Sparrow

by L.J. Shen

  Lucy paced over to me, pointing the spatula at my face. “Go. Talk to him. Stop being such a wuss.”

  But I couldn’t. He stood next to a man twice his age. They both wore sharp suits and were engrossed in deep conversation, probably work, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Yes, I was still his wife. I never had filed those divorce papers, didn’t give a damn about the money I so-called deserved. Troy hadn’t made a move to end our marriage either. But it seemed like we were together centuries ago. In a way, I almost feared he was a completely different person.

  The man and Troy shook hands, and then the man spun on his heel, slowly fading into the crowd. Troy walked in the opposite direction, toward our truck. My breath caught in my throat. I looked around. There was no way he was going to notice me. The line was two blocks long and there was a good distance between us.

  But Troy strode directly and purposely to the end of the line, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket and messing around with it, a smile on his strong face.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  “He knows.” Daisy grinned, still serving the people I obviously couldn’t communicate with anymore.

  I was standing in her way. The window was too narrow for the both of us, but she knew how much I wanted to see him again. Needed to see him again.

  Troy didn’t lift his head from his phone even once. He just kept on punching the screen incredibly fast, both thumbs on the touch screen.

  Maybe he didn’t know? But of course he knew. He would never have a blueberry pancake from a food truck willingly. It wasn’t his style. No. He knew.

  Closer…

  Nearer…

  The more Troy moved up the line, the more I felt like I was losing my grip on reality. Everything fogged around his silhouette, my eyes focused solely on him.

  Maybe you’re not ready to face him yet, a nagging inner voice teased. Maybe you should just turn around and help Lucy, like Daisy asked you to.

  “Breathe,” Lucy whispered, not lifting her eyes from the griddle as she flipped pancakes.

  But I couldn’t. He was quicksand, and I was drowning. Didn’t even fight it. Just gave in.

  “Would you like to take his order?” Daisy asked when there was only one person before him in line.

  I felt my head bobbing in a nod. No matter what, I couldn’t hide from him. That wasn’t us. When he challenged, I stepped up. And by showing up here, he wanted me to react. I had every intention of doing so.

  “If he wants to eat Boston’s finest pancake, that’s exactly what he’ll get.” I stepped to the center of the window. The person before him took her paper plate and walked away, and he moved forward. I’d forgotten how tall he was. He didn’t even have to look up to capture my gaze.

  “Hello.” He stared at me hard, his face devoid of expression.

  Daisy disappeared deeper in the truck, leaving us alone. Well, other than the dozens of people standing behind him in line.

  “Hi,” I said through a gulp.

  He leaned his elbows on the order window and looked straight into my eyes with an intimacy you couldn’t fake. I felt so exposed, it was almost like he ripped off my top and bra and left me naked in front of the throng.

  “One blueberry pancake, please.” His tone was neutral. Even.

  What game was he playing now? I had no idea.

  Averting my gaze, I punched the order in the cash register. I was disappointed. Confused, too. “Whipped cream?”

  He slowly shook his head no. His gaze clung to my face, searching yet wary, like I was a rare mystical griffin, winged and ready to strike.

  “One sugary crap coming up,” I said.

  His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile, but he didn’t let it loose. He just kept following my every move. Why didn’t he laugh? He loved it when I taunted him, thrived on my comebacks. It was what made him notice me in the first place. Up until I’d answered back, I was nothing than a piece of furniture.

  Lucy handed me a plate. She looked just as puzzled as I was. Why was he acting like we were total strangers? I wanted to strangle and kiss the hell out of him and jump into his arms and kill him all at the same time. His influence on me was dangerous still. My feelings toward him still crisp and fresh as a spring morning.

  “Here you go.” I lifted my gaze to meet his.

  He dug his hand into his pocket and slammed the exact amount of the price on the counter. Did he know how much it would cost? Did he plan this? And he came all the way here…why? To show me that he didn’t give a damn anymore? That was a low blow, even for him.

  “Keep the money. Buy yourself something pretty,” I told him, my face as stoic as it could be under the circumstances.

  He didn’t laugh at my joke, or budge. The line snaking behind him was growing thicker, more impatient, people craning their necks to see what was taking so long. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to send him away, not brave enough to tell him to stay.

  He was still staring. Why was he staring?

  “Hey, man, are you done? My lunch break’s almost over.” A guy standing in line nudged him lightly from behind.

  We paid no attention. “Do you know how Sam’s doing?” I asked quietly. My chin was glued to my chest, my eyes trained on the floor of the truck. I’d thought about Sam many times over the past few months. Knew his mom wasn’t exactly the most devoted in the world. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.

  “He’s great. Living with Maria and Cat. Cat’s in therapy. She is getting better at the whole parenting thing.” He delivered the news flatly, no trace of emotion in his voice.

  “Hey! You! Ask for her number and get it over with!” someone yelled from the end of the line.

  “So you kept in touch with her.” I inhaled. That stung.

  But he just smiled at me easily, taking his paper plate. “Good to see you, Red.” He winked before stepping out of the line.

