Getting Over You

by Jaxson Kidman

  It made my stomach turn.

  This was my hell and I was comfortable with the flames for now.

  As long as I got Denny home safe and sound, I could chase the pain away.

  The first three bars were empty of Denny. By then, everyone knew who I was and knew what I was doing there. The regulars would wave, frown with sorrow, and tell me what they knew, if anything, or what Denny had done. I had gotten to know the bartenders to make sure I paid up any leftover tabs by Denny.

  I fit the bill like some pathetic person and I didn’t want that.

  What everyone didn’t know was that there was a completely different side to Denny. The sober Denny was sexy, romantic, and said nice things. He planned trips and was never short on an idea for an adventure. When he got bored, he’d grab me, and the keys, then we’d find something to do. One night we were bored and ended up driving all night, listening to music, singing songs, and then stopped at the beach and slept there for two days. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs. We had to get bathing suits, food, a hotel, everything…

  That was the Denny nobody knew but me.

  That was the Denny I believed in.

  That was the Denny I wanted to come back.

  That was the Denny… that was gone.

  My mind knew it was for good, but my heart believed in something else. That was the downfall of the heart, not knowing when to let the brain takeover and just walk away.

  I barhopped, but it wasn’t for pleasure or fun. I didn’t take a sip of a drink. I chased neon lights down block after block, honestly questioning myself for what the hell I was thinking or doing. I just didn’t want Denny to end up hurt. Alone. Waking up the next day in a pile of his own vomit, not knowing where he was.

  The one thing that stuck with me was at least I could say I tried.

  That was it.

  If the time came for this entire thing to fall apart for good, at least I could walk away and not feel any guilt. And I could let the pain wash itself away.

  I pulled down a dark alley that should have scared me. But I knew who owned the dive bar. Brockie was a good guy, even if the things that went on at his bar were sketchy. He had reasons and excuses and was generally nothing but a pile of scum, but when it came to me, he would never let anyone touch or hurt me. Probably because Denny had spent so much money there. Between drinking and playing illegal poker games…

  This was the last place I could check, and it was the last place I wanted to find him at.

  I stepped out of my car and walked toward the black, metal door. Just by touching the grimy handle, I felt my hand tingle, wondering what kind of nasty germs I had picked up already.

  The second the door opened a crack, out came a flood of sound. Music, pool balls hitting together, voices - laughter and yelling. I snuck into the bar without anyone seeing me because of how dark it was inside. There were lights over the bar and a few near a few tables and that was it. It took me all of two seconds to find Denny. Standing at one of the tables, with a woman. And not just any woman. But Beth. His ex. Someone who lived in bars like these, looking for one-night pleasure things. Someone who had no money, heart or car, but somehow caught Denny’s attention and he could never really let her go.

  A part of me insisted it was all just some kind of coincidence. That exes ran into each other all the time.

  Beth touched his shoulder and slid a shot glass in front of him. Denny threw it back with ease and let out a growling yell. Beth giggled. She inched closer. Denny slipped an arm around her body and they looked at each other. Without hesitation, Beth reached up and touched Denny’s lips. He licked her finger.

  Fucking whore…

  They weren’t done yet.

  Denny touched his lips and grinned.

  Beth jumped up on him and they started to kiss.

  I turned and left the bar.

  I should have gone up to them and done something about it.

  But there was just no more energy left in me.

  Seeing that just proved that all the nights of chasing him around and cleaning up whatever he broke at home… it wasn’t worth it.

  Denny had broken my heart. Too many times.

  Now it was going to be my turn to break his heart.

  19

  EVERYTHING IN THE OPEN…

  NOW

  Crosby

  “Hitting things a little early?” Jonny asked as he sat down and flicked open the latches on his guitar case.

  I had forgotten about the bottle of whiskey.

  Jonny thought I had put that out just this morning, but that was from when Josie was over. And when she quickly decided to take off. She was a pretty crappy liar. And now she was sort of a ghost. I had been on three runs and each time, she wasn’t at her car. Which left me going back to staring at my time when I ran, wanting to make sure I was still in some kind of shape to run fast enough to save… who?

  “Nah, not today,” I said to Jonny, which was the truth.

  He lifted his guitar out of the case and reached for the bottle. “Hiding it behind the screen is usually a sign of a problem.”

  I ripped the bottle out of his hand. “I put it there because I was working, and it was in the way.”

  “So, you gave up the chance to drink for work?”

  “Amazing, huh?”

  “Really amazing. You feeling okay? Did you give up running yet?”

  “Looks like you gave up any physical activity years ago,” I said.

  “Except one thing,” Jonny said with a grin. “That activity happens between the sheets and the guitar playing helps to ease the transition.”

  “Ease the transition,” I said. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Women love the whole teddy bear feel,” Jonny said pointing to himself.

  “More like a bloated taco truck,” I said.

  “Asshole,” he said.

  “Can we get down to business here?”

