Lilac

by Reid, B. B.

  I felt like I was on autopilot, too, when I lifted the papers from the table. The first thing I noticed was Jericho’s signature, messier than usual and crammed into the top corner of the page. But it wasn’t his name signed in the wrong place that had me frozen in horror and confusion. It was everything that came after.

  It was the smell of roses.

  It was the emotions that I should have felt but didn’t.

  Because there was only sorrow.

  The grief that gripped me wouldn’t allow me to feel anything else. It wouldn’t allow me denial or frustration as I read the words again.

  I was already looking for a reason to forgive him.

  So it didn’t allow me anger.

  It didn’t allow me disgust or guilt or envy.

  Because allowing those things would bring me hope that Jericho wasn’t lost to me forever and that…my rending heart could not do.

  “Shit.” Groaning, I leaned over when my eyes opened on their own. I snatched my phone from the nightstand to check the time.

  It was only nine thirty.

  Why the fuck was I awake?

  Tossing my phone back, I relaxed and tried to sleep again, but my mind wouldn’t stop sounding the alarm. I must have tried for ten minutes before giving up and rising out of bed. Thankfully, I’d worn pants to bed because I was on a mission when I stormed from my room.

  I fully intended to ensure whichever of my friends chose to die at this ungodly hour went painfully. I didn’t slow my stride until I passed Rich’s room and saw him shuffling out with one eye open and his hair sticking up everywhere.

  Houston then.

  Tougher to maim, but I’d manage.

  I heard Rich following me, only for us both to stop when we reached the stairs. Houston was walking down the short hallway that led to his bedroom, looking just as bewildered when he spotted us.

  So…what the fuck?

  I didn’t have an internal alarm for anyone else. There was no one I gave a shit about that much. No one else except—

  I turned away from the stairs and started back the way I had come, back toward Braxton’s room, before my mind could even finish that thought. I felt Houston and Rich behind me as I knocked on her door for a minute straight with no answer. The entire time I was rationalizing that Braxton wasn’t a morning person either.

  She’s probably sleeping.

  I didn’t realize Houston had grown impatient and twisted the knob until my fist connected with air when the door swung open. The three of us stepped inside with matching frowns as we looked around. The bedding was rumpled but still made, which told me she hadn’t slept in it last night. The biggest clue that something was wrong, however, was all her missing shit.

  Rich was the first to break free of the stupor Braxton had put us in, and I watched him walk over like a skittish kitten to the nightstand on the right side of the bed that Braxton preferred when we weren’t making her sleep in the middle.

  I hadn’t even noticed one of our chef’s knives sticking out of the wooden surface handle up.

  When Rich just stood there staring at the knife instead of telling us why Braxton murdered our furniture, I walked over with Houston on my heels.

  “What’s up?” I asked him when I came to stand next to him. Rich was already pale as fuck, but right now, he looked like he’d either seen a ghost or was a ghost.

  When he still didn’t say shit, I looked at the knife. And then I glanced at the papers pinned underneath, but it was my medallion she’d left as well and the words carved into the wood that held my attention.

  Happy Anniversary.

  “Happy anniversary?” I mused out loud. Reluctantly, I lifted my medallion from the table and slipped it inside my pocket rather than around my neck. I was annoyed at Braxton’s audacity to give it back like we were over, but I wasn’t entirely upset. The medallion wasn’t what I had in mind for her to wear for me anyway. Braxton deserved something that had meaning and she was going to get it.

  “It’s September third,” Rich mumbled. They were his first words since waking up.

  Why did that date sound so familiar?

  He looked up, saw the question in my eyes, and said, “My wedding date.”

  Shit.

  My gaze was drawn back to the papers Braxton had skewered directly in the center with Rich’s signature in the top right corner for some reason. This time I paid attention long enough to notice what they were.

  PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE

  In the Matter of the Marriage or Registered Domestic Partnership of:

  Jericho Noble (Petitioner)

  and

  Emily Noble (Respondent)

  Date of marriage/domestic partnership: September 3, 2013

  Place of marriage/domestic partnership: Multnomah County, Oregon

  Date of petition for dissolution:

  April 9, 2018

  Irreconcilable differences between the parties have caused the irremediable breakdown of their marriage/domestic partnership.

  I skipped over the rest of the legal jargon until I reached the part that painted a vivid picture of how thoroughly Rich had fucked us. It wasn’t enough for him to stick the knife into Braxton’s back, which she had categorically left behind to make her feelings clear.

  No.

  I blew out a breath.

  He had to drive it to the fucking hilt.

  He had to make sure we didn’t stand a chance of getting her back.

  Because Jericho Noble was as much a sadist as he was a masochist.

  He buried himself in angst and pain, and when that wasn’t enough, he inflicted more.

  I shook my head in frustration as I read over the part again, even as I felt the guilt seep into my bones, reminding me that this had been my doing.

  Children of the Marriage/Domestic Partnership:

  Name: ____________________

  Gender: ___________________

  Date of Birth: ______________

  Age: Three years

  “Why the fuck would you include this bullshit?” I exploded anyway. “You don’t even know if that’s your kid, dipshit! Name, unknown. Gender, unknown. Date of birth, un-fucking-known. Did it ever occur to you that Emily could have been lying? There might not even be a kid.”

  “She wasn’t lying,” he assured me, and it made me sick to my stomach to hear him defend that lying, cheating bitch.

  “So you’ve seen her in the last four years? Did she happen to have a kid on her hip?” I yanked the knife from the nightstand and snatched the papers up to study them closer. I just had to know what other dumb shit Jericho’s self-flagellating ass had used to screw us over. As soon as I was sure there were no other skeletons in his fucked-up closet, I’d go get my girl.

  I wasn’t so sure I could do this three-amigos shit anymore.

  Jericho had been right about one thing, at least.

  If one of us lost her, we all did, which meant the chances of us fucking up were greater with three. I wasn’t sure if I could go through losing Braxton a fourth or fifth time. I guess it depended on who was counting.

  When I read the same line six times, I gave up and tossed the papers neither Jericho nor Emily had signed, making it crystal clear to Braxton that they were still married.

  I couldn’t think straight. Each breath felt like it cost me a little more. I wanted to hit something, namely Jericho.

  Seeing that wild look in his eyes that mirrored my own, I knew he’d fuck me up just as bad if I tried. In my peripheral, I noticed Houston sink onto the edge of Braxton’s bed with his forearms on his thighs as he stared dejectedly at the floor.

  “Now would be a good time for you to tell us what to do,” I spat.

  He ignored me.

  I shoved my fingers through my hair before looking around, trying to convince myself that she was really gone. Braxton had taken everything and left nothing behind. Nothing to confirm that she’d ever really been here at all. I wouldn’t be struggling to accept it if I hadn’t falle
n for her.

  Braxton couldn’t just settle for being an amazing lay and guitarist. She had to go and fuck with my feelings too.

  I was out of the bedroom and back in the hall before I even realized my feet were moving. I heard Rich asking me where I was going, but I ignored him. I couldn’t put all of the blame on his shoulders even though I wished I could. I went along with the lie. I kept Braxton in the dark. Now she was gone, and I—

  I sent my fist through the wall once I got inside my room and barked a curse when I pulled it away. My hand throbbed and hurt like hell, but the pain wasn’t the worst I was feeling at the moment.

  Finding my phone and ignoring my hand, I immediately dialed Braxton. Even though I’d hoped, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine she’d answer.

  “Yes, Loren?”

  My lips parted, but no words came. None that would make it right. When I heard her sigh, however, I knew the small window I’d been given was quickly closing.

  “Come back.”

