The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  His eyes hold mine and he bites his lip. “Drew,” he says. He pushes a hand through his hair. “I—”

  Just then my door opens and Six stands there, looking between the two of us. “What’s going on?” he asks. The question is mild, containing only the barest hint of suspicion. It’s simply guilt that has me feeling like I was just caught at something.

  “Nothing,” I say. My eyes dart to Josh’s. “Good night,” I whisper as I walk past Six into the room. My steps drag. There is something so deeply wrong with the fact that I’m here rather than with Josh right now.

  Six shuts the door and attempts to hug me. “Don’t,” I snap. “You were awful to me and your mother left in tears. A hug might fix this with her, but it fixes nothing with me.”

  I storm away to get ready for bed, and it’s only after I slide between the sheets that he joins me again, wrapping an arm around my waist. All I can think of is Josh’s arm, Josh’s broad chest pressed to my back. I take small breaths through my nose, desperate to get through this last night and get back home.

  “Drew,” Six whispers. “I’m sorry, okay? I messed up. I know I messed up. I was an asshole. But you’re what I want. You’ve always been what I wanted and I just didn’t…I wasn’t ready, okay? I wasn’t ready and now I am. It’s going to be different from now on.”

  “It’s late,” I reply. He’s drunk and I don’t want this to turn into a fight and I definitely don’t want to find myself going to the front desk and asking for my own room. “Can we discuss this tomorrow?”

  He pulls me closer. I have to force myself to stay in place. “Yes, baby,” he says. “Anything you want. From here on, you make the rules.”

  It’s not until he’s asleep that I grab my pillow and head to the couch. Six makes a mess of everything, but I do too. Which of us really wreaked more havoc on this trip? Which of us was the reason Sloane left, which of us is the reason Beth never managed to bring her boys together?

  Maybe we’re a perfect match after all. We both ruin everything we touch.

  31

  DREW

  February 2nd

  The sun has just come up when we assemble in front of the hotel to head to the airport. Six is careful with me, sweet and solicitous.

  He opens the van’s front door. “She gets carsick,” he tells the driver, pressing his lips to my forehead. “She needs to ride up here with you.”

  I climb into the front seat, feeling like I could easily burst into tears at any moment. Inside me, there’s a wire pulled taut, and my throat aches with the effort it takes to keep it from snapping. I stare out the window saying goodbye to this island, wishing I could replay a thousand moments I’ve had these past days—and every single one of them was with Josh.

  He’s in the back right now, with his father grilling him about his schedule these next few weeks. The idea that Josh and I will be on the same coast and not see each other seems impossible to me, but what would I even say? Hey, I’m ending this with your brother. Want to get a drink before you leave for a year?

  Even if I could somehow come up with the right words—and there is really no clean, acceptable way to hit on your ex’s brother—it would be futile anyhow. He’s leaving, he could never tell his family, and I can barely picture the amount of blame that would be bandied about if people knew I’d ditched Six for his brother. We view men like wayward little boys, but we judge women the way we do ourselves: as harshly as possible. It’s hard enough handling the judgment I get over things I haven’t done.

  We arrive. The luggage is dealt with and then we go to the first-class lounge to wait. Six goes to the bar for a drink and I take a seat next to Beth. “You look tired, hon,” she says, running a hand over my hair. “I figured you’d sleep like a baby last night.”

  I blink tears away. What might it have been like to be raised by someone like Beth, someone who watches out for you, worries about you? To simply have a bad day or a bad night’s sleep and have someone concerned rather than accusing you of “sulking” or “theatrics”.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her. “I’ve had such an amazing trip. I really can’t thank you enough for including me.” By which I mean Thank you so much for making me feel like you wanted me here, for not ever making me feel like a burden. Thank you for letting me see what that’s like.

  She wraps an arm around my shoulders and rests her head against mine. “Hawaii with my boys was always a dream of mine,” she says. “But you made it better.”

