It said: Bordeau Books: Where book boyfriends don’t bite unless you want them to.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s the story behind that bag?” I asked her.
“Can’t you read?” she replied, smiling.
I tried not to form the biggest grin and simply shrugged in response. “To a certain level, I’m sure. What’s your name?”
“Why?” she asked. Her smile was gone.
“What do you mean why?”
“Why do you want to know my name?” she challenged.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I said. “I saw that smile all the way from across the party.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. You’re too good.” She stood up. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Wait, where are you going?” I asked, confused.
“Home. To my sisters,” she stated, as she was walking away.
Then it was my chance to stand. I started walking after her, trying to catch up with her. I wasn’t used to chasing anyone. “Did I say something wrong?” I asked her. “I’m sorry, I…”
She turned then, placed a finger near my lips. “Stop,” she said. “Those smooth lines of yours aren’t gonna work on me. No matter how cute your little smirk is. I know who you are. This is a small town and I have older sisters,” she hinted.
I looked down in response. Fuck. What has she heard about me?
“If you really want to know who I am, you’re gonna have to try harder than that,” she said.
In that moment, she gave me no choice but to look at her ass in those jean cut-off shorts as she walked away from me.
Now here we are, on the beach, the same beach that bonfire was at. Only, now I know her name. I know every curve of her body. Every nervous tic, every ticklish spot. But I still don’t know every weakness of hers when it comes to me. Or if she even has any left. From the look on her face, I can’t tell.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask her.
A smile it seems like she’s trying to swallow starts to form.
I toss my leather motorcycle jacket on the sand and sit down next to her, stretching my legs out in front of me.
3
JULY 4, 10:52PM
Unlike the old me,
I finally listened to what the tide told me.
I washed the ivory sands and your lies from my mind.
I willed myself to forgive myself,
my rib cage like a conch shell
that had been listening for echoes
of what I had mistaken for love.
But not even the land could find us.
The anchors I carried couldn’t even hold us together.
This silent conch shell says there is no love left.
Our water graveyard has enough room for two.
I placed flowers down for the girl I used to be.
And none for you.
I look at the motorcycle jacket on the ground he’s sprawled out on. I look for the Cherry Cove MC patch. I look for the thing that tore us apart.
“You’re still riding, I see,” I say, a hint in my voice. The subtle reminder of what broke us, now breaking my voice.
He shakes his head. “It’s just like you to assume the worst. I see not much has changed.”
I snap my head toward him, making eye contact. “And it’s just like you not to change.”
His face softens. Turns into something I don’t recognize.
Do I see pain there?
“I’m out, Kitty.”
I start picking at the sand, the grains crumbling beneath my fingertips as I try to hold onto them. As I try to hold onto this past of ours. “What do you mean?”
Tell me you listened. Tell me you tried.
“I mean, I’m out,” he says, looking me square in the face.
“What spurred that on?” I ask, looking away, unable to bear the regret in his eyes, not wanting him to see the sorrow in mine.
“You leaving.”
He says it so simply. Like it won’t affect me. Like it won’t tear down my walls.
I look at him, the tears building despite my inward efforts. “That’s what it took?” I ask, shaking my head. “I fucking hate that I was right.”
I wipe my hands on my legs and stand up. Looking at him is too much for me. Seeing the love we once had, now swept away with every bad decision, every wrong choice. Every move made just one moment too late.
He stands, too. “Kitty, wait.” He grabs my arm, gently. A plea in his eyes. “I’m sorry. You left me, and I understand why. And I’m still fucking sorry about it.”
I shrug my arm away from him. “I begged you to get out!” I scream at him. “For almost two years, I begged you!” The tears are coming now, but I wipe them away before they land. “Why did I have to leave for you to listen? Why didn’t you love me enough to listen before you lost me?”
With a subtle shake of his head and fists balling at his sides, I watch him try to keep his composure. “I don’t know. I was young. Stupid. Pressured. It wasn’t that simple. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, with a sarcastic laugh. “It was much deeper than that.” I repeat the words he often recited to me, back then, when I tried to steer him from his current life. From the shit he was getting himself involved in.
From the shit I didn’t want to surround myself with.
I had lost my parents. Both of them, at once. In a horrific car crash. When I was eight. Their loss impacted me in more ways than I could even count today.
Their sudden departure taught me that sometimes, people leave you, even when they don’t want to. Their deaths taught me that tragedies can come from love. That nothing is ever guaranteed.
That sometimes, you can kiss someone goodbye and have it be the very last time you get the chance, even when it’s not by choice.
Abandonment, even when it’s unintentional, leaves a scar. It leaves something in its wake that you cannot physically show to someone. It is only felt.
And it never goes away.
At least for me.
Joey knew this. He always knew this.
And still, he chose the path he wanted, for himself.
