Turn It Up

by Inez Kelley

  The delicate clasp on the ID bracelet unlatched smoothly. She let it trickle through her fingers to the porch floor. She dropped Forever at his feet and walked away with her head high.

  She didn’t stop even when he called her name. As long as she didn’t look back, he’d never know that she was crying.

  “Eddy! Open the goddamned door. I know she’s in there.” Bastian pounded on the wood until the inside curtain shook.

  It slowed then wrenched to the side. “Get off my property!”

  Bastian ignored the order, his gaze locked with Eddy’s. “I want to talk to Charlie.”

  “Shit in one hand, etcetera, etcetera,” she sneered and snapped the curtain closed.

  He’d already gone to her place and found it empty. Her Firebird was still in the garage so it wasn’t like there were many other places she could be. He banged again, fighting the melodramatic urge to bust the window out. He’d been calling for hours and she wouldn’t answer the damned phone. This teenage shit had to stop now. They needed to talk.

  The porch light snapped on and door cracked open. He braced for a blast of fury but met nothing but icy maternal accusation.

  “You hurt my baby.”

  “Where is she?” He pushed past Eddy.

  At the kitchen table, two pints of ice cream had melted into a goop. A spray can of whipped topping, a bottle of Hershey’s syrup, a jar of cherries and a broken candy bar littered the place mat. It didn’t look as if she’d eaten more than a few bites then left it to sit for hours. He ground his teeth and picked up one carton.

  Ben & Jerry’s Everything But The…

  “She couldn’t eat it.” Eddy glowered. “Congratulations. You even ruined ice cream for her, you prick.”

  Bastian slammed the carton down. “Where is she?”

  Eddy glowered. “What makes you think I’ll tell you anything?”

  “Because you love her and so do I.”

  Her eyes slid closed and an exhausted sigh blew out. “I promised her I wouldn’t say anything to you.”

  “Say what?” Panic erupted and his gut cramped.

  “She’s gone. She took the first flight she could get and flew to Arizona this afternoon to look for a place to live.”

  Shock sucker-punched him, the invisible fist ricocheting pain through his body. Ache spread when he sucked in a breath. Why the hell did his heart have to be so close to his lungs? “Already?”

  Eddy grabbed the drippy cartons and threw them in the trash. She avoided looking at him. “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing,” he whispered but the lie scratched at his throat. He’d assumed he knew what was best, what Charlie wanted. He’d taken control away from her. “When’s she coming back?”

  Eddy didn’t answer for a long time, concentrating on scrubbing dried chocolate sauce off the table. The sponge slowed and she raised her head, nailing him with a look that froze his bones to the marrow.

  “To you? Never. She’s hurt bad and running hard. I have no idea how many men she’s slept with, but you, you son of a bitch, are the only one who screwed her over. Get out of my house.”

  He didn’t remember leaving the kitchen but the door slammed behind him. The inside of his SUV was warm, borderline hot, but he shivered in cold.

  That’s what happens when your heart stops. Blood doesn’t flow through the veins, heat seeps away, tissues die. Two-minute window. A body had two minutes from the time the heart stopped until permanent damage began.

  He never knew how agonizing those two minutes were. Not until Charlie left him.

  Oh my God, what did I do?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Are you making onion soup?”

  Charlie blinked then stared at the mostly watery goop on the cutting board. She shoved the mess away and washed her hands. “Sorry, Mom. Just thinking.”

  Eddy made a noncommittal noise and scraped the onion puree into the tomato sauce. “I’m not even going ask about what.”

  “Good, don’t.” Charlie flopped into a chair and traced a ladybug on the place mat with her fingernail. “The new apartment’s great. Two bedroom so you can stay as long as you want. Maybe you should think about moving out there with me.”

  The wooden spoon slowed in her mother’s hand. “I thought about it but you know what, I like it here. Maybe I’m finally old enough to need roots or something, but this is where I belong. Besides, it’ll give you a place to come home to once in a while.”

