Between Hearts: A Romance Anthology

by Alexander, Erica

  Lifting my head, I place a fake ass smile on my face and blow out the candles. I don't bother with a wish.

  * * *

  A single pale light fixture illuminates the Forsythe's back patio as I sit on a deck chair coaxing random melodies out of my new guitar. It's freakishly warm for mid-February, but that's northern Illinois for you and I'm not complaining. To be honest, the entire night has left me shell shocked and I need some space to clear my head, so the weather is definitely working in my favor.

  As surprising as the cake was, it wasn't the most astonishing part of the night. Dylan, my defacto little sister and the youngest member of the Forsythe clan, stole that honor. She came bouncing into the kitchen, a brand new black acoustic Ibanez with a lopsided red bow wrapped around the neck not quite hidden behind her back and a big goofy smile on her face. Declan and his parents exchanged a look and I could tell they were anticipating my reaction. Such a strange feeling, part of my brain knowing it was for me, knowing that it was a birthday present. Not a big deal.

  Except it was. It was a huge deal because I literally could not remember anyone ever giving me one before. I'm sure at some point somebody had given me a present, probably, right? But damned if I could remember even one. I wanted to reach for it, hold out my hand and latch on to it, but my arm wouldn't move, like it wasn't sure what to do. Do you have to learn how to get a gift? Isn't that an inherent human trait like breathing or eating?

  In the fucked up mess my childhood became, it seems that basic lesson had been overlooked. Hell, a lot of things were overlooked. A good birthday for me in Lenox Hill meant going unnoticed, flying under the radar. I didn't mind not getting presents as long as it meant not getting the shit kicked out of me for letting the milk go sour or because it was raining or for whatever fucked up thing my dad decided was my fault.

  Declan makes his way out through the sliding glass door and I catch the knowing smirk on his face when I glance up. With a chin tip in my direction, he settles into the lounge chair across from me and props up his feet. Clearly pleased to see me playing my new guitar, he asks, "How does it sound, man? It should be good to go. My guy set it up for you."

  "It sounds great; plays nice too. Thanks for this, Dec." I drop my gaze, watching my fingers glide over the strings, not having the balls to say this next part while looking him in the eye. It needs to be said though; it's important he knows that it matters to me. "It's been a long time since I've owned anything other than a trash bag full of clothes. Even longer since I've owned something new. It means a lot. You guys didn't have to do this and I appreciate it."

  Declan drops his feet to the concrete with a thud, pointedly clearing his throat. When I look up, he's staring at me intently. "Briggs, we're family now and family buys each other birthday presents. Period. You're out of the system as of today, which means you are no longer my foster brother. You're just my brother."

  A lump forms in my throat, emotion choking me. I know if I try to reply, Declan will hear the strain in my voice. The stinging sensation in my eyes causes me to blink a few times and I have no doubt he can see my struggle to hold everything in. Still, I don't look away. My answering nod is small, almost imperceptible, but he sees it.

  Easing back into his chair, a grin splits his face. "And for the record, birthday presents in our family are competitive. My birthday is next month and I expect you to one up me. Got it? Bigger and better." His laugh is contagious and I relax into the moment, tension releasing from my shoulders. That's Declan. He can be serious when he needs to be, but laughing and making people comfortable, that's who he is. He is a great guy.

  The entire Forsythe family is amazing. Being placed with them at seventeen, I had no idea what to expect. Seriously, who takes a chance on a seventeen-year-old foster kid? You hear stories about people looking to collect money from the state with as little effort as possible. Get a teenager who can take care of himself, don't give a shit where he is or what he's doing and collect a check. My expectations were low and my plan was to ride it out for one year, play nice until I was clear of the system, then never look back. That's not at all how it turned out.

