This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

  Matt puts his arm around me as if to keep me warm. It’s not as cold as it was earlier. I think it’s just an excuse to be close. But I’ll take any excuse he comes up with.

  I lean my head on his shoulder.

  We stay like that for several moments. Birds flutter above, some little creature scurries below. The lightest breeze whispers through the trees. And inside me is another echo. An echo of happiness. I’m happy. New Leah is happy.

  I want to remember this. Always.

  I sit up. “You mind if I take some pictures?”

  “No,” he says. I take a few shots of the two of us, and Matt and Lady. “Send them to me.”

  I do. After a second, we’re back to snuggling.

  “I had classes with Brandy today,” he says.

  I don’t look at him, just answer. “She told me.”

  “She gave me a talking-to about treating you right.”

  “Sorry. She’s a good friend. A little protective.”

  “What surprised me was she knew about you having Eric’s heart.”

  I sit up. I look at his eyes and it’s back. The pain. “Yeah. I was … freaked, and needed someone to talk to. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, I was just surprised.” He hesitates. “Did you tell her about the dreams?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did she say?”

  I debate skirting around the truth. I don’t want Matt upset with Brandy. But I’m already skirting around so much with Matt. “She thinks we’re dealing with a lot of crap and are confused.”

  “So she doesn’t believe you.” His tone sounds apologetic.

  “It is kind of hard to believe.”

  He exhales. “Sometimes I want to tell Mom or even Detective Henderson, but it’s like saying I’m seeing ghosts. But it’s him, Leah. Just today I felt … him. It’s like recognizing a part of myself.”

  “I believe you.”

  We sit there in silence, until he glances at me. “Have you told your parents?”

  “They know I’ve had dreams, but they don’t know anything else.” I remember something that might make him feel better. “I’ve read stories about identical twins having that connection. And there’s a lot of transplant patients who experience this. So it’s not just us.”

  He nods and in few second asks, “Have you told your parents that you got Eric’s heart?”

  “No. I’m … afraid they’ll make a big deal out of it.”

  “What kind of big deal?” he asks.

  “That … they might think we like each other for that reason.” I wait and hope he’ll assure me that it’s not so. He doesn’t say anything.

  He glances around. “I think the tattooed guy lives in the house to the left of Cassie’s.”

  “You went there?”

  He looks guilty. “After you left school. I didn’t see him, but a young blond woman with two girls pulled up to the other house. Then Cassie showed up.” He frowns as another cool breeze brushes past. “A cop pulled up. I left, but he stared at me as I drove off.”

  “Matt, you can’t do this. Seriously, you could get in trouble. And not because of the cop. If this tattooed guy sees you and thinks you know something, he could … kill you.”

  I stand up, staring down at him still sitting on the bench. He gets up.

  I bury my hands in my pockets. “Promise me you aren’t going back there.” The wind picks up again.

  He wraps his arms around my waist. He half smiles. “Has anyone told you that you have the cutest nose in the world? It’s perfect. A little turned up, and small, and…”

  “Are you really using my nose to change the subject?”

  “Maybe, but it’s the truth. Your nose is perfect.”

  I lift one hand from my pocket and press it against his chest. “Promise me you won’t go back.”

  “Your lips are almost as perfect as your nose.” He tilts his head down as if to kiss me.

  I put my hand up and his mouth lands there. “Promise me.” His lips feel moist on the back of my fingers.

  He makes a low growling sound. “I can’t promise. I have to find out who did this to my brother. If that means getting in trouble or putting myself in a little danger, so be it.”

  I hate hearing that. Hate it. I step back, away from his warmth. “Go to the detective and—”

  “I will. When I have proof.”

  We stand there and stare at each other. I can see the pain in his eyes. I understand it, but doesn’t he realize what could happen? He could die. He inches in.

  Tilting his head down, his breath is on my temple. “Please understand. I have to do this. Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m scared.” He puts a hand on each side of my face. His touch is warm and so welcome.

