Heartbreaker

by Melody Grace

  Or maybe I should give up, and fall headlong into those baby blues, to hell with the consequences.

  It’s six thirty by the time I give up trying to make a rational decision for myself. I call Delilah. “Help,” I beg her.

  “What’s up?” I can hear her chewing on something on the other end of the line.

  “I’m having a meltdown. Serious category-five-storm-warning-everything’s-going-to-hell kind of a meltdown.”

  “Is this about the vet?”

  “No!” I yelp, then feel guilty that I haven’t given Sawyer a second thought. I’ve been too busy getting tied up in knots over my ex to think about the man I should be dating. “It’s… Finn,” I admit. Delilah gasps.

  “I knew it!”

  She hangs up, but I know she won’t be long. Sure enough, it’s barely four minutes and counting before her VW bug races up the driveway and parks at an angle, slung across the front lawn. She climbs out, holding an open pizza box in one hand, and her curling iron in the other. “I brought supplies,” she announces. “Now you better sit your pretty ass down and tell me everything.”

  I do. Between stress-eating mouthfuls of pepperoni pizza, and half a pint of rocky road (to calm my nerves), I tell Delilah the whole story – at least, the edited version.

  “You sneaky girl,” she gasps when I’m finally done. “I had no idea. We all thought you were so shy and quiet in high school. All that time, you were having a wild, torrid affair with him?”

  I flush. “It wasn’t torrid.”

  Delilah snorts. “Sure it wasn’t.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Now it all makes sense, the way he looks at you. Like he’s gone vegetarian for the past five years, and you’re a juicy steak. He wants you baaaad.”

  “Well, he’s not getting me.” I wish again that we’d been closer friends back then, that she’d seen first-hand the damage his leaving did to me. Telling someone about a broken heart can never capture the true pain those simple words represent. To Delilah, it’s ancient history, but the heart doesn’t work that way. It can hurt and ache for a hundred years. Or just five long, lonely ones. “I’m serious,” I add, not sure who I’m trying to convince. “I can’t do this again. I just can’t.”

  “But you want to, right?” Delilah studies me. “I mean, just look at him. The eyes… the body… the voice…”

  “OK!” I cry. “I admit it. He’s hot. And the chemistry… it’s still there. Even stronger this time around.” I sigh mournfully. “What can I do about that?”

  “Short of locking yourself away in a dungeon, not much.” Delilah looks sympathetic. “Hormones are a bitch.”

  “So you agree I can’t go out with him.” I nod, determined. “Or even be alone with him. Or in the same public space. Is it too late to move to Alabama for the month?”

  “Now wait a minute, I didn’t say that.” Delilah takes another bite of pizza. “In fact, I’d say the opposite. You should bang that boy the first chance you get.”

  “What?”

  My shriek is loud enough to echo across the bay. Delilah laughs. “Oh my god, your face right now.”

  “Dee! This isn’t funny!”

  “I know, honeybuns. That’s why I say go for it. He’s in town a month, right? So make the most of it.” She grins. “Give it up, get it on, and with any luck, you’ll fuck him right out of your system.”

  Her words make me flush, not from embarrassment but pure danger. Even a split-second imagining it is too much. The weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the damp swirl of his tongue on my thighs…

  I shove another spoonful of rocky road in my mouth. I shake my head. “That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard. You’re like the queen of bad ideas.”

  “No, listen to me!” Delilah protests. “Right now, you have all these emotions swirling around. Betrayal, and heartache, and all the ‘what ifs’ that have kept you up at night. You’re not thinking clearly. I bet when you look at Finn, you don’t even see the man he is right now. You’re too caught up in the boy he used to be.”

  I slowly nod. Where is she going with this?

  “So you need to get all that out of your system,” she insists. “Closure, once and for all.”

  “And how will I get that by… you know?”

