by LJ Evans
They were stunning. Photos of Mia and Derek’s wedding. Photos of the lake at sunset. Photos of the town, too. People laughing. Color. Black and white. But in every single one she could see beauty, and heart, and so much life that it was like a knife to her already torn-apart gut. It hurt.
She couldn’t believe that Lonnie had taken them, but he must have unless he was stalking some photographer.
“Hey.” His husky voice drew her eyes up from the photos to meet his brown liquid ones. It was a sleepy, sexy voice. One that made her want to crawl up next to him and try one of those “firsts after the divorce” he’d told her about.
“Why are you still here?” she asked instead, with a bite she didn’t mean.
“Jane. The doc said to make sure she doesn’t do any jumping or picking at her stitches.”
Once again, Wynn felt like a total screwup. She hadn’t even asked about the cat with the chaos this morning.
“Whose pictures are these?” she asked, changing the subject even though the answer was obvious.
He didn’t respond.
“They’re beautiful, Lonnie. Truly, beautiful.”
“Thanks,” he said and sat up. Jane didn’t even budge. She just moved with him, and it made Wynn’s heart beat in another wave of panic.
“What’s wrong with Jane?”
“Nothing. She’s just wiped from the pain meds,” he assured her.
Relief, and worry, and sadness all filled her. She just wanted to go disappear into the numbness of sleep, where there would be no more thoughts or feelings for the day. She turned back to the photos.
“Why do you have these out?”
“I was working on a cover for a book.”
“You wrote a book?” She couldn’t help the shocked tone, and he gave her a lazy grin that all but screamed bedroom.
“Shit no. I’m just designing the cover for someone.”
She sank down on the floor next to the coffee table, leaning up against the couch with a stack of photos in her hands. His legs and his body a safe distance away. Because she was still tempted to lose herself, and her pain, and her sadness in him, and that wouldn’t be right or fair. To either of them.
“Is this something you do often?” she asked.
“I was a graphic design major in college. I’ve been freelancing for a while now. I designed all our album covers. Had a few other bands ask me to do theirs.”
He spoke as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“You’re really good.”
“You haven’t even seen the covers,” he guffawed, humble in a way she didn’t expect.
“I meant the photos. It’s like art.”
“Nah. Just good lighting.”
“No, look at the way you captured the life in all of these pictures.”
He looked over at the stack she was looking through. “Life is everywhere when you look for it,” he said casually.
“Do you want to do this instead of the band thing?”
He tilted his head, running a hand absently over Jane’s fur. She still didn’t stir. “I like that I can do both,” he finally responded.
“Marina does graphic design stuff, too. Websites and all that. You could work with her easily,” she told him, even though she was pretty sure he already knew what Mia’s mama did for a living. He’d been over at Marina’s house often enough in the year he’d been living here.
Every time there was a family event, Lonnie had been invited. It was something that she liked about this town and hated. That everyone took care of each other. That they took people in and made them part of the family without a second thought. But it also made it really hard to look people in the eye when they wanted to know the truth, and you didn’t want to tell them.
“She’s got a solid business for herself. I’ve looked at her site,” Lonnie responded.
“And she’s trying to retire, taking on fewer jobs. You could work for her.”
“Like I said, I’m doing okay on my own. With the band and this.”
Wynn leaned her head back. Exhaustion settled into her entire body, dragging her down like an alcohol-induced coma.
“I have to hit the hay. You want to give me the lowdown on Jane so you can head out?”
He was staring at her; she could feel it, but she wasn’t going to look up into his eyes. Watching his hands on the cat was hard enough. They were big hands. Calloused from playing his bass, which was yet another form of art. She’d been surprised all week by this lumberjack of a man who could capture life in so many different ways, with a subtlety that you wouldn’t expect when you first met him.
“Nah,” he finally breathed out, filling the silence. “Why don’t you go to sleep? I’ll stay on the couch, and I can fill you in when you’re at one hundred percent capacity.”
“Stop trying to be nice,” she snapped.
He seemed surprised. And he should have been. He’d been nothing but good to her. She didn’t have a right to snap at him. But she also couldn’t deal with his niceness. Not without curling up into a ball on his lap like Jane was and crying out her worries.
“Am I supposed to be an asshole instead?” he asked with a tone she didn’t get. It wasn’t anger. It was almost rehearsed, like he’d said those words a million times before.
She ground her teeth. “I just mean I can handle it. Just tell me what she needs.”
“You gonna pass out for another ten hours?”
She wanted to say no. But she knew she would. She knew the exhaustion and the pill that was calling to her would make her a zombie for more hours than the cat probably could afford to have.
“Probably,” she finally replied honestly.
“Then I’ll take care of the cat and tell you when you’re awake.”
She didn’t have the energy to fight him. She didn’t want to because, really, she just wanted to sleep and not worry about anything anyway.
“Fine. Thank you.” She knew she didn’t sound grateful at all, but she just couldn’t muster anything else.
“You’re welcome,” he replied dryly. Snitty for the first time since she’d known him.
