This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

“I got a notebook,” Leah speaks up. “I’m keeping it on my bedside table. When I have a dream, I’ll write down what I saw and felt. It might help.”

  “Good idea,” Matt says. “I’ll do the same. Maybe we should also write down when we get those … feelings. We can meet up and share what we have.”

  “Yeah,” she says.

  So she doesn’t mind seeing me again.

  They keep walking. Lady tugs on the leash. Being with Leah tugs on his emotions. “I went to Cassie’s. Her mom told me she wasn’t back yet.”

  Leah stops. “But I saw her.”

  He nods. “I didn’t believe her mom. It felt like she was lying to me.” He tightens his hand around the leash. “And that makes me wonder. Does Cassie’s mom know something about Eric? Are they both hiding something?”

  Leah looks out at the woods, then back. “But…”

  “But what?” he asks.

  “When I saw Cassie, she was upset. And if our crazy theory is right, we’re actually getting Eric’s feelings, wouldn’t he be furious if she was behind this? Why would he feel sad?”

  Frustration bubbles inside Matt and leaks out like old air he’d been holding for too long. “Because Eric loved her. Knowing him, he’d love her even if she killed him. She’d already broken his heart once, and he went back to her anyway.”

  Leah doesn’t look convinced.

  “Fine,” he says. “Maybe she’s not behind it, but she’s hiding something. Why else would she refuse to see me?”

  “Because … like I said before, looking at you is like looking at Eric. That would … hurt.”

  Matt stops. “You’re wrong. It feels like something more.” Sighing, he massages his temples with his fingertips.

  Leah rests her palm on his arm. He can feel the touch through his jacket and shirt. Feel it as if it’s right against his skin.

  “I’m on your side, Matt. I just think … we need to look at all angles.”

  Shit. Had he snapped at her? “Sorry. I’m…”

  “You’re hurting. It’s understandable.”

  “Yeah. And now with my mom riding my ass, I … I want this solved.” He grabs a dying leaf off a tree and twists it.

  “What’s your mom doing?” Leah stops by a bench on the side of the path and sits down.

  He drops beside her, careful to not get too close. “Detective Henderson called her.”

  “And?”

  “I hadn’t told her I’m trying to get him to reopen the case.”

  “The case is closed?” She leans back against the bench.

  He exhales a gulp of pain. “They said Eric had gunshot residue on his hands, and because it was my father’s gun they … ruled it a suicide.” He rakes a palm over his face then looks at her, suddenly scared she’ll believe it. “He didn’t do it, Leah.”

  She frowns. “Does your mom believe it?”

  “She says she can’t figure out why else he’d have taken the gun. She wants me to stop looking into it because she’s afraid … I’ll kill myself.”

  Her breath catches. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

  “No.” He frowns.

  She looks relieved.

  He presses a palm to his forehead. “But I can’t drop it. And Mom’s finally getting better and I don’t want this to set her back.” He exhales. “When Dad died, she got so depressed. She wouldn’t get dressed or comb her hair for days. I think she felt it was okay because Eric and I had each other. Now, with Eric gone, she’s trying to take care of me.”

  He hesitates. “She’s started running and getting grief counseling, and she’s started pressing me to join a support group.” He stares at Lady. “She even went out with friends last night.”

  “That’s good.” Leah’s voice is soft, almost lyrical, caring. Not the kind of caring that sounds fake. She’s genuine. Everything about her is genuine.

  “Are you going to go?” Leah asks. “To the support group?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like talking to strangers.” I’d much rather talk to you.

  She nods.

  “I don’t want to be what prevents my mom from getting better, but I have to find out who did this to Eric. He’d hate people thinking he did this to himself.”

  “We’ll do it,” she says. “We’ll figure it out.”

  We. That one word works its way from his head to his heart.

  He wants to take her hand, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t because he wants it too much. Or maybe because he wants more than just holding her hand. He wants to kiss her again.

  God help him, but he wants to feel her soft breasts against his chest like when he kissed her before.