  “Climbing him like a tree?” Dee grins. “Simple. Most guys are better in fantasy than they ever are when it’s the real thing. Maybe he’ll smell bad, or pound you like a jackhammer, or it’ll all be over in a flash.” She snaps her fingers. “And voila, closure!”

  I have to give her points for trying, but she doesn’t know Finn. How he could make me moan, reduce me to a breathless, gasping, begging pool of molten desire with just a few dirty words murmured in my ear. And then later, when we were all alone, with nothing between us but a sheen of sweat and the whispered promises that slipped around me like silk…

  “It won’t work.” I say, miserable. “He was amazing back then, and now… He’ll be even better.”

  “The boy was scoring perfect tens at eighteen?” Delilah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn. Now you have to ride that. If you don’t, I will. Kidding. Kind of.” She shoots me a grin so mischievous I can’t help but relax, laughing.

  “I know, it’s first world problems. This hot famous guy is determined to seduce me,” I admit, not quite believing it myself. “So what can I do? You see, I’m doomed either way!”

  “Banged if you do, damned if you don’t,” she agrees.

  I throw a pillow at her, then catch sight of the clock on the wall. It’s past seven thirty – and I’m wearing laundry-day shorts and a faded old tank. “Whatever I pick, I have to decide in the next ten minutes before he shows up here, and my will-power goes out the window for good.”

  Delilah stops laughing and looks at me seriously for a moment. She pauses, like she’s deciding what to say.

  “Spit it out,” I tell her. “I mean it, I want to know what you think.”

  Dee sighs. “Is he the reason you’ve been hiding away?” she asks.

  I frown. “I’m not hiding.”

  “You know what I mean. Hanging back, not getting out there. Being so… careful. I always wondered, but you never seem to want to open up about this stuff, not for real.”

  I could argue, but there’s no point. She’s right. I swallow, and look away. “Maybe.”

  “Then this could be your chance,” she says. “To do something fun for a change, to take a risk. Put the past behind you, and wipe the slate clean. Maybe it’ll be a mistake,” she adds quickly, before I can cut her off. “Maybe it’ll end in tears again, or hurt like hell. But you’re hurting like this, aren’t you? Wondering ‘what if’. You can’t keep letting life pass you by, Eva,” she continues gently. “And if Finn McKay is your way of getting back in the game, so be it. What have you got to lose? That body won’t stay perky forever,” she adds with a wink. “You may as well show it off while you have the chance.”

  I laugh, and go to clear our junk food remains, but her words linger.

  What do I have to lose?

  Delilah doesn’t even know what she’s saying, but how could she? She thinks we’re only talking about a broken heart here, which would be bad enough. She doesn’t know what else I lost after Finn left, and how a part of me is still aching for everything that could have been.

  But she’s right about everything else. He abroke my heart once, but I don’t have to give it to him again this time. Wipe the slate clean. It’s tempting, I know. Whatever I choose, I’ll still be stuck with this echo of my old pain, and if the last few days have shown me anything it’s that the worst part of all is not knowing why he left.

  This is my chance to find out why.

  I check the clock. Seven forty-five. “Damn,” I curse. “Couldn’t we have figured this out an hour ago?”

  Delilah gasps. “So you’re going to do it? Yay!” she leaps up, clapping her hands together. “OK, you go shower, I’ll pick your outfit.” She shoos me up the stairs. “And don’t forget to shave!” she yells.
“And I mean everywhere!”

  One quick-change, three discarded outfits, and a lightening fast hairstyle later, and I’m just about ready – and so is the flock of butterflies currently fluttering around in my stomach. I’ve changed my mind so many times about what I’m doing that I’ve lost track of any clarity I briefly had. All I know is that I can’t keep trying to avoid Finn. He won’t let me, and I can’t move on in any way without facing this thing between us head on.

  Right at eight, there’s a knock at the front door. I freeze, lip-gloss halfway to my mouth. “I’ll go,” Delilah grins, and thunders downstairs. “Hello, big shot,” I hear her greet him, opening the door.

