by K. Ryan
What were we were supposed to talk about now? There was no way I was touching her recent family tragedy, especially not after the way I'd epically stuck my foot in my mouth before.
Although my dad had been dead and gone for almost 10 years and the emptiness didn't necessarily feel like it was going to swallow me whole anymore, I remembered what it was like to lose a parent with brutal clarity.
Anytime someone told me how sorry they were about my dad—how good of a guy he was, how much they missed him—it was just one more reminder in a long list of what I'd lost and would never get back. I wouldn't make that mistake with her, especially since the wound was still so goddamn fresh. Throw in her dropping out of school and that was probably a recipe for a disaster of epic proportions, at least in terms of us attempting to play nice.
By now, I figured she probably wanted to move forward more than anything and it was pretty hard to do that when everyone kept bringing your shit up all the time.
So if I couldn't bring up her mom or school, which I wasn't going to, I was just treading water in the deep end of the pool again, barely keeping my head above the surface.
"So," she broke the silence with a tiny smile and I grinned back, grateful for the respite. "What else is new around here? I heard Dominic and Lexie are getting married soon. She's pregnant too, right?"
I rubbed my chin and nodded, grinning at the memory of my best friend finding out life as he knew it was over. Dom's face had shifted hilariously from pale to green to pale again and finally red-hot when he realized the entire shop was staring at them, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, after Lexie blurted out the news in front of everyone.
"Yeah, she is," I laughed.
"That's pretty crazy. I mean, I can't even imagine getting married right now let alone having to be responsible for another human being," she shook her head.
"Yeah, you and me both, Iz," my eyes widened when I realized what I'd just done. "Shit, I mean, Isabelle. Sorry, sorry...it's a habit. Won't happen again, darlin'."
Her pretty blue eyes narrowed warily at me. "I'm not sure which is worse. You calling me Iz or darlin'."
"Aw, come on," my mouth twisted a little. "I gotta call you somethin' and I honestly didn't know that bothered you so much. I mean, sure, I knew it pissed you off, but not like that. You should've said somethin' a long time ago."
She jerked an eyebrow up at me. "You really expect me to believe you would've stopped?"
I didn't even need to take a second to consider it. "Yeah, you're probably right. I would've been all over that like white on rice."
She flung a pretzel at me and I ducked down, laughing as I got out of harm's way. Well, at least she wasn't putting her fist through my jaw. This was an improvement. This was something I could live with.
When Isabelle's phone buzzed again in her purse, her facial expression was priceless. It was somewhere in between frustrated and horrified and I bit back a laugh when she squeezed her eyes shut before sliding the offensive object back out of her purse with a wince. Her eyes scanned the new message and then lifted to the sky with a shake of her head.
"Come on," I grinned, leaning forward against the table to get a closer look at the text. "That's not nothin'. You gotta tell me now."
She sighed as she flipped her phone back into her purse without sending off a response. "It's just a guy who can't take a hint."
Ah. Now that made sense. It looked like relationship troubles were floating around in abundance these days.
"Ex-boyfriend or just one who wants to be?" I asked, surprising myself at how genuinely curious I was about her personal life. There was no real reason for my curiosity, but it was there just the same.
"Ex," Isabelle informed me flatly, her frustration evident just from the tight tone of her voice. "He doesn't really get why I broke up with him or why I won't come back to school, for that matter."
Although her words were a potential opening into her departure from Duke—of all places—it was best not to push her. With my recent track-record with her, I figured I should probably quit while I was at least a little ahead. Besides, I'd learned through experience that a person will only tell you something when they're ready to and trying to coax it out of them will only get you shoved away.
Instead, I chose to steer my focus on this guy who clearly couldn't understand that no meant no.
"So, what's he sayin'?"
She exhaled deeply before turning her weary eyes back towards me and I couldn't help but smile. This was the first time, I realized, that we'd ever really sat down and had a real conversation that didn't start with commentary on her insanely short, barely existent cheerleading skirt.
It was kind of nice. When I wasn't being a complete asshole, of course.
"The usual, I guess," she sighed. "He thinks we can work it out, but there's nothing to work out. It's done and I'm not going back to school. He just won't listen to me."
There was a hint of something in her voice—a hint of worry or fear, maybe—that triggered an overprotectiveness for her that surprised the hell out of me.
"You're not scared of this guy, right?"
Her face twisted down in a frown and her mouth slipped open a little as she considered my words. "What do you mean?"
"Well, he never hurt you anything like that, right? I don't know. You just seem like you're nervous or somethin' about this guy."
Recognition flickered across her features and then she let out a low laugh. "Oh, no. No. I don't think Nick has an aggressive bone in his body. He's more of the...non-violent type."
I nodded, relieved that I'd jumped to conclusions. "Good. For a second there, I thought I was gonna have to go beat the shit out of him or somethin'."
"Oh really?" she replied slyly with a cocked eyebrow. "Yeah, he shows up here and you tackle him to the ground. I can just see it now. I'm sure you guys would get along just great, but I really don't think that will be necessary."