  Come home. She switched from a ladybug to a mushroom, running her finger over the printed fungi. This house didn’t feel like a forever place. Maybe you had to grow up in one spot to have that connection. Her mind leaped to a blue Victorian with a wrought-iron railing. A grinning face with blond hair crept into her mind and she shook it away. That pain was too raw to examine.

  “It’s Friday,” she murmured then snapped her mouth shut when the words touched the air.

  “All day long.” Eddy glanced at her. A suspicious glint narrowed her eyes. “Something significant about Fridays?”

  The place mat lost its appeal so she stared out the window. The garage door was open and the bay empty. Custom Classics and Auto Restorations had taken her Firebird away only an hour ago. The hefty check in her purse should have her dancing with glee but all she could think about was when oil had dripped on Bastian’s face. He’d sputtered and slid out from underneath, cursing a blue streak. She’d laughed and called him a wuss until he roared and chased her around the garage, catching her and dotting slick smudges all over her cheeks.

  “His surgery was this morning.”

  Eddy sighed. “Baby girl, you have to snap out of it. It has nothing to do with you now.”

  Charlie knew that. He needed the surgery. But she couldn’t help wondering if he’d had the vasectomy as well now that they weren’t together. She hoped he hadn’t. He deserved to be happy.

  Jet lag was crashing down and her head ached. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in her arms on the tabletop. At some point, she was going to have to face him. Nathan had guilted her into staying through the Summer Kickoff. Three weeks meant nine shows of Let’s Talk about Sex with Dr. Hot and the Honeypot. Hadn’t some author written there were nine levels of hell? There had to be some symbolic meaning in there somewhere.

  She peeked over her elbow. Eddy was adding some grass-colored herb to the sauce. “Mom, would you call him?”

  “I called him several names. What do you want me to add to the list?”

  “No,” she sighed. “About the show. Tell him I can handle the rest by myself. He doesn’t need to come in.”

  “What about the bet and your listeners?”

  Charlie snorted. “Easy. I’ll tell them I screwed him into a coma.”

  Eddy shook her head. “Sorry, baby girl. You have to face the music. You want to tell him not to come in, you call him.”

  WTXT had aired a week of old shows stating Doc and Honey were on vacation. Vacation, his ass. He was in limbo. Life went on around him but he existed outside of it. He treated patients by rote, ate out of habit, showered by routine, but he didn’t live. Life for him was a memory loop of Charlie in his arms under a lighted gazebo, pure love shining on her face. He pulled a hellacious double shift, spending his downtime staring into space and seeing Betty Boop eyes.

  Now he sat staring at his phone. Hey, just wanted to let you know I have the next couple weeks covered. No need for you to come in. Dr. Hot can retire. See ya.

  He’d spent two hours in the ring today but never saw that punch coming. She’d left a fucking message telling him he was out of a job. Nothing else, just business. As if he’d never meant anything to her except as a coworker. In a burst of irritation, he wondered if she had some ESP shit or something that knew the exact minute he was on the phone with the UC’s director finalizing his start date when she called. Any other time he’d have answered, but no, she hit the one five-minute span he was on the damned phone and had let the call go to voice mail.

  The phone sha
ttered as it slammed against the wall. He held up the ID bracelet, letting the dying afternoon sun bounce off the metal. With the other hand, he reached for the scotch again. His glass clinked against the bottle lip. The soft rush of liquor and the chime of melting ice seemed overly loud. So smooth going down, the scotch’s exquisite flavor held a fruity sweetness. He imagined it was peach.

  A muffled knock on his office door raised his head. Caz peered around, then his eyes settled on the bottle. “Thought I heard something break. You drinking alone?”

  “Yeah.” Alone. Sounded about right for his life right now.

  He’d gotten rid of the formal table and chairs in the dining room. Now his desk, his father’s hand-me-down, sat under the aged chandelier. His modern chair looked completely out of place next to the antique but he loved them both. The leather-upholstered, ergonomically designed chair back cradled his slumped spine, and the huge bottom desk drawer had a lock.

