Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)

by Andrea Randall

  “How about this ribbon, Ember?”

  “It’s great, Mon.” I smile.

  “OK, one more time with you actually looking at it.” I hear her rolling her eyes.

  “Sorry,” I laugh, “let’s see. I love the champagne-colored one.”

  “Awesome. Maybe you’ll be the one to catch it.” She winks and shares some sort of private laugh with the florist. I stick my tongue out at her.

  “I plan on hiding in the bathroom during that whole spectacle.”

  After Monica finalizes her order, we drive her back to her apartment.

  Monica starts to fidget. “So,” she asks nervously, “still no word, huh?” Monica tries not to ask about Bo too often. She fails, beautifully.

  “You say still as if I’ve been waiting around for him.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just...you are doingso well, I—”

  “Spit it out, Mon.”

  “I just wonder what it would be like if he...showed up.”

  Hope. Her words surge hope through me and it tugs a cautious smile across my lips. I take a deep breath.

  “It would be ...”

  Monica places her head on my leg. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Bo

  I park in front of the tiny brick building and double-check the sign on the door.

  Delta Blue. This is it.

  I called earlier today to see when their open-mic acts go on. She won’t go first—she doesn’t like that—but I get here in time, just in case. I don’t think I’m ready to see her face-to-face yet. Dr. Brown says I shouldn’t feel shitty about the way I suspended things with us, but I do. Neither one of us wanted her to leave that day.

  My days since then have gone back and forth between being a total mess and being functional. I still haven’t gone into Rae’s room. I opened the door once—the day Ember left—but I slammed it shut and haven’t been back since. It was too much, seeing her stuff just...there, and knowing she wouldn’t be. Anymore. Aside from the absolute fucking hole my baby sister’s death has left, anger has become a dangerous ally.

  I haven’t been drinking away my emotions like I thought I might. I couldn’t do it after I saw Ember had gone through the trouble of putting all the liquor in my house into a box on the back porch. She knew. Instead, I broke things. And punched things. A lot of things. Ember and I were both better off with her leaving that day. She didn’t need to see some of the ugly shit the last few months have brought me.

  Sneaking in a side door, I pull the brim of my Bruins hat down a bit as I scan the room. She’s not at the bar, so I slide onto a stool, order a beer, and continue my visual hunt. I just want to see that she’s good. Ember lost a lot of weight early in the summer, and then after Rae died, the life just drained from her eyes. God, “Rae died” rolls off my mind’s tongue so easily some days.

  There she is.

  Ember’s sitting at a table right in front of the stage, slowly tracing the rim of her wine glass with her middle finger. Christ, she looks amazing—better than ever. She seems to have put back on the weight she lost. I can’t see her shoulder blades from across the bar like I would have been able to three months ago. Her auburn waves shine past her shoulders—her newly muscular shoulders.

  I can’t believe it’s been three months.

  Just when I think she’s about to turn around and spot me, the MC steps up to the mic to introduce the first act. The lights dim, and for the first three acts I stare at no one but her. She sways to the music and claps enthusiastically for people she’s clearly come to know over the last several weeks—that’s how long Josh tells me she’s been playing here.

  I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore before giving in and calling Josh, fishing for information. I know David talks to her a couple times a week, but I made it clear that I didn’t want to go there with him. All Josh would tell me is that she was doing better. That I can see, as those gorgeous emeralds she calls eyes shine through everyone she speaks with. The MC approaches the mic once more.

  “And now, for the last act of the night, November Blue.”

  My heart pounds through my chest as she takes the stage. People around me whisper their praises of her, this woman I love. Shit. I love her. I’m trying not to—someone shouldn’t be in love when their whole family is dead. But, it’s her. It’s November. I was breathless the first time I ever saw her, but seeing her now fills me with more life than I’ve had in months.