  “Now, why would I do that?” I pictured her studying her nails and wished she’d stayed to use them on me—to inflict pain rather than give me indifference. I could handle one, but she’d destroy me with the other.

  “Because I love you,” I told her even though it wasn’t even close to what I had planned to say. I could feel her surprise on the other end, but she masked it well with frigid silence. I gulped. “I hate that I waited until now to tell you. I hate that I can’t see your face because as much as you want to hate me, you wouldn’t be able to hide the truth.”

  “What’s the truth?”

  “You love me too.” I waited for her to confirm or deny it, but Braxton had returned to giving no reaction at all. I used her silence as the chance to listen to her background and pinpoint her location so I could go fucking get her. It pissed me off that I had zero clue how long ago she’d left because, while she’d been thinking and feeling the worst, I’d been sleeping like a baby. “Please come back,” I begged once more. “We’ll tell you everything. It’s not what you think.”

  I heard her quiet chuckle, and my head dropped from the weight of holding it up. I knew before she spoke. I knew that I’d lost her.

  “It’s exactly what I think, Loren. I don’t negotiate with liars.”

  I was still holding the phone to my ear long after she hung up. It was how Houston and Rich found me when they walked into my room. I was still hoping this was all a bad dream, and I’d wake up soon.

  “Get out.” I didn’t look at them after I issued the order. I just pressed my back to the mattress and stared up at the black ceiling.

  “We will, but you’re coming with us. Tim’s on his way,” Rich announced, referring to our pilot.

  “For what?”

  “Braxton was spotted at the airport. It’s all over the blogs.”

  I found myself snorting even though I didn’t find a damn thing funny. Our rebel still thought she was a little fish in a big pond, and no one would recognize her. Or maybe she was just that desperate to get away from us. I scrubbed my hands down my face.

  “She’s going back to Los Angeles.” I was so exhausted emotionally and physically that I could barely form the words.

  “We can cut her off if you’d get the fuck up,” Jericho snapped.

  “And then what?” I muttered, still staring at the ceiling.

  “I’ll explain,” he naïvely offered. You’d think we would have learned our lesson about how tightly Braxton held her grudges.

  “Tried that.”

  “We know. We heard,” the eavesdropping shits confirmed. I knew if we weren’t all secretly losing our shit over Braxton, they’d be snickering like little girls right now.

  “So you want me to race a thousand miles across two states to strike out a second time in one day? Pass.” Flipping them both off, I rolled onto my stomach, hoping the ache would go away.

  “What the hell did you expect, Lo? You wait until your back is against the wall to tell her how you feel, and then you do it over the phone? It was weak.”

  I was off the bed and in Rich’s face, slamming his back against the wall before either of them could blink. He could easily shove me off, but he didn’t because he knew this shit was on him.

  “Say that again?” I had two inches on him, but at the moment, it felt like two feet.

  Apparently feeling the same, Jericho shoved me off, and I cracked my fist across his nose, returning the favor and making him bleed.

  Houston stood a couple of feet away, texting as if we weren’t two seconds from tearing this house apart. It wouldn’t be anything new, so I understood the indifference. Jericho was the only one who acted like the world’s fate depended on us getting along every second of the day.

  “It’s my fault,” Rich said as he used his hand to staunch the bleeding. “Now let me make it right.”

  “She’s not going to make it easy,” I mumbled, defeated as I stared at the ground. Just getting her to listen, we’d have to wage war—not a battle, war.

  Houston’s head shot up from his phone as if remembering only now that we were here. The look he gave me was a perplexed one as he slipped his phone into his pocket. I guess he’d struck out too.

  “Since when has Braxton ever?”

  “This is bullshit,” I muttered, keeping my voice low in case Braxton heard me. Next to me, Rich continued to bang on the door that looked like it would fall off the hinges at any moment.

  That would just make my fucking day, to be honest.

