by Natasha Boyd
I hated myself in that moment. A black and raw hatred.
How had I turned this amazing thing we had so ugly? How had I made this vibrant, beautiful, and wild creature into the trembling, shamed, and lost looking girl in front of me. Just by being me.
I was suddenly hit hard with an image of my mother, shaking and lost, burning all her dance clothes to ashes. Cremating and burying her dream of dancing once and for all—the dream that my father, with his pointless ambition, had slowly and painfully strangled.
Jazz began wiping the vinyl cushion.
I cringed.
“Jazz,” I whispered, needing her to look at me. Needing to tell her I was sorry. Needing her to understand. Needing to go back in time. Needing to leave her before I caused any more damage.
She paused and looked up at me. “Don’t you dare say it,” she bit out, reacting to what she must have seen in my expression.
But I had to. Surely she knew it as much as I did.
We should never have changed our relationship like this, especially not when I was already planning on ending it. Ending it for her own good too, of course.
This might be the most selfless thing I’d done—to let her go. To not let her chain herself to someone who wouldn’t, couldn’t be there for her.
I didn’t want her to lose herself in me.
I didn’t want to lose myself in her.
But I had. God, I had. And in a moment of clarity I had to save us both.
She shook her head.
I clenched my jaw and closed off my heart. “This was a mistake.”
* * *
This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Jazz being pissed at me wasn’t anything new. Though I wondered if she knew how my heart was breaking at the same time.
I’d always been able to make the hard choices. To close myself off when I needed to, it was how I’d survived both my parents being alive, and the impact of their deaths.
Jazz’s hands shook as she railed at me. Her shirt, still unbuttoned, gaped for a moment, a last look, before she violently pulled it closed again.
Shame. I had shamed her. I’d had no intention of doing that, but I had no idea how to take it back. And it was better this way. Easier to leave if she hated me.
How had I lost myself so completely in this girl?
She was calling me out on my use of the word mistake.
“Okay,” I admitted when she paused to draw breath. “But the point is the same. It shouldn’t have happened. And I can’t believe I forgot protection,” I added because I needed her to know, at least, that what we’d both experienced was new to me too. “I never forget protection with anyone I’m with.”
She flinched like I’d hit her. “Fuck you, Joseph.”
I heard my words and realized how they sounded without the context of the emotions I couldn’t reveal.
“Look.” I exhaled roughly. God, I was bad at this. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
I had to make a decision. Every word out of my mouth was hurting her. I was going to have to take the most brutal road out of there for the cleanest cut. I had to hide the truth of my feelings no matter what. So I took a deep breath. “What I meant about the mistake was we should’ve kept things the way they were. I don’t want you reading more into this than there is.”
Jazz was still.
“I like you,” I went on and almost stumbled over the lie. “I consider you a really good friend. We’re friends, right?”
“Friends?” she finally responded, her voice weak.
“Yeah.” Was she buying it? She seemed to be buying it. But there was no relief. I hated myself for doing this to her, but I didn’t see any other way. I wasn’t ready for this. For her. In a few years, maybe. But not now.
“Just friends?” she asked, her tone deceptively calm, her eyes hard as ice chips.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t buying it. I hedged. “Well, I mean—”
“You’ve had your tongue down my throat every chance you get, and your penis just met my vagina. And we’re just friends?”
I dropped my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I’d never heard this iciness, this eerie calm from her.
She knew I was lying.
She knew I was purposefully hurting her.
For some reason that made it all much, much worse. Like I was the worst kind of bastard. The kind who could willingly and knowingly hurt the person they loved.
I looked up at her, and the pain on her face took my breath away.
“Get the fuck off my boat, Joseph.”
“Jazz-”
“Just go.”
And I suddenly realized my mistake. The very thing I’d been trying to avoid by ending things with her now, had just happened. And not by accident, or silly misunderstandings. Not from life getting in the way, or from ambition and college and distance pulling us apart.
I’d just done it. On purpose. Right now. With my own bare hands.
I’d broken her.
“Go away,” she screamed when I didn’t move.
The sound echoed loudly in the small space.
* * *
I stayed awake staring at the ceiling until the arrival of dawn creeping in my window finally put me under. It was almost afternoon when I woke up. Blinking and confused as to why I was sleeping in the middle of the day, I kicked the sheet off my body and sat up. Right as I did so, Jazz’s face, frozen in fury and heartbreak, and breathtakingly beautiful, slipped into my mind’s eye. And with it an empty chasm seemed to open up inside my chest. I lay back down. Shit.
The dead silence of my phone on the nightstand drew my attention. I’d forgotten to plug it in last night. I rectified that right away and climbed into a hot shower before heading down to the kitchen.
“Are you sick?” asked Nana as I entered. “You haven’t slept past seven in your life.”
I shrugged and offered her a tight smile. “You haven’t seen me after a big night out. I can sleep ’til almost eight.” The joke fell flat.
She tutted and came up to me as I stopped in front of the coffee pot. “This stuff is probably mud by now,” I said. “But thanks for keeping it on for me.”
She laid her cool parchment hand against my forehead.
