by Beth Michele
His words provoke the crazy in my chest. “But that’s the thing, Dad. Isn’t it? She’s all alone. Without her memory, she has nothing. She has no one.”
Thick silence stretches between us until he breaks it. “You have to know, Vance. I’ll never love anyone like I love your mother. It’s just not possible.” The lamppost shines against his face and a tear streaks down his cheek. My heart is in my throat, sympathy for him somehow finding its way inside.
The front door opens then, and my mouth along with it. Any sympathy I had for my father goes right out the fucking window.
Something clicks in my head, as if a light turns on and everything becomes brutally clear. “What the… is she the reason we moved here, Dad?”
“Vance—”
I cut him off. “Answer the question. Oh my God, are you fucking in love with her?”
I don’t need an answer. It’s in his eyes, and on her face. It’s swirling in the air around us until it swallows me whole—and I only have one choice.
I should have known better.
Every good thing I felt gets swept away in a matter of seconds. A tidal wave pulls me under and takes it from me, tossing me around until it’s gone.
Maybe it wasn’t meant for me after all.
My head hurts and I can’t think straight. The need to escape before I say or do something I’ll regret is overwhelming. My father shouts after me, pleading, as I lunge into the car. But my ears are ringing and my soul is completely shattered.
I shove the key into the ignition then yank the gear lever down, slamming my foot on the gas pedal. Tires screech as I peel out of the driveway and speed off down the street. My hands won’t stop trembling and I wrap them tighter around the steering wheel as harsh tears drag across my cheeks.
Everything is fucked now.
With no destination in mind, I keep driving, promising myself that I won’t look back—that I can’t look back. Because if I do, the only thing I’ll see is the one thing I’m leaving behind.
My heart.
LIGHT BEAMING IN the window startles me awake. The bright moon filters through the curtains and I press my face into the pillow, unable to contain my smile. As I turn over to find the reason for it, he isn’t there. Instead, a single pink rose lies in his place. I bring it to my nose, inhaling its sweet scent and remembering every vivid detail of our night—Vance’s hands, his lips, his whispered words. My skin tingles everywhere he touched, his smell lingering on my sheets and in the air.
Warmth floods my body as I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, grinning at the clothes scattered about the room. My t-shirt hangs off the other lampshade and I laugh at Vance’s perfect aim, even in the near darkness.
Gathering a clean pair of panties from the drawer, I slide them on along with a fresh t-shirt and sleep shorts. The red numbers on the clock blaring 3:00am make me cringe, knowing that my chances of falling back to sleep are nonexistent.
With a sigh, I head downstairs, fumbling for the light switch before padding to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. Restless, I putter around, opening and closing cabinets, not looking for anything in particular. I pause to stare out the window and my thoughts go to Vance. As if my whole body is awash with color, the desire to sculpt overwhelms me.
On my way to the basement, the front door opens and I grab my chest, nearly jumping out of my skin. My mom shuffles in the door. She doesn’t notice me right away because her head is down. “Geez, Mom. You scared me half to death. What are you doing home this early?” She doesn’t answer nor does she look up. On a second glance, she seems… off. Her hair is a tangled mess, blouse wrinkled and hanging out of her skirt. “Mom?”
Her head whips up as if she didn’t hear me, or expect to see me for that matter. Her normally bright gaze is hollow. Dried tears stain her cheeks while black smudges line her skin. She still won’t meet my eyes, averting her focus to something beyond my shoulder.
“Mom?” Why won’t she answer me? My voice rises to a higher pitch. “What happened to you?” Still no answer. She walks past me, her shoulders sagging. “Mom!” I shout this time, and she stops mid-way up the stairs.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she mumbles.
“Mom, you’re scaring me. Did something happen to Avery or Dad?”
She raises her chin a fraction, fresh tears dripping down her cheeks. “I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she mumbles again like I’m not in the room. Then her gaze finally connects with mine and her voice cracks. “We didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” Bringing a hand to the side of her head, she whispers, “We were both in pain… and lonely… we didn’t want to hurt anyone… least of all our kids.”
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
She continues climbing the stairs as my mind struggles to put the pieces together. None of this makes any sense—until it does. It can’t be, though. How can it be? No, no, no. Please, don’t let it be true. But deep down, I feel it.
The glass tumbles from my hand and shatters into tiny pieces, water splattering onto the tile floor. I hear my mother shouting, asking me what’s wrong. But my only thought is of Vance. I sprint to the door and jam my feet in my sneakers then tear out of the house, practically tripping down the front steps. I’m gasping for breaths that won’t come. Pressure builds behind my eyes before the tears arrive and I curse them for falling. It’s almost like my heart knows. The walls around it already caving in, the beat slowing to a halt. And when I round the corner I close my eyes in silent prayer. But I already know. Even before I open my eyes—I know.
And I was right about my heart. It doesn’t break.
I just can’t feel it anymore.
A CHILL HANGS in the air, a welcome burn to my skin. The sky is pitched in darkness, the moon clouded over—a perfect representation of my mood. I take a drag of the cigarette I’ve promised myself is my last one, not exactly giving a fuck tonight. Come to think of it, I don’t give a fuck about much these days. Smoke scrapes the back of my throat before I blow it out in a wintery puff.
