by Ace Gray
I should have been drawing intricate diagrams for when Mickey forced me into making twenty dollar bill plates but I couldn’t. Instead, I’d outlined another Ladylove like the one I wore on my forearm. Only this time, I’d added in cartoon cherries, a small little horse and a belt.
We could be that again, I knew it. I’d seen it spill all over the floor and then, for one single precious moment, light up behind his eyes. But he’d bridled it back a moment later and the bright green twinkle of his eyes snuffed out.
I blew out a deep breath just as the bell above the door rang its sweet soft ring. My head snapped up and over to the door. Horse loomed in the frame, his eyes darting around the room as quickly as possible. I bit my lip as I slid my headphones off my ears to let them hang around my neck.
“He’s not here,” I said softly. “He’s upstairs.”
“He abandoned you down here?” Horse’s voice got a little snarly.
“Of course.” I rolled my eyes. “And it’s fine. We’re better when we’re not in a room together right now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Do I need to go kick his ass?” Horse puffed up his chest and turned halfway toward the sidewalk, surely to storm up to the apartment above the shop.
“No.” I gently shook my head, I almost laughed lightly too. “It means that I think he’s hiding something. Definitely his real feelings but probably more than that.”
“And you want to murder him.” Horse said it like a given fact rather than asked me.
“Not even.”
He narrowed his gaze and started surveying the shop. I was sure he saw what I already had—a sterile, shell of the place we used to know, every bit the reflection of the man we used to love. His shoulders started to tense and rise toward his ears, his jaw flexed and the muscles on the side of his bulky neck started to dance. His fists balled and without warning, he turned and punched the wall.
“Horse!” I scolded with a sharp but hushed voice as my eyes shot skyward, praying Cole hadn’t heard the thump.
“What, Tart?” He wheeled on me.
“I don’t want him to come down here.” My hand automatically went to my chest and rubbed as I caught my lip and gnawed. “I can’t watch you two fight each other.”
He drew in a deep breath and I saw the words on the tip of his tongue but rather than spit them at me, he exhaled loudly.
“Well, I definitely don’t want to fight with you.” His shoulders sagged and his priceless, heartwarming smile spread across his face. “Let’s go home.” He added a little jerk of his chin toward the door as he shoved his hands down into his jeans pockets.
I nodded then pulled off my headphones and set them on my desk. I stood and walked for Horse and only when I got to Cole’s desk did I hesitate as questions started spiraling through my mind. Wasn’t I supposed to be working here? What did that entail? Should I stay and answer phones or something? Was Cole coming back?
I couldn’t help but look up at the ceiling, knowing I was staring at the bottom of his feet somewhere as they padded through his apartment. Picturing him was like the sharp pain of being stabbed through the heart. At least it reminded me that I had a heart.
“Tart, can we go? I hate being here.” Horse’s big hand clasped around my shoulders and I focused my attention back on him. “This place is dead on the inside just like him and it makes my skin crawl.”
I looked around one more time and let the heaviness ground me again.
“Yeah. Sorry,” I mumbled as I let him pull me out of the shop and over to the car.
I couldn’t help but look up at the apartment overhead, hoping to see in through the slightly waving curtains as I slid into the passenger seat. I was almost desperate to see in through the far darker curtains he was keeping drawn around his heart.
“You need to stop getting that look when you think about Cole,” Horse warned as we pulled away from the curb.
“I’ll get whatever look I feel like when I think about him, Horse,” I snarked back and twisted away from him in the seat.
“No. I’m putting my foot down.” He was getting snarly again.
“That’s nice for you and your foot.” I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see.
“Elle, he’s a monster. A fucking monster. Let’s say he is trying to be a dick, that means he’s purposely making the decision to hurt you. To hurt me. He’s choosing that each and every time.” I didn’t need to turn toward Horse to know he was speaking through gritted teeth.
“What if he doesn’t have a choice?” I had to defend him like I had to breathe. “What if it’s the right choice?”