  My eyes drank him in as he strode to a nearby trash barrel, tossed his pancake inside and kept going. I spotted his Maserati—as always double-parked—and watched him disappear behind the wheel.

  That was the second time my fake husband, who forced me to marry him, walked out on me. It was also the second time he took my heart with him.

  But it was the first time I realized that I would never have it back.

  He owned it, clutched it in his iron fist.

  And sometimes, I knew, he squeezed too hard.

  One hour later, we packed our stuff and closed for the day. Despite Lucy and Daisy doing their best to keep my mind off him, trying to persuade me to grab a few beers down at our local bar, I rushed home. I wasn’t in the mood for anything other than running. Funnily enough, the Brock encounter didn’t deter me from my favorite sport. I still jogged, but now, I only took the main streets, and went out in the evenings, when the city was buzzing with people. With life.

  When I walked into our apartment that evening, I leaned my back against the door and squeezed my eyes shut. I never thought I’d fall in love with someone like Troy Brennan. As it turned out, love didn’t give a damn about personal preferences.

  Yanking my cell phone from my back pocket and throwing it across the sofa, I noticed a green text message flashing on the screen. It was sent at around noon. I had to rub my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating when I saw the contact name the text was under. A lump of excitement forming in my stomach, I opened the text with shaky hands.

  Troy: I wanted to do the right thing. I really fucking did. But then it dawned on me that in order to do a good thing, you have to be a good person. I’m not good, and we both know that. I watched you over the past few months. Trying to tell myself that I was only looking out for you, making sure you’re okay. Bullshit. I knew you’d be okay the moment Brock was out of the picture. I watched you because I wanted you for myself, because you belong with me.

  My heart beat faster, harder, wilder and I slouched on a chair, trying to remember how to breathe. There was a second message from him. I opened it right a
way.

  Troy: I changed my mind. You’re not free. Not if you’re flying away with nowhere to go, and for all the wrong reasons. What do you really want? Don’t answer that. I’m about to find out. I’m waiting in line to see how you react when you see me again. Because Red, if you were so hot on getting rid of my ass, you wouldn’t be postponing the divorce, knowing how much money’s waiting for you. You wouldn’t have kept my secrets to yourself. So what’s it going to be? Am I going to see fear and loathing behind those greens, or want and need? Are you going to level with me? Fight back? Throw me away? It’s about to go down in 3…2…1…

  That was it. Only those two messages. What the hell? Did he not see how much I longed for him? How much I wanted him? How I couldn’t, for the life of me, form a coherent sentence when he was around? I darted up from my seat, eager to do something, anything, to distract myself. I got into my running gear, tucked my phone into my yoga pants and bolted out the door.

  Running with my earbuds plugged in, “Sympathy for The Devil” by the Rolling Stones playing in my ears, I tried to burn all the extra energy I generated from reading his texts. My mind was too occupied to tell my legs where to take me. I ran without direction, without purpose. I ran because running was better than staying put and dealing with all those feelings.

  With him.

  Why was I so disappointed that he didn’t text me after our encounter? I still hadn’t forgiven him. Not for what he did to my mom and certainly, and more importantly, not for hiding all those secrets from me after we had already established a genuine relationship.

  Forgiveness.

  I never forgave anyone. Not necessarily because I held grudges, but because no one who had let me down ever asked for it.

  Was I willing to forgive Troy? I stopped at the corner of the street, leaning against an industrial building and catching my breath. Yanking my phone out, I texted quickly, firing the message before I got the chance to let self-doubt, my ego and logic step into this mess.

  Me: You could have told me about why you married me. About what you did to my mother. You never even tried to confess and apologize.

  I tucked the phone back into my waistband and continued running. There was no point waiting for his response. I didn’t even know if he’d answer. I got further away from my apartment, the streets blurring into nothing more than a faded background. My thoughts were louder than my vision. My phone vibrated against my damp skin and I looked down, swiping the screen with my finger to read his text.

  Troy: I didn’t want you to know it was my family who was responsible for the falling apart of yours. By the time we became something, I didn’t want the baggage to outweigh what we had. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you, Red. The first thing I needed was to keep you. And you know what I saw today behind those greens? Want. You still want me.

  I grimaced, shooting him back a text: We can’t be together.

  I picked up my pace, but was no longer able to hear the music in my ears. Where was I running to? I had no clue. Maybe if I ran faster, quicker, harder, my pulse will drown all the noise in my head. This was crazy. We broke up six months ago. So what if I never pursued divorce? All I needed was a bit more time to get my head straight. I experienced a life-or-death situation when I was with Brock in the woods. Then I watched my husband kill him. Then I was shot by my husband.

  Sure, he was a good shot, but that didn’t make it okay. I just needed more time to get over it.

  Troy: We can. And we should. Do you think your mom really gave a rat’s ass about where she’d be buried? She just loved being my father’s, and wanted you to have the same thing. They knew. It’s their legacy.

  Me: This is crazy. My mother was a heartless woman who left me, and your dad was a cheating husband who forced us to get married.