  “Thank you, Dex.” Her voice. God, her voice...“I actually have something really personal to share with you tonight. I’ve worked on it for a long time. My friends were supposed to be here to support me, but, they bailed last-minute, so, here goes ...” She laughs into the mic, and I think I’m about to come apart at the seams.

  I shift on my stool, contemplating my escape. I don’t think I’m ready for this, to watch her sing when we haven’t even spoken in three months. Then, she grabs her guitar. I choke on my beer a little when I see she’s wearing the leather cuff—the one Rae got me for my birthday a few years ago—that I left at her apartment the day after she let my drunk ass sleep it off at her house.

  My feet anchor into the foot rail beneath the bar as she tunes the guitar and her voice. The world around me disappears as she starts singing. Her tone is full—full of soul, full of life, full of her. She’s back.

  “Sit me down, tell me no, sweep the pieces as I go

  Turn up lost, that’s where I was, fighting for you

  when I was gone ...

  I never left, yeah, I thought it through

  My heart has built a room for two ...”

  Goosebumps take over the damp skin on the back of my neck as I watch her sing through our sordid history. She’s breathtaking, exuding confidence as her fingers glide effortlessly across the guitar. I’m so fucking proud of her. I want to run up on stage and sweep her off her feet, like she deserves. Instead, I jump off the stool and breeze back through the door I came in.

  I’m out of breath when I reach my car, ten feet from the door. She still loves me. Thank God, she still loves me. My phone rings. It’s Josh.

  “Hey man, what’s up?” I try to sound composed.

  “You.” It’s Monica.

  Sweet hell, can Josh not keep a secret to save his life?

  “Uh, hi Mon.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she laughs. Phew. “Did you see her play yet?”

  “She’s on right now.”

  “What the hell are you doing talking to me?”

  “I left.”

  “Men,” she scoffs.

  My heart’s racing faster. “Listen, Monica, please don’t—”

  “Oh get ahold of yourself, Cavanaugh, I’m not going to say anything to her.” She sounds as if she’s scolding a child.

  “Then why’d you call me?”

  Her tone lightens dramatically. “To hear you. You sound good—are you?”

  “I will be.”

  She sighs. Heavy and long. “All right, Bo. Here’s my thought ...”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Ember

  Cold weather has set up its temporary residence on the East Coast. I’m contemplating a trip to see my parents in San Diego after Josh and Monica’s wedding next week. I can’t believe they’re still there; this is officially the longest they’ve stayed in one place since I was in high school. Apparently, the group has decided to go by the nickname I gave them in my childhood and are affectionately calling themselves “The Six” for their next album. Lord, help me, their next album. Well, the anonymity was fun while it lasted.

  It’s clear that this will be my last outdoor yoga session for a while, as my shivering nearly knocks me out of my headstand. A car door slamming in the parking lot finishes the job—I crumble without grace to the ground. I sit, frozen, as I study the form walking toward me.

  “Regan?” I whisper to myself. I doubt if the waves even hear me.

  His copper hair hangs carelessly in fr
ont of his face. He awkwardly shoves his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans as he crosses onto the sand.

  “Regan!” I yell as I stand, startling two seagulls who squawked during my whole session. Serves them right.

  “Hey.” His quirky half-smile fills my heart and I race toward him, crashing into him with all my force. “Jesus, work out much?” He teases softly, hugging me back.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Here.” I gesture to the beach around me.

  “Monica told me where I could find you. My flight got in last night-”

  I interrupt, “It’s cold as hell out here. Come back to my place and we’ll talk.

  * * *

  “You ditched your cell phone,” I comment to Regan as I pour his coffee.

  “Yeah, I just needed to disappear for a while.”

  I join him on the couch and pass him his cup. “Mission accomplished. I was worried about you, you know.”

  “I’m sorry ...” he trails off as he shakes his head. I wasn’t looking for an apology, and there’s really nothing more he can say.

  “How’ve you been, anyway?”