The violence, the drugs. The recklessness. All the things that came from being involved with a notorious motorcycle club. The beef with their rivals had gotten out of hand. The murders that had taken place. The small-town news, making international headlines. Their close ties with a much larger, much more infamous crew.
The danger he was in, daily.
The one percenter lifestyle he sucked me into, by default.
I remind myself now, he didn’t care about me then. He didn’t care about my safety. Even though he tried to convince me that he did.
And my dumb ass believed him. For too long, I believed him.
The club was always more important. It was always something I just couldn’t understand.
And not for lack of trying. The oaths he swore. The bonds he built. The blood he spilled. None of it was meant for me. At least, that’s what he always said.
At some point, I stopped believing him. At some point, I had to choose me.
Now, I look at him and wonder if I made the right choice. Even if it saved us both.
“It did go deeper than you knew,” he says. “It was never about whether or not I loved you.”
“You said there was only one way out,” I remind him.
“I told you I’d die or die trying,” he counters. “And I did. I lost everything. I gave it all up, willingly. Became a pariah in my own town. With my own people. For you.”
I shake my head, begging more tears not to come. Silently praying he doesn’t say whatever I think he might say. Hoping, inside, that whatever comes next doesn’t kill me right where I’m standing. Because this love I had for him—this love I have for him—it never went anywhere. It’s still right here. Lingering in the space between us. In the spaces between the words we can’t quite say to each other just yet.
“I did it for you. And only you,” he says.
&nbs
p; The sobs catch in my throat. A guttural cry I can’t manage to form or squeeze out.
“Only, you weren’t here to see it,” he adds.
And with those seven words, I am gutted.
4
JULY 4, 11:11PM
“It’s eleven eleven,” I tell her, after the regret-fueled silence stretches on for too long. “Make a wish.”
She grabs my hand and closes her eyes.
I look at her the entire time, rubbing the invisible message I still love you into the top of her hand with my thumb, like she might feel it. Like it might change things.
After a minute, she opens her eyes and looks at me, slipping her hand from mine to wipe her eyes.
“Hey, are you crying?” I ask her gently, knowing the answer.
She always does this when she cries. Tries to wipe the tears away before I notice them. The silent cries are usually worse, hiding away the things she won’t tell me. Placing them in a box marked Things Not Meant for Joey to Know.
I always try to coax them out. Blow the dust off the things she’s packed away. But it’s her nature, to conceal. To hide.
To run.
“No,” she says, looking out at the lake.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say to her profile.
“You never do,” she says simply.
I nod and look down. “Well, you’re definitely right about that.”
She laughs and it’s laced with sarcasm somehow. “Why are we even talking about this right now? Can’t we just be two normal people and catch up like we haven’t seen each other in two years? Can’t we save the heavy shit for later?”
She looks at me, and there’s something different in her face. I take the cue. The sign, that this conversation—the heavy shit—is over for now.
I let out a small laugh. “Guess we’ve never been that normal, huh?”
She laughs and this time it’s genuine. “Nope.”
“How are your sisters?” I ask her, changing the subject, leading her to the topic and people she cares most about in this world.
Immediately, her face softens. “They’re good,” she says, smiling. “Sophie’s been spending her time teaching summer classes but they just ended, and Lucy, well, you should know. She’s been here this whole time, running the bookstore by herself. I’ve been helping her out there, since I’ve been back. It’s nice, us all being together again, you know? When it was just me and Sophie, it felt like a part of us was missing. You know my sisters are my world.”
I nod. “I know. I’m glad they’re both doing well. And you?”
“And me, what?” she asks.
“How are you doing?” I clarify.
She shrugs and it’s noncommittal. “I’m okay, I guess. It took a while. But, I think I’m finally a little okay.” She turns to face me. “And you?”
“And me, what?” I ask.
“How are you doing?” she mimics.
I swallow what I really want to say, unsure of how she’d react. “I’m all right,” I say. “Still fixing up cars and bikes. I got out of the club but I could never abandon the passion.” I stop to look at her, so she understands. “That lifestyle. It’s really all I know.”
She looks back at me, hard. There are concerns and accusations in her eyes, on the tip of her lips.
“What?” I ask her, softly.
“That lifestyle.” She shakes her head. “So you got out, but you’re still in.” She stands up. “I should have known…”
I stand as well, reaching for her arm out of instinct. It seems I’m always trying to stop her from leaving. “Kitty, it’s not like that. I’ve changed.”
“How many times have you uttered those fucking words to me, Joey?” she asks me.
I look down. “Too many. But this time, I’m serious. This time, it’s different.”
“You got rid of the cut but you didn’t get rid of the liar inside,” she says.
Fuck. Acting like that didn’t affect me, I stare into her eyes. “I’m done with all the shit that forced me to lie to you.”
“Nothing forced you to lie to me,” she says at the end of a frustrated sigh. “You chose to do it.”
