Running in Place (Mending Hearts)

by L. B. Simmons

  Trying to word my thoughts carefully, I think for a while before I speak. “I know. Apparently, inability to face reality runs in the family.”

  Casting me a thoughtful glance, he brings his hands together, interlacing his fingers before setting them down on the table. “Well, perhaps this is something we need to take care of, between the both of us.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” I respond with a soft smile, relieved that all of a sudden I don’t feel so alone anymore.

  “Good. I’ll set something up.” Leaning back in his chair and setting his still joined hands in his lap, he continues. “Now, let’s discuss this house. It’s obviously unhealthy for you to remain here. I know that Harlow offered for you to stay with her, but in the meantime, I would like to clean it out and sell it. You okay with that?”

  Shooting him a duh look, he chuckles. “Settled. Speaking of your living arrangements, I would be more than happy to front you the money to get your own apartment, when you’re ready. And I would also like to help you get back into school. I’ve checked registration dates, and you still have time to reapply, but again, that’s only if you’re ready.”

  Beaming, I grin from ear to ear. “Really?”

  Smiling back, his blue eyes light up with joy. “Really.”

  Realizing that Harlow has clued him into our entire discussion, I ask, “My jobs?”

  “Job. Your time at the duplexes has officially been served. And, of course, you’re always welcome at the bar.”

  Already, I know where this conversation is headed. It’s extremely reminiscent of one I just had a couple of hours ago. Leaning back in my own chair, I exhale in preparation.

  Trace’s eyes dart down to the table. “Which leaves us with…”

  I almost laugh out loud. But, I can’t. It’s blocked by the knot forming again in my throat.

  “Noah,” I answer. Just the mention of his name pierces my heart.

  He flicks his gaze back to mine, his smile gone, replaced by a thin line. “Noah.”

  Rising from his seat, he takes my hand and pulls me out of mine. “He called a meeting Monday with both Blake and myself, putting in his official resignation at both the bar and the duplexes. Said it was effective immediately because he had to leave town. After his explanation, he pulled me aside and asked me to give you something. I can give it to you now, or we can wait. Up to you,” he says, his blue eyes peering into mine.

  Nervously biting my bottom lip, I consider my options. If I ask to see it, it might result in three more days, at least, of the Ramones and Chunky Monkey. If I don’t, I’ll obsessively think about it until I do see it.

  Finally settling on my decision, I dip my chin. “I’m thinking this is like one of those just-rip-the-Band-Aid-off-and-fast situations. Let’s do it.”

  Giving me a half-smile, he keeps hold of my hand and leads me out of the house, straight to the garage. After punching in the code, he directs his attention to me. “I’ve had it since he left, debating on whether I should even give it to you. But, the look in his eyes told me that he wanted you to have it, for whatever reason.”

  Pressing the button, I step back as the door lifts, only to gasp out loud and cover my mouth with the tips of my shaking fingers when I see what’s inside.

  It can’t be.

  His Jeep?

  Eyes filled to the brim, I glance back to Trace who just nods. “He left you a note inside.”

  Chin trembling, I walk to the driver’s side where I see an envelope taped to the steering wheel with my name in his script on the front of it.

  Jerking the door open, I slide into the seat, the smell unleashing memories and more tears. Slowly, I peel the envelope off and slide my finger just under where it’s sealed, removing a piece of paper much resembling the sheets I’d seen in his lyric journal.

  Unfolding it, I read.

  Taking the keys from Trace as he dangles them through the window, I wipe my cheeks and stick them in the ignition. After starting her up, I glance back at him and then jerk my head toward the passenger seat.

  “Get in. We’re going to get some Chunky Monkey.

  It was a dream that changed the course of my life.

  Three weeks at Harvard, and I was a wreck. Pissed at the world, unmotivated in school, fucking tired all the time…all I could do was think of her. The beast, my beast, was clawing furiously at my chest, roaring his rage day in and day out. Every fiber in my being wanted to go to her. To claim her.

  But, I couldn’t.

  I stayed.

  And I suffered.

  Then one night, I had a dream. I was in a very serene place, peaceful and quiet. Darkness was all around me, but I wasn’t afraid. I knew something was there, watching over me, protecting me, surrounding me.

  In the far distance was a faded light, barely noticeable at first, but as it drifted its way to me, it grew in intensity until it was blinding. Using my arm, I shielded my eyes until it eventually dimmed. Lowering my hand, my eyes finally adjusted, and that’s when I saw her.

  My mother.

  Floating in front of me was an ethereal light, but I know the joy and warmth that was her as it infused with my soul. I could feel her as she enveloped me. But soon after, the feelings began to change within me. They turned cold and dismal, heartbroken. And then in my mind, I heard her voice.

  “You.”

  After more time, the sadness eventually faded into an intense bliss, which I recognized as my love for Tatum. I would know it anywhere. As it seeped in, saturating my heart, it reclaimed every part of me that I thought I had lost. That I had given to him. I could feel it growing and beating in my chest, the ache from the constant clawing finally relieved.

  “Her.”

  Closing my eyes, I let down my walls, allowing it to flood my body and give me comfort.