  Instead, I ended up with a fucking family. Parents that wanted to know where I was all the damn time. They checked my homework, gave me a curfew and chores and basically were all over my shit. I got a little sister who annoyed the hell out of me most of the time, hogged the TV and blared the most god-awful pop music, but also spent Sundays watching football with me and folded my laundry when I forgot it in the dryer. And I got a brother who lent me his old guitar, dragged me to his band's practices and eventually forced me to join. A guy who drove me around in his beat-up old Mustang because I didn't have a license and took me to every alternative concert he could from Soul Asylum to Cage the Elephant because he knew I loved that shit. And now that I'm eighteen and out of the foster care system? Now they want me to stay. I can't wrap my head around that. It's been a damn long time since someone made me feel like they wanted me around. It's been since Paige.

  "Dude, I've asked you this before, but you're always evasive..." Declan starts, dragging me back into the conversation, "how did you learn to play if you didn't have a guitar? I mean, the day you picked mine up you clearly knew what you were doing."

  For the first time since I left, I want to talk about it; I want to talk about her. Something about that memory today has me itching to.

  "I used to have one. A beat up acoustic that my mom left behind when she took off. I wasn't sure what was going to happen when DCFS finally picked me up, but I wanted to make sure the guitar was safe." Do I really want to do this? I swallow the lump forming in my throat and push on. "I left it with Paige, figured she'd take care of it." I wait. I know what's coming. Sharing personal shit is not my thing and I have never mentioned Paige. No way Declan will miss the little nugget of information I just dropped in his lap.

  "You left it with Paige? Who the hell is Paige? You never mentioned a girl back home." I can see the wheels turning in his head, anticipating the second it all clicks into place for him.

  "Wait… what the fuck? Are you telling me that Paige is real?" The astonished tone in his voice is not lost on me. "Dude, I thought you made that name up 'cause it was a cool lyric. Are you telling me you wrote that song about a real person?"

  Pretty much the reaction I expected. "Yeah, it's about a real person. Paige was a friend of mine. I was teaching her how to play when I had to leave, so I left her with the guitar. Kind of my way of saying goodbye and making sure it stayed safe. That's all. No big deal." It feels good to talk about her, which I find fucking stunning because I never expected it to.

  "That's all? Are you for real? You wrote a song called 'My Favorite Paige' and it's your favorite goddamn song to play. 'If I set a pen to paper and wrote a book about my days, in the story of my life, you'll always be my favorite Paige.' Now I find out she's real. Yeah right. No big deal my ass!" His eyebrows fly up into his hairline. "Holy shit... were you into this girl? The dude who never looks at the same girl twice is secretly stuck on some girl back home. Is she the reason you've never had a girlfriend? The guys would have a field day with this if they found out." His incredulous laughter grates on my nerves.

  "Ease up fucker. She and I weren't like that. Paige was a kid, way younger than me. I wasn't into her; she was just someone I looked out for. Kids were bullying her and I stopped it. After that we became friends." He's wrong. I wasn't into Paige. Our relationship was never about that. "Best friends actually, but only friends. That's it."

  That was it, but it's also not nearly enough to describe what Paige meant to me. Paige was the only person that ever saw behind the facade, the only person that ever saw my scars and my defects and still made me feel like I was good enough.

  "How do you explain that song then? People don't write songs like that about a friend." Clearly Declan is not getting it.

  "I did. It's not romantic, dumbass. Think about the lyrics. There's nothing about being in love or making out or any of
that shit. Growing up, my life was bad. Really bad. She was the only one who treated me like a person, not a lost cause. Paige is my one good memory of that entire time and that's why I wrote about her."

  "Have you talked to her? Are you still in touch with the mysterious Paige?" His eagerness for information is almost funny. Almost.

  "She's not mysterious you dork and no, I haven't talked to her since the day I left." I go back to playing, this time it's Paige's song. "I never had her number and I've never been back home." No reason to mention the fact that searching for her online has been utterly and completely fruitless. Because that, I have tried.

  "What's stopping you now? You've got nothing holding you back. Why don't you go home and see her?"

