The Rebound

by Winter Renshaw

  I want to ask where her decency was ten years ago. Was she treating me like a “human being” when she tossed my heart into a fucking meat grinder?

  “And why did you ignore me all these years, Nevada?” Her voice breaks, and the way she says my name sends a tightness to my middle. I haven’t heard my name on her lips since a lifetime ago. “If you’d have just let me explain …”

  “No need.”

  Her expression softens before her gaze falls to the polished wood floors. “Things could’ve been different for us.”

  “Doubtful.”

  She tucks a strand of dark, soaked hair behind one ear before pulling in a jagged breath. “I don’t understand how you could love me like you did and then not give me a chance to tell you what happened.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  Had I given her a chance to explain all those years ago, I’d have taken her back. I know it. I’d have been a fucking doormat because that’s how infallible my love was for this girl. And then I’d have to live the rest of my life knowing I was head over heels in love with a girl who felt it was okay to be careless with my heart.

  It wasn’t okay.

  We made promises to each other. I kept mine. She didn’t. End of story.

  There’s no explanation in the world that would change those things.

  “Why did you buy this house, Nevada?” she asks a moment later, her stare finding mine.

  I shake my head, brows meeting. “For my daughters. But that’s really none of your business.”

  Her bottom lip trembles, and she looks away.

  “Did you think … did you think I bought it because of you?” I ask, with a half chuckle, recalling the promise I’d once made to her the summer before I left for school. Had she really held onto that after all these years? Is she that delusional that she thinks I moved back here and bought this house so that we could be together again?

  Yardley doesn’t answer.

  “You did.” I huff. My stance widens as I examine her. “This is why people shouldn’t make assumptions.”

  Her pretty face hardens and her chest rises and falls as her gaze flicks onto mine. “You’re right, Nevada. People shouldn’t make assumptions.”

  With that, she turns and leaves, slamming my door behind her, but it doesn’t catch and instead it bounces open. From the pale light of my foyer, I watch her run back to her car in the rain, the headlights cutting through the dark night as she pulls away.

  And just like that, she’s gone.

  I hope she’s pleased with herself, barging in on me like that when she knew damn well I wanted nothing to do with her. Not sure what she expected to accomplish by coming in here and confronting me, but something tells me she won’t do it again.

  I didn’t budge on my stance.

  I didn’t soften my heart for her.

  I didn’t offer her my sympathies or so much as a towel to dry her rain-soaked clothes.

  There’s nothing on God’s green earth that could possibly convince me to change my mind about her.

  The damage is done. And nothing can fix it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Love Is the Root of All Pain

  Yardley

  These things I know to be true: he was my past, and he may be my present, but he’ll never be my future.

  The hot shower did nothing for the shaking. At first, I blamed the relentless rain and the cool tepid in the spring air. Now I know it was the icy pierce of Nevada’s stare, the frigid tone in his voice, and the stone-cold façade he kept while standing mere feet from me.

  The first man I ever loved—and the only man I’ve loved since—has turned cruel and heartless.

  And as much as my soul once knew his, I need to accept the fact that we’re nothing but strangers now.

  Perhaps that’s all we’ll ever be.

  Wrapped in an old robe, I pace my room while Bryony sits cross-legged on my bed, listening as I expel the contents of my fragmented heart, voice broken and mind running a thousand miles per hour.

  “He won’t even hear me out, Bry. After all this time.” I shake my head, massaging my temples. “I don’t understand how he could love me so much and then write me off. Like what we had was nothing. He knows damn well it was never nothing. It was everything.”

  “Guys don’t hold onto the past as much as women do,” she says.

  I stop pacing and turn her way. “If he wasn’t holding onto the past, he wouldn’t be so callous. Clearly he’s still hurting. And remember what Mom always says? Love is the root of all pain.”

  “I think she heard that on some Oprah show,” Bry says. “Doesn’t make it universally true. I think he just moved on, you know? As painful as it is to say … he went on with his life. And you should too.”

  Her words are spoken with tenderness and care, and I know she means well, but I refuse to accept that this is it. That this is the end. That I’ve been pining away for almost one third of my existence, subsisting off hope that we might one day be together again … that he might someday give me a chance to tell him all the things that might mend his broken heart.

  This is just as much for him as it is for me.

  I just wish he’d understand that.

  I’m not the selfish monster he must think I am.

  “Maybe it was too soon?” Bry asks. “I mean, his wife just died, like, six months ago. He uprooted his entire life. I highly doubt reconnecting with you is at the top of his priority list, you know?”

  “I’m not saying it should be.” I take a seat beside her. “Look, the whole reason I went over there tonight was to tell him we needed to be adults about this, that we’re going to run into each other, and that he needs to treat me with some kind of decency.” I exhale. “But then I was standing there, feeling all these things, and I said a bunch of other stuff.”

  My cheeks warm when I replay our conversation in my head. I can’t believe I asked him why he bought that house. He must think I’m completely off my rocker for assuming it had anything to do with me—and he wouldn’t be wrong. It was an irrational assumption rooted in hope that had no business being there in the first place.

  If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have gone over there. I’d have given him more space, more time.