  Six returns with gin and tonics for us both. Beth releases me and his arm replaces hers. Josh’s gaze narrows, and remains on us as Six’s mouth presses to the side of my head. Six is talking about what we’ll do this week in LA and I want to sink in my seat. I know I won’t be seeing him once we’re home, but I put up with it all for Beth’s sake until I can’t stand it.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I announce, and I walk out of the lounge and into the shops, trying to talk myself out of crying as I look around. Nothing in my life is different than it was when I arrived in Hawaii twelve days ago, but everything that mattered before just feels meaningless now. I buy something for Tali, and then stop to watch as people swarm at a gate to board their flight. A man wraps his arm around his wife’s waist, shoots a warning glare at the people encroaching from behind. She leans into him, as if he’ll always be there. The day is probably going to come when she leans and he lets her fall, but I feel very alone watching them anyway.

  I slowly walk back to the first-class lounge and just as it comes into view, a figure pushes away from the wall. Josh, his lovely brow furrowed, watching me.

  “My flight is boarding,” he says. “But I wanted to say goodbye.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whisper. I sound as if I’ve been punched. Even if we weren’t going to be sitting together, I thought I had at least six more hours to look over at him. “You’re not coming to LA?”

  His shake of the head is so small it’s barely noticeable. He holds my gaze as if he knows I’m upset, knows why I’m upset. “I have to give a talk at Stanford tomorrow. I’m flying straight to San Francisco.”

  “Oh.” I feel frozen, trying to ward off the wave of grief as it hits.

  The speaker overhead announces the final boarding call.

  He steps closer. Close enough that I can feel his breath against my face. “Tell me something real,” he says.

  I try to smile but it’s twisted by sadness. I wish I could give him the entire world. I wish there was anything he wanted that my money could buy. But all he wants is a tiny bit of the truth from me, maybe because he knows it’s the hardest thing for me to give.

  “When I was eleven, my dad got drunk and threw a bottle at my face,” I tell him. My dad was the only person who seemed to like me back then, but even he didn’t like me quite enough. “He lost visitation and that was the last time I saw him. That’s how I got the scar.”

  What a sad, awkward little gift to give him. My way of saying I trust you, Josh, and I don’t trust anyone else. I turn to walk away so he won’t see me cry, and have taken exactly one step when he says my name and reaches for me.

  And that’s all it takes: he closes the distance, pulling me against him, and his hands are cradling my jaw and his mouth is on mine as if it’s always wanted to be there. For one long, breathless moment, nothing exists but him and the way he is kissing me.

  “I would give anything for things to have been different,” he says. And then he walks away, disappearing into the crowd of people boarding their flight.

  I want to reach up to feel my lips, to assure myself the kiss really happened.

  I want to run after him.

  Instead, I return to the lounge on unsteady legs, feeling like something inside me just died.

  Beth, Jim and Six all sit there, scrolling through their phones. We’ve traveled together for two weeks straight but Josh was the part that made me happy. Josh was the part that felt like home.

  When our flight boards, Six grabs his blanket and spreads it
over the two of us. Beneath it, he reaches for my hand. I suspect I’ve got about thirty seconds before he tries to move it to his dick. And I can’t do this, not for another moment.

  “Hey,” he says. “I know we still need to talk.”

  I pull my hand away and reach for the headphones. “No, we don’t. Whatever this was, it is definitely over.”

  I honestly can’t believe I ever dated him in the first place.

  PART V

  HOME

  “It’s almost too broad a topic for just one book.”

  From Mainland US: Adequate Medical Care and Lots to See

  32

  DREW

  I wake to sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the cottage I’m renting at the Chateau Marmont. I have fifteen missed calls from Davis. Not a single one from Josh.

  I shuffle out of bed only to draw the drapes closed, and then I return, flopping face down on the mattress.