“Davenport, you’re up in ten. It’s a big crowd tonight.” Paul’s voice bellows from inside and I try to muster the enthusiasm I know he wants to see from me, but never manage to live up to. I can’t remember the last time I had that much enthusiasm for anything. Actually I can. And that’s the fucking problem.
“Hurry up.” A girl laughs, rushing her friend inside. “I want to get a good seat. Hot musicians and all.”
I roll my eyes. Every week chicks come in and fawn all over us. Little do they know, I don’t want anything to do with them. Not that I haven’t been lured in the past—I’m only human. But it’s the follow-through I’m having the issue with lately. Mostly because I don’t want the emptiness that a quick fuck carries with it. I want… well, it doesn’t matter what I want. Any chance of me having what I really wanted, I fucked up a long time ago.
My mind kicks into high gear, reminding me of all the reasons we wouldn’t have worked out. The cards that were stacked against us; our parents, my potential illness. As I go through the checklist in my brain, the same one that played repeatedly these past few years, it doesn’t make me feel any better. It never does. My body sags against the rough brick and I expel a weary sigh.
“Hey, Vance. You okay?”
I angle my head to discover Chris peering out from the back entrance. Lucky for me, the absence of light out here cloaks the truth. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
“Yeaaaah. Okay. You can tell me l-later. You’ve got about five more minutes and then we’re on.”
Chris stares at me a second longer than necessary before he disappears. I should realize by now that I can’t hide anything from him—he knows me too well. Three years ago when… well, when I didn’t know where the hell to go, I showed up on his doorstep. He didn’t fucking hesitate. He took me in as if nothing had changed, and I owe him big time.
It was Chris who stuck to my side when Mom passed away two years ago with complications fr
om pneumonia. He helped me get through. Navigate the sea of devastation I found myself drowning in. Unable to get past my father’s betrayal, he and I were in a tense stand-off and Julian was an emotional wreck. Our mother’s death hit Julian harder than either of us expected. I found myself trying to lift him up, though I could barely keep my own spirits in check. Most of all, I missed Ember.
I still do.
Exhaling my regret into the frigid air, I flick my cigarette to the cement and stub it out with the heel of my boot. I head inside, making my way through the dimly lit hallway and out to the bar. Immediately, I’m assaulted by the scent of alcohol and too much perfume. Overly sweaty bodies are packed like sardines, dancing to music booming from the speakers as they wait for us to perform.
This gig isn’t anything glamorous, nor is the dive bar we play in. But it keeps me going. It’s something I feel passion for, and there is very little I can say that about these days.
BY THE TIME the set is over, I’m bone tired. Sweat drips from my neck, my t-shirt sticking to my skin. All I want is to crawl into bed and sleep for twenty-four hours straight. Not much different from what I’d like to do on most days. But I’ve been there, done that. And Chris won’t let me get away with it anymore.
We stow our instruments in the back room and Chris gestures toward the bar. “Come on. L-let’s get a drink. Of beer,” he adds with a wink, knowing full well of my aversion to heavy alcohol.
It’s almost two am and the place is still hopping, because it is New York City after all. It’s true what they say—no one ever seems to sleep here.
We squeeze through a group of scantily dressed women and grab two stools at the bar. Chris taps the counter to signal the bartender over. “Two Coronas p-please.”
“Corona?” I nudge his arm. “What are you, slumming it?”
“Nah.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “I just d-don’t want to make you feel bad.”
I smack him lightly on the back. “Thanks, man. You’re a good friend.”
“I know.” He smirks. “Just don’t f-forget it this time.” The bartender brings over our beers and Chris slides a bowl of peanuts down, popping a few in his mouth. “Do you remember when we talked about opening up a bar together?”
“Yes.” I take a long pull of my beer then set it down on the counter. “What a stupid fucking idea that was.”
“I know, right?” Chris runs a hand through his dirty blond hair; longer in the front, shorter on the sides. “Of course, that was when you couldn’t get a job to save your freaking life,” he throws in, and I glare at him. “How the heck d-did we go from wanting to open a bar, to starting a consulting business?”
“Easy. We were always good at messing around with shit. Do you remember how many computers we took apart back in the day, just to see if we could actually put them back together?”
His mouth curves and he picks at the label of his beer. “I’ll never forget that t-time when my father came home and saw us on the floor of the living room with his laptop.” He laughs, giving me a sideways glance. “He nearly had a coronary.”
“Eh, your father’s a softie.”
“Speaking of which,” he turns fully on the stool to face me, “have you thought any more about c-calling your dad? You have to forgive him sooner or later.”
Both my mood and my grin slip at the mention of my father. I stare down at my hand, now curled into a hard fist. “No, I fucking don’t.” I release a heavy breath. “He fucked everything up.”
“No.” Chris waits until I look at him. “You d-did that all by yourself.”
“Thanks, dude.” I grip his shoulder with a smirk. “I can always count on you for a reality check.”
He flashes me his white teeth. “You’re welcome.”