  He wants.

  He just wants.

  For a beat of time, they don’t talk. He tries to control his wants and let himself find peace in the fact she’s here. She’s helping him. Listening to him. That should be enough.

  “Do you have any idea why Eric would have taken the gun?” Leah asks.

  Her question bumps against raw nerves. How long has he tried to figure that out? “No. But I think Cassie knows.” A thought hits and he looks back at Leah.

  “Maybe if you call her or see her, she’ll talk to you.”

  The tightness in Leah’s eyes tells him she doesn’t like his plan.

  “I … I’ll try, but she doesn’t know me.”

  “You’ve gone to school with her since first grade.”

  “Yeah, but we … we’ve never been friends.”

  Something about her tone tells him there’s more to it. “Have you two had problems?”

  “No. We’ve just never … talked. But, I’ll try.” She looks down at her hands, then up. “Today being New Year’s, I should wait. Tomorrow, I could go there. You’ll have to tell me where she lives. And what you want me to ask.”

  He nods. A cool wind whooshes by, stirring a few tendrils of Leah’s hair that have fallen out of the clip. He watches it brush across her face and neck.

  He likes her hair better down.

  “Did Eric have any problems with anyone?” Leah asks.

  Lady jumps up on her leg, and Leah leans down to pet her. The scooped neck of her sweater falls open. Matt can’t stop his eyes from going there. But what he sees isn’t what he expects. Leah has a scar. A red scar.

  His chest hurts. Aches for her.

  He looks away before she notices. He hadn’t thought about her having a scar. And a big one. But he should have. They had to put Eric’s heart in her chest.

  She sits up. “Did he?”

  “What?” He’s lost. He forces himself to look at her.

  “Did Eric have any problems with anyone?” she repeats.

  “Just Cassie.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  He forces his mind away from her scar. Away from the pain she must have felt. “They had broken up like five months before. He was just getting over her. Marissa, Cassie’s best friend, called him saying something was wrong with Cassie and asked him to call her.”

  “What was wrong?” Leah pulls her knee up and hugs it.

  “He wouldn’t tell me. Said it wasn’t something he could talk about. But he was upset.” Matt closes his eyes. “I should have made him tell me.”

  “You can’t make someone open up,” Leah offers.

  Matt runs a hand through his hair. “Whatever was going on, it made him take Cassie back. He’d started dating Haley and he broke that off.”

  “Haley?”

  “A girl from Southside High. They started dating a few months after he and Cassie broke up.”

  “Why did Cassie break up with him the first time?”

  “She never told him. That’s what drove him so crazy. He was still grieving over Dad and then she did that.”

  “Had Eric been depressed?”

  “No! Okay, yeah, he was in a funk, but not bad.” Not as bad as I was. Or am. “He acted worse after he got back with her. Not depressed, just worried.” Matt looks at Leah. “Maybe you c
ould ask Cassie about that.”

  Leah nods, but still appears unsure.

  Tugging her knee closer, she pauses. “Marissa, Cassie’s best friend, doesn’t she go to our school, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you asked her about Cassie or asked her to talk to Cassie?”

  “She says she doesn’t know anything, says she hasn’t even spoken to Cassie since she left to live with her dad.”

  Leah goes quiet. Lady curls up at his feet and naps. The sounds playing around them are nothing but the breeze and fluttering bird wings echoing from the trees. The sun falls behind a cloud.

  Leah pulls her jacket closer.

  “You want my coat?” The second the words fall off his lips, he regrets saying them.

  Their eyes meet, and he knows she’s thinking about Trent. About Trent’s coat. She probably knows he’s thinking about it too. He wants to ask her what the deal is between them, but she might guess Matt’s interested and then feel uncomfortable with him.

  “No, I’m fine,” she says. “When we walk, I’m not cold.”

  They stand up and amble along in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s too long, feels empty. He misses the sound of her voice.