  He never kept beer in the fridge or any other alcohol in the house. It just seemed like too much temptation with Caz around. But Charlie had given him a bottle of scotch for his birthday because he liked it once in a while. His desk had been the perfect place for it.

  He’d planned to crack the seal with her one day, celebrating something or just having a quiet night at home. He never imagined he’d reach for it when his heart was in tatters and his balls not far behind. There was a hole in his chest, an aching void he couldn’t fill. Charlie had walked away and left him standing in shock, holding an engraved promise that meant nothing.

  “You okay?”

  Another sip caressed his tongue. “I don’t think so, Boo.”

  Caz sat on the corner of his desk. A sharp whistle pierced the quiet room. “Damn, Johnnie Walker Blue? You’re an expensive drunk.”

  “It was a birthday gift…from Charlie. And I’m not drunk yet.”

  “Getting there, though.” Caz tossed his hair over his shoulder. “You ready to talk about what happened?”

  The chair didn’t even squeak as he spun in slow circle. A sardonic laugh rolled from somewhere under his ache, deep in his gut. “I got kicked the balls.”

  “Charlie kicked you in the nuts?”

  “No, she aimed for the heart.”

  He rolled the glass between his palms before bringing it to his mouth. He leaned back, propping both feet on the desk edge. The amber liquid sparkled, surrounding the ice until the cubes glistened. But they were melting away just like dreams he’d thought were coming true. He laid his head back, wishing there was a medication to ease the hurt churning through him. Time was the only prescription. Time, distance and a whole lot of emptiness.

  “She was going to say yes.” The murmur came without thought.

  Caz stared at him, unblinking, those pale brown eyes openly reliving his own hell. He sniffed and his gaze dropped to the bottle. His tongue skated across his lip. He reached but Bastian wasn’t that drunk. He caught Caz’s arm before he could lift the bottle. “Don’t.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Caz whispered, his grip tightening on the bottle neck.

  Bastian shook his head. “I shouldn’t have opened it when you were home. I’ll put it away. Just let go.”

  Something cold and frantic flickered across Caz’s face. “I’m an adult. You can’t stop me from having a drink.”

  “No, I can’t. But I can stop you from drinking mine.” He squeezed harder but Caz didn’t let go. “You’ve come too far to slide back now. Don’t.”

  “Why not? You’re giving up. What’s the big deal if I do, too?”

  “What?” Bastian yanked his hand back. Caz never let go of the bottle but he didn’t pick it up either. The raw misery on his face echoed the bottomless empty space in Bastian’s chest.

  “I don’t know what the hell happened between you and Charlie, but I don’t need to. You’re sitting here, just you and Johnnie, while the woman you love is walking away. Been there, done that, got the nightmares to prove it, so listen up. When you start drowning the pain in a bottle—alone—then you need to take a good look at your future. I think you said she was in Arizona.”

  “She’s home. She just called.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Basically, I’m fired.”

  “You don’t need that job. You do need Charlie. Why the fuck are you sitting here getting drunk? Go after her. Face the bully, Bastian.”

  The scotch on his lips was suddenly heavy and sour. “It’s not that easy.”

  Caz smirked and let go of the bottle. “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it. Is Charlie worth it?”

  Bastian jerked the bottle off the desk, capped it and shoved it in his drawer. The lock clicked with a loud, cold pop. Draining the last bit of liquid courage, he stood and fished in the top drawer for his keys. Caz yanked them out of his hand.

  “My turn to play knight in shining armor. I’m driving.”

  He contemplated knocking but shoved the idea away almost immediately. Facing Eddy again was not on his Things To Do list. With Caz tight on his heels, he stomped into the kitchen. Too much alcohol flowed through his veins to think about being polite. The mouthwatering fragrance of Eddy’s homemade lasagna churned his gut. Either that or he had a major case of nerves.

  Her hard, unflinching eyes pinched into a glare and he met them in silence. Grudgingly, she tilted her head toward the living room. He pretended he didn’t see her flip him off as he left the kitchen. Caz made some comment about food and their voices dropped, a hushed but sharp conversation he didn’t bother trying to overhear. His concern was two steps away.