  "Don't know. Never really thought about it." It's a total lie and from the look on his face he knows it. I've thought about it a million times. Played out scenario after scenario in my head: she moved away, she doesn't remember me, she's angry that I never came back. Sometimes I imagine she misses me as much as I miss her, that she still needs me to look out for her. But really, it's a crapshoot and I rarely get lucky.

  "Briggs, seriously dude, never play cards. You have no poker face. Go see her. Here, take my car." He fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them in my direction. "You got your license this morning. Go. Now. Before you come up with a million reasons not to. See your girl, man."

  "First, she's not my girl. Second, that's crazy. It's late already and it's a long drive." I'm stalling and we both know it. "Plus it's a Saturday night. She's probably not even home." There's this odd feeling in my chest, excitement and fear mixed together. I can't just jump in the car and drive to Lenox Hill.

  Can I?

  "It's not that late, Cinderella, and you'll be there by 10:30 at the latest. It's time man. You wouldn't be writing songs about this girl if she didn't matter." He watches me closely and a huge smile spreads across his face the minute I concede. He's won and the fucker knows it.

  "Declan, thanks. For the guitar..." I hesitate. "And for the push. Any chance you feel like going for a drive?" Having Declan along for the ride would make this a hell of a lot easier.

  "No can do man. Sorry." He can't contain a chuckle. "Believe me, I would love to meet this girl. But I have to be at work early tomorrow. This one's all you bro. Good luck."

  "Who needs luck?" After a quick chin nod, I'm booking around the side of the house, heading for his car. If I don't go now, I never will. Carpe Diem and all that bullshit.

  Chapter 2

  Sad Song

  What the hell am I doing? Seriously, Dec is getting his ass kicked for this idea. I knew better than to come here. This entire town makes my skin crawl. And it looks exactly the same too. It's only been two years but still, not a damn thing is different. Just to torture myself, I drive past my father's house on the way into town. My brain rejects thinking of it as ever having been mine. And even that shit hole looks the same. Peeling paint, broken front steps, beat up old pickup in the driveway and a single light on in the front window. The bastard is probably passed out in the recliner again. In an instant the smell of stale beer and his rank BO assaults me, making me gag. I know it's a memory but the smell is so strong, I'd swear he's right here in the car with me. Getting out of there like a bat out of hell, I tear down the block so fast the tires squeal.

  I'm back in this town for one person and one person only. And it sure as shit isn't the waste of space who gave me life, then made mine a living hell.

  For the last half hour I've been parked across the street from Paige's house or what I hope is still Paige's house, and like the rest of this town, it hasn't changed. The pale yellow ranch with its crisp white trim and black shutters looks like a damn magazine picture, everything in place. Everything perfect. A sharp contrast to the house I grew up in.

  The hours spent in the park adjacent to her house come back to me. All that time spent watching, waiting for her parents' bedroom light to shut off, before I could sneak over and tap on Paige's bedroom window. The irony is not lost on me that two years have passed and I'm sitting here doing the exact same thing. And like back then, knocking on her front door is not an option. Her parents never liked me, and after what happened that last day, I'm sure they hate me now. I can't tap on her bedroom window either. Hell, I don't even know if it's still her window. I can't call. Basically, I'm screwed… and stupid.

  So fucking stupid.

  Slouching down in my seat, I watch headlights turn up the street, illuminating first the park to my right, then the front of Paige's house. A late model Lexus ES pulls into the driveway and parks, shutting down its lights and sitting dormant. It has my full attention. Two years ago her parents were driving a minivan, but it's been awhile so who knows? I sit and wait, unease creeping up my neck as time seems to crawl. What the fuck? Why isn't anyone getting out of the car? My stomach does some weird little flip when a guy, maybe a few years younger than me, gets out of the driver's seat and jogs around the front of the car to the passenger side. He's dressed in a suit, the boutonniere on his lapel visible from here. Before she's even out of the car, I know what this is. Paige... on a fucking date. For the life of me I don't know why this pisses me off... but it completely fucking does.