  That’s when the really weird stuff started happening.

  In my mind, I saw the beast, but it wasn’t angry. It was content, purring almost. Then I was standing in front of it running my hand over the top of its head. Suddenly, the beast buckled his legs and leaped from where it was standing straight into my torso where it faded into my body, the feeling of power and strength settling into my bones as his spirit spread.

  “Find yourself. Then you will find her.”

  Bolting up in my bed, I woke, sweat beading on my forehead. It was then that it all clicked. The beast represented every emotion that I never allowed myself to feel before Tatum. It was life, pure and simple — passion, desire, rage, protectiveness, laughter, love. And it was her that resurrected that part of me. The part that had been dead for so long.

  I was the beast and he was me. We were one, and in that moment, I contained him. He no longer ruled my emotions. I did.

  After that realization, I was ready to conquer my life.

  I left school the very next day.

  On my new bike.

  Just before I gave Tatum the Jeep, I bought a Harley Sportster 883 with part of that sizeable inheritance my father likes to refer to so often. I’ve always wanted one, but I never had the balls to buy it. But, that day, I did. And it drove my ass all the way to Harvard, with the moving truck right behind me, courtesy of my father. I’m not sure if it was to assist me so much as it was to make sure I was actually going to make the trip as intended.

  Little did I know it would take me on a journey of a lifetime.

  For the past four months or so, I’ve been finding myself. Riding around the U.S.A., visiting various concerts and music festivals, making connections, new friends, and of course, avoiding my father’s five billion phone calls. I’ve had the time of my life being a nomad, discovering what kind of life I want to live. Who I want to be. Embracing the man I’ve become.

  But now, I’m on my way to get the girl of my dreams.

  It’s time.

  It’s our time. If she will still have me.

  I haven’t spoken to her since I’ve been gone. Not one time. I’ve picked up the phone several times, but I was never able
to make the call. Something deep within me told me that she needed time to discover herself as much as I did, to find herself, and I knew it wouldn’t be about her if I were to make contact, it would be about me. She needed to think I was gone, even though in reality, I never left her side. Not really. Not in my heart.

  But then, last night, something told me it was time. So, I packed my shit up in New Orleans and started on my way. No ties and no obligations can be nice sometimes. I also, unfortunately, don’t have much of a plan other than my gift to her. I guess I better start thinking, because after riding all day, my bike is currently turning onto Tatum’s street.

  Passing several houses, I finally slow down in front of her driveway and cut the bike, climbing off and removing my helmet. My stomach is in knots. The idea of seeing her already makes me anxious, but the knowledge that she might not want to see me, well…that fuels the churning.

  My boots jangle as I make my way up her driveway, noting the “For Sale” sign in the front yard. My stomach just turned over…twice.

  Walking onto the porch, I ring the doorbell and check the window. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I peer into the living room, my heart clenching at the barren sight in front of me. It’s completely empty. Straining, I try to look as far as I can into the house, for any sign of someone living here, but nothing.

  Shit.

  My palms start sweating as I take the porch steps two at a time and head back to the bike. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone. Ignoring the three missed calls from my father, I search for the one person who can clue me into what’s going on. Trace.

  As much as I want to call Tatum, I don’t. I can’t. Not yet. It would ruin the one part of my practically non-existent plan that I’ve actually thought out.

  Pressing send, it rings twice before he picks up.

  “Noah?” Trace’s voice can hardly be heard above the blaring music in the background. I’m assuming he’s at the bar.

  “Yeah,” I respond. “I’m back in town and need to talk to you. Are you at the bar?”

  A door shuts and the music becomes muffled. “Yes. I am. Everything all right?”

  Swinging my leg and straddling the seat, I stick my keys in the ignition. “I hope so. I’m on my way. Be there in five.”

  Ending the call, I slide the phone back into my pocket and start the bike, u-turning in the street as I head out toward my old place of employment. As soon as I pull into the parking lot, my heart leaps out of my chest as memories of Tatum play all around me. I scan the parking lot, seeing no sign of her P.O.S. or Betsy.

  Inhaling to try to settle the pounding in my chest, I slide my aviators onto the top of my head and throw my gloves into my helmet, setting them both on the seat before making my way through the back entrance of the bar. Passing through the kitchen, the walk-in cooler catches my eye and I smile inwardly as I think about the time I spent with her in there. It seems like a lifetime ago.

  Who am I kidding? It was a lifetime ago. I’m not the same person as I was then.

  Rounding the corner toward the office, I run smack dab into a waitress, I can tell by the uniform. Stepping back, I look up to see a very familiar face.

  “Ryder,” I say, surprised by the irony of her being the first person I see. Mouth wide open, her eyes look me over a couple of times before she says anything.

  “Noah? You look…different.” Running my fingers through my hair, I realize that I haven’t had my hair cut in a couple of months. It’s a good three inches longer than it was before and no doubt sticking out every which way on the top of my head. I probably could use a good shave too. Both things I guess I should have also thought out before deciding to make my impromptu trip.