  Curled in an overstuffed armchair, she ignored him, turning her face away, but he saw it all in a camera flash. Charlie had been crying. Those huge baby-blue eyes were rimmed in pink and bloodshot. Her nose was red and her hair stood on end.

  Easy, go easy.

  Never mind, screw easy.

  “If you’re going to fire me, do it to my face.” He dragged a flowered footstool closer and sat at her feet.

  Her mouth opened then shut. She leaned closer to him and sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

  “A little.”

  Her gaze dropped to his sweatpants then slowly rose to his face. “You shouldn’t be drinking this soon.”

  “I turned twenty-one a long time ago and you’re avoiding the topic of conversation.”

  “There is no conversation. You’re off the show.”

  “Screw the show. I don’t give a shit about the show. I do give a shit about us.”

  “There is no us either.”

  “Because you’re being a bitch.” Her eyes went wide and he mentally grimaced. He had to have a little talk with his tongue and Johnnie Walker.

  Charlie thrust out of the chair. “If I’m a bitch, you’re an asshole.”

  “Then we’re perfect for each other,” he said dryly.

  She snorted a crude phrase he was positive was anatomically impossible to do but she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall over his shoulder. The delicate wedge of her jaw clenched so tightly he saw the muscles bunching and jumping and longed to kiss the tension away. He didn’t dare try. He liked his teeth in his mouth.

  “Talk to me, damn it.” He leaped from the footstool. “You were going to say yes. I saw it in your eyes. What did I say that pushed you away?”

  “It’s what you didn’t say.” A single tear dropped from her lashes.

  “Wait, you’re pissed at me for something I didn’t say but that you heard loud and clear? That makes perfect sense.” Apparently a hangover didn’t wait until all the alcohol left the blood because a headache exploded behind his eyes. “On what fucking planet?”

  “You’re being a martyr,” she snapped. “You threw away something you’ve wanted for years because I’m not good enough for you.”

  His jaw dropped. “What? Where in the hell did you get that idea?”

  A mocking laugh twisted her mouth. “You. If I were Lisa, you’d never have had a vasectomy.”


  “Lisa divorced me.”

  Her chin lifted. “And I’m going to Arizona.”

  “You can go to hell.”

  Pain colder than the north wind shot through her, freezing her vision into a sharp point. “Fuck you.”

  “You wish.” Bastian wasn’t drunk but he was close to it. His angry breath smelled of sweet scotch and heated fury. Hurt turned his voice from rich velvet to brittle shale. “All this time, I thought you knew me better than anyone. You don’t know shit.”

  “Why don’t you just get out?”

  “I’m not finished,” he growled.

  This was going to get uglier before it died. It was something she’d never wanted. All the livid fear from that night around the campfire rushed back. She was losing her best friend in cruel words and bitterness. She’d rather be filleted with a rusty knife.

  Out of pure pretense, she dropped her shoulders into a bored slump. Tightening her lips into a line kept her teeth from chattering and her heartbreak from whimpering out. “Then by all means, continue being an asshole.”

  “I might be an asshole but I’m not a martyr. If that title belongs to anyone, it’s you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  A sneer carved a deep groove around his mouth. “Not good enough? In whose mind? Mine? Or yours?”

  Shock widened her eyes. “Yours.”

  “Wrong.” One long finger pointed in her face. “Name one time I’ve ever said or did something that gave you that idea. You can’t because I never have.”

  Her fists balled at her sides. “Royce was right. You’re hiding behind my skirt. But you’re not gay. You’re afraid. With me, there was no pressure. I never throw shit in your face like Lisa did. The minute that changed, you freaked and decided to play slice and dice.”

  “No, Charlie. The minute that changed all I could think of was you.” Soft, deep as espresso, his tone robbed all her anger. “You need to go off the Pill. I don’t want to lose you to a stroke when I have the power to prevent it.”