by J. M. Paul
And cue the waterworks.
I slink off of the couch and onto my knees, doing an awkward half-crawl over to him. Wrapping my arms around him, I cry and cry into his chest. From the way his shoulders shake, I know he’s allowing himself to feel everything he’s closed himself off from in the last two years.
When Nicholas’s sweatshirt is soaked in both of our tears, I sit back on my heels and take his face in my hands. “Mom and Dad would’ve been proud of you, Bean. Maybe they didn’t understand why you left the way you did, but they would’ve been so proud of what you did. You made a mistake, and you did what you had to do to fix it. It’s exactly what they raised us to do.”
He shakes his head, but I force him to keep looking at me.
“And, now, look at you. You’re going to be training with the FBI—the freaking FBI, Nicholas! And you’re going to become an agent.” A wide smile spreads over my mouth. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be the best damn agent this country has ever seen.”
Another tear falls from his eye and trickles down his cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb and pull him into a tight hug.
We sit with our arms wrapped around each other for so long that the movie ends, and the horrible sequel The Santa Clause 2 starts.
All the crying leaves me completely spent, and I know tomorrow will be even harder. But I also know that having Nicholas with me will help make it a little more tolerable.
“I’m going to head to bed. Will you be okay?” I ask when I lean back.
“Yeah. I’m beat, too.” He rubs his hands up and down his face.
I gather our mugs and take them into the kitchen.
“Hey, sis?” Nicholas says, stopping me on my way to the bedroom.
“Yeah?” I rub my hands up and down my arms to ward off the chilly air.
“Thanks for letting me crash here, and thanks for being so understanding about why I left.” His voice is both soft and deep.
“I love you, Bean. No matter what you do, you’re my brother—my twin—and I’ll always be here for you.”
“I know. And you have no idea how much knowing that helped me get through some really rough nights while undercover.” He clicks the television off and sets the remote back on the table.
I give him a sad smile before I start to head down the hallway.
“Jelly?”
I stop again.
“Can we keep the fact that I cried like a baby between you and me?” he asks.
I laugh loudly and shake my head. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“But it’s not safe with me.” Cami’s loud voice carries down the hall from behind her closed bedroom door.
Nicholas curses, and I chuckle all the way to my room.
Death is a truth that never changes. Because of a car accident, I’m stuck like this, a twenty-two-year-old orphan, and despite what I want, I have to continue to move forward without my parents in my life.
My mom and dad raised me the best they could, but with every cell in my body, I wish they were still by my side to help me finagle my way through adulthood. There are so many life-changing decisions and directions I have to take and make, and I’m not ready. I still need them and their advice.
It’s the day before Christmas Eve, which means today is the second anniversary of the worst day of my existence. Seven hundred thirty days ago, I made the decision to end my parents’ lives, so they could help prolong others’ lives through organ donation.
When someone so close to you dies, it changes every single moment of your life. The way you look at your surroundings, your future, the people you hold dear—it all comes into question. And, when you’re put through such a trying event, it becomes clear what’s most important. Time spent with loved ones, the people who are there for you, no matter what, who love you at your worst and laugh with you at your best.
Death teaches you what it means to live. Waking up, breathing, eating, and mindlessly moving through a monotonous day is not living. Taking time to love yourself, to love others, to give when you don’t think you have anything left to give, and to find joy in the small and the big things—that’s what it means to live.
Today will be hard for me. There will be many tears shed and many whys asked and some anger, but I want today to be about celebrating my mom and dad’s lives and their favorite holiday because I know that’s what will make them happy.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I say.
Expecting Cami or Nicholas to walk in, I roll over to face the door but don’t bother to sit up.
When Connor’s head peeks in, everything in me goes still. I sent him a text late last night, but I never got a response. To have him unexpectedly show up in my room after his ex-girlfriend suddenly appeared and after days of minimal communication, it puts me on edge. Add that to the fact that this is already a hard day for me, and I proceed with caution.
“Hey.” I push up to put my back against the headboard.
“Hey. Can I come in?” He stands in the doorway.
“Yeah, of course.” I try to clear the frog in my throat. My lack of sleep and crying have taken its toll.
He enters the room and closes the door behind him. As he walks toward the bed, he doesn’t make eye contact, which has me biting my lip and twisting the sheet until I fear I’ll rip the material.
Connor sits on the edge of the mattress but doesn’t touch me. My first instinct is to grab his hand, to kiss him, to make contact in some small way because there’s this magnetic pull between us, but his stiff posture and inability to meet my gaze have me holding back. It makes me believe I need to start reconstructing the walls around my heart that I let him so easily tear down.
“How are you?” I ask when he continues to stare out the window.
“All right. How are you?” he asks the floor.
Why is this interaction so forced, so formal? This is nothing like us. Gone is our ease around each other, our playful banter and cheekiness.
I’m not sure why Connor’s here, but I already miss him. I feel like I’ve lost him, and I wasn’t given a warning that I was supposed to fight.