  I swallow back my nerves and quickly finish my makeup. It’s just a simple coat of mascara and some concealer to hide the shadows under my eyes, but I still feel like I’m all dressed up, wearing a pretty blue sundress and my denim jacket. As a rumble of conversation comes from below, I can’t help flashing back to that New Year’s Eve. How I pulled my clothes on and slipped downstairs with my heart pounding and my skin tingling with anticipation. Everything before then I could pretend was an accident, just a simple twist of fate. That was the first time I made a clear choice. That I wanted this.

  Wanted him.

  Now I feel it all over again as I head downstairs. Finn is waiting by the door, and just the sight of him makes my stomach do a slow flip. Damn, he looks good in that pale blue button-down with jeans, so casual and hot. His hair is slicked back and there’s nothing to hide the intensity in his eyes. I feel them on me, drinking me in, and I have to look away and focus on putting one foot in front of the other so I don’t lose my balance and land face-first at his feet.

  “Hi,” I gulp, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hey.”

  I look up, and get the full force of his sexy smile. All my dreams of self control fly right out the window.

  He looks too good to be true.

  “Now you kids behave.” Delilah grins, clearly enjoying her moment as the responsible adult in this picture. “Stay out late, go crazy, and don’t have her back by midnight.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Finn salutes, then holds the door open for me. “Ready?”

  I inhale in a rush. Nowhere close, but it’s too late to turn back now. My feet are moving like they have a mind of their own, my body revealing what it wants, even as my mind wrestles with the truth. I nod, and step outside.

  Finn’s car is parked out front, and he opens the door for me. “Thanks,” I almost whisper, sliding inside. It’s a warm night, and the windows are down, but I’m wound too tight to enjoy the scenery as he drives us out of town.

  “I heard about a new seafood place up the coast.” Finn glances over. “I thought we could try it, if you want.”

  I nod, fixing my gaze out of the window so I can’t focus on how good he looks beside me in the driver’s seat, the strong line of his jaw backlit by the dusk light. The miles slip past, until we’re cruising up the coastal road, the ocean waves crashing against the cliffs below.

  I can’t relax. How did it happen, this distance between us? One moment, I feel like I know him better than anyone in the world, and then, like the tides changing, a ripple of current tugging in the other direction, he’s suddenly a stranger to me again. It’s like there are two versions of the both of us sitting right here in this car: the people we were five years ago, and the Finn and Eva we are now today. Neither of those shadows are willing to dissolve away completely. They’re just lingering out of sight, haunting every new moment or word as ghosts of old love, forever reminding us of everything that came before.

  Will I ever be able to let go of the past and just exist in the moment? Finn seems like he’s free, moving on without a backward glance, so maybe I’m the only one who feels the shadow of every kiss we shared, every soft, sweet moonlit word echoing through the years, keeping me trapped in this limbo – half a heart in the past, the other half grappling with our uncertain present.

  Finn’s voice comes through my thoughts. “Are you going to give me the silent treatment all night? Because I hoped we would get a chance to talk.”

  My head snaps around. “I’m not…” I start to protest, flushing. I try to explain, but my words stick in my throat. “Not.” I struggle again to speak, but it’s like the link between my brain and mouth is broken, and nothing but air comes out.

  No. My panic rises. Not this time.

  “I mean… I… I… ” I fight for the words, wanting so desperately to be cool and relaxed, but it only makes it worse. In an instant, I’m six years old again, grasping for sound, unable to get what I’m saying out while everyone laughs and whispers behind my back.

  Please, I beg the universe. Please don’t do this to me.

  Shame hits, hard, prickling hot on the surface of my skin. I desperately try to bite back the tears. What must he think of me, stammering away like an idiot in the middle of a simple conversation?

  “Hey,” With one eye on the road, Finn reaches out and takes my hand. “Eva, what’s wrong?”