  Running fast and reckless meant that my injured foot was beginning to make me limp again. I was way past feeling the pain, though. My body tried to keep up with my mind.

  Troy: Your mother was in love, and so was my dad. So are you.

  I stopped, realizing where I was. In front of his building. In front of the black revolving door. I stared at it, wide-eyed, knowing somehow that Troy would walk out of them within the next few seconds.

  And he did.

  It was crazy, but he did. I didn’t even have time to catch my breath when I saw him walking out, his phone in his hand. Why did I run here? How did he know I’d be here?

  He raised his head from his cell phone, the corners of his lips pulling up to a smile, and lowered his head back to his cell phone as he typed.

  Troy: And so am I.

  I stilled, watching him move closer. He wore a black pea coat, tailored jeans and matching Derby shoes. His coal black hair, impossibly thick and ridiculously touchable, slicked back casually. He always managed to make my heart float. Whether it was out of fear, out of fury or out of love. My heart always beat faster for him. My knees buckled, just for him. He was right. He did atrocious things, but it was him I wanted. Always, only him.

  Troy stopped when we were nose to nose. Toe to toe. I loved watching those eyes from up-close. They were so ocean blue, no wonder they made my head swim.

  “I love you, Red. I love you determined, tough, innocent, resilient…” His brows furrowed as he drank me in, stroking the curve of my face with his calloused fingertips. “I love you broken, insecure, scared, furious and pissed off…” He let a small smile loose.

  I actually felt it, even though it was on his lips.

  “I love every part of you, the good and the bad, the hopeless and the assertive. We don’t just love. We heal each other with every touch and complete each other with ever kiss. And fuck, I know it’s corny as hell, but that’s what I need. You’re what I need.”

  My eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear hanging from the tip of my eyelash.

  “We don’t have ordinary words between us. You always set my fucking brain on fire when you talk to me. We don’t even have ordinary moments of silence. I always feel like I’m playing with you or being played by you when you’re around. And I refuse to let you walk out on this, on us.”

  He cupped my cheeks and I locked his palms in place, tightening my grip. I never wanted him to let go. He dipped his head down, tilting his forehead against mine. I knew he was right. Knew that I’d already forgiven him. Probably before I even knew what he did, when we were still living together. Hell, probably on that dance floor, when I was nine.

  My capturer.

  My monster.

  My savior.

  “I’m an asshole, was an asshole, and have every intention of staying an asshole. It’s the makeup of my fucking DNA. But I want to be your asshole. To you, I can be good. Maybe even great. For you, I’ll stop the rain from falling and the thunder from cracking and the wind from fucking blowing. And yes, I sure as hell knew you’d come back. You came straight back into my arms, flew back to your nest, lovebird. Now why would you do that if you didn’t love the shit out of me?”

  My eyes roamed his face. His hands felt delicious on my skin. It was like he was pumping life into me with his fingertips. Like he made me whole before I even knew parts of me were missing.

  It was wrong. All of it. To know what he did. To keep it from the police, from my friends, from Pops. To carry his burden for him in my gut.

  It was wrong…but it was ours.

  Troy waited for me to say something. His eyes didn’t plead—he would never beg—but hell, they were curious, and full of beautiful, ugly, raw feelings.

  “You’re still an asshole,” I concluded.

  He laughed. His laugh sounded like the best song I hadn’t heard yet, something I wanted to loop in my earbuds.

  I laughed, too. For the first time in months, it felt genuine on my lips. “A brutal asshole. Not a lot of women can handle something like that. But I think I just might.”

  “I fucking love you, Red.”

  “I fucking love you, Brennan.”

  His lips found mine hungrily, demanding to be back
where they belonged. His tongue parted my mouth, hot and familiar and addictive. His arms moving down my body, he placed one hand over my heart. His kiss not only told me I was doing the right thing—that I was meant and built to forgive this man—but also that this was it. It wouldn’t get any better than this. There was nothing I’d rather do, nowhere I’d rather be, than right here with him.

  His kiss was possessive, the warmth of his breath both comforting and thrilling. I tilted my neck sideways, inhaling his scent, letting it seep back into my hungry body. His skin on mine was bliss, and a rare, raw moment of happiness washed over me. I was so happy I wanted to scream. So happy it hurt. So giddy I couldn’t even contain it anymore.

  In theory, this should have ended in disaster.

  In theory, stepping out of this mess with the upper hand meant that I had to rat on Troy Brennan to the authorities. Let my dad know what his family did to him, to us.

  In theory, things were very complicated. Everybody had to pay for their sins, I had to grieve for the woman who gave birth to me, Troy had to turn himself in, and more lives had to be ruined.

  Reality, though, was really quite simple.

  I was his, he was mine, and everything else we did and didn’t do to each other was just that.

  Our past.

  TROY

  SAM GRABS ONE of my toes, yanking it from the white sand it’s buried in, victory written all over his face. Brock’s face. I wiggle my toe like it’s some kind of a small animal trying to break free. Sam’s laughter drifts over me, drowning the noise of the waves crashing on the beach, the music from a nearby bar and the chit-chat of the beach-goers.