“I’m okay.”
That’s a complete lie.
I want to tell him that this is the worst day of the year for me, that I feel like sinking into my bed, pulling the covers over my head, and not seeing the light of day until it’s tomorrow. Until this horrible day passes on the calendar, and I can pull a full breath into my lungs without it causing pain.
But I don’t tell him any of that. Something else seems to be on his mind, and I’m afraid to ask, so we both remain quiet, avoiding anything but small talk because small talk can’t break your heart into a million shattered pieces.
Seconds, minutes, possibly hours tick by until I can’t stand the uncomfortable silence anymore, and I ask the question that’s been on my mind.
“How’s Emily?”
His back goes straight, and finally—finally—his green eyes meet mine. What I see written there has me inhaling a deep breath that could quite possibly be my last.
“She’s … been better.” Connor diverts his attention over my shoulder.
“What’s going on?” I’m trying to tread lightly, but everything in me wants to ask the hard questions. Like why he basically cut off all communication with me when his ex showed up, what they’ve been discussing, but more importantly, what they’ve been doing.
He sighs, and his shoulders drop. Leaning forward, he places his elbows on his knees and cradles his head in his hands.
“Her aunt passed away.” His voice is so low, I almost can’t hear him.
“I’m sorry.” I rub my hand up and down his back, and he doesn’t pull away.
Today seems like a day meant to deal with loss.
“She died a couple of weeks ago, and Emily’s moving back here after the estate and trust have been dealt with.”
“She’s moving”—I swallow—“back here.”
“Yeah.” He turns his head to look
at me, and I know—I know—that what he says next will slay me. “Noel—” he starts, but I cut him off by whipping back the covers and standing to pace the room.
He’s smart, and he remains quiet while he watches me work off nervous energy. When I feel like I’m somewhat settled again, I stop and turn toward him.
“You’re getting back together with her, aren’t you?” There’s no reason to beat around the bush.
“Noel, come sit.” He pats the mattress next to him.
“No. Spit it out, Connor. Give it to me straight.” I cross my arms over my chest and watch Connor’s eyes fall and stay on my breasts. It’s at that exact moment I realize I’m not wearing a bra.
Ha! Take a good look, you sorry jerk. Because that’s all you’ll be doing.
It’s chilly in here, so I know he’s getting a good show. Too bad he’s about one sentence away from destroying his chance at ever feeling these girls again.
“Well?” I press him to answer.
“I don’t know how to answer that, Noel.” He runs both of his hands through his thick, dark hair.
“The truth usually works best. Why don’t you try that?” I tap my foot.
“Now’s not the time for your smart mouth,” he growls.
Ah, snap!
“I’ll say whatever the hell I want to say, when and how I want to say it,” I bite back. “You’ve never had a problem with it before.”
A long, deep sigh releases, and he scrubs his face several times.
If you thought I was going to make this easy on you, think again, sucker.
“Are you getting back together with Emily?” I ask for the last time. If he doesn’t answer, I’m throwing him out of my window and into the snow, and I hope he gets hypothermia, and his dick falls off.
“Emily wants to get back together, yes.” He adjusts his position on my bed.
“That’s not what I asked.” I glare.
“For shit’s sake.” He stands to do some pacing of his own. “I don’t know what to do, okay? I’m fucking confused. Is that what you want to hear?” Connor turns and advances on me so fast that I inadvertently take a step back.
“No, that’s not what I want to hear.” I find my footing and get all up in his face. “She cheated on you, Butterball. What makes you think she won’t do it again?”
His teeth grind together so forcefully, I fear they’ll turn to dust. “She had her reasons.”
I scoff. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was a good enough excuse to make people believe in complete bullshit. Please, enlighten me.”
“God, you’re infuriating,” he growls.
“You knew this before you chased.” I plop my hands on my hips. “I never promised to be well-behaved.”
Connor scratches his neck rather vigorously and stomps around the room before sitting on my bed and cradling his head in his hands again.
“Emily’s aunt raised her after her parents overdosed when she was five. She’s had it rough.” He exhales. “After about a year of us dating, Emily found out she was pregnant.”
I gasp.
“She miscarried when she was four months along because of medical issues. There was something about her uterus’s viability? I don’t know. I didn’t understand all of the medical terms.” He waves his arm in the air. “Em later found out she’d never be able to carry children, and it was rough. Things became strained, and then she upped and left for California before I had a second to catch my breath.”
Damn it. He’s making me feel sorry for The Bitch.
I shake that shit off real quick. “So, now, she’s back, and because you feel guilty or some crap, you’re going to act like everything’s rosy.”
“No, Noel. Everything isn’t rosy.” Connor lifts his eyes to mine, and the pain they carry is written deep. “I don’t know what it is. It’s hard.”
“That doesn’t help.” I feel for him, I do, but Connor’s sorrow can’t hold a candle to mine.
