankets and darkness?”
“Seems you are,” he states, lifting his chin toward my hair. “Your hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. And I know you love rocking the black, but not every day is a funeral.”
“You don’t get to judge me,” I say, pointing my finger in his face. “Black is life. And maybe I feel like death every day. Why do you fucking care?”
He sighs and slumps forward. “Normally, I wouldn’t care. But since I talk to Gavin every single goddamn day now, it seems caring is my new middle name.” He cocks his head and plasters on a pissy smile.
Gavin and Micah are speaking to each other every day. What the hell are they talking about? Me? Us? There is no us. There hasn’t been an “us” in thirteen years. And especially when he decided to stop returning my calls or responding to my letters shortly after he moved away. No matter how much time has passed, those memories still sting. Burn. Char.
“You guys talk that often?” I mumble, staring down at my beer bottle.
“Yeah. He’s got a lot happening all at once. Cora…” I glance up at Micah when he says my name. His expression shifts to something more sullen. “He hurt you, I get it. Believe me. But you two need to talk. Really talk. If you don’t want to speak to him on the phone, at least respond to one of the million texts he’s sent you. Of all people, I figured you’d be the first person to listen. You don’t need to explain anything to me, but don’t shut him out. Not when he’s doing everything within his power to make things right. Not when he’s doing everything to come back to you.”
Over and over, Gavin told me he would fix this. Told me he would come back to me. But I had heard those words before. Granted, we were kids and didn’t have the means to follow through. But like I told Gavin before, actions were what I needed. Lies are made up of words just like truths. And other than flowers, love notes, and his constant reaching out to me, I haven’t actually seen his actions.
“I’ll think about it. But I make no guarantees. I’ve been dealing with a lot on my end too.”
“Like I said, I get it. I’ve been burned in the past.”
And that is the most personal thing Micah has ever shared with me. This whole conversation is surreal. Maybe whoever burned Micah made him realize that being a dick wasn’t all it is cracked up to be. Hallelujah!
Shelly, Erin, and Jonas return to the table. They laugh about something, sweat shining on their skin under the multicolored lights. Seconds after their return, Micah slips away. Goes back behind the bar and wistfully side-eyes the new bartender.
I repeat Micah’s words in my head. Gavin is fixing things. Gavin is doing everything to come back.
To Florida.
To me.
And the light that snuffed out in my heart a week and a half ago, it flickers for a second. A blip. But sometimes, a blip is all it takes. Sometimes, a blip is what turns darkness into light.
Nine
Gavin
Thirteen years ago
“I’m sorry, Gavin. We just don’t have the money to let you fly back to Florida right now,” Mom says with a sad smile.
Alth
ough she is trying to empathize with me, she has no idea how I feel. And I don’t know what upsets me more—the fact I can’t fly back to see Cora or that Mom plays the I understand card. “But you promised, Mom,” I yell across the room, nails biting my palms.
“Don’t you take that tone with me. And I never promised you’d be able to fly back this summer. I said we would see. And it’s not possible right now. I’m sorry.”
I storm off to my bedroom, slam the door behind me and lock the handle. “I hate you!” I scream at the walls as I fist my hands in my hair.
“Gavin! Come back out here and apologize to your mother! Now!” Dad stands on the other side of the door, banging.
“Fuck you! Both of you!”
I pick up my desk chair and throw it across the room. One of the legs shatters on impact and I stare at the rubble. A moment later, I punch a hole in the wall beside my bed. Then I collapse on the bed and cry into the comforter.
I lay on my side and draw my legs to my chest. Hours pass and all I can do is lie here and cry. Cry until my eyes burn and my throat numbs. This is utter bullshit. They promised me I would be able to fly back to Florida during the summer. They promised I would be able to see Cora soon after we settled.
But their promises are lies.
It has been a fucking month. We are pretty fucking settled. Although, I don’t think I will ever settle here. Everything about this place feels like a death sentence. A prison cell keeping me away from the one person I want more than anything. And why did they make a promise they never had any intention of fulfilling? Just to pacify me? If that’s the case, I am more pissed.
Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, I call Cora. Hearing her will settle the anger inside me. Cora has always held the elixir to my soul.
“Hey, Gavin.” Her voice perky and happy when she answers. This is exactly what I need right now. Just her.
“Hey, baby. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Did you talk to your parents? Are you flying back soon?”
The hope in her voice echoes through the line. And I hate that I am about to destroy it. Well, my parents are destroying it. But I am the bearer of the bad news, and I hate it more than anything. Hate that I can’t give her—us—better news.
“Yeah, I talked to them.”
“And?”
“And they said we don’t have the money right now. That there’s no way I can fly back this summer.”
“Oh,” she whispers. And the disappointment is evident in that single word. “Oh. Well, that sucks.”
“That’s putting it nicely. I told them I fucking hate them.”
We stay on the phone—silent—for a moment. She tries to muffle the sound, but I hear her crying. And my heart shatters further because there is not a goddamn thing I can do to make this better. I hate that I can’t be there with her. I hate how helpless I feel. That I have no way to console her. To hug her close and kiss her hair. Rub a hand up and down her back, over the back of her head as I press her to my chest. This whole situation is such fucking bullshit.
“Gavin?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Please don’t hate your parents. It’s your mom’s job that did this, not her specifically. Your Mom would never intentionally hurt you or us.” She chokes out the words and I hate that she is fighting her tears to say nice things about my parents.