“The right choice?” Horse’s temper broke and his snarl seemed to rattle the car windows. “How is this the right choice? He won’t speak to me even though I’ve done all these unspeakable things with him. For him. And you…?” he trailed off, stewing on those words. His anger was making him grip the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white when he pulled over. “He’s trying to kill you. Piece by piece. I don’t even know if he’ll gut you or choose a knife, Fucktart.”
“Don’t call me Fucktart,” I shot back as his words dug a little deeper under my skin.
“Sorry, but do you understand what you’re saying? I mean really? Why the fuck aren’t you cursing his name for eternity.”
“I don’t have the luxury, Horse!” I screamed.
He shot away from me like I’d slapped him but I couldn’t rein it in now.
“He’s my other half. He’s my soul mate. He’s my fucking everything.” My voice was sharp.
“He’s a monster,” Horse answered bluntly.
“No. I refuse to believe that. He’s a good man and I’ve gotta believe he’s doing something good.” I was moving straight past sharp and into a panicked shrill.
“You need to let that go.” Horse said softly, almost pleading. “Hope is going to kill you before he has the chance to.”
“I have to hope, Horse.” I calmed my voice to match his. “He’s the piece that makes my damned puzzle make sense.” I choked on my words. “I can’t judge his actions or feel conflicted. I can only feel need. All consuming, all enveloping, universal and infinite need.” Tears streamed down my cheeks and I wasn’t sure when they’d started.
Horse reached across the console and gathered me into his chest.
“It’s okay,” he murmured as he rubbed my back.
“It’s not okay.” My words were muffled by his perfectly muscular chest. “It’s the furthest thing from okay. I can’t keep living like this when the blood is missing from my veins.”
“Tart, what can I do? How can I fix it?” He nuzzled into my hair.
I sobbed for a few moments into his shirt, making the cotton go damp and warm beneath my cheek.
“Anything Tart. I’ll do anything.” He cradled me so tenderly that for a moment my lungs could fully expand.
“Help me get him back, Horse.” I rubbed my face into his beautiful chest, still just missing Cole’s perfectly inked one. “Help him remember who he is and what he loves. Please.”
“I can’t do that. I refuse to do that.”
“For me?” I turned up and let my lips brush against his skin.
“Elle, you’re talking about forgiving someone that I can’t forgive.”
“But it’s Cole,” I whispered.
He blew out another deep breath and his fingers curled into me. After a few heavy heartbeats, he added, “Let’s not call him Cole. Cole is someone I loved. This is a fucking dark demon slithering around in a nice suit, yanking our hearts around in his wake.”
I sighed, knowing I’d hit a wall as big as the hulking sweetheart himself, and let my words bottle up like the genie I desperately wished on for a change.
“You’d forgive Cole if he gave his ass up.” I narrowed my gaze over my cereal, more in Horse’s direction than actually at him. I hadn’t slept and the exhaustion was taking my tongue and running wild with it. “Or his talented tongue for that matter.” I hated remembering the way it rolled or clovere
d on my body.
“Don’t say shit like that,” Horse shot back, but lust was thick like honey coating the words.
“Don’t say shit like what?” Conrad appeared in nothing but his underwear, scratching his wild honey hair as he walked into the kitchen and bent to kiss Horse on the shoulder. “Was it filthy? It’s been too long since we were the Golden Girls and I got to play Blanche.”
“Oh my God, you’ve never been Blanche. You and your judgmental mouth are Sophia all day long.”
“Somebody’s eating bitch flakes for breakfast.” Conrad arched an eyebrow at me. “And here I thought I’d bought Lucky Charms.”
“Just leave her be,” Horse said sternly.
“I’m sick of you taking her side.” Conrad leaned against the countertop and crossed his arms.
“Yeah well, I’m sick of a lot more than that.” Horse rolled his eyes.
“OOOooo,” Conrad made a face, “like secrets? Because secrets don’t make friends and friends don’t make secrets.” His voice was acidic by the end; the house itself was breeding discord.
