Shivering, I wrap the towel around my shoulders. “And getting into a vehicle in your condition right now is? You may not feel drunk, but you’ve had a lot. You also have a record. I’m driving. End of story.”
His gaze burns into me and no matter how I try to read his expression I can’t tell if he’s angry with me or frustrated with the situation.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But you can’t wear that dress. Your red one’s still here. It’s hanging in my closet.”
“Luke,” I call as he steps out into the hallway. “I’m really sorry about your mom.”
He offers a half-smile and a nod. “Me too, Puffs. Me too.”
Dad squeezes me into a fierce half-hug and plants a gentle kiss on my temple. “Are you okay?”
I lie with a nod and lean my head on his shoulder. “There’s hardly anyone here,” I whisper.
“It’s human nature to believe the worst in people, especially when they’ve disappointed you in the past.”
There’s nothing about that statement I agree with. It’s always been my nature to see the best. Even in the worst of the worst.
“She made a mistake,” I reply. “She doesn’t deserve to be forgotten like this.”
“It was a pretty big blunder, Princess. But you’re right.”
My gaze shifts to the casket adorned in black roses and my stomach flip-flops for the millionth time since I stepped foot into the funeral home. It’s beautiful. A pearly white so shiny you can see your own reflection.
And Luke—he looks awful. His clean shaven face is back to the scruff and shadows of the last few years. His eyes red-rimmed and his mouth in a thin tense line.
I sit with my father, Maya and brother in the back row along with Sheila’s parents, who arrived quietly just a few moments ago. Luke hasn’t noticed any of us and, with their presence, I’m almost glad. A confrontation like that is the last thing he needs right now.
He sits in the front with, Ross, Sheila and Doctor Chambers. Ross is clinging to Sheila the way I wish Luke could to me. I want to be there for him more than anything, to hold his hand, to kiss away the pain. But in the past few days it’s almost like he’s grown tired of me hanging around. Ever since that night in his shower, he’s been distant. Not that I can blame him, losing a parent is life-changing no matter how old you are, no matter how close you were, no matter how much they’ve disappointed you in the past.
I glance back up at my dad. “Are you okay, daddy?”
He offers a half-smile and a slight nod. I don’t bother to press him further even though I know he’s anything but. He’s been quieter than usual and I know it has everything to do with the fact that he’s been here before. Cole too. I’m the only one struggling to grasp at memories of a day just like this one. When our family was the one in the front row. The only thing I am cognizant of is Mom’s casket and the room full of people.
It was white too and probably just as shiny. But the flowers were a spectrum of color, their scent strong enough to jog the rainbow back to memory. The room was packed with family and strangers alike. All giving a lost little girl the same commiserative gaze.
The funeral of Crystal Rose was the complete opposite of the quaint gathering to honor the life of her good friend Elodie Black. All because Ellie fell in love with—was loyal to—the wrong man. And that thought makes my stomach perpetually queasy.
How easy it is to let love—especially the wrong kind of love—destroy other people’s faith in you?
I’ve done everything in my power over the last few days to show Luke how much I care. Cooked for him, visited with him. Just sat with him. But when I offered to go to Montana and he looked at me like I was crazy, I took it as my cue to stand down. As difficult as it’s been. I’m not even sure he wants me here. He hasn’t acknowledged me or even once made eye contact and I’m beginning to realize my decisions regarding two of the most important men in my life may have had more of negative impact on one of the best relationships I’ve ever had than I realized. My choices have actually made things between Luke and I as non-existent as I once thought they were.
Mr. and Mrs. Carlson steal there way out of the chapel as the pastor says his final words. And I realize for the first time, as tough as they’ve been on Luke in the past, they care enough not to make things any harder for him too.
The pastor says something I don’t quite catch and everyone rises to their feet. As Luke and Ross follow the casket down the aisle, he casts me a brief glance. And for just a split second, behind the tears and the pain, I think I see something that tells me this is exactly where I needed to be. Even if he can’t tell me that. Even if he never will.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Luke
At least I got to say goodbye. If there’s one thing I’ll always regret it’s not being able to go to my wife’s funeral. But in a way, remembering Shannon the way I do, alive and completely in love with me is a memory I’d rather cherish. Seeing Mom’s lifeless body in that casket didn’t do much to make things better. It just solidified a fact: she’s never coming back. I no longer have a mother.
But at the same time, as much as it doesn’t feel like it, seeing her like that was a good thing. It was closure. Something I never really got with Shannon’s death. For me the idea that she was gone was more like a nightmare than a reality. One I wished, for six solid years, I could wake up from.
And then there was Coco. She wouldn’t put me out of my misery and just simply go away. Back to the life she chose. She even offered to go to Ekalaka with me to bury my mother. But that’s where I had to draw the line. After a solid week of her by my side, there was no way I’d be able to handle another weekend of her constant hugs and sympathetic touches, not if I couldn’t enjoy them exclusively for the rest of my life.