  I’m not sure how to go back to my regular life. I’m not sure what made my feet move before. I thought I knew. I thought I wanted to be vindicated, that I wanted to make more money than my stepfather, have more fame and clout than the whole family put together, and possibly use it to ruin my stepfather’s firm. But now it just seems…petty. Now it just seems like I’ve been fueling myself with rage because I had nothing else to drag me out of bed in the morning.

  I get up long enough to order an Hermès scarf for Beth. I have it hand delivered along with a note thanking her for the trip and telling her how much I enjoyed spending time with her. I apologize, too, for the way things worked out with Six. It must have been pretty clear it was over on the way home, but there is a small part of me that wants to make sure she knows, that wants to make sure Josh knows, though it will change absolutely nothing. How could it? I can’t jump from one brother to the next, and Josh cares too much about his mom to throw that kind of grenade into the middle of the family, even if he was staying here—which he is not.

  Eventually, I accept the calls from Davis, as it’s only a matter of time before he shows up at my door—he knows this is the only place I stay in LA—and the next morning I find myself walking into my publicist’s conference room for a strategy meeting I don’t want to be at.

  I hate my publicist’s big, soulless office complex, all gray cement block and glass. The first-floor room looks as if it could survive a bomb blast, though I wouldn’t want it to. Same goes for the expressionless people sitting around the table.

  “What the hell did you do to your hair?” Davis demands, as if the room isn’t full of officious strangers in suits, listening avidly.

  Two weeks ago, I’d have felt like I needed to apologize, as if it was someone else’s hair I cut without permission. Now I’m just irritated. “It’s called a haircut, Davis. Are you unfamiliar with the term? Have one of your suited minions look it up for you.”

  Stephanie, the publicist, frowns at me and puts a hand on his shoulder. She often winds up playing peacemaker, but he’s the one she will defer to in the end. “Settle down. Maybe this is good. We’re showing the new, more serious side of her. It can be like she’s turned over a new leaf.”

  Davis slumps in his chair. “No one will want to fuck the more serious side of her, however.”

  I imagine Josh hearing this—I suspect he’d be out of his chair. What did he say to that surf instructor? Come repeat that on shore, asshole. I’d love to hear him say that to Davis.

  “I looked like this when you met me,” I remind him, taking a seat at the far end of the table. They both blink as if they’d forgotten I had a voice at all. “You thought I was pretty enough then.”

  “But were you famous then?” he asks. “No, you were not.”

  “I still think we should say she went to rehab,” Stephanie tells him. “No one is going to believe there weren’t illegal substances involved.”

  Davis shakes his head. “There are too many photos of her in Hawaii. Let’s just stipulate that it isn’t discussed in interviews and release a statement implying she was at rehab without stating it outright. Just refer to some much-needed time away. Everyone will assume it’s rehab, she apologizes, people move on.”

  I sit back, listening to them discuss me as if I’m not in the room. As if I’m an entity rather than a person. How long has it been like this and why did I allow it? I suppose because when it started, I just felt lucky and I didn’t want to jinx it. And what’s different today is that I no longer feel lucky. I don’t care quite so much if I jinx it.

  “I’m not apologizing,” I say flatly. “And I’m not letting anyone imply I’m on drugs.”

  They look at me again, surprised, irritated. The sex doll speaks and thinks she has a right to make demands, their faces say.

  “Please let us do our jobs,” Stephanie says. “We’re trying to get you out of a mess you’ve created.”

  I stand up and they both look surprised. Again.

  “What are you doing?” asks Davis.

  “It’s called walking out,” I reply. “And if this press tour doesn’t go the way I like, prepare to see a lot more of it.”

  The room is utterly silent as I make my way to the door. I want to feel empowered, but instead the world just feels very large, too full and too empty all at once. The problem with burning bridges is that you need to have someplace else to go.

  It’s Tali I call in desperation.

  She meets me at a sunny patio café in Huntington Beach, halfway between Laguna and LA. The sight of her temporarily makes me forget all my woes.