  “I’ll be careful.” He lips touch mine. He brushes a soft kiss on the side of my mouth. Testing. Tasting. Tempting.

  I know what this is. Pure distraction.

  And I’m falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.

  His tongue eases inside my mouth. I tilt my head and take it deeper and we stand there, the cold breeze around us, the echoes of small animals, but the only thing I care about is his kiss and his hands holding my waist.

  Before I realize it, his hands shift just under the hoodie, under my tee. His hands are on my bare skin. Fitting to the curve of my waist. He moves up an inch. Down and inch. I want more inches. I want his touch everywhere.

  Sweet vibrations whisper over my body. The muscles in my lower abdomen tighten almost painfully. My breasts, pressed against his chest, feel heavy and sensitive.

  I feel electric.

  I feel a weird kind of empty and I want him to fill it.

  I feel as if I’m floating. I’m moving through the air on something light—something mystical.

  Then I want to touch him. I reach under his jacket. I move up and under his shirt. I’m touching his lower back. His kiss becomes more intense. I let my fingers move up and to the side, exploring how he feels against my palms. But I still want more.

  The need to touch more, more skin, more Matt. I glide my hands up his back. His skin is soft, but beneath it is muscle. He’s firm. He’s hard. I’m lost.

  I rock against him ever so slightly, wanting to be closer. That’s when I feel that he’s hard in other places. It’s like a wake-up call. But I’m not sure I’m ready to be woken up.

  Still, I pull back. My lips slowly part from his. When I open my eyes, his are wide, bright, filled with heat. His lips are wet from our kiss. I know mine are the same. I hear him breathing, or is that me? His taste lingers on my tongue.

  I’m almost embarrassed, but not. Despite being the one to end it, I feel bold. Bolder than Old Leah ever felt. I realize I don’t care if the reason I feel this is because I have Eric’s heart. I feel it. I’m owning it.

  “Sorry,” he says as if he knows I noticed his below-the-belt problem. As if he knows that it’s the reason I pulled back. His cheeks are pink, and I don’t think it’s from the cold. The last thing I want is for him to feel bad.

  I force a smile. “I’m not sorry. Not even a little bit.”

  He grins. It reaches his eyes. “Then I’m not either.”

  Lady barks at some small noise in the woods. “We should go,” he says.

  I nod. He puts the sweetest kiss on my cheek. Pulling back, he touches my nose. “Your nose really is perfect.”

  He grabs Lady’s leash, and we start to the car, his hand in mine. I love the feel of it. We walk in silence. I’m busy storing the memory for safekeeping so I can go back to it. So I can relive it.

  I hear his words again. Your nose really is perfect.

  My giddiness fades because I realize not all of me is perfect. I remember the scars.

  Matt squeezes my hand. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you have college plans?”

  Air hiccups in my throat. Plans require a future, and until recently I didn’t have one. And now…?

  I realize he’s waiting for an answer.


  “No big plans,” I say, and bam: I realize what this might mean. Matt has plans. Matt’s going to leave. Leave town. Leave me. I’m already missing him.

  “So no plans?” he asks.

  “I’ll … probably do my basics in a junior college here.” Just saying that gives my pulse a zing because that’s … nine months away. I look at him and think of his leaving, and for the first time nine months doesn’t seem long at all. I notice he’s smiling. “What?”

  “Me too. I’m going to college here for at least a year.”

  Relief flutters through my chest.

  He squeezes my hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave Mom just yet. I can do a lot of what I need for a business degree here.”

  “Business? That’s what you’re taking?”

  “Yeah. I considered law, but…” He pauses. “I know what I want to do. I’m just not sure if it’s feasible.”

  “What?” I ask, wanting to know everything. What makes him happy. What makes him sad. Everything about him. Every tiny nuance.

  “Don’t laugh.” He rears back on his heels.

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  “I’d love to open up my own garage. Maintenance. Redo engines. Restore old cars.”