  We knew she was here. We watched the cab driver help her carry her luggage inside twenty minutes ago. Houston had suggested hanging back so she wouldn’t turn us away on the street, and now here we were. One of her neighbors had already opened the door to openly display his irritation at the noise we were causing like we gave a damn.

  Some people.

  “If you don’t leave now, I’m calling the cops!” the neighbor yelled from down the hall in his ratty, plaid bathrobe.

  They must have been the magic words. Braxton’s apartment door swung open abruptly, and I could have run to hug and kiss the man whose apartment smelled like fermented cheese and dirty gym socks.

  When I saw it was just the insanely hot blonde with green eyes that Braxton had brought to our first two shows, my excitement died a quick but still brutally painful death.

  “Hey,” I forced myself to greet. “Grendel, right?”

  “Griffin.”

  Whatever. “Nice to see you again,” I lied. “Can you get Braxton?” I wasn’t about to pretend I didn’t know she was here.

  Gryffindor crossed her arms as she leaned her shoulder against the jamb. “If she wanted to talk, I wouldn’t be answering the door, would I?”

  “You would if you were practicing to be a doorman, but I don’t know your life. Braxton?”

  “Unavailable.”

  “Can you please just give her a message?” Rich inquired politely.

  The way Greta skewered him with her gaze despite his pleasant tone, I knew Braxton had given her friend at least the gist of what he—we’d done. “Sure. The approved words for your message are—piece, shit, married, lying, a, of, I’m.” Giving Rich an accommodating smile, she cocked her head to the side, making her blonde hair fall in waves over her shoulder. “Feel free to use them in any order you’d like.”

  Stepping back, Groot promptly slammed the door in our faces.

  “She’s so not invited to the wedding,” I grumbled as I stared at the blue door with paint chipping off…everywhere. “What do we do now?” I looked to Rich, who now had his back against the wall next to the door and his head tilted back with his eyes closed. Houston was still leaning against the wall across from the door.

  “We don’t leave L.A. until she talks,” Houston said loud enough for Braxton as well as her neighbors eavesdropping from their apartments to overhear. He approached the door as he continued speaking, making sure she heard him loud and clear. “We come back, and we keep coming back. There’s no sleep for the
wicked, there’s no saving the damned, and there’s no prayer to be had. We’re already ensnared, my little lamb,” he said, quoting her song. The same piece that showed us what she was made of and made us want more.

  This was her fault, really.

  She’d put this monkey on our backs, and there was no knocking it off.

  I could hear whispering, mostly Greer talking shit on the other side of the door. When I smiled at the confirmation that Braxton had heard, it wasn’t arrogance that drove me to do so. Just utter relief that she had and that she’d been listening all along.

  We left Braxton’s shitty apartment building and jumped into our rental. Rich drove us to a hotel that erupted in pandemonium the moment we were recognized. We hadn’t even considered bringing security, and even if we had, we wouldn’t have wasted the precious moments getting to Braxton—even if it had mostly been for nothing.

  “How the hell did she find out?” I’d finally asked the question forefront in my mind when we made it inside our suite.

  “She obviously found the papers,” Houston answered dryly.

  “But how?”

  “I think I had another episode.”

  Rich was staring at his divorce papers that Braxton had all but destroyed when I turned to him. He knew what she was telling him. He knew they meant absolutely nothing without both signatures and too many secrets attached. Rich pointlessly carried them around still because, as I said before, he liked to punish himself.

  “I only remember fragments from last night, but I think Braxton saw me. I remember going to the tower and signing my name, but that’s it. She must have followed me and found them after I’d gone back to bed.”

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  I wasn’t thinking of how badly we fucked up, though. I imagined Braxton and how freaked out she must have been since none of us had bothered to inform her that Rich sleepwalked. He hadn’t had an episode in sometime. With everything else, it had been easy to forget. Now, this shit had popped out like ‘surprise, motherfucker!’ and kicked us in the ass. I should have told her when I found him wandering around in his sleep three nights ago.