  But what’s done is done. Can’t go back now.

  “Next time I see him, I’m going to apologize,” I say.

  “Why bother?” Bryony asks. “What will that do? He’ll just think you’re looking for another excuse to talk to him, and if you keep going to him, it’s going to make you look crazy and desperate. Maybe you should lay low for a bit?”

  “And what, crawl into my shell? Bury my head in the sand? That’ll really make me look pathetic.” I huff, running my palms down my clean face. I’m not sure when, but the shaking subsided. “I hate that the first time we spoke in over ten years, I acted like some lunatic. Some crazy ex-girlfriend.”

  It’s not the way I ever imagined it would be, and when I think about it, really think about it, I could cry.

  “Don’t beat yourself up.” Bry rubs my knee, leaning in. “You’re going to be okay and everything’s going to work out. Maybe not with him … but I think you needed this closure. I think you needed this so that you could finally move on with your life.”

  I don’t want to agree with her, so I do it silently, in my head.

  “I can’t believe this is the end,” I say. “The end of hoping there might still be the tiniest sliver of a chance for us.” Dragging the back of my hand across my cheek, I dab at a few spilled tears before laughing at how silly I must look right now, a grown woman crying over a teenage boyfriend. “I’m an idiot, Bry. I really am.”

  I’m an idiot for thinking what we had was real and transcendental. I’m an idiot for thinking any part of our love remained long after the fire put it out.

  It did for me.

  It did for me.

  And while I would never admit this to anyone, it still does. Part of me will always love Nevada Kane. I
couldn’t shut it off if I tried.

  “Let’s go out on Friday, okay?” she asks, brows rising and mischievous smile on her lips. “I want to take you out, get you trashed, and show you what a Friday night in Lambs Grove looks like.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m a cliché, Bry. Admit it. My life is a giant, living, breathing cliché.”

  She shrugs a single shoulder. “But it doesn’t have to be. This is the first step. Get out there. Meet new people. Live your life for you and the woman you hope to be. Not for the girl you once were. She doesn’t exist anymore. She’s gone.”

  My mouth presses together as my chest aches and tightens. “Fine. I’ll go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cruel and Heartless

  Nevada

  My lips graze Lennon’s warm forehead as I brush her hair from her face. She doesn’t stir, dozing peacefully in a little white bed, under a homemade quilt. Essie is fast asleep on the other side of the room, lying in the middle of a crib on pink sheet covered in bunnies—the one her mother chose the day we found out we were having another girl.

  Whispering goodnight to my daughters, I step out of their room and pull the door shut before heading to the kitchen where Mom left a note informing me there’s a plate of leftovers sitting in the fridge for me.

  Heating up my dinner, I finish it at the table, though I don’t taste a thing.

  My mind keeps replaying my conversation with Yardley earlier tonight. I figured a part of her still carried a flame for me, but I never realized the extent of it. That wildfire in her eyes and the passion in her voice and the anger at the fact that I refused to acknowledge her earlier tells me she still has feelings for me. Strong, deep feelings.

  Once upon a time, I loved that girl so much I’d have walked away from a basketball scholarship for her. And how did she repay me?

  By running off with some guy she claimed was just a friend.

  Not only did she obliterate my fucking heart, she played me for a fool.

  What she did was cruel and heartless, and it isn’t something I’ll ever be able to forgive and forget.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  That Boy You Used to Date

  Yardley

  “Did you sleep at all last night?” Bryony stands in my office doorway the next morning, her hands wrapped around her mug.

  I smirk. “If that’s your way of telling me I look like shit, I think you have your answer.”

  “Your words, not mine.” She blows a cool breath across the top of her steamy coffee. “How you doing though? You feeling better?”

  My gaze flicks onto hers from across the room. “Do I look like I’m feeling better?”

  “You want honest or sugarcoated?”

  I wave my hand. “It doesn’t matter. Just feeling embarrassed more than anything. Trying not to feel sorry for myself, but now that I’ve had some time to wrap my head around what I just did, I’m so upset with myself.”

  “Don’t be. It won’t change anything.”

  I start my computer, glancing at the clock on my desk. I was ten minutes late for work this morning, which marks the first time ever, but I finally got to sleep around four in the morning and found it nearly impossible to wake up as soon as my alarm went off at six.

  “Morning, girls.” Mom brushes past my sister, taking a seat in one of my spare chairs, her bushy blonde hair bouncing as she moves. Crossing her legs, she grins at both of us. That’s Mom. Perpetual optimist, owner of a constant good mood. Too bad those genes didn’t transfer. Sure could use them now. “I want in on whatever you’re talking about. I miss the days when you two used to sit around the kitchen gossiping about friends and boys.”

  Her smile fades for a second. I imagine she’s thinking of the time before Dad died. When we had everything three Devereaux girls could ever possibly wish for. We were happy and loved and had our entire lives ahead of us.

  Now Mom spends most of her days holed up in the back of The Sew Shop. At night she makes herself a Lean Cuisine, watches the news, and reads her library books, silently waiting for the day when she might become a grandmother.

  Hope she’s not holding her breath.