“I just said that he’d get over all this shit if Cole blew him.” I spat the words out without thinking then chomped down on my spoon. The metal clang against my teeth hurt but the look I got from Horse was downright distressful.
“Elle,” Horse snapped at me.
“Oh fuck that,” Conrad swatted at the Lucky Charms and sent them flying. “You both would love that, wouldn’t you? You’d love nothing more than to be attached by a big tattooed dick again.” He threw his arms up and stomped away from Horse, crunching through the cereal on the floor.
“She said it, not me. I don’t want anything having to do with him anymore. Nothing that is his or was. NOTHING!” Horse shot up and wildly prowled after Conrad.
He was scrambling, telling Conrad it was his big tattooed ass or nothing so neither of them could notice what Horse’s words had done to me.
I was Cole’s. I didn’t need the faux-tattoo to say it either. Neither did Horse. His words were a sucker punch to my stomach. Mechanically, I stood and turned away from both of them. I couldn’t quite make my face unfreeze from the contorted hurt I wore. Slowly I walked out of the kitchen like the zombie all the pain was so close to making me. Only at the last minute did Horse call after me. I didn’t even hesitate.
Instead, I walked down the stairs and straight out of the front door then started down the street. Heavy footfalls jogged after me until Horse grabbed my shoulder and turned me.
“Tart, I didn’t mean…”
“Stop,” I said lowly, my voice fraying every bit as badly as my insides. “Stop calling me Tart, stop acting like I matter to you, stop the whole fucking act!” I screeched the last words. “I was a means to him and now I’m a reminder of him. You take pity on me because I meant something to the man that meant something to you, but it was NEVER about me. Stop fucking pretending!” I was shaking and I tried to ball my hands to get them to steady.
“I love you, Elle. It’s not the same as how I loved him and it’s not the same as how I may love Conrad, but I do. So much.” He reached for me, but I wiggled out of his grasp and shoved against his chest.
“I don’t know that I believe you anymore.” I turned from him and started down the street.
“Elle,” he cried out, but I could tell he wasn’t chasing after me. “Elle!”
I didn’t turn nor did I acknowledge him. Everything was falling apart. First, it had been my heart, now it was the whole entire world. It had turned itself upside down. Or the glue that held it together was dissolving.
I kept walking, aimlessly, for blocks and blocks. I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t even really see the buildings rolling by. The slight breeze from my hurried steps stung against the tears forming freely in the corners of my eyes. Whether they were sorrowful or furious, I wasn’t sure. When a bus rolled and clanked in front of me, I seriously debated throwing myself in front of it if only to silence the internal turmoil.
Another bus was barreling toward me. I waited until it was closer then closed my eyes. A beautiful image of Cole, laughing with a light burning bright for me, was seared into my eyelids and it pulled a small smile to my lips as I leaned forward to take a step off the curb.
A hand grabbed my arm and yanked backward just as the whoosh of air that signaled the bus flew by. I crashed backward into a brick wall. Well, rather, a man that felt like a brick wall, he shuffled and flexed slightly when my body careened into him.
“What were you doing?” Cole’s voice didn’t match his usual harsh rumble. It matched the man that had been with me in memory the moment before. “You could have gotten yourself killed.” His thumb rubbed circles on my arm for just a second before he dropped his hands altogether.
“That was the idea,” I said roughly.
His brow crinkled and his face made a few weird shapes before he added, “Uh…I…Mickey wouldn’t be pleased.” His eyes fell away and he traced the lines of the sidewalk.
“Well, wouldn’t want to disappoint Mickey.” My heart shuddered, then my knees, and I all but collapsed against the trashcan next to me.
“Speaking of Mickey…” He cleared his throat. “Your tools are in. You should get started.” Cole jerked his chin down the street and for the first time I realized where I’d ended up. We were just around the corner from Cole’s shop. I’d probably walked right by.