But she didn’t care. Or she did and didn’t want to, so she just pushed her tired bones off the floor and headed for the guest bath and the guest bedroom, determined to wake up tomorrow and be able to handle all the shit in her life better than she’d handled any of it that day.
Lullaby
Lights & Numbers
“'Cause I have faith in you
That you're gonna make it through…
Stop thinkin' about the easy way out.”
—Nickelback
I avoided the Strawberry Shortcake for a week after the plumbing explosion. When she’d woken up the next morning, she wasn’t wearing the same tired, I-hate-life look that she’d had on the night before. She apologized for being crabby, and I just waved it off. She told me she was off work for a while which meant the cat would be in good hands. That’s what mattered.
So I stayed away.
I hadn’t even wanted to go over there the day the pipes had burst. I’d realized, after our night at the lake, that I needed to stay as far away from Wynn as I could. Because she was not anything I could handle. She wasn’t anything I needed or wanted in my life. My very single life.
It wasn’t that I was the typical twenty-something bachelor, fighting off serious relationships until later. I was never going to do the permanent thing. I’d seen permanent be screwed up too much. I didn’t want any part of that. And Wynn…she screamed permanent.
But she also screamed drowning. And I didn’t need to feel responsible for another struggling female.
I wouldn’t have gone over to Derek’s at all if the vet hadn’t called, saying he couldn’t reach Wynn. That had filled me with a nervousness that came from years of worrying about Lita.
When I’d gotten to Derek’s and she’d burst into tears while surrounded by water, I’d been unable to avoid touching her. Hadn’t wanted to avoid touching her because her, in tears, was my
kryptonite. I knew she hadn’t come running into my arms because it was me, Lonnie. She would have cried at any friendly face that had shown up.
I had put my crazy Lonnie face on and teased her. Not only because she needed it, but because I needed her to put some goddamn dry clothes on. I needed to be able to concentrate on the mess and not the sexy-as-hell body that was practically naked in front of me.
After the mess was cleaned up, I would have handed her the cat and walked out the door, but I couldn’t do that to Mia and Derek. The plumber was coming, Wynn was going to work, and the damn cat needed its medicine. What else was I going to do?
So, I stayed even when I knew I needed to leave.
I’d fallen asleep with the stupid cat, and I’d woken up to her with my pictures in her hands and a look on her face that said she was all done in. That reminded me, again, of Lita. And I knew I wasn’t going anywhere that night.
When she’d gotten up the next morning and been back to her normal, in control, witty self, I gave myself a pass. I left and stayed away.
What staying away didn’t do was prevent me from thinking about her. Which was a surprise because no female, except Lita, had remained in my brain for more than a day in a very long time. Wynn, and the crap she was going through, never really left me.
It made me feel like a shithead for keeping away when she probably needed a friend. Then, I reminded myself that she had other friends besides me. She had Cam and a whole boatload of people in town that would look after her. I didn’t need to be her savior. I didn’t need to be her anything.
By the end of the next week, I couldn’t prevent myself from going back there, though. It was mostly because Mia and Derek were due home the next day, and I wanted to decorate the house for them. I wanted to fill it with signs, and lights, and presents so that it looked like the life they deserved to start together.
But it was also because I couldn’t prevent myself from checking up on Wynn. I wanted to convince myself that I hadn’t walked away at the worst time.
Except, it was obvious that I had.
When I knocked and walked in without waiting for her to answer, it was to find her sweeping a bunch of pills into her hand and then into a bottle.
At first, I froze. Because even though there’d been times that Wynn’s sadness had reminded me of Lita, I hadn’t thought she’d gone to pills and bottles. I hadn’t thought she’d gone full Lita on me.
“What the hell?” I said, angry. Angry at myself as much as at her. I shoved the box of decorations and lights I was carrying onto the counter.
“It isn’t what you think,” she said, standing—arms crossed—avoiding my eyes.
That just made me angrier, and I said things that I regretted as soon as I said them. “You weren’t going to kill yourself? You weren’t going to make sure one of your best friends and her new husband walked in from their honeymoon to find their friend dead on the couch?”
“It’s not what you think,” she repeated indignantly. “I wouldn’t do that. Not here.” Then, as if she realized what she’d said, she put her hand to her mouth, a wary look in her eye as if she was staggered by her own words. At her own thoughts. “I mean, I’m not going to kill myself.”
I wasn’t convinced. Maybe because of everything I’d already been through in my life. Maybe I was overreacting. But it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as me, and that wasn’t good either.
“You need help.” I struggled for the calm that I knew I needed. From experience. From a lifetime of experience.
Then, she lost all her indignant attitude and sank to the couch with tears forming again in those beautiful eyes. But I couldn’t get sucked into that. Instead, I had to stay calm.
“I know.” It was a whisper coming from her.
I grabbed my phone, and I punched in the one hotline number I knew by heart. A number that she may or may not need, but that I couldn’t not dial. I lifted her shaking hand and gently pushed my phone into it.
“Talk to them,” I told her.
And then, I walked out the back door with the box of decorations. I kicked myself in the ass for not having come by in the week since the plumbing broke. Kicked myself in the ass for being a selfish bastard.