The huge dose of reality he served causes me to suck into myself. I drop my head in my hands and we sit in silence as I stare blankly at my beer. The creaking sound of Chris’s stool drags my gaze up.
“What are you staring at?”
“I know that g-girl. I just can’t place where I know her from.” I spin in my seat to check it out but there are too many heads blocking my view.
“So go talk to her,” I urge, shifting back around. “Stop being shy for once in your life. Maybe you’ll even get a date out of it.”
His brown eyes narrow and he scowls. “I know how to get a date if I want one. I’m just n-not interested.”
“Okay.” I hold my hands up. “If you say so.” I dig my fingers in the peanut bowl and shove a handful into my mouth.
“Look who’s t-talking.” He drags the bowl away from me. “Maybe you’re the one who should get out there. You’ve had a bit of a dry spell, don’t you think?”
“There were a few girls. But they meant nothing and I didn’t mislead anyone.”
“Yeah, b-but that was like, a while ago,” he adds, pushing the issue. One I’m in no mood to discuss.
“Did I tell you your mom called me yesterday about your birthday shindig? I was confused because your birthday is three months away.”
He smirks. “Nice d-diversionary tactic. And you know how my mom is. She’s a planner—” He snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Now I know where I’ve seen that girl. She was at your mother’s funeral.”
“What?” It takes me a second before I stand up off the stool, scanning the crowd. “Who? Show me which one.”
He pushes off his seat, surveying the faces of people huddled together near the stage and over by the makeshift dance floor. His gaze moves toward the entrance to the bar and he points a finger. “Th-that one.”
Given that Chris has a two inch height advantage, I still can’t see shit. I walk a few paces, pushing my way past the horde of inebriation. And then my eyes land on a face—her sweet, sweet face—and my heart begins to beat like a freaking drum inside my chest. Up until now, I didn’t realize it was still there.
Ember.
Her name clings to my lips and my body stills, save for the erratic thumping of my heart and the slight tremble in my hands. After all this time, there she is. And here I am, unable to move or fucking breathe. All I can do is stare.
Her shoulder length hair is now mid-way down her back, her curves more pronounced. A dress cut above the knees accentuates her long, toned legs. Dresses never used to be her thing. It makes me wonder what else has changed, and how much I’ve missed.
Chris appears beside me. “Yeah, that’s her.”
I look over at him. “She was at the funeral?”
“Yeah. And the only reason I even remember her is because I actually b-bumped into her on my way out. She was upset and I gave her a tissue. I asked how she knew your mom but she was vague.” His eyes travel my face. “You all right? Your skin is pale.”
My glance returns to Ember. “That’s her.”
“Who?”
Of course he wouldn’t recognize her. I never had a picture and she doesn’t have a Facebook profile for fuck’s sake. I would know, because I spent countless hours trying to locate one. Then again, I could have easily found her if guilt and anger hadn’t stood in the way.
I choke down a swell of emotion to utter her name. “Ember.”
“Holy crap. Well, what are you waiting f-for?” He gives my arm a shove. “Go talk to her.”
My feet are frozen, regret keeping them rooted to the sticky floor. “I can’t.” I swallow hard and watch as a big hand comes around to engulf her shoulder, bringing her in close.
And I see just how much has changed.
She looks… happy and my stomach pinches tight. I can’t lie. I wish he wasn’t the one making her smile like that. But she deserves to be with someone who can make her happy. “She’s not mine anymore.” My gaze jumps to Chris’s face and he frowns, the pain scrawled on my skin obvious only to him. “Let’s get out of here.”
The ride back to our apartment in the East Village is quiet, but my brain is filled with static. Seeing Ember again solidified how real my feelings were, and unfortunately
for me, still are. But she’s clearly moved on and I only have myself to blame. I didn’t give her a choice. I’m the one who left. I’m the one who threw us away.
Chris’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “I always wondered when we were deciding between New York and California, why you always p-pushed so hard for New York. It was because of her, wasn’t it? Maybe you were hoping she’d be here, too?”
Buildings zip by in a blur of memories as I stare out the window. “It’s a big city, Chris.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” He sighs, the air heavy between us. “You can’t keep doing this, you know? I get it, you w-walked away. And I’m not going to judge you and say whether it was right or wrong. It was all you could handle at the time.” He grips my shoulder and I’m forced to turn around. “But your father has paid for what he did with your silence, and well, so have you. Ember’s gone on with her life. You’re the only one who hasn’t. You’ve been punishing yourself for freaking everything. You don’t even have symptoms anymore for f-fuck’s sake. You may never have any more symptoms. Jesus, Vance. Let it go. Just let it all go.”
Deep down, I know Chris is right. Yet somewhere below the surface, where everything isn’t as clear and Ember’s face is all I see—I can’t let her go.
“I WANT TO marry you,” Grant breathes into my neck, peppering kisses along my skin.
“We’re in a taxi,” I laugh, “and that’s the most unromantic wedding proposal I’ve ever heard.”
He whips his head back and glares at me, hope springing to life in his eyes. “Are you saying if I change venues you’ll consider it?”
“Grant.” I sigh, frustrated more with myself than with him. He’s a great guy and I’m an idiot. “We’re too young.”