  Regan settles back into the couch and tells me about the last almost four months of his life. After returning to Ireland, he picked up some summer courses to fill his time and his mind. He’s kept minimal contact with C.J. but had RSVP’d that he’d go to Josh and Monica’s wedding. He misses everyone, he says.

  Regan sets his coffee down and looks me square in the eye. “I’m taking a drive up to Concord tomorrow. Do you want to ride with me?”

  I spit some of my coffee out. “Uh, no thanks.”

  He furrows his brow as I speed into the kitchen to refresh my coffee.

  “Why not?” he asks in all heartbreaking honesty.

  “I haven’t spoken to Bo ...” I say from the kitchen.

  “Since when?”

  “Have you talked with him?” I deflect the question.

  “About once a week. When’s the last time you talked to him?”

  “If I haven’t come up, that should be some indication.”

  “Ember ...”

  Deep breath.

  “The day after Rae’s funeral.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Regan sounds angry as he enters the kitchen.

  “Listen, Ireland, you have no idea what the hell happened between the two of us. I tried calling you that day but you didn’t answer anyone’s calls. Then, poof, just like that you’re gone the day after that with a cancelled cell phone account. Don’t ‘are you fucking kidding me’ me, Regan. Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Tears sting my eyes as I replay the desperation I felt on my drive back to Barnstable the day after Rae’s funeral. I called Regan that whole day without any answer. I was hoping he could just...I don’t know. Whatever it was, he didn’t do it. He wasn’t there. He disappeared.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” I continue as he stares at me doe-eyed. “Bo and I had sex the night of the funeral, and he fucking kicked me out the next day after Ainsley tramped around his front porch, and ...and I was so goddamned sad about Rae ...” Seeing Regan’s face for the first time since the funeral shatters me into a million pieces. A million disastrous pieces. My voice shakes as I try to keep the meltdown at bay.

  “Ember, I’m—”

  “No way, don’t tell me you’re sorry. You lost someone, too. We both lost her—we all lost her—and nobody wanted to fucking talk to me about it! My best friends were planning their wedding, the happiest day of their lives, and I was just looking for someone to talk through my shit with. Bo kicked me out and you disappeared.”

  Regan grabs my hands and it’s all over. He’s crying, I’m crying, and we sink to the floor in a puddle of grief. Sobbing into each other’s shoulders, we cling to each other on my kitchen floor.

  * * *

  “Wow, you sure know how to show a guy a good time,” Regan laughs as we pass the only bottle of beer in my fridge back and forth between us.

  Our backs are against the cabinets as we sit on the cold floor. We cried for about an hour; neither one of us realized it until we were thirsty.

  “See, had you answered your phone that day, we could have gotten this out of the way a hell of a lot sooner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go get ready.” I stand and stretch my arms overhead.

  “Look,” his tone is serious once again, “I’m sorry. I screwed up by bailing like that. I was so—”

  “Messed up? Yeah. Been there. Listen, it’s all right. Just ...don’t disappear again, OK? I like you and I want you in my life.” I help him to his feet, and he gives me a small hug.

  “What do you have to get ready for?” he asks.

  “My gig at Delta Blue.”

  “Oh yeah, Josh told me about that. He said you’re really nailing it.”

  “No thanks to you,” I tease. “Josh had to take over my guitar lessons. Maybe you can come sometime, when you don’t look like total trans-Atlantic flight shit.”

  I laugh. He does too. It feels good.

  Regan walks to the door, pausing for a moment before opening it. “OK, smartass, hint taken. I’m a mess. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Concord with me tomorrow?”

  I nod and attempt a reassuring smile. “I’m sure.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Slowly sipping my wine, I’m only half paying attention to the acts on stage tonight. My mind is with Rae. And Bo. It was such a relief—and release—seeing Regan today, but I wish he’d come sooner. I remind myself that examining old wounds doesn’t have to make me take two steps back, but it’s hard. As my name is called, I tighten Bo’s cuff on my wrist one notch tighter. I feel like I really need him with me tonight, and this is all I have left.

