by Tracey Ward
I reached out to take the bottle from her. I hadn’t planned it, I was too buzzed to really plan anything, but I blatantly wrapped my fingers around hers to take it. I was looking for that feeling again. That burning rush that came with the feel of her. That slow comfortable warmth she’d always given me.
“What about you?” I asked her. “What’s your aviary fantasy?”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Weddings and doves and puffy white dresses? I don’t know. That’s never been me.”
“What is you, then?”
She frowned slightly, looking disappointed. “You’ve known me for years. You don’t know?”
I did. Better than I knew anyone or anything.
“You,” I said slowly, examining her face, “you are an old dance hall.”
“An old dance hall?” she laughed in surprise.
“Yeah.” I smiled as I pictured it. Jenna in a thin white summer dress swirling around her long legs, her hair loose and wild, her tattoos on display, face happy and glowing in the fading evening sun. Soft but strong. Feminine and real. Rough in all the right ways that made her honest. “Or a recovered warehouse. Maybe a waterfall or the redwoods. I’m not sure, but I know what you’re not. You’re not the Waldorf-Astoria or a ballroom or the top of the Eiffel Tower. You’re a backyard BBQ by the pool with a beer in your hand and a dress that weighs less than you do.”
She nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I could be into that.”
“No orchestra or place settings.”
“No ten tier cakes.”
“No ice sculptures.”
“No tuxedos.”
“No, stop,” I said, cringing. “You’re killing me.”
“Not a tux fan?”
“Who is? It’s too confining. I always feel like I’m going to rip the seams in the shoulders.”
“Then I say don’t wear one. It’s your wedding too, you know?”
I chuckled doubtfully. “You wouldn’t make me wear one, huh?”
“Nope.” She looked me over critically, her head cocked the way she got when she was thinking about a painting she wanted to do.
I smiled at her scrutiny. We didn’t look at each other like this anymore – fearlessly. It was a little unnerving. There were things I should hide from her, things that I’d been hiding for years, but I didn’t now. Not anymore. I was coming out of the basement after living there for too long and her eyes were like the sun on my face for the first time. I felt a little reckless, a little wild, and maybe even a little free.
“I’m thinking…” she mused softly, “the jeans that you’re wearing right now ‘cause they’re your favorite and you’re comfortable in them—“
“What? These old things?” I asked wryly.
“Well and your ass looks great in them.”
“Really?” I laughed, feigning shock.
“Pft! As if you didn’t know. As if that’s not why they’re your favorite.”
“Guilty. What else. These jeans and…”
“A suit jacket. Unbuttoned, of course. And that T-shirt. It suits your eyes.”
“So you’re saying if I put on a suit jacket right now, you’d count me ready to be married?”
Something in her carefree expression faltered, like a cloud crossing over the sun. “What you’re wearing doesn’t make you ready to be married,” she answered softly. “If a guy is happy and sure that waiting for me at the end of that aisle is where he wants to be, I don’t care what clothes he has on, ‘cause his eyes are all I’m going to see.”
Her cheeks immediately flushed as though she were embarrassed by what she’d said, and I knew it was about me. I knew that hidden in that subtle pink hue of her skin was written everything we’d set in motion that night four years ago, and she hadn’t left it behind any more than I had. It was there and tangible between us, more full and real than it’d ever been.
“I’m marrying the wrong sister,” I said, deep and deliberate.
She looked at me in shock, but my heart was steady and even, the constant sucker punch to my system forgotten. In its place was her face and the unerring love I felt for her. The last thing I had held onto that was mine. The last piece of me that I hadn’t buried and I hadn’t had the strength to give up on. The part of me that was Jenna.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” she whispered shakily.
“I know.”
“Take it back.”
“No.” I wouldn’t, because it was honest, and to take it back would be to lie. And I’d never lied to Jenna.
“Why?” she breathed.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” I confessed helplessly, feeling the ground drop out underneath me, sending me into a freefall.
“What do you mean? You’re marrying my sister, that’s what you’re doing.”
“Am I?”
“Are you?” she shot back.
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head and feeling dizzy. “There’s so much momentum.”
I didn’t know how to explain to her that I’d been caught in a tide for years, one that had been pulling me farther and farther away from myself. From her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We’re buying a house. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Yeah,” I spat disdainfully. “We’re buying a house and we’ve been buying all this new furniture for it. Filling it with stuff to start this life and I’m working my way up in your dad’s firm and I’m on this track, this bullet train to this place but I don’t know where it’s going and I don’t know—“
I don’t know how to get out.
“Kellen.”
I jumped up, staggering slightly. I was out of control. This couldn’t happen now, not like this. Not while I had a fiancé down the street trying on wedding dresses. This was wrong. It was off. It was Timing, that raggedy old bitch. She’d never been kind to me.