  Bryony is a perpetual girl-about-town with zero desire to settle down, and my prospects are pretty slim for the time being.

  “Nevada’s back in town,” Bry tells Mom.

  Four little words. Life-changing consequences.

  My stomach twists, growling. I tried to eat this morning, but I couldn’t. Ever since leaving the Conrad mansion last night, I’ve been struck with perpetual nausea.

  “No kidding?” Mom’s blue eyes widen as she turns to me. “Nevada as in that boy you used to date?”

  That boy you used to date …

  No one truly understands how much he meant to me. Not even my own mother.

  I nod, biting my lip. “That’s the one.”

  “Have you seen him around yet? Talked to him at all?” she asks. The hopeful expression on her face tells me she has no idea how bad things got after I did what I did back in high school. Then again, I tried to keep her and Dad out of everything. They didn’t exactly approve, but they couldn’t have stopped me.

  The front door chimes and Bry leaves to tend to the first customer of the day.

  “I’ll fill you in another time, Mom, okay?” I don’t know if I could stomach rehashing everything out loud this early in the morning.

  “Of course.” She studies my face for a moment before rising and heading to the back.

  Checking my emails, I respond to one of our suppliers before clearing out a few pieces of spam. I realize I’m all caught up for the week. Payroll is done. Our first quarter profit and loss is finished and off to our accountant. Supplies are purchased.

  I have nothing to do today but stare at my computer, and I’m not sure that’s the best thing for me right now.

  Slumping back in my chair, I swivel to the side before resting my chin on my hand. I should visit Greta. I haven’t seen her yet this week, and she’s probably wondering where I’ve been. The grandmother of an old friend, she’s been living at the independent living facility for the last five years, and with all her family dead or long gone, I’m the only thing she has left around here.

  I should take her out to lunch today, get her out of that place for a couple of hours. She’d like that.

  Gathering my purse and slipping my jacket over my shoulders, I shut down my computer and head up front to tell Bry I’m taking a personal day, only I come to a hard stop when I catch a glimpse of our three patrons.

  Doreen Kane.

  And Nevada’s daughters.

  Nevada’s mother smiles as she hoists the baby on her hip and the older girl runs circles around the front of the shop, hiding behind mannequins and playing with some of the display dresses hanging from the hooks.

  I’m seconds from retreating into the hallway when I’m spotted.

  “Yardley!” Doreen waves at me, grinning ear to ear. Back when we dated, Nevada never wanted to bring me around his family. He was embarrassed of their living conditions and he always painted his mother as some stressed, overworked single mom who didn’t have time to entertain his friends or give a rat’s ass about his personal life. I guess people change. Or time changes people. Money changes them too.

  Doreen looks nicer than I remember. Her hair is cut into a sleek bob and she’s lost some weight. She wears lipstick and carries a designer bag. A Mercedes SUV is parked outside the front of the shop, the plates reading NEVSMOM.

  I’d seen it around town for years, always expecting our paths to cross eventually, but it never happened.

  “Hi, Doreen.” I amble toward her, extending my hand, which she waves away in favor of a side hug. The powerful scent of pricey perfume mingles with a hint of baby powder, and I nonchalantly pull in a lungful of a slice of Nevada’s life. “Good to see you.”

  “How have you been?” she asks, eyes wild as she grins. I’m not sure why she’s so excited to see me. “I’ve seen you around town,
but I never really had a chance to talk to you. It was always in passing.”

  Really?

  “Anyway, you know Nev’s back in town, right?” she asks. There’s hope in her voice that doesn’t belong, but I’ll let Nevada be the bearer of bad news if it comes to that.

  “I heard.” I force a smile that sends a physical zing of pain to my chest. My eyes burn, a mix of hurt and embarrassment, but I blink it away. “How is he?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, just fixing up that old mansion. He and the girls are moving in next month. For now they’re staying at my place. I bet he’d love to see you sometime? I’m trying to tell him to reconnect with old friends. He might as well now that he’s back.”

  Bryony and I exchange panicked glances. I can only imagine the look on Nev’s face if his mother were to bring me home. I wouldn’t do that to him.

  “Anyway, these are his little angels,” she says, twisting her body around until she finds Lennon in the store front window. She’s trying to reattach the hand of one of our mannequins. “Lennon, come back here. Don’t mess with that, baby.”

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  Lennon runs up to me, handing me the plastic, porcelain-colored hand. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I stare into her big green eyes, and I wonder what it must feel like for Nevada to look at his daughter’s face and see his late wife every time.

  “This is baby Estella,” Doreen says, grinning before tickling the baby’s chin. “We call her Essie. She’s a dream. Sleeps through the night and eats like a champ. Just like her daddy did.”

  Essie hasn’t stopped staring at me since I walked out here, and when our eyes catch, a giant, drool-y smile claims her chubby face.

  She has his dimples. And his chocolate-brown hair and honey eyes. When I was younger, and I’d try to imagine what our kids would look like someday, they always looked like her.

  The fact that I’m standing right across from the incarnation of my hopes and dreams, and knowing she doesn’t belong to me—to us, is heartbreaking.