  “Sure, Cros. Anything you want.”

  “That song isn’t ready,” I said.

  “What do you mean it’s not ready? We told Jackie we’d have a rough cut by today.”

  “Fuck that,” I said.

  “Fuck what?”

  “Jonny…”

  “It’s a great song,” he said. “You wrote it all yourself. What could it still need?”

  “Time,” I said. “I don’t feel like just sending it off.”

  “Not even a rough cut? An acoustic cut?”

  “I said no, Jonny.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Now what?”

  “We think of something else.”

  Jonny stared at me. He strummed a few chords on the unplugged guitar. He slowly nodded.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’ve got something,” he said. He strummed the chords again. “He sits alone and writes songs nobody will hear. He thinks his heart ain’t broken, that he’s in the clear. What he doesn’t know is that everyone can see… the truth hidden…”

  “Keep going,” I said. “Go ahead. Keep singing about me.”

  Jonny stopped playing. “You fell in love with a song you wrote. And you want to keep it.”

  “Is that wrong?” I asked. I quickly stood up. “Is that so fucking wrong, Jonny?”

  “I never said it was, man,” he said. “I think it’s great. Some songs are just meant to stay close to the heart.”

  “Yeah. Well… fuck Jackie then.”

  “We can handle him,” Jonny said. “We can come up with something. This is going to be a mid to end track on an album anyway. Just come up with a good hook and we’re solid.”

  “You do that then,” I said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You. I’m going for a run.”

  “A run?”

  “Did I say it in a different language?”

  “Maybe you should drink some of this whiskey,” Jonny said.

  “Just write the fucking song, man,” I said. I ran a hand through my hair. “I just can’t right now. Just give me a minu
te.”

  “Just a minute, huh?”

  I didn’t respond.

  Jonny moved to my chair, facing all the equipment. He started adjusting and getting ready to record something.

  Jonny and I were musicians. We were songwriters. Hell, we used to write cheesy jingles for companies before selling songs. That meant we always had songs in our minds. And he was right. Some songs just weren’t made to be let go.

  But that wasn’t like me.

  I didn’t cling to a song.

  I didn’t hold on to anything anymore.

  Anything important to me was hidden in a drawer and that was that.

  I got changed and left the house, leaving Jonny behind to write and record something.

  The second my feet hit the pavement, I thought about Cindi. She had texted me again, wondering how I was doing. And I didn’t reply to her. I didn’t call her. I acted as though she didn’t exist. Or that I didn’t exist.

  I started to run fast. Really fast.

  Faster than I would normally run.

  I didn’t bother to time anything either.

  I had no timer that day at the lake. All I was able to do was run into the water and swim. Kick my legs. Throw my arms. Gasp for breaths as I fought against the water. And that was just not good enough.

  I gritted my teeth and ran faster.

  Damn my heart for what it felt… but I needed to see Josie.

  Her car sat there, empty.

  I kept a steady jog so it didn’t appear that I was trying to break into her car and steal stuff. I spotted the house she had taken me into. That crazy day she wanted me to take her to bed…

  Directly across from that house was where she lived.

  The driveway was empty.

  I took my chances and walked along the side of the large house and spotted the guesthouse. It fit Josie’s personality so much. This small guesthouse with tall bushes out front, almost blocking the entire thing.

  It appeared that nobody was home in the main house.

  I knocked at the guesthouse door and waited, trying to catch my breath.

  The yard behind me was really big with a swing set and toys scattered throughout. My eyes kept looking at everything, smiling as I did so, even though I felt like my heart was being squeezed until it popped.

  Cindi and Noah had a yard like this. A swing set like this too. Noah worked double overtime shifts to save up the money to put in a fence because Cindi was so nervous that Nicholas would run out of the yard and end up in the road and get hurt.

  I turned and started to move, ready to run out of the yard when the guesthouse door opened.

  “Crosby?”

  “Hey, love,” I said, shoving all those raw emotions down and away.

  “What are you…”

  “I was on a run and needed a smoke.”

  “So, you came here?”

  “You weren’t at your car.”

  “You could have called. Or sent a text. You do remember we finally exchanged numbers…”

  “What’s the fun in that?” I asked.

  She was beautiful as she stood there in a white, paint splattered shirt and jeans. She even had a couple of dots on her face. Her hair was pulled back without worry, looking as messy as the morning she woke up on my couch.

  “Crosby…”

  “I haven’t seen you in a couple of days, Josie. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Working. Sorry.”

  I shook my head. “It’s more than that. Something happened when you were at my place. We went from getting ready to drink whiskey for breakfast to you bolting.”

  Josie nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry about that. The night and the morning… I knew everyone here would be worried about me.”

  “Which could be solved with a simple call or text.”

  “What do you want me to say right now?”

  “The truth,” I said.

  Josie laughed. “You’re going to preach the truth at me?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning you haven’t said a word to me about the truth,” she said. “You find roundabout ways of talking around things.”