I reached down to help her up, carefully avoiding her eyes. “We should get back,” I told her, fighting for calm. “Laney will wonder where we are.”
Jenna let me help her up, but she refused to let me go. “Hey,” she insisted softly, tugging on my hand.
I knew she wanted an explanation both for what I’d said and what I’d been about to say. And I had one. A good one. I just couldn’t give it to her.
Not yet.
“Don’t tell anyone what I said, alright?” I asked her. “It’s the alcohol and stress of the wedding. Nothing else. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, her face veiled in doubt and worry.
I walked her quickly back to the boutique, careful not to say a word. I had to be honest, so I had to be silent. There were things I needed to say, but I couldn’t say them here. Not like this. Not until we were back in California and I could set things right, and while it would probably make me an orphan again, at least I’d be a man.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I sat back in my seat and stared at Laney across the small, intimate table. Her golden hair was perfectly curled, her makeup flawless, her nails freshly done, and her green dress hugged every sculpted curve of her body. She looked incredible. Sexy. Men’s eyes found her in the room and looked at her for too long. She pretended to ignore them, but she knew they were there. She’d be upset if they weren’t.
It was our last night in New York and she had made reservations for us at this restaurant back when we planned the trip months ago. I told her that afternoon that I wanted to cancel. I’d said I wasn’t feeling up to going out, and she’d lost it. She got panicky and cried, a reaction I was seeing a lot of ever since she’d cheated on me and insisted I be with her every second of every day. It was like she was afraid if she let me out of her sight I’d run, and I had to ask myself why that thought hadn’t occurred to me.
She smiled up at me sweetly. “Do you know what you’re going to order?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” I said mutedly.
“You didn’t even touch your menu,” she
chuckled softly. “Are you waiting to hear the specials?”
“No. I’m not waiting for anything.”
It was a lie. I’d always been good at lying to Laney.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“No.”
“Then what are you going to order?”
“Nothing, because I’m not hungry.”
She rolled her eyes. “Then why are we out getting dinner?”
“Because you wouldn’t stop nagging me about it.”
She frowned, putting her menu down on the table. “What’s wrong with you?”
I shook my head loosely. “Nothing.”
“There’s something,” she said suspiciously. “Do you want me to guess?”
“Not really.”
She picked up her menu again and flipped through it thoughtfully. “Then I suggest you perk up, buttercup.”
I scowled at yet another nickname. “Did you just call me buttercup?”
She smiled at me over the table. “Got your attention, didn’t it? Made you smile?”
“I’m not smiling.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
She cocked her head. “Are you sure? ‘Cause it looks like a smile from here.”
“You need glasses.”
“I’d look hot in glasses, don’t you think?” I heard the thunk under the table as she slipped her shoe off. Her foot was soon running warm and soft up the inside of my leg. “Like a sexy librarian. Or a doctor about to give you a very thorough exam.”
I scooted back slightly, slamming my legs together.
“You are so grumpy,” she scowled. “Seriously, what is your problem?”
“What was his name?” I asked curtly.
Her smile faltered. “Whose name?”
“The guy you slept with. What was his name?”
“Kellen,” she said softly, her face falling, “this isn’t a good place to have this discussion.”
She had first told me about the infidelity in a movie theater. Her perception of appropriate locations for ‘this discussion’ was suspect.
“When would be a good time for you?” I asked coolly.
“We’ll talk about it back home. For now, can’t we enjoy this vacation?”
“You really want to sit here and eat together with that on the backburner?” I asked incredulously. “You want to fly back to California like this, pretending everything is perfect?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes flashing around the room. “Yes.”
“Well, I don’t,” I told her plainly, “so either answer the question or let’s leave right now.”
“Let’s just have dinner and—“
“Alright, your call,” I interrupted, sitting forward. “What was the motherfucker’s name?” Her mouth tightened in disapproval and I held up my hand in warning. “If you tell me to watch my language like your mom does, I’ll shout the word.”
“What has gotten into you all of the sudden?” she demanded, her eyes going round with worry. “I thought we were good. I thought we’d put this all behind us.”
“Clearly I’m still struggling with it.”
“Can’t we talk about it later? Somewhere private?”
I didn’t answer. I sat there blankly staring at her for way too long. To the point where it got awkward, and when our waiter came by, he immediately turned and left without a word because the tension between Laney and I was so thick, he’d smelled it the second he came close. Other people in the restaurant began to take notice. They looked at us out of the corner of their eyes, whispered to each other over the candles on their tables.
Here’s why the cheating pissed me off so much all the sudden – it was hypocritical as hell.
