by Monica Cole
We don’t talk anymore about it. I don’t want to and Whitney can sense that. Instead, she takes my hand and we join Parker and Clark. The country band playing really sucks, but I try to enjoy it the best I can. Try to smile and laugh like everyone else because that’s all I really want. To be happy. But it’s hard when thoughts of Canyon are wheeling around in the back of my mind, like a conveyer belt that keeps looping and winding them, round and a round.
“Hey, are you feeling okay?”
Parkers voice sounds muffled by the Florida Georgia Line cover of “Cruise” and the only reason I realize he’s talking to me is because he touches my arm. I bend down, so that I’m eye level, then lean close enough to hear him.
“What?”
“I asked if you’re feeling okay,” he repeats, practically yelling in my ear. “You seem distracted.”
If only you knew.
“I’m fine,” I lie, not caring that he can’t probably see right through it. He’s used to me lying about my feelings.
He eyes me skeptically, his mouth set in a firm line. “You’re lying but I’ll let it slide because I think someone wants to talk to you.”
I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. Then glance over my shoulder, because he appears to be looking at something behind me. I should’ve known who it was before I even turned around. Canyon is standing a few feet away, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans, a cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth. I frown slightly, because I remember him saying he quit. Which means he’s upset about something because that’s mostly when he used to smoke. Only he doesn’t look upset. He looks like the Canyon I know. The Canyon I miss. The carefree, laid back guy with intense brown eyes that sear through me like they’re looking to brand my soul. He also looks hot as hell. A dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, sculpting out his muscles, his hair tamed by that stupid gray beanie he always wears that I pretend not to like but secretly think it’s pretty sexy.
God I have issues.
And they all start with C.
Canyon.
Canyon.
Canyon.
We continue staring at each other, until he takes a long drag from his cigarette and leisurely trails his eyes down my body, staring blatantly when he reaches my legs. Watching the smoke snake from his lips is getting me hot, the heat fanning the butterflies in my stomach higher and higher. This should be embarrassing, considering Parker is right behind me while Canyon practically eye fucks me. It doesn’t seem to bother Canyon though. But it’s definitely bothering me. All in good ways.
“Why the hell are you smoking?” This comes from Parker, which is an excellent question. One I should be asking instead of locked in a staring contest.
Canyon plucks the cigarette from his mouth and drops it on the ground, stomping it out with his foot. “Better?” He asks bitterly, not bothering to answer the question.
I frown, noticing that Parker does the same. This might look like the old Canyon, but it sure doesn’t sound like him.
“Have you been drinking?” Parker asks, the irritation clear in his voice.
I look at Canyon, trying to determine the same thing by gauging his body language. He doesn’t look drunk, but I’ve only seen him wasted a couple of times so I’m not sure. He’s also more levelheaded when he drinks which makes it harder to tell.
“I’m not drunk,” he answers, sounding somewhat offended that Parker would think so. He grabs another cig from his back pocket and lights up. “But thanks for assuming.”
Parker looks like he’s about to say something else, something harsh from the way he grinds his teeth together. He looks at me. “I’m going to get something to drink,” he says, shooting Canyon a disappointed look before wheeling off.
Leaving me and Canyon alone.
He’s still staring when I turn back, the end of his cigarette casting an orange glow across his face. His jaw is tense, eyebrows furrowed and the sockets of his eyes look dark and hollow and so full of sadness. For a fraction of a second I have the urge to close the space between us and attempt to make the expression disappear. But I don’t know how.
“Why are you smoking?” I ask, not sure what else to say, and I’m curious. If it’s because of me. Of us.
“Does it matter,” he asks, flicking his cigarette until the ashes flitter off.
“Maybe it shouldn’t, but yea, it does. And it definitely does to Parker.”
My words must have some effect on him because he sighs and drops it to the ground. “I’m stressed. I thought it would help.”
“There are other ways that don’t involve breaking a promise.” I don’t mean for the words to have a double meaning, but from the way he looks at me, I know they do.
I drag my ponytail over my shoulder and stare at the ground. “If you want to smoke, smoke. But apologize to Parker because you were kind of an ass.”
He takes a step closer until his converses come into my line of vision, causing a fresh wave of nervousness to sweep through me. “Okay. But I want to talk to you first.”
Before I can protest, he takes my hand and drags me away from the crowd, away from the noise and behind a concession stand selling corndogs. It’s dark and smells like garbage and fried food but I barely notice as Canyon presses me up against the building, tilting my chin so that I’m looking at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, his breath hitting my face like a warm cloud of smoke. “For the other night. I crossed a line, and all I’ve been able to think about for the past week is how to cross back. If I can cross back. I want to be friends, Elle, but you make it really hard to want just that. You always have.” His thumb sweeps underneath my mouth and then he drops his hand to his side. I avert my eyes to his chest, wondering how he got so good at admitting when he’s wrong and saying he’s sorry. I know I owe him somewhat of an apology, but I have too much pride and can’t find it in me to say it.