  “Kind of like you dragging me into your neighbor’s house?”

  “That was just to do something crazy.”

  “Just like you getting drunk and wanting me to play guitar for you,” I said. “That was crazy too…”

  “And so was some woman texting you she loves you,” Josie said. “Okay? How’s that?”

  “What…”

  Josie put a hand up. “It’s not my business, Crosby. I don’t want to know. We have been just hanging out. Flirting. Whatever we have…”

  I realized what Josie was talking about.

  “Cindi is my sister,” I said.

  I felt something like a tearing in my heart. I didn’t talk about Cindi to anyone. Or Noah. Or Nicholas. That wasn’t my thing to do. That was a dark road that I only walked alone.

  Josie froze and swallowed hard. “What?”

  “Cindi is my sister,” I said.

  Josie shut her eyes. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Hardly, love,” I said. “What she wrote looked…”

  “I’m sorry, Crosby,” Josie said. “For what I assumed. For leaving like that. Now I know the truth. I have to go now.”

  She started to shut the door.

  I put my hand out and stopped her.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I said. “I just needed to see you. To find out what happened.”

  She looked at me and shook her head. “No, Crosby. No.”

  “No, what?” I asked.

  I stood in shock and watched as tears filled her eyes.

  She stepped back and touched the corners of her eyes. “Please don’t think I’m crazy, Crosby.”

  “Why would I think you’re crazy?”

  “Look, I was just painting, okay?” she said. “I have some stuff running through my mind. That’s all this is. You caught me off guard.”

  I moved inside the guesthouse, but was respectful to stay near the door.

  “It’s okay, love,” I said. “I get it. The art. The emotion. It all hits you hard sometimes.”

  “It happens to you?” Josie asked.

  “All the time.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “That song you like so much,” I said with a smile.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I was supposed to give that song up today and I can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t.”

  “So, you’re going back to being hidden, huh?”

  “I just wanted to check on you,” I said. “Make sure you were still my running and smoking partner.”

  “And breaking into houses?” she asked.

  “That part we should cool off with,” I said. “But we can find other adventures.”

  “Crosby, I’m really sorry,” Josie blurted out. “I saw the name on your phone…”

  “I get it.”

  “You don’t though,” she said. “You think you do, but you don’t.”

  I inched toward her. I was sweaty and smelly. She was covered in paint. We were a mess. Together, a bigger mess.

  “I do, love,” I whispered.

  “Try me then,” Josie offered.

  “You were hurt by someone,” I said. “Someone who didn’t play fair with your heart. And when you saw Cindi’s name on my phone you thought the same thing was happening. But then you got embarrassed because we aren’t sure what this is yet. So, you hid, hoping I would forget about you.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s the twist here, Josie,” I said as I touched the dried mark of red paint on her left cheek. “I can’t forget about you. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. That’s a big problem.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said.

  Our eyes were flirting. Hearts trying to take guard though, just in case.

  “I’m going to change the subject,” Josi
e said. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “As long as I can stare into your pretty eyes…”

  “Stop,” she said as her cheeks turned red. “Your sister sent you that message.”

  “Yes,” I said, the same cutting feeling in my heart.

  “The way that message looked…”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t mean to see it, Crosby.”

  “I know that.”

  “Okay. I just wanted to say that quick. But, uh, that message… you two haven’t talked in a while?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She said you were ignoring her. And walking away.”

  I stepped back. “Yeah, she did say that.”

  “I’m sorry, Crosby. I shouldn’t have…”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” I said. “But you did. And you left. I came here to see you. To show you I care about you, love. I keep thinking about you. About what we have going on here.”

  “And this is part of it,” she said. “Drawn to each other from things that happened.”

  I nodded. “So, I may not be the greatest brother in the world to Cindi. Okay? I took care of her a lot when she was younger. In a lot of ways, I raised her.”

  “What broke you two apart?”

  “You thought something else when you saw that text message,” I said. “Make that our focus.”

  “Focus?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Because what I said before was true. That you were hurt by someone. And I wouldn’t hurt you that way, Josie. That’s what I want you to know right now.”

  I backed up to the door and argued with myself about leaving.

  Running from Josie and running from the truth.

  “What happened with your sister?” Josie asked.

  “Family stuff,” I said. “Things happen, right? Good times. Bad times. You figure it out. Just like when you lived with your aunt.”

  “Seems like she wants to talk to you, Crosby.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” I said.

  I broke my stare from Josie and spotted something interesting.

  There was a series of paintings against one wall of the guesthouse. They were all of the same person. A guy. A guy with a clean face and a well-cut, defined jaw. A sort of cocky look in his eyes. Short, stubbly kind of hair. A thick and slightly crooked nose. The kind of guy you’d see in a bar and know he was looking for a fight. The kind of guy who would fight for no reason. The kind of guy who looked cool but hid a lot of demons.