The Wrong Heart

by Jennifer Hartmann

  I let out a mouthful of air and smooth my t-shirt back down, waiting for my heartbeat to slow as Gwen skips out of sight.

  “She’s vile,” Bree says, her chestnut curls bouncing as she shuffles over to me. “Do you think she’s actually a witch?”

  My sense of humor has faded over the years, so I just shrug at the jest, while Bree stops beside the tree and props her shoulder against it. She’s eighteen now, finishing her last week of high school, and she’s still the only person in this house who treats me like a human being instead of a monster.

  A gargoyle.

  I’m not sure what I’ll do when she moves out and starts a new life.

  “You know that’s all bullshit, right?”

  I lift my eyes to my foster sister, noting the warmth shimmering in her amber irises. “What?”

  “The stuff she says about you. About your scars.”

  “She’s not wrong.” I scuff my sneaker against the freshly mowed grass, kicking at the loose blades. “They’re hideous.”

  “No, they’re not. Scars mean you survived something terrible. There’s nothing ugly about that.”

  I gulp back the tight lump in my throat. “I’ll never have a girlfriend one day. I’ll always be alone.”

  Bree’s thick eyebrows crease, almost like she’s absorbing my pain, and it hurts her, too. She straightens from the tree. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “It’s not the truth, Parker. You are so much more than your scars—you’re smart, you’re funny, you’re creative. And look at those dazzling green eyes and that dreamy bone structure.” She leans in to ruffle my mop of dark hair, shooting me a wink. “You’ll have no problem getting a girlfriend one day.”

  A smile slips out when I duck my head, but it fades as the dark cloud rolls back in. It does that a lot lately. Bree’s presence and kindness will always be a welcome reprieve from the storm, but she’s only one person. My ghosts and devils seem to be multiplying, and she’s far too outnumbered.

  Fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, I reply, “Once she sees my scars, she’ll leave.”

  A weighty silence settles between us as a light breeze blows through and the willow branches dance to life.

  A zephyr.

  Bree reaches out and takes my hand, pulling it away from the fabric of my t-shirt, the only thing that hides the truth, and dusting her thumb along my knuckles. When I look up, she is smiling. “No, Parker. Once she sees your scars, she’ll love you even more.”

  —TWENTY-FOUR—

  I’m not sure what to expect when we pull into the long, gravel driveway after a silent trip over from the bar, but a charming, ranch-style house with ruddy bricks, dark gray shutters, and simple yet effective landscaping is a pleasant surprise. Even though the sun has set, a light shines ambience onto the quaint front porch as my eyes roll over the large property.

  There’s a carport to the right, housing what looks to be pieces of furniture in progress, as well as a separate one-car garage. The yard is well maintained despite a scattering of tools, and the home is quiet and secluded, settled far back beyond the main stretch of road. A little oasis.

  My feet crunch atop the gravel as I hop out of Parker’s truck and meet him around the front of the hood, hardly able to make out his expression against the shadowy night. The silence stretches from inside the vehicle to the space between us, and while the air is dense and muggy, the tension between us is thicker.

  Jitters coast through me, dancing along my skin and tickling my insides. A subtle glow from the moon and stars above illuminate two dithering green eyes boring into me.

  I swallow. “Your house looks nice.”

  Parker slides his hands into his pockets, glancing towards the house, then back to me. “I built it.”

  I feel my breath catch as his words register. “You did?”

  His mute nod is barely visible as his eyes skim my face.

  “That’s…” The humidity almost chokes me, or maybe that’s my heart in my throat. I can’t help a smile from breaking through my nerves when the thought of Parker building his home from the ground up assaults me like a bear hug. “That’s really remarkable.”

  “It was something to do at the time, I guess.” He dismisses the exceptionality of such a feat with a sniff and shuffles past me towards the front of the house. When I continue to stand there, a little bit slack-jawed, he pauses to inquire, “You coming?”