"Well," I shrugged. "Gotta protect a fellow co-worker, you know."
"Thanks, I guess."
"Sure. All you gotta do is ask, Iz."
She flung another chip at me and I playfully held up my hands in defense.
"Alright, alright, that one was on purpose. That was the last time, I promise."
"Good," she laughed. "I really hated that damn nickname, you jerk."
"Wow," I chuckled. "I think that was the first time I've ever heard you say that."
"What? I swear," she retorted, biting back a snicker. And when I arched an eyebrow at her, she insisted, "I do! Just not where people can hear it most of the time."
I snatched up the chip she'd just tossed my way and snapped it back at her, enjoying this interaction way more than I had any right to.
"So, what are you gonna do about this guy, then?" I nodded towards her phone.
"I honestly don't know. Nothing I say seems to get the point across and then when I ignore him altogether, it just makes it worse."
"Did you try telling him you're with a new guy now? Even if that's not true, it would probably make me back off if I were him."
She shifted uncomfortably on the bench and I found myself rubbing the back of my neck a little to shake off my own uneasiness. Putting myself in her ex-boyfriend's shoes was an awkward position to be in. I hadn't meant for it to get weird. I was just grateful she was still here talking to me and instead of being helpful, I'd once again stuck my foot directly up my ass.
"I don't know," she replied finally. "I'm not sure if he'd buy that and I don't really wanna have to lie to him either."
"Short of tellin' him to screw off completely, maybe it's worth a try, ya know?"
"Yeah, maybe," Isabelle replied absentmindedly, glancing at her phone from inside her purse. "Hey, well, my break's just about done. Thanks for the chips, Caleb. You didn't have to do that."
My eyes followed her as she rose from the bench and gathered her purse from the table. When she set off towards the office, I called after her: "No problem, Isabelle. It was nice talkin' to y
ou."
Her head turned back to me for only a second, but it was long enough to see she shared the feeling. A brief smile crossed her lips as she waved back to me and then a moment later, she was walking through the office door, headed back for another installment of training with my mom.
I squared my shoulders back to where she'd been sitting and then the short relief I felt was long gone. There was no one here to talk to, no one to take my mind off the growing panic I felt with each day that passed.
It really had been nice to talk to her. There was no judgment or even sympathy brimming in those clear blue eyes. Just normal conversation about her relationship woes, instead of my own, and her anger and frustration towards both me and that dipshit ex of hers was refreshing. Maybe we could reach some sort of mutual understanding and actually be civil towards each other.
Right about now, I really needed a little civility.
CHAPTER SIX
Interlude
Isabelle
I pushed through the front door, my head pounding from a long day of information overload, and a pile of mail in my hands. Gratefully kicking off my shoes, I tossed my keys and my purse onto the kitchen table and flipped through the envelopes in my hand.
I was stalling.
But lately, I found myself dreading coming home and making up every excuse in the book to put it off for fear of what I would find.
A loud crash echoed from down the hall and my heart just about dropped into my stomach. I took off down the hallway and sped across the house until I was skidding into the bathroom, finding my dad keeled over with one hand still resting on the toilet seat. Immediately taking an inventory of his condition—I'd gotten used to gauging how bad it was with just a quick appraisal—I noted his shallow breathing right away.
He was asleep.
I squeezed my eyes shut and ran a hand over my face, trying to decide if I should attempt to move him, but I was probably more likely to throw out my back than actually get him anywhere by myself.
Right about now, it really would be nice to have an extra pair of hands.
So with a heavy, sick feeling churning in my stomach, I grabbed some pillows and a blanket from the hall closet. My dad still hadn't moved when I stepped through the bathroom's threshold again and the jury was still out if that was good or bad.
With careful movements, I gingerly lifted his leaden head and shifted the pillow underneath him, draping the fleece blanket around him and tucking it all the way up to his neck. He'd most likely be out like this for at least a few more hours, if not the rest of the night, and he didn't need to wake up shivering on the bathroom floor. At least he'd be warm now.
I just knew, deep down to the ebbing sickness in my stomach, that this was only going to get worse. And short of screaming at him pull himself together and forcing him into rehab, both of which I'd tried and failed at already, there wasn't much else I could do for him other than to just be there and hope it would pass on its own.
Wouldn't he eventually realize what he was doing to himself? Wouldn't he eventually realize that this would've broken Mom's heart to see the way he was destroying himself?
Being around my dad was like watching a train about two minutes before it ran off the rails. You knew what was coming and you knew there was nothing you could do about it, but you just couldn't look away.
It was for the best I'd found him like this, already out cold on the floor. If he'd been awake when I came home, I would've just had to listen to him slur out all the ways I'd disappointed him.
How I'd thrown away my future, how I had zero respect for him and for his colleagues who'd wasted their time writing letters of recommendation for me, how I had absolutely no sense of responsibility or ownership towards anything, and how if I didn't get my life together, he was going to throw me out of his house and onto the street.