“Do you know today’s the two-year anniversary of my parents’ deaths?” I whisper. “Seven hundred thirty days ago, I had to decide to end my parents’ life. This is the absolute hardest day of the year for me, Christmas is two days away, and then you come in here, telling me you’re confused about our relationship because your ex-girlfriend came back to town. How’s that for hard, Con?”
Connor continues to stare at me with his lips parted. I can see his mind processing, and when it finally clicks in, he squeezes his eyes closed.
“I’m sorry, Noel. I completely forgot what today means to you.” He walks over to me and places his hands on my arms.
Even though I’m the one that mentioned today’s meaning, I don’t want to discuss it. I want to be left alone to flounder in my self-pity and to selfishly break down without apologizing or constantly assuring everyone that I’m okay. Because truth be told? I’m not sure I am going to be okay.
“You’re going to choose her. I can see it in your eyes,” I tell Connor. “Emily left you brokenhearted, and when the person we love wants to stitch us back together, even when they’re the one who tore us apart, well, we’re only human. The heart wants what the heart wants without any regard for self-preservation.”
Connor brushes my bed-tangled hair back from my face and trails his finger down my cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.
Beauty can’t buy happiness.
But, apparently, ugly-souled ex-girlfriends can.
“I need time, Journal Girl. I don’t want to make any mistakes where you’re concerned.”
Finding the strength to do what needs to be done, I close my eyes and will myself to sever my own heart. “I’m the only one who made a mistake here.” I pull away from him. “My mistake was making you a priority when, all along, I was your second choice.”
“Wh-what?” he stammers and shuffles back a step or two. “Noel,” he breathes. “You were never my second choice. Never. I just … I don’t know what to do here. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Impossible.
“Be a man, Connor. Make the hard choices. Maybe they won’t all be right”—I shrug—“but by God, choose something and stick with it.”
“Emily doesn’t have anyone else,” he whispers.
“Neither do I!” I yell.
I can tell my face is turning red in anger, so I take a few deep breaths. My temper isn’t going to make anything about this situation easier.
“You have your brother. Your sister,” Connor argues.
“Nicholas is leaving for another assignment in a few days.” I point out. “Lord only knows how long this one will be and when I’ll be able to talk to him, let alone see him again. And Eve”—I release a humorless laugh—“wants nothing to do with me.”
“But you still have them,” he repeats.
“You’re right; I do. So, I guess you should base your decision off that one fact alone.” I shake my head. “Smart move, ace.”
“Please stop acting like this.” He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling.
“You know what? Get out,” I snap.
Connor’s attention darts back to mine.
“I can’t deal with this, with you, today of all days.” My chest feels like it’s cracking open.
Connor tries to pull me into a hug, and I shove him away.
“Get out, Connor!”
“Noel—”
“No.” I shove him toward the door.
“Don’t be like this,” Connor pleads.
“Be like what? I think I’m being pretty damn tame because you know what I want to say?” I cross my arms over my chest. “What I want to say is, without a doubt, one hundred percent, go fuck yourself.”
When you’re hurting, it’s easier to push away the people you care about than to allow them to further weasel their way into your cracks where they can grow and expand and do serious damage.
The wounded puppy-dog eyes Connor’s giving me right now aren’t working. He can’t penetrate my psyche or my need to punch my self-destruct button.
“I never wanted this, Noel. I never wanted to be put in this situation.”
His hand rests on the doorknob, and my eyes focus in on his fingers, so I don’t have to look at him.
“Neither did I.”
Connor stands there, more than likely waiting for me to say something else, but I can’t. There are no words to make any of this better. He opens the door and walks through it. When it clicks closed behind him, my body goes lax, and I slink to the floor.
All the will and fight inside me depletes, and I break down in a way I never thought I could.
Tough Love
My bedroom door swings open, and I hear feet stomping in my direction, but I can’t see anything because my body and head are buried under a mass amount of covers and pillows. It’s my newfound armor since mine recently took a hit and is completely obliterated.
The intruder isn’t saying anything, but I can hear them breathing. They sound like a rabid bear.
“What?” I bark.
“Word on the street is you’ve decided to give up showers, and you stopped shaving your legs and pits.” Cami dramatically sniffs the air. “It smells like death in here, Noles. Get your shit together.” She nudges my bed.
“Get out.” I throw a pillow in the direction of Cami’s voice. I immediately regret tossing part of my treasured arsenal at such a heathen. It’s exposed a portion of my skin to the world that I’m still not ready to handle.
“Tough love, baby. Welcome to it.” Cami grabs the covers and yanks them back and completely off the bed, and then she shoves the pillows from my face.
“What the hell?” I yell and squint against the light.
“Get your ass up and out of bed. It’s Christmas Eve.” She perches her hands on her hips.
“I hate you.” I cover my head back up with a pillow that really does smell like something died.
“You love me, and you know it.” Cami straddles me and pushes the pillow to the side to peer down at me.
“Why are we friends?” I growl up at her.