It was a good thirty minutes before she came out, handing me my phone back. I shoved it in my back pocket as I assessed her. Her face was dry but puffy and red. It twisted my already twisted gut even more. But it also made me realize that I was right in some ways to stay away. I’d been right when I knew that the Strawberry Shortcake and I were never going to mix. Even more now. I couldn’t go this route again.
“Thanks,” she said quietly as she grabbed the end of the string of lights I was trying to hang futilely by myself. I just nodded and turned back to the job at hand.
We worked in silence for a long time. I could tell she wanted to talk, but I didn’t know what to say. Sometimes, I’d found that saying nothing was best. That someone that depressed would talk when they were ready and not before. So I stayed silent.
When the backyard was one huge stream of lights and color, we stood back to admire our work. It was good. Stupidly romantic. Mia would like it.
“They’re lucky to have you,” she said quietly, and I heard it but couldn’t respond right away. That wasn’t what I’d expected from her. I’d expected justifications. Promises not to do it again. Anything else but something about me and Derek and Mia.
“They’re lucky to have you too,” I said, trying not to choke on the emotion that was there. I couldn’t look at her, because if I did, I’d feel things I didn’t want to feel. Instead, I stayed numb because over the years that had always been the easiest way to deal with any of this kind of shit.
“What time do they land tomorrow?” I asked.
“About four. But it’ll be a couple hours after that before they’re home.”
I walked back inside, turning off the strings of lights as I went, and she followed. I was unsure if I should leave. Unsure how stable she was. She seemed to sense my hesitation.
She picked up a brown bag from the table.
“Will you take these with you?”
It was so not something that Lita would have done that it caught me off guard once more. The surprise must have registered on my face, but I reached out and took the bag.
“I wouldn’t have done what you thought. I can see why you jumped to that conclusion, but I wouldn’t do that to Cam and Mia. They’ve already lost so much.” She stared at the paper bag. “But I have been overmedicating, using them like a lifeline, and I know that isn’t healthy either.”
She said it with determination in her voice, but I could hear the tiny bit of self-doubt too. She looked so twisted and sad as she said it that I had to resist pulling her into my arms. I suddenly wanted to make sure that she wasn’t ever that sad again. But that wasn’t how it worked. Wynn had to find her own way back to the surface from whatever was pulling her under. The divorce. The miscarriages. Whatever else was tying the rocks to her feet as she waded into the water.
“How did you know the number by heart?” she asked.
Unexpected again. How did I know? That was a big, disastrous story that I didn’t want to share now. Maybe never. It wouldn’t help her anyway. It would only make her feel worse when she was trying to get better. When I didn’t answer, she took it to the only place she could go.
“Is it because you...” she trailed off.
I just shook my head. Not me. Not even close, but I still couldn’t find the words. Mostly because I didn’t want to.
“Okay,” she responded as if sensing that she wasn’t going to get any more from me. Making me the same jerk I was on the dock when I wouldn’t talk to her about my childhood and Lita. It was what it was. I couldn’t offer any more than that today.
I was at the door when I found myself turning back and saying the last thing I wanted to say. “Maybe I should stay?”
“No. I’m good. Honest. Just a momentary lapse of brain cells,” she tol
d me with such honesty in her face that I wanted to believe her.
I looked down at the bag that held the bottle of pills. “It only takes a moment,” I told her, and I heard the anguish in my voice, even though I was trying to keep it away.
She seemed to hear it, too. She watched me. Probably still stuck on the thought that I’d tried to kill myself. That the suicide prevention number I knew was for me.
“I know. But I promise, I’m good.” Her voice was almost back to her normal, witty one. “You don’t know me, but my promises are pretty solid. Unless you’re asking me to keep a secret. I’m a lousy secret keeper.”
She was laughing at herself. I couldn’t help but smile down at her half smile, even though it wasn’t her real one.
I knew that promises from people who are so depressed that they’ve considered taking their own lives don’t mean squat, but I wanted to believe her when she said that she wasn’t trying to kill herself. That she was just over-medicating. I wanted to believe that I’d just overreacted. But I’d wanted that for so many years with Lita, too, that it was hard to separate. To know truth from the lies people told themselves.
“I can’t thank you enough. For walking in. For the number. You’ve been a really good friend the last couple weeks.”
That made me feel like shit all over again. Because I hadn’t been a real friend. A real friend wouldn’t have run away scared because of their own feelings and their own past. A real friend would have shown up every goddamn day to make sure she was okay.
And I hadn’t. Not just because I’d been afraid of being friends with another person tormented with hate, but because of all the things I’d imagined doing with her that had nothing to do with friendship.
But tonight was a red warning sign just like the ones they used to post at the beach by my house in L.A. to tell you about sharks and jellyfish in the water. I didn’t want to be any closer to those kinds of waters. I’d already swam that water way too many times, barely escaping.
Thank God, Mia and Derek were coming home.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I told her.
She nodded, and I left, still wondering if it was the right thing to do but also knowing there wasn’t much I could do if she really wanted to end it all. She’d just find a different way. That thought twisted my gut all over again. It made my chest hurt and made me want to talk to Lita.