  When they get settled into his car, he faces her. “I need to run by the vet and grab Lady more puppy food. It’s on the way to your house. Do you mind, or do you want me to take you home?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He smiles. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Being here. I really need someone right now.” Then, damn, he regrets saying that too. The last thing he wants to come off as is weak and needy.

  “I’m here.” She sends him a soft look that chases away his regret and even some of the pain.

  Starting the car, he puts it in reverse, then shoves it in park. “Leah, I know I’ve already said this, but … I’m sorry.” He holds onto the wheel. “I didn’t call you back after I came to tutor you. You probably needed me then, and I bailed on you.”

  She sinks her front teeth in her bottom lip again.

  He feels even worse. “I was in a dark place. That doesn’t make it right. I was a bastard.”

  “No, you weren’t. I get it. I do.” She sends a quiet smile.

  It’s the prettiest damn smile he’s ever seen.

  His chest tightens and releases at the same time. The hurt he feels, has felt for so long, eases a little more. Being with her is to this pain what an aspirin is to a headache.

  Only he needs a bigger dose.

  12

  I watch Matt drive. I watch the world go past, and my mind juggles everything we’ve talked about. About his apology for bailing on me. It reminds me how much I wanted him to call.

  I really don’t blame him. I was sick. But it produces a wiggle of worry inside me. If he knew I wasn’t completely out of the woods—that I’ll never really be out of the woods—would he bail again?

  Part of me says I’m getting in over my head, agreeing to talk to Cassie, but Matt needs someone.

  I want to be that someone.

  Who I don’t want to be is the sick person in his mind. I’ve been her for too long.

  He turns into the vet parking lot.

  There are no cars here. I remember it’s New Year’s Day. “I think they’re closed.”

  He frowns. “Yeah.”

  “There’s a grocery store down the street. I think it’s open.”

  He looks back at Lady, who’s belly-up and sound asleep. “I guess it won’t hurt her to eat a different food for a day.”

  The grocery store’s parking lot is filled with cars. As soon as he parks, my phone rings in my purse.

  “Excuse me.” I reach for it. I check the number. I also see I have new texts and two missed calls. I’ll deal with them later. But this call I can’t ignore. “It’s my mom.”

  I answer. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, hon’. You still at the park?”

  “Just left.” I glance at him hoping he doesn’t think it’s rude to take the call. He doesn’t look upset. “We stopped at the grocery store to buy his puppy some dog food.”

  When she doesn’t reply, I ask, “Everything okay?” Which is my cue for goodbye.

  “Yeah. I think your dad liked him.”

  I almost gasp. I can’t believe she’s saying this now. “I gotta—”

  “I didn’t realize Matt had lost his brother and father. Is Matt okay?”

  “Fine.” It hits me then. If Mom finds out I got Eric’s heart, she might … well, she might feel uncomfortable about me hanging with Matt. “Can we talk later?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She finally realizes how inconvenient this is.

  Matt’s looking at me, and I hang up before I hear my mom say goodbye. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” He sounds like he means it. Which means he didn’t hear anything, right? “You want to come in?” he asks.

  I look back at Lady. “I can wait in the car.”

  “No. I’ve left her in the car before. You can help me pick out a new collar. Mom says I need one that says she’s a girl.”

  I grab my purse. The moment my feet hit the pavement, I’m hit with wind carrying the scent of something wonderful. Something spicy. Something that sets my stomach growling.

  “What’s that smell?” I’m taking in big sniffs of air, searching for a restaurant.

  “Indian food.” He studies me.

  My stomach commences to chewing on my backbone. I spot Desai Diner beside the grocery store.

  “Have you eaten there?” My mouth’s watering.

  He’s still staring. “Yeah.”

  “Would you mind if we … grab something? I just realized I haven’t eaten today.”

  “Sure.” He doesn’t sound sure.

  I remember Lady and glance back. “Or … I could just get it to go.”

  “No, she’s asleep. After her walks, she crashes for two or three hours. And I’ll check on her.”

  The moment we walk into the restaurant, I’m in heaven. “It smells so good.” We step to the counter. The menu’s on the wall.