But she is right and I know it. Though, I don’t know who else to blame for us moving so far away. I am drowning and no one is jumping in to save me. No one tosses me a life preserver.
“I don’t really hate them. It’s this whole situation that I hate. But I have no other way to express how it’s making me feel.”
Silence steals the air between us again. But the silence is not uncomfortable. Never has been with Cora. If anything, it calms me. Settles my soul. Gives a peace only she provides.
“Can we talk about something else? Anything else? I don’t care what it is,” she says. “Have you been to the beach out there yet?”
I love how she knows my favorite place on earth. How she knows it is the one place where I feel solace, other than with her. How she understands my love for the water, the sand, the comfort.
“We went to the beach for the first time a few days ago. It’s not the same as the beaches at home.”
“How so?”
“The sand grains are bigger. And the water is fucking cold, even in the middle of summer. I didn’t get in past my knees. And even that only lasted a few minutes.”
“Did you get to stay and watch the sunset?”
God, I love her. Love how she knows me, inside and out. Love how she soothes me so easily. Sunsets are the best, but they will never be the same without her. If I never saw another sunset, but was able to see her again, I would be one-hundred-percent okay with that. Without her, a sunset is just a ball of fire disappearing from sight. Sunsets hold no magic without Cora at my side.
“No, baby. My parents didn’t want to stay that late. But maybe we’ll get to watch a California sunset together one day.”
“We will get to watch one together. More than one.” The optimism in her voice spreads warmth from the center of my chest to the tips of my fingers and toes.
“One day. Until that day comes though, you watch the sunsets there for me. And I’ll watch them here. But I’d rather wait until you’re with me.”
“Me too.”
For the next hour, we talk about random things. Places we went together. Things that made us laugh. And it’s not until I hear her yawn that I realize it is past midnight in Florida. Another shitty side effect of this move—the three-hour time zone difference. I would stay up all night and talk with her. But we are both tired, more mentally and emotionally than physically.
“I should let you go to bed, baby.”
“As sweet as that is, it doesn’t matter much. I only sleep a couple hours a night now. But I guess you’re right.”
I don’t want to hang up the phone. Even if we sit here and say nothing for hours on end, just hearing her breathe on the other end makes me feel at home.
As if she can read my mind, even with several states and thousands of miles between us, she says, “Maybe we can just lay down and set our phones on our pillows. We can pretend that we’re side by side.”
“That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in days,” I tell her as I fight the tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
And for the next two hours, I listen to her sleep. Listen to her soft breaths and occasional sleep-spoken words. Words like love and soon and forever.
Ten
Gavin
Present
This shoot with Layla is exactly what I thought it would be. A shit show to flaunt our “relationship.” Well I hope she is prepared for said relationship—as well as our friendship—to end. Because the line has been drawn and this is definitely over. Hope she enjoyed riding in my wake while it lasted.
The photographer directs us here and there and I follow through as if nothing has changed. But everything has changed. And in about fifteen minutes, Layla and Alyson are about to find out exactly how much it has changed. In less than a minute, everything in their world will tip on its axis. As it did mine.
They shouldn’t have pushed me here. They should have let me pursue my relationship with Cora. Live my life how I want. But neither of them seemed capable of handling life when I wasn’t improving theirs. Now… now there is no other option. They did this and now they will pay the consequences.
A few more clicks of the camera and the photographer announces the shoot is a wrap. As soon as those words are spoken, I distance myself from Layla. And she notices immediately.
“You okay?” Layla asks as she approaches me.
I slip a hoodie over my head before chugging my water dry. During the whole process, Layla stands a foot away and regards my lack of speech and eye contact. Good. I hope it makes her sweat. Hope it makes her question why I have been so standoffish. Hope it unsettles and worries her. It should.
> But she won’t have to question much of anything in a moment. Shit… meet fan.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Alyson walking toward us. I drag in a deep breath and prepare for what will happen next. If I know these two women well enough, one will go into hysterics while the other throws a rage fit. Not that I care, but let’s see how right I am.
“Gavin. Layla. Great job out there today,” Alyson chirps. Her whole demeanor is as it was before we ever went to Florida. Chipper and smiley and completely artificial. Since she has been my agent, I always sensed her artifice. But I passed it off as being out in Los Angeles, and that is how most of the population is. Now, I see things differently. Now, I see she only cares about me for one reason. My signature on her paycheck.
Alyson starts scrolling through her phone and ignoring Layla and me. As she has done a thousand times prior. So, I steel myself and start the inevitable.
“Alyson. Layla. We need to talk.”
Layla stares at me, her amber resin eyes asking me question after question. But I ignore her and stare at Alyson, who has yet to look up from her phone. With each passing second, the fact that she continues to ignore me pisses me off further. So to grab her attention, I opt to snap my fingers in her face.
When she finally looks up from her still lit-up phone screen, irritation rests on her face. Irritation for me disrupting her. But I don’t give a fuck.
Welcome to the club of pissed-off people, my name is Gavin.
“Gavin, I was just reading an email for another shoot. If you would’ve waited another—” Alyson attempts to hold the floor, but I cut her off.
“Stop,” I shout. My voice bounces around the small studio. The eyes of crew members still in the room look our way. But I don’t give a shit. I am over this. More than over it. “As I said a moment ago, we need to talk. The three of us.”
“I heard you, Gavin. Can it not wait? I have other appointments I need to get to.” As she says the words, she flicks her wrist and glances down at the gold and diamond watch on her arm. This irritates me more.
Time Exposure (Click Duet #2) (Bay Area Duet Series) Page 7