  Am I?

  My head turns to face him, lip caught between my teeth. He’s nothing but a tall shadow beckoning me further into the unknown.

  He brought me here for sex. I knew that when I got into his truck, ditching my date for the evening like a total jerk and frantically sending Leah a text of apology, begging her to tell Shane and my brother that I wasn’t feeling well and decided to head home early.

  Yeah, right. There’s no way they’re going to believe that after I walked out of the bar with Parker, who left no mystery as to what his intentions were.

  Leah texted me back almost instantly:

  Leah: GET IT GIRL! I got your back. *a dozen eggplant emojis*

  A sigh escapes me, another smile lifting, and I nod my acquiescence, trailing behind him as he resumes his trek to the front door. Following him inside the darkened house, Parker flips a light on when we enter, and I notice movement out of the corner of my eye.

  My head shifts to the right.

  A dog.

  Blinking, I stare at the animal just standing there a few feet away on wobbly legs. “You have a dog?”

  “Yeah. That’s Walden.” Parker tosses his keys and wallet on the side table, then scratches at the base of his neck, stepping forward and following my gaze. “He kind of just sulks around all day and keeps to himself.”

  “Like you.”

  Glancing at Parker, I don’t miss the twitch of his mouth as he tries to hold back a smile. He ducks his head to hide it, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose there’s a likeness.”

  My grin is bright as I look back over to the black and white dog with patchy fur and cloudy, bugged-out eyes. He watches us with interest, although, his tail doesn’t wag, and he doesn’t bark. He just observes. “He’s really cute.”

  “He’s fucking ancient.”

  “But cute,” I chuckle, approaching the mutt that looks to be some kind of Border Collie mix. The dog’s attention follows me as I close in, crouching down and gliding my fingers between his ears. “You look like a good boy.”

  Charlie and I had been thinking about getting a dog. We both worked long hours at the time, so it didn’t seem fair to adopt a pet when we wouldn’t be home very often, but the companionship had always been something I craved. I considered it again after Charlie passed, but then my grief became my companion—and that wasn’t fair either.

  There was too much competition.

  But now… now might be a good time to consider it again.

  Walden doesn’t do much but sniff my outstretched fingers, but I can tell he’s a sweet soul. A loyal friend.

  As I rise to my feet, I notice Parker staring at me from the entryway, taking in the scene. I smile at him. “You didn’t strike me as a dog person,” I admit, sweeping a hand through my hair and moving towards him.

  “Because I’m such a people person?”

  His response pulls another laugh from my lips as I inch my way closer. Parker’s stance seems to stiffen when I’m only a foot away, and I wonder why that is. I wonder why he’s so closed-off and resistant to physical contact, to true intimacy.

  Stretching my smile, I reach out to take his hand, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. He glances down at the gesture, frowning, and I feel him try to pull back, so I strengthen my hold. “Can I get a tour?”

  “What?” he wonders distractedly, still staring at our joined hands.

  “Of your house.”

  Parker finally lifts his gaze to mine, brows furrowed together like he’s conflicted or in pain, and then he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah�
�� I guess. Not much to see.”

  I release his hand, watching as he tenses his fingers, splaying them apart, then making a fist. “Lead the way.”

  Hesitation grips him as he glances around the room, avoiding my eyes. A sigh of resignation follows, and he points behind me. “Living room.” His thumb flicks over his shoulder. “Kitchen.” A beat passes, and he gestures to his right. “Small ass hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. There’s a linen closet somewhere along the way.”

  “Wow.” My grin broadens as I crinkle my nose. “Very descriptive.”

  That little ghost of a half-smile reappears, spiking my heartrate. I would do anything to freeze the moment, so it never, ever faded.

  Pulling my focus off of Parker, I wring my hands together and dip around him, sauntering into the kitchen. Curiosity claims me as my eyes peruse the modest space, clean but cluttered. My fingertips dance along the laminate top of the island while my feet wind around it, taking it all in.