  I know I shouldn’t, but just his touch is a ray of light through the whirl of darkness and confusion. I grip his hand tightly, my anchor to dry land. My speech therapist always said I just need to relax and take a deep breath when this happens, that more stress only made it worse. But relaxing is impossible when he’s so close, when I want so badly to seem like he doesn’t affect me at all.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Finn must see my distress. He pulls over to the side of the road and leaves the engine running. “Eva, look at me.” He squeezes my hand, looking into my eyes. “Eva, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not… I can’t…”

  “I know.” He strokes my cheek, so reassuring and calm. “You don’t have to say a word. Remember? You know how to do this. Don’t force it.”

  I gulp for air, hating my stupid, broken mouth for not keeping up and making me a freak all over again.

  “What was that poem you used to tell me?” Finn asks, still waiting patiently. “The one about the trees.”

  I take a ragged gasp. “Rosetti,” I manage to say.

  “That’s the one.” Finn smiles at me. “Do you remember it?”

  I nod, a jerky motion. I press my eyes tightly shut, and in the dark the words are right there, learned by heart. “When I am dead, my dearest, sing no sad songs for me,” I begin, my voice shaking like crazy. Finn squeezes my hand, and I push on. “Plant thou no roses at my head, nor shady cypress tree.”

  “That’s it,” Finn’s voice comes softly. “I remember it now.”

  He says the next line with me, our voices together in the silence of the car. “Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet…”

  It was the first thing I learned, that day in middle school, and I clung to it like a safety blanket in the years afterwards to get me through moments like this. And it works. With Finn’s hand holding mine tightly, and his voice steady alongside my own, I finally feel the quicksand ease away. Of course he knows exactly what to do to bring me back. Nobody knows me like him.

  I breathe again, and slowly, deliberately, I manage to form a single sentence. “I’m okay.” Relief pounds through me, just hearing the words out loud. “I’m okay,” I say again, stronger this time. I feel the tracks slip back in place, so easy I can’t believe they were ever broken. “It’s nothing.” I flush, turning away. “I’m fine now.”

  Finn doesn’t argue. He pauses a long minute, then nods. “Whatever you want.” He turns back to the wheel, puts the car in drive again, and eases back onto the road without another question. But he doesn’t let go of my hand for the rest of the drive. And me, I can’t bring myself to let go either.

  Nine.

  The restaurant is on a pretty stretch of coastline, set above the cliffs with an amazing view of the ocean. It’s fancy, I realize, the minute a waiter rushes to open the door for us. White linen tablecloths, with heavy silverware on every table beside fresh-cut roses, and
chandeliers glittering overhead announce its glamor. This is a far cry from the crab shacks we used to haunt, eating fresh catch from a paper cone with butter dripping down our fingers and napkins stuffed down the neck of our shirts.

  Now, Finn murmurs his name to the hostess, and we’re whisked across the room to the best table in the house, set in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out across the bay.

  “I should have dressed up,” I whisper, as I slide into my seat.

  “What are you talking about?” Finn looks puzzled. “You look beautiful. You always do.”

  I blush, but it still doesn’t help the nerves in my stomach to be surrounded by polished women in expensive jewelry. The hostess even brings a stool for my purse, and carefully sets the Target bag down on it beside me like it’s made of designer leather.

  “The maître d will be right over.” She smiles, then discreetly slips away.

  I unfold the heavy cloth napkin in my lap, and try to think of something to say.

  Finn catches my eye across the table, and leans in with a wicked smile. “What do you think?” he whispers, nodding his head to the table beside us. “Girlfriend or daughter?”

  I ease my head around and take a look. A balding man is tearing into a steak while the bored-looking girl at the table scrolls through her phone, ignoring her plate of food.

  “She has to be his daughter,” I whisper back. “She can’t be a day over eighteen!”

  “Want to bet?” Finn grins at me. “Ten bucks says you’re wrong.”

  “Ewww!” I laugh. The man looks over at the noise, and I quickly try to cover it with a fake coughing fit.

  Finn hands me a glass of water. “You okay there, baby?” he says at normal volume.