No matter how many times I told her I was fine, that she could go home, get on with her moving plans and let me figure out my own, she refused. She helped me plan the memorial, sort out details regarding the sale of the house and cooked enough casseroles you’d think the entire neighborhood had actually rallied around me in my time of loss. Of course they didn’t. They could care less than they already did, which is why I’ve finally decided Lewiston is the last place I need to be. My childhood home is no longer a home.
Moving into my brother’s condo in Seattle isn’t exactly a step up, but it is a step forward and, more than anything, that’s what I need right now. Letting Maya buy me out of The L and starting my life over, some way, some how is a good call. And getting as far away from my old life as possible is the best call I’ve made in a long time. But considering the things I’ll have to leave behind and all the things I’ve lost, I’m not entirely sure that’s possible.
I toss my suitcase into the backseat and slam the door shut, releasing some of my frustration along with it. I want to kick myself for telling her to leave. But at the same time, what’s the point in holding on to something you’ll never be able to keep?
I pick the cellophane-wrapped rose up from the roof of the car and stare at it momentarily, trying to decide if one last gesture is even worth it at this point. It’s not that I think one more rose, one more carefully-picked-out quote will make a difference—make her change her mind. I can hope, but hope is for pessimists. People who don’t really have a whole lot of confidence in the final outcome—just a fleeting thought that maybe they’ll be lucky enough to get what it is they truly want.
Coco’s already chosen what she wants. And, even though she’s shown me the depth of how much she still cares for me over the past week, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. The only thing to fill the void would be to have her completely. And she’s already made it clear where her loyalties lie.
I make my way to the back yard in slow strides. Past the over grown rose bush, over the grassy strip, up the stone walkway, and onto the vine-covered patio. I open the storm door, drop the rose inside and turn my back on a life that took me places I never thought I’d go and turned me into someone I never imagined I could be.
; CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Coco
I stack the last box by the door and pull my hair out of the sweaty ponytail. I’m going to need a serious shower the moment I get to the new place. Hot, long and very soapy. The thought makes me squirm and I do my best to push the memories of that night out of my mind. But I know it’ll be impossible. I’d wanted Luke so bad it hurt and when he pushed me away, did everything in his power to make me leave until he finally succeeded, I’d been at a loss.
But not anymore. I’ve never been more clear, more level headed than I am right now. What happened between us happened. I pushed him away and he returned the favor.
I glance at my watch. My flight leaves in two hours, the movers will be by in one. I could jump in the shower right now, but it’d mean using a bar of soap and regretting how dry my skin’ll be for the next three weeks or unpacking my suitcase in search of my favorite toiletries. Neither option appeals to me, so I quickly decide on another. A nice cool dip in the pool. With the high fence on one side and the house next door empty—since Luke drove off early this morning, I decide against a bathing suit and make my way toward the backdoor. The second I open it, a smile stretches across my face, my cheeks aching.
Another rose.
I spent days cleaning up the garden Dash sent me and even though the ones from Luke sat in various places around the house, dead or dying, it took a lot to throw them out. I’d wanted to kick myself when Sheila had asked if I’d bothered to dry any of them. I pick up the gift, wondering when it arrived and most of all why he didn’t deliver it in person like last time. But I already know the answer to that and I don’t want to dwell on it anymore. I just need to move past it. We both do.
I unwrap the rose, pulling it out and inhaling deeply. The fresh, sweet scent sends tingles up my spine and I marvel at how something that lacks traditional beauty can still be so perfect. So coveted.
I pick up the envelope, holding my breath as I turn it over and tear it open. This time it’s not a card, it’s a sheet of paper. Not just a note, but so much more. Luke Black’s last words.
I had to take an English course in my junior year. I put it off forever because I was convinced I’d hate it. Reading books and writing about them? Not exactly my thing. But I was kind of wrong. I was pretty damn good at it. I saw things in words, phrases and even between the lines that other people didn’t. Maybe it had to do with how I saw the world, I don’t know, but I devoured every book on the list and even added some of my own. One of my favorites is Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (don’t judge me, it’s not what you think. Even though you are my hot neighbor and five years younger).
I saved this one for last because I think it describes us perfectly. I think it describes love perfectly. A thing that no matter how far away it is and no matter how it ends, it never really ends.
“It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Luke
Ross enters the condo dangling a large envelope in front of him. The second I see the emblem printed at the corner, I bolt up from my seat and make a dive for it. He doesn’t put up the fight I think he will. Instead he tosses it in my direction and leans up against the counter, waiting patiently for me to divulge.
“Figured it was time I finished up,” I murmur, trying my best not to showcase my nerves as I tear into my immediate future.
“The bigger the envelope the better the news, little brother. Isn’t that what they say? No need to be nervous.”