“I’m fine, Nana.” I ducked away. “Just couldn’t sleep. Where’s Keri Ann? She working today?” I needed to talk to her about my leaving and what to look out for with Nana.
“You didn’t hear?”
I grabbed milk and cereal and fished for a spoon in the drawer. We needed dividers. It was always a treasure hunt to find the utensil you wanted. “Hear what?” I said, finally spying a tarnished silver spoon and snagging it.
“Jazz’s father died.”
I stilled, turning to look at Nana.
“And her boat sank.” Nana wrung her hands. “You didn’t know? I thought for sure Keri Ann would have texted you on your cellular.”
“My phone’s dead.” I set the bowl down on the counter, almost dropping it. “When? Is she okay?” I was dizzy. “Jazz. Is Jazz okay?”
“Fine. She made it off in the nick of time. Thank God it was morning, so there were people about who saw it happen. You’ll have to get the full story from Keri Ann. But Jazz is fine.”
My heart stuttered to a beat again, and I realized it felt like everything inside me had stopped dead for endless moments.
Questions screamed through my head, but I couldn’t think of the most important one to ask. Nana was still talking so I tried to listen as I stood there.
“That poor, poor girl. To find out on your birthday that your father has passed away. And then to go through the shock of almost dying yourself.” Nana shook her head. “Poor Woody. Keri Ann said he feels terrible. He says it was all his fault. After Jazz found out about her father last night, he should have called one of us, not let her go out to that boat on her own. Can you imagine how she must have been feeling? All alone. That poor girl is all alone sometimes.”
I may as well have gouged the spoon I was holding into my chest. She kne
w. Last night, she knew about her father.
But she hadn’t been alone, had she? She had grabbed me and kissed me as soon as I’d gotten there.
Rage and anguish welled up inside me. Why the hell hadn’t she said anything? She’d struck me as oddly vulnerable. But I’d forgotten it under the onslaught of her intoxicating mouth. And her body. An image of her seared through my gut again. She’d been trying to lose herself in me. God, and I’d let her. And then I’d crushed her.
“Joseph. Are you all right?”
Nana swam in front of me.
No. I wasn’t fucking all right. I was a hateful Goddamned prick. I was a hateful Goddamned prick because while I was upset at myself for what I’d done, and in pain at how much I must have hurt Jazz, I was now white hot angry as shit.
With Jazz.
For lying.
For using me to deal with her grief while I was simply losing myself in her.
For not telling me how much she was already down before I kicked her.
For making me into a monster.
* * *
The next two days were hell. I wanted to see for myself that Jazz was fine. I wanted to ease her pain and grief, but then I’d remember how much I’d contributed to it and I would talk myself out of it. The thought of looking into her eyes after what I’d done, made my stomach cramp and my chest constrict. Keri Ann asked me three times what was going on between Jazz and I, and each time my throat closed up and I couldn’t answer.
Jazz would tell Keri Ann what I’d done, I was sure of it. As soon as the shock of her father and losing the boat wore off a bit, she’d tell my sister what a fucking asshole I was. And I would say, “I didn’t know!” and then I’d be more of an asshole.
When my phone rang giving me the news of the internship change I’d wanted so badly just a few days earlier, I wasn’t relieved like I’d thought I would be. Relieved I had an escape plan, sure. But not relieved that I was doing the right thing.
I was an idiot.
I should be staying not leaving.
I had a bad feeling that my string of hasty decisions over the last few days had irrevocably altered the universe, and none of us would end up the way we were supposed to. Everything about it screamed “wrong decision”. I feared I was leaving Nana and I might never see her again. And I feared that I’d never feel the rest of my whole life what I’d felt for those few precious weeks with Jazz. But to change my mind yet again would be suicide for my med school future. My course was set. I’d dug my hole.
After two days, it was clear that Jazz still hadn’t told Keri Ann what happened, and I prayed it was because Jazz was more upset about her father than what had happened between us. Perhaps I wasn’t even worth talking about. But as much as I hoped that was the case, I feared it too. I feared that I meant nothing to her. And I hated myself for that even more.
And so the day I was due to leave I found myself walking down the path along the side of Jazz’s condo building, crunching over the pine needle strewn ground. The smell and bustle of the nearby marina was thick in the hot summer air. No matter how much I wanted to avoid facing what I’d done, I needed to see her before I left. I needed to apologize, even knowing it was pointless.
Her curtains were open, so I slowed down, not wanting to startle her. As my eyes adjusted past my own reflection in the glass sliding door, I saw Jazz was alone, sleeping.
She was curled into a tiny ball facing toward me. Her lashes rested on her cheekbones and her hair was brushed off her face. Her face was pale, her brow creased as if she battled the events of the last few days even in her sleep. I laid my hand on the sliding glass, and watched her sleep.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wake her up just to see the pain in her eyes and not be able to do anything to take it away. To see pain that I put there too. To tell her I was leaving as if our time together had meant nothing.
My fingers on the glass curled in on themselves, tightening to a fist. It was better this way. Better not to wake her up just to hurt her all over again. Better to just let her try and heal the wounds she already had.
I would wait. It might take years, but I would watch and listen to every word out of her mouth, for however long it took. And if there was ever a chance to make it right, I’d take it.