  I’m surprised I went a week without spotting it in my apartment, but it’d been kicked under my bed. He must have taken it off before he showered. By the time I found it, Rae was dead, Regan was gone, and so was I. It’s been my talisman, reminding me of what we once had and what I hope to have again. I dash on stage amidst a huge applause.

  I use up the full three-song allotment tonight and ask the MC if I can sing a fourth. The full bar hoots their encouragement and he complies. I need just one more song. I’ve sung my love song to Bo every time I’ve come here for the last month. One more time can’t hurt.

  “November Harris.” A slender young woman grabs my attention as I leave the stage with my guitar in hand.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Elizabeth Cantwell, nice to meet you.” She sticks out her hand, and I accept. “I handle concert bookings for several large venues on the East Coast, mainly the Southern East Coast. I’d like to talk to you about booking a show.”

  Huh?

  I shake my head in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

  She smiles warmly. “I’d like you to come play at one of my venues, Ms. Harris. You’ve got the talent.”

  “I don’t...like...do this.” I gesture around the bar. “It’s just a hobby, really.”

  A sandy-haired guy with a cute-as-hell lopsided grin laughs as he comes up beside her.

  “It seems like it should be a bit more than a hobby.” The way he casts his eyes over Elizabeth tells me she’s his.

  I miss being someone’s.

  Sensing my speechlessness, Elizabeth continues. “We’re just here on vacation, so here’s my card. It says “Bradshaw,” but just ask for Elizabeth Cantwell. We just got married—this is my husband, Ryan.” I shake his hand. When he pulls away, he hooks his arm around her waist.

  I smile wide at the thought of next weekend’s nuptials. “Congratulations! My best friends are getting married next weekend.”

  Ryan plants a soft kiss on Elizabeth’s head. “I hope they’re as happy as we are,” he says through a charming grin.

  “It was nice to meet you, November. I hope to hear from you soon.” Elizabeth and I shake hands one more time before she and Ryan leave.

  Still in shock, I wander to the bar.

&nbs
p; The regular bartender, Dane, senses my daze. “What’s up, Ember? You OK?”

  “Yeah, just talked with a woman named Elizabeth Cantwell. She wants me to do a concert or something. Anyway,” I shake my head, “you’ve got my money from tonight, right?”

  He nods and waves an envelope. “I sure do. You want it all to go to DROP again?”

  I nod. Delta Blue insisted on paying me when, two months ago, they got feedback that people were coming in “droves” to see me. I put up a fight, saying this was all just for fun, but relented when they agreed to send my money directly to DROP, in Rae’s name.

  “Why don’t you just give it to Bo Cavanaugh yourself?” Dane says as he puts the envelope in the register.

  Keep your poker face.

  “You know Bo Cavanaugh?”

  He chuckles. “Sweetheart, everyone knows Bo Cavanaugh. I meant, you could just give it to him here.”

  I feel my face flush. “Here?”

  “Yeah,” Dane drags a rag across the wet bar, “he’s been coming in here for like three or four weeks—”

  “What?” Suddenly, I’m extremely lightheaded. Thankfully, an empty stool is nearby.

  He stops mid-swipe. “Relax, Ember, it’s not like he’s a celebrity or something. Just a good-doer socialite.”

  “No...no...that’s not it.” I lean over the bar, grab a bottle of tequila, and pour myself a shot.

  “What’s this all about, Ember?”

  The tequila sets fire to my insides. “Was he here tonight?”

  “Of course he was, he comes in—oh. Shit.” Dane seems to be calculating something.

  “What, Dane?” I stand and grip the bar.

  “He’s the ex-boyfriend, isn’t he?”

  “How’d you put that together?” I mindlessly twist the cuff around my wrist. “Never mind that, what were you saying before? He comes in and what?”

  “He comes in just before your set and leaves right after. Every time. The first time I thought he was just late.”

  My cheeks burn. “Was he here tonight?” Dane swallows hard. “Dane, was he here tonight?”