“Maybe this is a bad idea then,” I say. “Trying to be friends has only made this more complicated and painful than it already was. I’m tired of the pain, Canyon. That’s why I left in the first place. Coming back here only stirred it right back to the surface and being around you…” I trail off because I can’t go there. Explain how I feel around him. What he still does to me.
Canyon exhales, his hand sneaking around to his pocket like he’s about to get another cigarette but instead he reaches up and cradles the back of his neck. “This is what I’m talking about, Elle. Circles. We keep running around, and I still have no clue what you want. If you don’t want to be friends, just say it. If you want me to leave you alone, okay. But you have to be straight up with me.” He pinpoints me with hard eyes. “No bullshit.”
“Are you for real? I’m not the one giving you bullshit.” I shoot back angrily and the fact that he thinks I am is enough to have me fly off the handle. “You’re the one lying to me, Canyon. Maybe if you’d be honest with me, we could work through our problems. How do you expect me to move on when I’m still in the dark? When I still have no clue why we broke up other than you’re keeping secrets from me and still don’t have the respect or the nerve to tell me. Our friendship was built from trust. That’s why we made that stupid pact. And then you broke it. So don’t tell me that I’m giving you bullshit when you’re the one dishing it out.”
Canyon pounds his fist against the wall, right above my head, making the small building rattle with the force.
“Fuck,” he hisses. He spins around, hands flying to his hair, tugging so hard it looks painful. For a minute, the tortured expression on his face makes me feel bad, because I can tell he’s fighting an internal battle with himself about something. I wonder if he’s losing. Because when he turns to me there’s so much raw emotion in his eyes that it steals the breath right out of my lungs. And not in a good way. In an agonizing way that makes me feel like I’m suffering a slow death, wishing someone would put me out of my misery. It’s the same look he gave me the night he broke my heart, and I know he’s about to do it again. Only this time th
e pieces of my heart are going to be completely obliterated until they’re just ashes that settle at the bottom of my lungs.
“I wanted to tell you a long time ago,” he starts, still standing so far away. His voice so low, I have to strain to hear him. “I want to tell you now, Elle, but I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“Just tell me,” I whisper, my eyes pleading. I just need to know.
With a few steps, he closes the space between us. He cradles my face between his hands, our foreheads pressed together. I don’t even realize I’m crying until he wipes away a tear with his thumb.
“Elle…I…”
“What the hell is going on back here?” The angry sound of a man’s voice pierces through the night and whatever Canyon was about to say gets swept away into the night. The guy is holding a long piece of wood that doesn’t look near as threatening as the muscular arms bulging underneath his shirt.
“Thought ya’ll were a bunch of fuckin’ raccoons,” he huffs then points the wood back and forth from Canyon to me. “Are you okay, miss?” He’s eyeing Canyon skeptically.
“Everything’s fine,” Canyon answers.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
The man looks directly at me, and I nod. “I’m okay. We’re just talking.”
He doesn’t look like he believes us but retreats back a step nonetheless. “Well, find a place to talk that isn’t behind my stand. I have corndogs to sell.”
With that, he turns and leaves not bothering to see if we do the same. I turn back to Canyon, praying he’s about to continue where he left off. Praying this is the moment that I can finally know the truth. That after tonight, no matter what he tells me, I can finally move on.
“We need to go,” he says, taking the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and sticking one between his lips. “I still owe Parker an apology.”
He’s acting so casual. So blasé about the fact he almost laid everything out in the open for me. It’s like ripping the curtains back from a window only to realize the blinds are still closed. I’m still in the dark. And if he had any intention of shedding some light on things a moment ago, that sure isn’t the case now.
“You catch up with him. I’m going home,” I say bitterly. I shove against his chest, hard enough that he stumbles back. I snatch the cigarette from his mouth and place it in my own as I storm around the building. I take a hit, trapping the smoke in my lungs until the urge to cry subsides, then I blow out a cloud of smoke that encircles me as I leave the fairgrounds. The last time I smoked one of Canyon’s cigarettes was after we got in a fight about something so trivial, I don’t even remember what it was about. I can see why he does it. Or did. Holding the smoke in your lungs and feeling the burn of nicotine in your throat smothers the pain until it’s a dull ache in your chest. And when you finally exhale, it’s like seeing all you’re problems exorcised right in front of you. It almost makes me want to pick up a pack on my way home, then sit around until I feel hollow enough to forget tonight ever happened. Just minutes ago, I thought I’d walk away with answers, but now I feel more confused than I did before. Why didn’t he just tell me? Why is this so hard? So many questions and never any answers. Canyon’s right. I’m tired of running in circles, but I don’t know how to stop. How I’m supposed to start moving forward when I’m constantly chasing the same thing that’s chasing me. I guess it’s true what they say. No matter how hard you try, you can’t run away from your past. And in this case, I guess it can’t run away from me either.
Chapter Sixteen
“Elle, please help me out. I really need you.”