As it happened it only took three years for me to hear something that made me believe I’d have a chance with Jazz again. And this time I wasn’t going to fuck it up.
The times I’d returned home over the years, I always tried to be friendly, of course. Tried not to make it awkward for Keri Ann. Though my efforts were always rebuffed. For some reason everything that came out of my mouth made Jazz dislike me more. It actually became mildly comical. So I started making sure I said, “Sorry, Jazz” any time we were alone. If I was walking through a door, or about to leave a room she was in, or as I passed by her. She’d scowl, probably never quite sure if the sorry was simply an “excuse me.”
But I knew what I meant.
“Yes, he left,” Jazz said about Jack Eversea one afternoon after Jack had walked out on Keri Ann. My sister was barely breathing from heartbreak, and I was filled with rage that Jack could have done this to her. “But I know in my heart Jack loves Keri Ann,” Jazz went on.
I stared hard at her.
“What?” she asked.
“Just stop, Jazz. My sister doesn’t need to be pinning her hopes on that loser. If he loved her, he would have figured out a way to deal with his shit. He would have figured out a way to stay and make it right.”
Jazz glared, and I saw the hurt and incredulity flash briefly across her face. “You’re an asshole,” she snapped and walked out the house.
After she left, it took minutes for what I’d said to hit me over the head. If he’d loved her, he would have stayed.
It was a small thing really. A tiny kernel of hope. But I resolved to hang on to it no matter what. Because if she if she was still hurt, it meant she still cared.
My moment came a few months after that, right around the time Jazz was finishing college. Just when I thought it might be too late because I’d heard Jazz was seeing some new guy named Brandon. I was finishing up my semester before residency.
Jack Eversea was back in Butler Cove. Out of the blue.
And Jazz called me.
The name Jazzy Bear flashed on my screen and surprised the shit out of me.
I connected before she changed her mind and hung up. “Hey,” I said softly. And everything around me faded to oblivion.
There was no answer, and for a second my stomach plummeted. I regulated my breathing. “Jazz? Is everything okay?” I asked, in case she was still there but not saying anything.
“Fine.” Her throat caught, and she cleared it. “Yes, Doctor.” She always said Doctor with a hint of sarcasm. “Just wondering if you’ve been in touch with your sister lately. Did I wake you?”
“I’m up, just been for a run.” I got up from my seat where I’d sat down in surprise at seeing her calling me, and continued throwing clothing into my weekend bag. I was heading back to Butler Cove. “Why, is she okay?”
“I guess. Just, uh, ... Jack’s back.”
Yep, that’s why I was packing to head home. Colt already told me. That hotshot heartbreaker, Jack Eversea, was coming to mess with my sister again, but this time he’d have to do it with me looking out for her. “I know,” I answered, irritation evident in my tone. “Has she seen him again?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I, uh ...”
God, I loved her voice. I wished she was calling just for me and not because she was worried about my sister. “Anything else?”
There was a pause. “I just didn’t know if you knew.” Her voice was sharp again. Irritated. Full of her trademark fire. Always laced with the personal brand of annoyance she saved just for me.
I sighed.
“Look,” she said. “It’s probably nothing. She hasn’t called me back since she saw him, so I was worried.”
Yeah. That ma
de two of us. I sat down at my laptop as she talked, and pulled up the email I needed to get out before I left. I’d been accepted for a residency at a heart center in Seattle. I’d also been offered one at Medical University of South Carolina in Charleston, closer to home. The Seattle program was expecting me.
“Jay?” Jazz suddenly said softly, and my chest tightened at the use of her old nickname for me. Not fair. I wish this girl didn’t still affect me like this, but she did.
“Yeah,” I responded. “I’ll call her this morning.” No need to tell Jazz I was headed home. I’d rather surprise Keri Ann anyway.
“Please don’t tell her, I—”
“I won’t. I was going to call her anyway and catch up. I’ll see how she’s doing.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll text you after,” I added, thinking perhaps we could start communicating better now. I was tired of this strain between us. Even if we only had an uneasy friendship it would be better than the way it’s been. I’d be gutted, sure. She’d always be that girl for me. But I’d rather be in her life like a family friend than not at all.
“No. Don’t,” said Jazz sharply.
Okay. No texting. There went that easing into friendship idea. I felt physical pain.
“I don’t want to go behind her back,” she went on. “I shouldn’t have called you anyway. But I did, so ... whatever. Have a good day.”
“Jazz?” I interjected hurriedly before she ended the call. I didn’t want to end another interaction like this.
“Yeah,” she responded like I was boring her.
I grasped around for something to keep her on the phone for a second longer to maybe end at least one interaction on a good note. “Thank you for being a good friend to my sister.”
“I love her,” she snapped. “I don’t do it for you, Jackass.”
So I guessed a good note was out of the question. “Of course not,” I appeased. “I just want you to know I always rest easier knowing you’re there for her, and that, like now you’d let me know if you were worried about something.”
She was dead quiet, causing me to second guess my attempt at a truce. Shit. I blew out a long breath. I was just so fucking tired of her hating me. Of trying to find the right things to say and being blasted anyway. Her silence stretched.