Spoken in true ignorant bliss. What my brother doesn’t know is that over the past three years I’ve applied to five different schools—most of them community colleges—and been rejected by every one. It’s a serious blow to the ego I never thought I’d experience. I’ve always been good with school, so it wasn’t my grades that turned them off. It was who I’d become, what criminal parents, a has been band, a dead wife and now a dead mother had turned me into. A bitter, feel-sorry-for-himself, mopey kind of guy with little to no hope. I’d been completely transparent with my entrance essays—at the advice of my parole officer and mostly because I knew they’d all find out anyway. But the truth did nothing to set me free.
As I take in the first line of the letter, I realize maybe what they needed was my whole truth. A fucked up story that probably sounds more like a movie than real life.
I took one shot at one school. I told them about my early days of writing music with my brother, my jazz legend dad born and raised in this city. How at the age of fourteen my life was turned upside down, how a brother, only a few years my senior, became my surrogate father. I relayed my days of steadily growing anger toward my parents, the day I got accepted to Berklee School of Music but turned it down because of a twisted sense of loyalty. I shared my plans to finish school and live a normal life—plans that also were turned inside out when I decided to go on tour with my brother’s band instead. A band that shot to international success in just a few months. I told them all about the girl I left behind, a love I gained and lost before I even had a the opportunity to wrap my head around it. I even shared my stupid mistakes—my stint in jail, my impulsive decision to sign away my kids. At the end of it all, I stressed how important it was to get my shit together. To be the man my late mother always imagined I would be. To change the way I see the world.
A smile tugs at my lips and Ross pats me on the back.
“Told ya.” He snatches the envelope from me. “UW School of Music?”
“It’s no Berklee,” I say.
“But it’s exactly what you need.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, bro. For everything.”
I don’t respond because I’m too busy choking back tears. Partly because he’ll have something brilliant to say about me crying and partly because, if I start right now, I might not be able to stop. Again.
August
Getting used to this new life, this new city, these new people, is something I’m not sure I’ll ever figure out. Seattle’s nothing like home. And even though I’ve spent time here in the past and had adventures in more cities than most people could ever dream of, home is still home and leaving it behind, feels a whole lot like leaving a piece of my heart.
Even with the good news about school and the big plans to start my life over, I’ve barely ventured outside in the last month. It took me a little bit longer to recover from Mom’s death than I expected. It hit me a lot harder too. Wiped me out completely. I could barely eat for the first two weeks and other than Ross I spoke to no one. I didn’t even say a proper goodbye to Coco. And as hurt as I am that she chose Dash over me, she still deserved one. After standing by me the way she did, she deserved more than a rose jammed in the doorway.
I shrug into my leather jacket and shove my feet into my boots. An evening at the recording studio will be good for me. He’s proposing we record a cover of that Aretha Franklin song we did back in Lewiston. I laughed.
Ross, the same guy who doesn’t do covers or encores, wants to follow up the fucking Queen of Soul. I keep telling him it’s career suicide waiting to happen—singing it in a local bar and recording it for the world to hear are two different things. But he’s got delusions of grandeur—recording the track with The Queen herself and using it to promote his label. It’s nice to see though. Delusional or not, it’s nice to know my brother finally has something to call his own.
Raymar Records. An ode to his niece and nephew, my kids, our old life. It forms a lump in my throat every time I think of it.
I grab my wallet and keys and head toward the door, just as someone knocks.
I groan. If it’s the chick from across the hall, I’m staying in for the night. I’m not in the damn mood. My brother may have something to call his own but he’s still trying his hardest to control my life—well, at least my love life. And it’s annoying as hell. I’m not interested in picking up the pieces, I’d rather leave them where they lay. And not bother with any of it ever again.
I consider slinking b
ack into my room, but think better of it. This relentless woman isn’t about to ruin my night. I’ve got plans for a good beer and even better music and there isn’t a thing anyone can say that’ll change my mind.
I swing the door open fully intending on brushing right past her, but stop dead in my tracks when I see the person standing on the other side.
“Coco.”
“Hey, Luke.” She smiles and it goes straight to my head. “How are you?”
I step to the side, my heart pounding and my head spinning. Every time she shows up on my door step, I have the same reaction. Every single time I need her to say want I want to hear. I imagined this very moment for the first two weeks I moved in here, then I quickly gave it up. Forced myself to accept the inevitable—we were never going to be together and that was it.
But now she’s standing here, staring at me with those big brown eyes and I’m waiting for her to say the one thing that’ll change my life forever.
“Did you get the last rose?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. At least I think it is. I left the rose weeks ago. If she got it, it didn’t matter to her and if she didn’t she probably wouldn't be here. But if she did and it didn’t change her mind then what changed her mind now? Did Dash finally show his true colors? If so, how is that supposed to make me feel? Like the last resort I probably am?
“I did,” she says. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
My stomach clenches. I nod slowly and offer a smile I hope doesn’t look as bitter as the taste in my mouth. Looks like she’s come all the way here to rip my heart out all over again.
I look down at my shoes. “What are you doing in Seattle, then?”
“I live here.”
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