Well, isn't that just the pot calling the kettle black.
It would be easy to toss all those things right back in his face, but he wouldn't hear it, wouldn't even register the truth. The only way he was ever going to get healthier was if he admitted what he was doing to himself, but when was that going to actually happen? He was swallowed up by grief and barely resembled the man I'd grown up desperately trying to emulate.
And what about my grief? What about my loss? He might've lost the love of his life, but I'd also lost my mom. Didn't that matter too?
But despite all the ranting and raving he shoveled my way, I could never bring myself to disrespect him by saying any of that to his face.
For the last six months, our father-daughter relationship had deteriorated into empty silences and whiskey-fueled outbursts. No family counseling, no life coaching, nothing. Somewhere along the way, he'd just stopped being a father altogether. It was just a title in name only now, one he certainly hadn't earned since the day we'd buried my mom.
He was just existing, a shell of his old self, drowning in whiskey and desolation, and tossing everything I suggested out the window like it was the most half-brained idea he'd ever heard.
He didn't need anyone to tell him how to live and he didn't need anyone to tell him how epically he'd screwed up his life either. He already knew it, he'd told me.
In spite of all the ways I'd tried and failed, the only thing I couldn't do was allow anyone to see him like this. It would destroy what little was left of his law career—how he still had one was beyond me—and it wasn't like it would do much good anyways. He'd probably never speak to me again, too, and then I might as well be an orphan for real.
With a deep sigh, I retreated back out into the hallway and fell onto the couch. Knowing a little noise wouldn't stir him, I turned on the TV and flipped mindlessly through the channels—nothing really interested me, nothing that could take me mind off the sleeping shell of a man in the bathroom anyways.
It would be really freaking great if it was just tomorrow already so I could get out of this house and back to the shop. At least being there gave me something to do instead of just sitting here, waiting around for the inevitable.
And despite the initial tension with Caleb, he'd actually been decent to talk to...eventually, which surprised me more than anything else that happened today. He'd genuinely seemed to care that he'd upset me and hadn't just blown it off with a lame apology.
Instead, he'd made an effort to actually make amends. Having a conversation with him wasn't so bad either and he'd proven he was capable of going more than two seconds without making an asshole comment, even if it was more towards the end of our conversation than the beginning.
Maybe he really had grown up a little after all and there was something about him that was different than I remembered.
More mature, maybe. A little more grown-up.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was finally patched into the Horsemen like he'd always been bragging about, but I suspected it had more to do with the fact that his relationship was crumbling right before his eyes. It was only a matter of time before Ariel finally left. Everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around him and even his own mother wasn't above the tip-toeing act.
With only literally a few days, maybe a week, left before Ariel would have to choose once and for all if she was going to stay or go, I had a sinking feeling Caleb was just chasing a mirage, a fantasy that didn't really exist, and everyone seemed to know it but him.
But maybe he did know, even if he just couldn't bring himself to admit it. Maybe that was why he'd chosen not to chase after her today because he knew she was already on her way out regardless of what he said or did.
Something about that broke my heart.
Ariel just needed to shit or get off the pot already and put Caleb out of his misery. There was only so much drama a person could stand in life and by my count, both Caleb and I had just about reached our limit.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gone
Caleb
It felt like someone had reached down into my stomach, twisted it up into a ball, and pulled it out throug
h my spine.
I was on fire.
No, I was dying.
Everything hurt. Every blink, every breath, every movement and I felt myself die a little more inside.
For three days, I'd sat on the floor of my dorm at the clubhouse and stared at the wall like a zombie. No interest in any of the food my mom had been leaving for me. No interest in sleep since all that came with it were visions I couldn't stomach seeing.
I'd barely moved long enough to even feel alive.
At first, I hadn't believed her. Couldn't believe she was really leaving, that everything I'd been dreading had finally, abruptly become my living nightmare.
Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Ariel's face when she told me there was a cab waiting outside to take her to the airport. The anger, the hurt, and the disappointment eroded away into a flash of hope. A last flicker of a chance that I might change my mind and follow her.
And for a second, I almost did.
I almost reached for her.
My fingers practically tingled I'd wanted to touch her so bad. But then I remembered what she was asking me to do, what she was demanding I leave behind, and then, the moment was gone. And the anger, the hurt, and the disappointment reflected in her heartbroken brown eyes again.
That last flicker, that last chance, was just our relationship's death rattle.
I couldn't go with her.
It was as simple as that.
This was my home and the only thing I'd ever known. The only place I would ever feel like I belonged. I couldn't desert them. I couldn't just up and leave because Ariel couldn't make her life work here.
If you can't be here, I'd screamed in her face, you can't be with me.
That must've been the nail in the coffin, the push she'd needed to propel herself into drive. I hadn't really intended to shove her away, but I'd needed to push her to do something because her indecision was literally killing me.
Someone had to make a decision. Someone had to be proactive here because all of this inaction was running both of us head first into concrete.