“I chose to protect you from it all,” I tell her, because it’s the truth. A truth she will never fully know or understand, for her own benefit and sanity. And also, because if she knew everything, she would never look at me the same. If she knew everything, she might never love me again.
She laughs. “Is that what you call it? You were protecting me? I have news for you, Joey. When you love someone, you don’t lie to them. You shouldn’t live a life you have to hide from them. Call them details, call them dangers, call them whatever you want. The fact of the matter is you were doing shit you shouldn’t have been doing. And if you loved me, you would have stopped. To protect me, as you say. But you didn’t. Not when I begged you. Not when I cried. Not when it was the only thing I wanted from this world.”
I suck in a breath and wait for her to finish.
“You only stopped when you lost me because I chose to leave you. Always the same, having to learn the hard way. Always teetering on that edge of reckless abandon, wanting to see how much you can get away with. I guess me leaving had one good outcome, huh? It forced you to get your shit together. Not for my good, but for your own,” Kitty tells me, like a knife to my jugular.
“Kitty…”
“No!” she says, starting to storm off and away from me. “You know what, fuck you.”
I reach for her arm again to stop her and this time, I don’t swallow the words I want to say. “You can hate me all you want, Kitty, but I still love you. I’ll never stop loving you. No matter what you do or say.”
She shrugs her arm out of my reach and gives me a long stare before she turns and walks away from me.
I let her go this time, knowing what she needs in this moment is space. And when she huffs and turns back around, I’m still standing in the same spot. Still watching her leave me.
She fights back the tears again but this time, a few escape. “So much for saving the heavy shit for later,” she says, with a forced laugh.
I shrug. “We were never normal, babe.”
She starts walking again, only backward this time. “I’m not your babe anymore, Joey,” she yells out to me.
And by her tone, I can’t tell if she’s being playful or serious. But I know her.
I know there’s at least a small part of her that still loves me. And if it’s the last fucking thing I do, I’ll reach that part of her.
I know she expects some smartass remark from me. Something like…
We’ll see about that or You always will be. But instead, I smile at her defiance. At the stubbornness inside her. Something I’ve always loved even though it always pissed me off at certain times. And I don’t try to stop her.
Because it’s not my goal right now to remind her why she left.
It’s my goal to remind her why she stayed in the first place.
5
JULY 5, 12:24AM
The wounds we soak, in salt,
they burn just like we want them to.
We’re masochists, you know.
We take all that hurt and roll it around in sugar
until it comes out sweet.
We’re sadists, you know,
trying to make the pain sound pretty.
But the wounds we cloak,
in sadness and solace,
we never wanted them.
We never asked for this.
I came home expecting my sisters to be here. I thought for sure I’d walk through the front door and hear their voices echoing gently off the walls, or maybe screaming at each other in bite size bits of fury, which seems more of the norm these days. But instead I’m alone in the kitchen, looking at the photos on the fridge. I briefly wonder if either of them, or both of them, are at the bookstore—our bookstore.
It still sounds so weird to me to say it’s ours, and not our mother’s.
Bordeau Books.
The thing we’re most known for in Cherry Cove. A little cursed town plopped down in the middle of going-nowheresville, surrounded by a lake. At least, that’s how I think of it here.
Lucy, my older sister, might say otherwise. She clings to that store like it might bring our mother back, somehow. But Sophie, the oldest of the three of us, knows better. I think she always shared my notion on this small town, even if she didn’t voice it.
Hence why she got a teaching job near the city and moved away at the first real chance she got.
And why I chose to go be with her, well, there were numerous reasons. Including—and mainly—Joey.
Being back here, in our home, brings back a flood of memories I’m not sure I was prepared for. I grab the one photo off the fridge, and a bottle of rum, and sit at the kitchen table.
I flip the photo over in my palm. July fourth, two thousand and four. I wipe the tear forming at the corner of my eye and take a swig directly from the bottle.
My parents’ faces, smiling. A happy family, dark eyes and dark hair, looking back at me. I was the smallest, then. And still now. The baby. In the photo, I’m in the middle of my sisters. Sophie and Lucy are holding me in the air between them. Our parents are behind us, beaming with pride. Their three little girls carefree and laughing on the beach.
This small lake town has never been big enough for us. Our dreams, reaching beyond the lake, beyond the limits. I close my eyes and remember the crash, the phone call that confirmed our worst fears. Both our parents, gone. Killed by a drunk driver. Just like that.
One day, we were happy.
The next, we were not.
Sometimes life strangles you in this way. Rips those you love from you, from your life, from everything you’ve ever known. The violent struggle that ensues is almost enough to kill you, too. But you find that life is not that kind.
You will be spared, because mourning is something you’ll be forced to endure. Even when you want it all to disappear.
You survive it because you have to. Because you have no choice.
Ruin Me: The Summer of Secrets: Part 1 Page 2