Canyon’s practically begging, which makes it harder to keep saying no. We’ve been on the phone for the last twenty minutes, and he’s wearing me down. It shouldn’t be this hard to say no to him but it is. It’s really hard when I’m listening to his deep voice on the other end of the line, begging for my help. I know he genuinely needs it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have called. But the truth is that I’m scared to be around him. After what happened the other night, I figured it’s better to keep our distance, at least until I can get my head on straight. I still feel too much for Canyon and spending all this time with him is making those feelings intensify. So for the last week I’ve been ignoring him. Texts. Calls. The shadow of his feet when he stops outside my door. He stood there at least five times and each time I waited for him to knock. He didn’t. And while I almost wish he had, I’m glad he didn’t because he knows as well as I do that its better this way. When he called this morning I picked up by accident. I was still asleep and thinking it was an alarm, I’d swiped my finger across the screen only to realize I had accepted his call. That was almost a half hour ago, and I’m still lying in bed, the covers pulled up to my chin while Canyon silently waits for my response.
Rolling onto my side, I cup the phone to my ear and smooth down the edge of a poster hanging on the wall. “Are you sure there’s no one else that can help you? I’m sure Whitney is sitting around with nothing to do.”
Canyon is trying to get me to come sit at the studio because he’s doing an off location photo session. Normally Parker would do it but he has a doctor’s appointment which means Canyon is shorthanded.
“No offense, but I’m not leaving Whitney alone at the studio. She’s too much of a spaz.” I can hear him messing around with something in the background before he sighs and says, “If this is about the other night you don’t need to worry about it. I’m asking for your help as a friend. In fact, if you help me out, I promise not to look in your general direction if it makes you more comfortable.”
I frown. “Why would I help you out if you’re not even going to acknowledge my existence?” I clip.
“You mean the way you didn’t acknowledge mine for the past week?” His tone is harsh, stabbing at my heart like a blunt knife laced with truth. It stings, but not as much as the hurt evident in his voice.
The silence drags on for seconds that turn into minutes. Finally he sighs. “I’m sorry. Just forget I called.”
The line goes dead. I lie in bed for another ten minutes, the phone still stuck to my ear. Even though he’s the one who just snapped at me, I feel like a jerk. I slide out of bed and grab a pair of shorts off the floor, a clean t-shirt and my sneakers. Fifteen minutes later I’m downtown, heading to the studio. I’m sweaty from the walk, my hair plastered to my neck. I throw it in a ponytail as I enter the building, a glorious wave of air conditioning whacking me in the face.
Canyon is nowhere to be seen. I check the back and the bathroom but he’s not there. As I’m walking to the lobby, the bell above the door rings. I catch sight of Dr. Beckett and quickly duck into the bathroom. Canyon comes in behind him, and I can immediately tell he’s pissed. Hands clenched at his side, his jaw tense. His dad is facing the window, hands on his hips and I have a feeling if I caught a glimpse of his face, he’d look pissed too.
“I have a client that’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. This isn’t the best time for this conversation,” Canyon says.
Dr. Beckett spins around so fast it scares me. “Fuck good timing, Canyon. I haven’t seen you in two weeks. You missed your doctor’s appointment last week do you realize that? And your medication? Still at the pharmacy.”
What the hell? Doctor’s appointment? Medication?
“I want to know what the hell is going on,” Dr. Beckett demands. “Is this because of that girl?”
Canyon runs a hand along his jaw. “You know what her name is dad. It’s Elle. Elle Reynolds. You’ve treated her brother, and you work with her mom. We’ve been friends since we moved to this town. Don’t act like you don’t know who she is.”
“You’re right. I do know who she is because she’s the reason you’re walking around with your head up your ass, skipping out on your doctor’s appointment. The appointments you’ve been going to every few months since you were born, Canyon. The appointments you’ve had to go to every few weeks for the last year because they’re helping to keep you alive. But you’re over h
ere, chasing some lovesick fantasy with a girl who left you high and dry and for what? How do you think she’s going to feel when she finds out what’s wrong with you? What’s it going to matter if you get your happily ever after, if you’re making decisions that could ultimately take your life. How is that fair? To you? Or to her?”
Dr. Beckett’s words hit like a sledgehammer to my heart. They’ve yet to say anything to clarify exactly what they’re talking about, but it’s not hard to put the pieces together. Canyon is seeing doctors. He’s on medication. It's life threatening. And all of this information is life altering. Canyon could be dying. Is dying. I don’t know. I can barely wrap my head around it. And from the sound of it, his dad is blaming me. Me. The one who had no clue this was going on. All this time. I didn’t know.
And then it hits me. This is it. This is what Canyon has been keeping from me all these years. I blink once but that’s all it takes for the tears to start falling. I cover my mouth with my hand to keep quiet, but it’s hard when all I want to do is scream. I rest my forehead against the doorframe, my body shuddering with silent sobs that aren’t so silent. My voice breaks in a strangled cry, but I don’t wait for them to find me. I step out of the bathroom and Canyon is right in front of me. I can barely look at him but I do. I look him straight on, my tears falling harder when I see the torment on his face. The helplessness in his eyes. It’s the final blow that pulverizes my heart and I hope for all the times he’s tried to see me, he sees deep enough to know what he’s done.
Dr. Beckett watches us from the window, arms crossed, no emotion on his face whatsoever. I hate him. Almost as much as I hate Canyon right now.