  This is Parker’s life. His space. His home.

  I’m realizing that I know absolutely nothing about this man—this man I gave something of value to. This man who I’m inherently drawn to for reasons I can’t even begin to understand.

  There’s not much personality or charm given to the space. No knick-knacks lining the counters, no birthday cards or photographs stuck to the white refrigerator, no color pops or decorations. There’s nothing on his walls either. No canvas prints or family pictures.

  It’s sterile. Lonely, even.

  Does he have any friends? Close family members?

  Is he truly all alone?

  The idea grips my heart in a tight fist as I continue to scan over the assortment of cereal boxes, a wooden spice rack, stacks of mail…

  And a little pink Post-it note stuck to the side of the fridge, wrinkled and creased. Familiar handwriting stares back at me, sending a tremor through me.

  “I think you saved my life that night.”

  It’s the only personal sentiment sprinkled into his otherwise very basic living space.

  When my eyes find Parker watching me from the same place I left him, a burst of emotion climbs up my chest and causes my eyes to water. “You saved my note,” I murmur in a low, broken voice. I had attached this note to his cupcakes after that night in the rain when I had my breakthrough.

  I’m not okay, but I’m not ready to give up that one day I will be.

  He’d told me he hadn’t even read the note.

  Parker’s expression is minted with vulnerability as he stares at me, a little uncomfortable, like he hadn’t expected me to see that. His jaw ticks while his eyes skim over me, then his gaze drops to the floor. Everything about him is rigid and hard.

  Everything except that look on his face.

  I approach him with slow steps and a swiftly beating heart, closing the gap between us and reaching for his hand again. It’s clenched tight, only loosening slightly when I give it a gentle squeeze. When Parker glances back up at me, I don’t say anything. I simply give his hand a tug and guide him towards the hallway, my insides buzzing when he doesn’t pull away. He follows my lead.

  I’m not sure where I’m going, but as I inspect the limited selection of rooms and note that only one of them adorns a bed, I push through the cracked door and step inside, drawing Parker with me.

  Nerves seize me when my eyes land on the queen-sized bed, shrouded in the shadows of the dimly lit room. A nightlight on the wall provides a minimal glow, enough to drink in the sparce and uncolored space. White walls, gray bed covers, a little wooden nightstand with a lamp. A dresser on the opposite wall. A laundry basket partially filled with t-shirts and jeans.

  And that’s everything. That’s the extent of his bedroom.

  Turning to face him, I let go of his hand and pace a few steps backwards, until I reach the foot of the bed. Parker lingers just in front of the doorway, still stiff. Still strained. His gaze flickers with conflict as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, eyes spearing me from a few feet away.

  Gathering my courage, shaky fingers lift from my side and carefully slip the straps off of each shoulder. He watches me, drinking me in from the shadows with guarded interest, his eyes dipping when the dress slides down, revealing my black lace bra. I tug it further, exposing my ribs, my abdomen, my matching underwear, and then it glides down my legs into a halo of red at my feet. Parker follows its descent, then drags his sights back up my nerve-wracked body, settling on my wide, terrified eyes.

  I hold out my hand, encouraging him towards me.

  I need him closer. I need to feel him.

  His fingers tap along the side of his thigh as his head jerks away from me, a hard sigh escaping. “Fuck, Melody… I told you I’m no good at this.”

  A frown furrows as I lower my hand. “I’m not either. You’re the only one I’ve done this with aside from…” I swallow, pursing my lips. “You’re the only one.”

  Parker’s attention stays fixed to the other side of the room, his stance restless, prepared to bolt at the slightest threat. Pacing towards him, my movements are cautious and controlled—as if I’m that threat.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I whisper when I approach, taking his tense hands in mine and guiding them to my hips. His fingers unravel and cling to me, digging into my hipbones with something akin to desperation. He’s fighting something I don’t understand. “Parker, look at me.”