She’d accused me of cheating for years when I never had. I’d never been unfaithful to anyone in my life, but I’d been treated like I was a manwhore for the better part of a decade. It was infuriating. And, yes, I’d been with Laney for all these years while I was in love with her sister, but I’d never touched Jenna while Laney and I were together. I’d made a point to avoid her. I’d walked away from my only true friend to make sure I didn’t slip up because even though I wasn’t in love with Laney, I respected her enough not to cheat on her.
Clearly she didn’t feel the same way.
Finally Laney shook her head faintly and whispered harshly, “Why are you doing this?”
“Why are we doing any of this?” I shot back.
“Any of what? I’m not doing anything.”
“You slept with another guy, Lane.”
“It was a mistake and I said I was sorry.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“You said we were okay.”
“I was wrong.”
She scowled at me, annoyed. “What’s happening? What are you saying?”
I breathed out harshly through my nose, running my hand over my face. Finally I stood up and tossed a twenty on the table for our drinks. It landed in the wet ring around my untouched glass. “You’re right,” I told her calmly. “We shouldn’t do this here. Let’s go.”
“What exactly is it we’re doing?” she asked hesitantly, standing slowly from her chair.
“We’re talking.”
“Just talking?”
I got her coat, draped it over her shoulders, and silently led her out of the door. The cold Fall air snapped against my face as I moved to the curb to hail a cab. I felt Laney following behind me, but she stayed silent. Distant.
I liked it.
When a cab arrived, I held the door open for her and she got in without question or protest. I gave the driver the name of our hotel, then we were off; cruising through the streets of New York as the lights blurred past the windows that were pelted with a light, cold rain.
“It’s not all on you,” I eventually muttered to the dirty glass. My breath fogged against it, further blurring the outside world and making everything unrecognizable. “So much of this is on me.”
“What is?”
“How jacked up we are. Ninety percent of this is my fault. We’re a mess because I’m a mess.”
She sighed impatiently. “Kel, we’re not a mess.”
“Seriously?” I chuckled darkly. “You slept with someone else and I didn’t even care. How is that normal?”
“We’ve never been normal, but we work.”
“I’ve started having panic attacks.”
She hesitated. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“About what?”
“Everything. You. Me. The house. The wedding. My job. Our engagement. Boxing.”
“That really is everything,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I haven’t told anyone.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yeah.”
“And what did he say?”
I started to feel claustrophobic. The cab felt too hot, the space too small. “He told me to get therapy.”
“Then we need to get therapy,” Laney insisted. “We’ll go together. We’ll get couple’s therapy and work this out.”
I didn’t answer. I’d tell her everything when we got to the hotel. That I didn’t want to buy a house. That I didn’t want to go through with the wedding.
That I didn’t know whose life I’d been living, but it sure as shit wasn’t mine.
“Why do you need to know his name?” Laney asked tightly in response to my silence. “It won’t change anything.”
I stared out the window with unfocused eyes. “I know.”
“Then why?”
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know his name.”
“Then what? What do you want from me?” she demanded, exasperated.
“Nothing.”
“How much nothing?”
I shook my head. “We’ll talk when we get to the hotel.”
I would get my own room tonight. I wouldn’t lie down next her ever again.
“Max,” L
aney said unapologetically. “His name is Maxwell Campbell.”
Is. Not was.
I opened my mouth to speak, but my eyes were burned and blinded by two white lights. Horns blared, the lights barreled down on us, Laney screamed, and it wasn’t until the last second when the impact hit that I realized what was happening.
Then the world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sun is bright.
It’s hot out.
The pavement burns under my bare skin exposed by my shorts.
I drag colorful bits of chalk across the rough surface. They chip and break but they leave their mark.
Faded blues, yellows, and a red so faint it looks pink.
Kellen.
My mom’s voice. She’s calling to me.
There’s music coming from far off. It’s broken and tinny.
Voulez-vous crème glacée?
The ice cream man. The truck is rolling down the street toward us.
I smile up at my mom, but I have to squint against the sun. Her face is black shadow. Lost.
Oui, maman.
She doesn’t answer. I wait patiently but she stands motionless. Faceless.
Maman?
She doesn’t respond.
The pavement is becoming uncomfortable. Too rough. Too hard.
Ma-
Her shadow explodes, blotting out the light. It descends on me as the heat is sucked from my skin. I’m knocked backwards until my head hits the ground hard and the world goes dark and so, so cold.
I’m shivering violently from the cold and fear. I can’t see or hear anything and I can’t get up. The ground is smooth beneath me. Perfectly flat, frigid, and hard. My bones ache where they’re being pushed against it. There’s something on top of me holding me down. Pinning me to the ground as I shiver and shake, completely blind in the blackness surrounding me.
Someone. I hear breathing. Labored and wrong. It’s in my ear, bursting against the lobe, tickling my hair over my skin. I try to recoil from it but I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
Stay quiet.
The voice is rough. Scratchy. I want to scream.