“Fine,” I answered, so apathetic that my voice barely registered.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and slunk off. I sagged completely before I followed after. A day with Cole was going to make what little life I had left bleed out.
I shuffled into the shop behind him and when he paused, I simply trudged around him and plopped down at my seat. The heavy weight of his stare was another load on my shoulders and I bent further, pressing my forehead to the wooden box that was resting on a shoebox on top of my workspace.
The familiar box.
I pushed up as quickly as my tired limbs would let me and studied the familiar carvings on top. My fingers followed the scratched lines that Conrad had made on my tool case, beautiful words that encouraged me to fight for what I wanted. I remembered the day he’d carved them in. I was convinced my life as an artist was over when my pieces wouldn’t sell.
It was an incredibly odd time for it to reappear, now when I thought my actual life was over. And when I thought it had burned in the fire that obliterated my home.
“Where did this…?” I couldn’t help but ask the question out loud, even though I knew it would infuriate Cole.
“I grabbed it before I watched your apartment burn,” he answered, his voice once again matching the man of my memories. I spun to look at him and he flinched when my eyes traveled from top to bottom. “Figured I’d save us all some time and get this shit moving when Mickey was ready,” he added in a frosty voice. “And he is ready. I’d recommend getting to fucking work before he decides that fucking you is work.”
The hint of light went out in his eyes and his pinched, wicked face fell back into place. But I couldn’t stop staring. Mostly because I was willing him to crack again.
“Get. To. Work.” He enunciated each word and crossed his arms across his chest. He widened his stance to match and puffed up the slightest bit.
When I didn’t flinch, he stepped over to me and roughly shoved his hands into my hair and pulled. My neck snapped back and I was met by the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. Cole was arched over me, his chest heaving. His other hand came to my chin and he grabbed me. He was stronger than I remembered and my heart beats picked up pace. It would have been so easy for him to twist my neck and leave me dead on the desk. It would have been equally easy for him to bend down and violently kiss me.
We sat like that, unmoving besides heavy breathing, for what felt like an eternity. Frantic energy swelled in the room. The intensity on Cole’s face ratcheted up. Both possibilities still seemed equally possible. My heart thudded in my chest, then started to overpower me
and thump in my ears. My lips parted in the slightest gasp.
Cole’s mimicked mine. Then he used his grip to fling me toward the desk. My hands shot out to try and slow my crash, my eyes closed to protect my face from the inevitable crash. But I caught myself. Just barely. And my eyes fluttered open to see Cole wheel out of the shop and slam the door behind him, sending the bell flying from its little perch above the door.
I blew out a deep breath and turned back toward the desk. Toward my things.
Cole had saved more than my tools. He’d saved books and books of sketches, boxes of soap stone carvings.
Tears came back, this time streaming down my cheeks. Whether Cole had done it for Mickey, or some other mysterious reason, he’d brought back scraps of my soul. They were the only symbols left that once upon a time the world made sense.
I lay my head down onto the desk, letting the waterworks free. I felt them start to soak the shoebox beneath my cheek. When I shifted it, I found more leather-bound books. These weren’t mine, they were Conrad’s handwritten works from when he’d first started writing. There were poems about hope and life and love that I could recite to myself here in the darkest corner of time and space.
I was flipping through them one by one, unconcerned that now the tears were puddling on my workstation when I opened the last one. It was a small, deep maroon one, well-worn, particularly along the spine. I anticipated the last of Conrad’s beautiful words, more touching lines that would make me run home and apologize but numbers greeted me.
Pages and pages of numbers with odd little letter codes next to them.
I sat up and flipped through it with a quirked eyebrow. How it had gotten into my things, I wasn’t sure. Until I got to the last page and there was a quickly scribbled note in handwriting that I knew intimately. It was the handwriting that was scrolled across my past—my mom’s.
Elle, my beautiful Elle,
If you have this, it means I’m gone.
Know I love you. Know I tried to do right by you.
Protect this with your life.
xoxo Mom