  “What should I order?” I ask Matt.

  His brow pinches. “What do you like?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I’ve never eaten Indian food. But if it tastes as good as it smells, this is going to be my favorite restaurant.” I look around. “Is this place new?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It’s just … Mom and I come here to grocery shop. I don’t know why my nose hasn’t already led me here.”

  “Can I help you?” an Indian woman walks up to the counter. She smiles. “Mr. Kenner, we miss you.”

  Matt nods, a strange faraway kind of nod. Right then the smell makes my stomach growl so loud Matt glances at me. “Sorry.” I blush. “What should I get?”

  He hesitates. “Try the butter chicken with lemon rice.”

  I pick up the takeout menu and study it to make sure I can eat it with my transplant restrictions. When all’s clear, I glance up. “That’s what I’ll have.”

  “Same for you Mr. Kenner?”

  My stomach grumbles again, even louder. I pull two twenties from my purse, but he holds up a hand.

  “I got this.”

  “No.” I recall not wanting Trent to pay for my water. “This was my idea.”

  “I got this,” he repeats.

  I open my mouth not sure what to say, then blurt out, “It’s not like it’s a date.” The second I hear the words, I want to suck ’em back in.

  Then I don’t want to. What I want is for Matt to correct me. To tell me it’s a date.

  I study his expression, hoping … waiting.

  He doesn’t say a word, even glances back at the menu. “You’re helping me.”

  I feel my stomach about to roar again. “Then I’ll get the next one.” I excuse myself and take off. When I get to the restroom, I move to the mirror and stare at my reflection. “Can you not embarrass me?”

  My reflection doesn’t answe
r. New Leah doesn’t answer. My stomach does. It growls so loud, I worry it can be heard outside the bathroom.

  I don’t leave the restroom until my stomach stops bitching. Matt’s sitting in a booth, looking at his phone.

  As I approach, he looks up and smiles. I put on my best face.

  He pushes his phone aside. A subtle way of saying I’m more important.

  I’m still awed that I’m here. With him. Before I sit down, I ask, “Should I go check on Lady?”

  “I just did. She’s sleeping.”

  I slip into the booth. “I really don’t mind paying.”

  He frowns. “I said I had this.”

  I nod. It occurs to me that I’m less upset with Matt paying for my lunch than I was with the idea of Trent paying for my water. I know why too. I wouldn’t mind if this was a date. Not that I’m the type to let the guy pay for everything, but …

  He pushes a glass over. “You didn’t say what you wanted to drink. I had them bring you water, but we can order something else.”

  “Water is fine.” I force a smile.

  A man carrying a tray of steaming food walks over.

  “Mr. Kenner.” He grins at Matt. He’s wearing a name tag that says Ojar. “I was afraid you were cheating on us and visiting the new Indian place across town. I haven’t seen you here in months.”

  Matt gets a lost look on his face that I can’t read.

  “Just busy.” He sips his water.

  “Okay, let’s see.” The man looks at the tray and picks up a plate. “Your regular, sir.”

  He sets it down in front of Matt. Matt speaks up. “No. That’s hers.”

  Ojar looks confused. “Wait. You’re playing games with me. You are not Eric. You are Matt.”

  That’s when I understand Matt’s lost look. Ojar doesn’t know Eric’s dead. And Matt doesn’t want to tell him. My heart hurts for Matt.

  I want to save him. “I’m so hungry.” I even pat the table, hoping it’ll distract the conversation. But the man’s focus stays on Matt.

  “You’re a tricky guy,” Ojar says.

  Matt’s brown eyes find mine; then he looks back at Ojar. “Yeah.”

  The waiter sets the plate in front of me—with a salad I can’t eat—then sets a plate of what looks like fried rice in front of Matt.

  Ojar focuses on me. “Your young man doesn’t like my food.”

  I wish he was mine and I also wish this guy would leave and stop making Matt uncomfortable. “I’ll make up for it. Thank you.” I say the words as a send-off.