  While she stands there gawking, I glance over her shoulder to see Trace going into the office. “Um, yeah. I guess I do. It was good to see ya, Ryder.” Giving her a genuine smile, I step past her in the direction of the office. Once there, I knock a couple of times on the already open door.

  “Come in,” Trace’s deep voice bellows from his desk, his head down as he shuffles through some invoices. Stepping inside, I close the door behind me and clear my throat, nervously shoving my hands in my front pockets.

  His blue eyes rise to meet mine, the sight of them sending my heart into over drive. I forgot how identical they are to Tatum’s. A beaming grin crosses the bottom half of his face. “Damn son, it’s good to see you.”

  Standing from his seat, Trace steps out from behind his desk, and in three strides is right in front of me, pulling me into a giant embrace. Releasing me, he clasps his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You look good. Happy.”

  I nod as he gestures towards the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Dropping his hand from my shoulder, he turns and steps to take his own seat as I take mine, leaning my body forward and placing my elbows on my knees. Trace folds his arms on the desk, smile still on his face. “What can I do for you?”

  I clear my throat again. I guess the nerves from my stomach have decided to move into my throat, because it’s suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert.

  “Well, a couple of things, actually. First, I just wanted to let you know I was back in town, and was hoping you might have an opening until I get back on my feet.”

  He narrows his eyes, considering. “Actually, I do have an opening that I will need to fill. I think we could probably work something out.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I respond, “Thank you, Trace.”

  He acknowledges with a nod of his head. Just as I open my mouth to speak again, the door opens and Harlow’s red curls dangle as she peeks around the side of the door.

  “Trace, honey. You bu–” Her words cease as her green eyes lock onto mine. Widening them to approximately the size of the moon, a grin settles on her lips as she enters the office. After quietly shutting the door, she strolls to stand directly in front of me and then bends at the waist, her gaze tightening as she assesses me. After a couple of seconds, her features relax and her smile broadens. Placing her hands on either side of my face, she brings me forward, kissing my cheek lightly before remarking, “It’s time.”

  It’s kind of uncanny how she always knows what’s going on in your head. I’ve seen her do it before with other people, but this is the first time it’s actually happened to me. Not helping with the nerves, though.

  Dipping my head to the floor, I grin a half-grin and chuckle. Raising my eyes back to her, smile on my face, I nod. She clasps her hands together tightly and then rises. “Most excellent.”

  Looking to Trace she adds, “All right then, what’s the plan. We need a plan.”

  Trace’s face falls blank, clearly having no idea what just happened.

  Glancing back to Harlow, I answer, “I have something in mind, it’s not really a plan, but I will need help. That’s the other reason I’m here.”

  Leaning back against Trace’s desk, she crosses her legs at the ankle, eyes full of excitement.

  “Well, let’s hear it Casanova.”

  Sadie’s acting really weird.

  She called me a couple of hours ago, inviting me to her apartment, and she hasn’t stopped grinning at me since I arrived. It’s freaking me out.

  It’s safe to say things have been completely mended between us. I called her right after I settled in with Harlow, finally ready to face her. She rushed right over and when I opened the door, she greeted me with her arms open and a smile on her face. I, however, burst into tears when I saw her. That sure killed her good mood.

  She held me while I recounted the whole situation with Noah. From beginning to end, I told her all about us. About how happy I was when I was with him, about how happy I think he was, about the trip to his father’s, and about him leaving. When I was done and once again out of Kleenex, she just hugged me.

  “You loved him?”

  “Yes. I still do.”

  “And he loved you?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tate.” />
  That’s all it took. All grievances were forgotten and we picked up right where we left off before our argument. True friendships are funny like that.

  But now, I’m starting to question her sanity.

  Setting my glass of water down on the table, I watch her smile as wide as her face will allow as she hangs up the phone.

  “Sadie, why do you keep smiling? It’s seriously giving me the heebie-jeebies. Stop it.” She giggles, picking up my purse from the couch.

  “It’s a secret. But,” she sings, “I can tell you that it’s time for you to go. Sorry to kick you out, but you’re needed at your house.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dumbfounded, my face falls flat as I shake my head.

  Sadie just throws my purse in my lap. “Trace needs you at your house.”

  “Which one, mother’s or the duplex?” I ask.

  “The duplex,” she says, opening the door and gesturing for me to leave. My eye brows rise in response.

  “Okaaaaaay.” Slowly, I rise from the couch and make my way to the front door, giving her a hug before stepping outside. Turning to say goodbye, the door shuts in my face.

  What the hell?

  Pivoting away from her apartment, the wheels start turning in my mind. I really hope Trace isn’t pissed about me putting in my notice. He just promoted me to bartender, and I thank him a month later with a two week resignation letter. He seemed okay, though, when I explained that my student teaching next semester is going to take up too much of my time. Maybe he wasn’t as okay with it as I thought he was.

  Brows furrowing as I head through the parking lot, I grab my keys out of my purse and press the unlock button to trigger the alarm so I can remember where I parked. I really need to catch up on sleep. Studying for finals is kicking my ass. After finally locating the Jeep, who has since been renamed Sasha, I open the door and climb in. Once the ignition is running, I put it in reverse and head to my duplex.