  He swings her door open and reaches his hand in to help her out of the car. He's laughing, smiling and all I can think is what a douche bag. But then I get my first glimpse of Paige James in two years and the douche suddenly seems like one lucky son of a bitch. I can't get a clear view of her face from this distance, but it's her. In some inexplicable way I just know. She's taller, aided by a pair of heels, but still tall. Her body is slender, athletic and wrapped in a tight blue dress that sparkles in the moonlight, the top half covered with a thick black shawl. Her red hair is up off her shoulders, twisted in some kind of knot that leaves her graceful neck exposed. Damn it, it's a Saturday night in mid-February and I have no doubt they are coming from a high school dance. I guess there was no reason for me to worry about her. It looks like Paige is doing just fine without me.

  It's like they say about driving past a car crash, I can't look away, but I don't want to see it either. The idea of watching him kiss her goodnight, grope her in that dress, put his hands on her has tension racing up my back and gripping my chest. Somehow I'm having a hell of a time reconciling this beautiful girl on the front porch with the kid I used to spend every afternoon with. That kid was shy, quiet, bullied. This girl is confident, put together, beautiful. That kid was mine to look out for, mine to protect. This girl seems to be his.

  The guy rests his hand on the small of her back as they make their way to the porch, but it drops away as they awkwardly stand a few feet apart from each other at the door. Paige runs her hands up and down her arms, warming her exposed skin, waiting, hesitating. It's starting to look like the douche has no fucking game. Then he goes for it. Just as she reaches for the doorknob, he makes his move. Resting one hand on her hip as he reaches for her neck with the other, he leans in. My fingers flex on the steering wheel and I have the sudden urge to blare the horn, flash my lights, anything to stop what's about to happen. Then, at the last possible second, she turns her head and his kiss lands on her cheek. Her fucking cheek. He looks startled as she darts through the front door, closing it in his face.

  Based on his shocked expression, I bet he has no idea what the hell just happened. Damn, it's ridiculous how happy that makes me. That alone might have made the entire trip worth it. My shoulders relax and I run my hands through my hair, holding the long strands back off my face as I exhale. The stupid smile on my face as I watch douche and his Lexus disappear down the street is because Paige is home. Only because Paige is home. It has nothing to do with the fact that Lexus boy got denied. And it has nothing to do with the fact that she might not actually be his after all. Nothing at all.

  The important thing is that she's here.

  Paige at fifteen is nothing like the girl I remember. Why does that seem like bad fucking news? Why does that s
eem like something that can flip my world upside down? Paige is home. She's here and she's freaking hot. What the fuck do I do now?

  * * *

  Time drags and still I sit here staring at her dark house. I can't go knock on the front door and ask if Paige can come out to play, I can't spend the night out here in the car and I can't make myself leave. Fuck, I need to do something. Just when I decide to engage my inner ninja and head to Paige's bedroom window, there's movement in the shadows at the corner of her house. My heart speeds up as a dark figure emerges, its features completely obscured by night and shadows. Quickly, the figure moves through the front yard, jogs across the street and disappears into the adjacent park.

  What the hell did I just see? A million explanations fly through my head, everything from Paige having a secret boyfriend to a burglar trying to rob the house. I try to focus on what exactly I saw. Dark pants, maybe sweats—and they were tight, skin tight—and a huge black hoodie hanging well past the butt. Dudes don't dress like that. That had to be a girl. Paige? Did Paige just take off through the park in the middle of the night? What the actual fuck?

  In motion before my thoughts are fully formed, adrenaline has me out of the car and heading into the park as I try to get my bearings. I used to know this place like the back of my hand. Swings and slides to the right, fishing pond in the back corner, pavilion and picnic tables to the left, and a wooded area in the back. Once again it strikes me nothing in this town ever changes. The abandoned park equipment is pretty well lit by a full moon and I can see it's empty so I cut left towards the woods.

  What the hell is she doing out here in the middle of the night? This is crazy. Right as I'm about to take the dirt path into the trees, I see her and everything stops. My heart, my breathing, my brain. It all freezes for an endless moment. Then it all slams back into gear and everything is racing.