  I recall a piece of the past I’d filed away. “You were in auto tech in tenth grade. You used to come into class with grease on your hands.”

  “Yeah, I took it in eleventh too. I didn’t get my shit together soon enough to make it in this year.”

  “How did you get into working on cars?”

  “My granddad was a mechanic, had his own shop. As a kid, I loved going there. Even after my grandfather died, Dad always made Eric and I help him work on cars. I think my grandfather made my dad help him. It was like a tradition. I loved it. Even when I was eight, I could stay under a car all day. I worked part-time for a garage for a while.” He pauses. “Before Dad died, he bought this Mustang for us to restore.”

  Matt swallows. “Eric and I decided to do it together.”

  My chest tightens, and I press my palm closer to his. “You should still do it. Do it for them.”

  He nods but doesn’t answer. Then he looks at me. “You used to want to write? Are you going for an English degree?”

  “I think.” And for one second I let myself go there. To the future. To the faraway future. Not just to graduating high school, but college. Then I feel myself pulling back, afraid to plan. Afraid to hope.

  “I’m not sure,” I mutter.

  “You can start with the basics.”

  “Yeah.” My chest feels like it has marbles in it. Round knots of fear, crowding out my newfound joy. Why am I scared to plan the future? Do I know something I don’t want to know?

  25

  Wednesday afternoon, after spending an hour parked in front of Cassie’s house, Matt walks into the Whataburger. The air is thick with the fast-food scents. John and Cory, Eric’s friends from Southside High, finally called and agreed to meet. They’re late, so Matt moves to the counter to order a Coke and fries.

  When he looks up at the shake menu, grief knees him in the balls. Hard.

  Crazy how the simplest things bring it on.

  At least twice a week, he and Eric came here. His brother always ordered a vanilla shake and fries. He used the shake like ketchup. Or the fries like a spoon.

  But, damn, Matt misses him, misses those ordinary moments of togetherness—of being a twin. Most people don’t know what that means, and maybe it means different things to different twins, but for Matt being a twin felt like … like the opposite of how lonely feels. He’d taken it for granted, because he’d never known what it felt like to be just one—not until Eric died.

  Sure, they had their own lives and hobbies and, in some cases, even friends, but he always felt that sense of being half of a whole.

  Remembering Leah’s breathing trick, he inhales, holds it, then slowly releases. The grief is still there, but the pressure lessens.

  Tray in hand, he moves to a table and waits for John and Cory. Of course, he knew these guys and had spent some time with them. Eric mostly hung with them when Matt was working at the garage. His brother liked drinking beer and occasionally smoking a little weed. And these guys were into it more than their friends from Walnut High.

  John’s black Honda pulls up, and they walk in. Matt motions them over and tries to decide how to ask his question. He hasn’t yet spoken to their mutual friends at school either. It’s harder to talk to them, because he knows what side of the fence they’re on. They’re on the “suicide” side.

  The second John’s and Cory’s eyes land on him, he sees it. They blink. They look at him, but he knows they see Eric. And, freaking hell, he knows how that feels. He feels that burn every morning when he looks in the mirror and Eric’s looking back at him.

  He remembers Leah saying that’s why Cassie wouldn’t talk to him. He believes it more. Everything inside him says it’s more.

  “What’s up?” Cory asks as they both drop into seats.

  Matt suddenly isn’t sure how to put it.

  “Yeah, I was…” He stumbles. “I know Eric spent time with you the day before he got shot. I was just wondering if … if he said anything?”

  Cory’s shoulders crowd the back of his chair. “I went through everything he said, wondering if I could have said something to have stopped him. I knew he was upset, but not that bad.”

  Matt’s gut tightens. Didn’t anyone know Eric like he did? Matt hesitates to correct them. He just needs information, but then not correcting them feels disloyal to Eric. To his memory. To his brother’s pride.

  “Eric didn’t do this. He wouldn’t—”

  John leans in. “Wasn’t it your dad’s gun?”