  It takes a moment before his neck cranes toward me, green eyes glinting from the subtle glow of the nightlight. He heaves in a rattled breath, holding me tighter. “This won’t work, Melody. It can’t.”

  No, don’t do this. Not now.

  I grind my teeth together and duck my head. Pushing aside the sting, I collect my wits and try to read him instead. I try to wind my way through this endless maze that is Parker Denison and locate the source of his block. His deep-seated resistance. “Tell me why it won’t work,” I prompt softly. Gently. “Please, talk to me.”

  “Because…” Parker’s fingers uncurl from my waist, then skim down my body until his arms fall loose on either side of him. “Because I’ll never be him… and you’ll always be her.”

  My brows pull together, my heart stuttering.

  Him is Charlie.

  But who is… her?

  I refuse to give in to the frustration of his push and pull, his indecision. I choke back the anger that bubbles to the surface. I won’t allow the prickle of rejection to consume me and drive another wedge between us.

  I know he wants this. I know he has feelings for me.

  So, I run with that.

  I run with what I know because it’s the only way to understand the things I don’t.

  “You want to know what’s on the other side of grief and pain?”

  My question causes a trace of curiosity to flicker across his face. Parker sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Fuckin’ rainbows and butterflies, right? All that shit therapists shove down your throat to keep your head above water.”

  I pin my eyes on his, punctuating each word like shrapnel to his skin. “What you put there.”

  A heavy silence fills the space between us, and I watch carefully as a frown draws across his brow line, pensive and wistful. He blinks, processing my response and swallowing down the remnants of it.

  I don’t wait for his reply because I’m not looking for one—instead, I step backwards and slowly spin around to collect my discarded dress, stepping into it and pulling the straps back up over my shoulders. Straightening where I stand, I face him once more, noting that his thoughtful expression still stares back at me. I smile. “Let’s go watch a movie.”

  As it turns out, Parker doesn’t have cable.

  Or Netflix. Or Hulu. Or Amazon.

  I’m actually not even sure why he has a television. It’s cased in a thick layer of dust, a telltale sign that he never uses it.

  Settling beside him on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, I maintain a small distance between us, allowing him
time to return from the dark place he entered in his bedroom. The room is dim, with only two working bulbs on his ceiling fan illuminating us in tungsten.

  Parker glances at me, hands gripping his spread knees. “Popcorn doesn’t go well with invisible movies.”

  I pop a kernel into my mouth with a grin. “We can talk instead.”

  “I don’t go well with talking.”

  My smile widens as I pull my legs up to the sofa cushion, my knees grazing the side of his thigh. “You have a sense of humor behind all that grouch. You kind of remind me of…” I trail off, realizing he reminds me of… Zephyr.

  Sort of. Sometimes.

  The dry sense of humor and occasional quick wit.

  But Zephyr doesn’t exist to me anymore. He took one look at me and disappeared, leaving me questioning everything we had, everything we shared. Every joke, every pun, every sage word of advice.

  I know I’m not completely monstrous to look at, so I have no idea what transpired that night. Part of me regrets taking it to video—he was right in the sense that everything was perfect the way it was. I must’ve ruined the illusion for him.

  Still, it doesn’t justify him ghosting me like that.

  It was hurtful.

  “Who do I remind you of?”

  I blink at Parker’s words, returning from my dreary musings and setting the bowl of popcorn on the side table. “Just… someone I used to talk to. It’s nobody.”

  “Nobody?”

  “He was…” Swallowing, I debate how much I should confess to him, but I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. “He was kind of a pen pal. He, um… he was the recipient of my husband’s heart. I reached out during a particularly rough time in the grieving process, and he replied to me. We had a connection.”

  Parker studies me, expressionless. “Is that important to you?”

  “What? The connection?”

  “The heart.”

  I hesitate, my eyes dancing away from his.