  “Holy shit,” I say, staring at her stomach. She didn’t look so pregnant the last time I saw her, but now… “You can’t possibly have two more months left.”

  She laughs and sinks into the chair across from me like a pregnant woman would, hand on her stomach as if she’s not sure the baby knows to come with her. “It’s bizarre, I know.”

  “What if this kid is Hayes’s size?” I ask. “Your vagina will be permanently ruined.”

  She raises a brow. “It’s as if you consulted a list of the worst possible things to say to a pregnant woman and are running through them as fast as possible.”

  “Sorry,” I say meekly. “No filter.”

  She laughs. “You and Hayes both. He asked my doctor if we could just go ahead and schedule this as a C-section ‘to ensure everything remains the appropriate size’. So enough about me and my vagina…which Bailey brother are you with today?”

  I roll my eyes. I texted her about the Kalalau Trail, but she doesn’t know everything that came afterward, and there’s really no reason to tell her. Nothing will come of it. “Neither of them.”

  “Well,” she says with a sigh. “I guess it could be worse.”

  “Josh kissed me,” I blurt. So much for keeping it to myself. “At the airport.”

  She is wide-eyed with delight. “That’s so—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  She says it anyway. “Romantic.”

  I lean back in my seat and pull my hair out of its messy bun. “You think everything is romantic.”

  “Believe me, there was never a single thing you told me about Six that I’d have claimed was romantic. And I mean—” She pulls out her phone. I have no idea how she has pictures of Josh at the ready, but she does. “Look at this guy.”

  He isn’t smiling in the picture. He isn’t even posing in the picture. He’s standing there in scrubs talking to someone, looking distracted and pissy and perfect and I just…miss him. That’s all there is to it. I miss him so much that it makes everything else pale by contrast. I’ve avoided looking Josh up online for this very reason—because I knew it would hurt, and because I knew there’d be this swirl of longing in my chest and I’d have nowhere to go with it.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.

  “Does he know you’re not with his brother?” she asks. “That might help.”

  I nod. “I told Beth and I’m sure she’s told Josh,” I reply. “He’s the person she seems to lean
on the most.”

  I want Tali to give me an excuse for why I haven’t heard from him, but there’s nothing. All I see in her eyes is sympathy right now, as if this is a story that’s already come to a close.

  When I get back to the hotel, I climb into bed and stay there. I don’t run. I don’t worry about what I’m eating. My hygiene is questionable at best, but I figure it’s my last hurrah: once the tour begins, it’ll be upkeep and starvation 24/7. It always is.

  I’m still in bed on Sunday, the day before I leave, when my cell rings. The moment I see Beth’s name the fog hanging over me vanishes. I sit up, yanking my eye mask off the top of my head. I can't stop the small thrill in my chest, though she’s probably just calling about the scarf or to discuss the breakup.

  "Drew!" she cries, "I'm so happy I caught you. You weren’t asleep, were you?”

  I force a laugh. “Of course not,” I reply. “It’s…” I look at the clock. “After one.”

  “We’re having lunch at the Chateau and I just heard someone say you’re staying here in the hotel. Are you around? Can you pop by to say hello?"

  I want to ask who's coming as I agree, but I don’t.

  Instead, I literally run into the shower, yelping at the cold water as I start to scrub, already scolding myself. “Josh won’t be there,” I announce to the shower walls. “And you’re an idiot getting your hopes up about nothing.”

  What would I even say if he was there? It's not as if I can tell him in front of his parents that nothing but him has mattered to me since that moment in the airport, and probably long before that. I won’t be able to say anything at all. And if it mattered to him that I wasn’t with his brother he’d have said something by now.

  I scrape my wet hair back from my face and pull it up into a bun, dab on a bit of lip gloss and mascara and pull a silk tank and skirt out of my closet, the kind of thing a publicist might wear but Drew Wilson would not.