  That’s the argument everyone throws out. But it’s not proof. Just because he got the gun doesn’t mean he used it to kill himself.

  “I think he took the gun but someone used it on him. If you’d tell me anything he said, or what he was upset about? Maybe I can figure it out.”

  They look at each other. Cory speaks up. “It was his girl. She had him in knots.”

  That’s old news. Matt needs more. “And?” Matt focuses on John.

  “We tried to fix him up, get him laid. Figured he’d move on. He wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Matt turns the soda in his hands. “Did he say why they broke up?”

  Cory shakes his head. Matt can’t let it go. “Anything?”

  John shrugs. “He said … something that sounded like she was cheating on him.”

  Matt’s backbone ratchets up. “What did he say? Did he say who?”

  “No.” John shifts. “I can’t remember his exact words, but something like he couldn’t handle thinking about him with her. I told him to forget the bitch. He flipped. I’ve never seen him get pissed like that. He said she wasn’t a bitch.”

  So it was true! Cassie was seeing the neighbor? That asswipe killed his brother. Anger burns Matt’s gut.

  “Eric wasn’t himself,” Cory says. “That’s why it made sense he did it.”

  “He didn’t. Damn it, guys. Didn’t you know Eric? Don’t you see, the guy Cassie was seeing killed Eric.”

  Cory leans in. “But I thought … Didn’t the cops investigate?”

  “Eric didn’t do it!” Matt snaps. But he can’t help wondering why Eric hadn’t told him about this. Why the fuck hadn’t Eric confided in him?

  * * *

  “Matt?”

  Thursday afternoon around six, Matt hears his mom call his name and he flinches. He hadn’t heard her car pull up.

  He considers sneaking back into the house. But she probably already saw the light on.

  Coming out here was a bad idea. But after talking to Leah, he’d been thinking about the Mustang, about restoring it. Not that it’s happening soon. Right now he plans to put all his energy into getting enough proof to take to Detective Henderson. While his chat with Cory and John helped, he still needs more. The next time he walks into
Detective Henderson’s office, he wants to leave smiling.

  He inhales. The smell is so familiar: Old tools. Old oil. It’s a smell he always associated with his dad. When he wasn’t deployed, he spent his time in here.

  “Matt,” his mom calls again.

  “In here,” he answers.

  “What are you doing?” Tension thickens her voice.

  She stops at the door, as if walking in would be too painful. Like his dad’s office, they’ve stayed out of the garage.

  He takes a step to go in, but she bolts out, almost as if doing it would prove something. Crossing her arms, she hugs herself, and stares at his dad’s and Eric’s cars—parked and forgotten.

  “I was thinking,” he says. “About the Mustang.”

  She looks up; there’s a teary sheen to her green eyes. “I remember the day you guys brought it home on that rented trailer. It was like Christmas for all three of you. You were so excited.”

  Her breath shakes. “I remember thinking what a great father your dad was. He loved doing things with you two.”

  Matt’s chest tightens. He breathes, Leah-style. “He was a great father.”

  Matt stares at his mom and wonders if it’s too soon to tell her his plans. “I was thinking about restoring it.”

  She catches her breath. “That would be great.”

  He rubs his hands together. “It would be expensive, but since I’m going to college the first year here instead of Texas A&M, I thought I’d pull a little money from that. And I dropped by Jim’s Garage, and they said I could work weekends.” It wasn’t that they didn’t have money. Both sets of his grandparents had left sizable inheritances, and with his dad’s life insurance, they weren’t hurting, but he didn’t want to run through that.

  “What? You aren’t going to Texas A&M? Son, that’s been the plan all your life. Your grandparents put money in your college account for that.”

  “I’m going. Just not the first year.”

  “No. You’re doing this for me. And—”

  “Wrong,” he says. Earlier it had been for her, but now … “It’s not just you, Mom. It’s me. I need to heal too.” And he feels closer to doing that. Closer to finding the truth about what happened to Eric.