Not Broken Anymore

by Tawdra Kandle

  The truth, however, was that I already knew what his answer would be. Tate, for all of his wonderful qualities, was an all or nothing type of guy. Now that he’d stated his case and admitted his feelings, he wouldn’t go back—and he was so honest and straightforward that he wouldn’t even pretend to do it for my sake. If I wasn’t ready to make a commitment, I shouldn’t even bother him again. I’d only serve to hold him back from finding the life he was really meant to lead.

  And it would have been cruel to talk to him now, when his daily texts and calls had finally begun to drop away. He hadn’t stopped calling or sending me messages, but now they’d taken on a tone of resignation that I hoped—and secretly feared—were a precursor to him finally moving on.

  So I’d agreed with Zelda, and that Saturday, instead of moving out of her apartment, I officially moved in. She went with me to my old place as I boxed up the last few things that were worth taking, gave it a decent cleaning and locked the door behind me for the final time, stopping downstairs to drop off the keys. The landlord had actually been cooperative, as he’d found someone who’d wanted to move in right away. I’d even gotten my entire security deposit back.

  I’d insisted that Zelda let me pay a portion of her rent and utilities, but it was still a huge savings for me. In gratitude, I tried to do everything I could to keep the apartment tidy and to stay out of Zelda’s way when she had company. That wasn’t so difficult; although she’d admitted that she and Tuck were actually getting pretty serious, she visited him more often than he came to her place, since transportation was an issue for him and his wheelchair.

  I’d lived there with Zelda for just about a month when my phone beeped one Saturday afternoon. I ignored nearly all of my calls and messages lately, since they were either Tate or my mother, but this one was different: Leo’s name popped up in the incoming message announcement.

  I looked at it warily; I wouldn’t have put it past Tate to persuade Leo to try to talk sense into me. On the other hand, he hadn’t done it yet, and while Leo had been keeping me up-to-date on the activities of the Matt Lampert Foundation via texts and email, he hadn’t mentioned Tate to me at all.

  Hey, Gia. I’m in California to surprise Quinn, only I got here and realized I have no clue how to find her. I don’t have her address. I know I should’ve thought of this before I got on a plane and flew across the country, but . . . hey, points for trying, huh? Do you happen to have her address?

  I smiled before I could help myself. I might be a hopeless lost cause when it came to romance, but it gave me an undeniable happy that my friends were finally making it work. I answered him right away.

  I actually don’t, but I know who does. Hold on.

  I stood up to go find Zelda, and then paused to add, And awwwwww!! Q is going to be SO happy to see you! What a great idea!

  Zelda, however, didn’t share my enthusiasm. “What do you mean, he’s in California? Did Quinn ask him to come? This is supposed to be her time for figuring shit out and healing.” She whipped out her own phone. “Read me off his number. I’ll send him her address.”

  “Don’t give him a hard time, Zelda. Seriously. I think this is the real thing for these two this time.”

  She arched one eyebrow at me. “We’ll see. The number, please.”

  I recited Leo’s number and then watched Zelda’s fingers fly over her tiny keyboard. When she’d obviously finished the exchange, she clicked off her phone and set it down on the table. “He says he has good intentions. I hope he’s telling the truth. I reminded him of the consequences if he hurts her again.”

  “Well,” I began. “Technically, he hasn’t done anything to hurt her since high school, since it was Quinn who broke up with him last time.”

  Zelda held up one hand to stop me. “Details. Don’t bother me with them.”

  “Ooookay.” I shook my head. “You know, it’s too bad Tate doesn’t have a friend like you on his side. Someone who might’ve warned him away from me before it was too late.”

  To my surprise, Zelda nodded. “You’re right on that. If I’d known Tate, I would’ve told him to run, not walk, in the opposite direction before getting mixed up with you.”

  My mouth sagged open. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Zelda shrugged. “Hey, you said it, gorgeous. I’m just agreeing. If Tate is half the guy you tell me he is, he deserves someone who will love him the way he loves her. Someone who will see him for the rare prize he is and want to build a life with him.”

  “And that’s not me? That couldn’t ever be me?” I crossed my arms over my chest. She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t told myself a million times, but still . . .

  “Gia, you’re clinging to your need to hurt the same way a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood. As long as you do that, you can’t be good for anyone. And there’s no sense in starting something that doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of survival.”

  Deep pain skewered me. It was one thing to think these truths myself, but yet another to hear them coming out of the mouth of one of my best friends. “Fuck you, Zelda. You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

  “Hey, G, you can get mad and you can curse at me, but I’m probably the one person who does get it. I’ve been there, honey.” She fiddled with a strand of her hair, and it struck me that she was anxious about what she was about to say. Zelda had virtually no nervous tics. She drew in a deep breath.

  “I’ve been in love with Eli since our freshman year in college.” She paused, letting that sink in. “Yup. That long. And most of that time, I’ve spent pulling him closer just to push him away. I’ve hurt that boy seven ways to Sunday, and all because of something that happened a long time ago.” She waved her hand. “This isn’t about me, and I’m not going to bore you with the epic saga. But suffice it to say that I do know some of what you’re going through. I know what it’s like when the only things you can believe in and trust are the pain and the anger.”

  I worked my jaw, feeling tension rise. “I’m not angry.”

  Zelda laughed and raised her eyebrows at me. “Aren’t you? If you’re not, then you should be. You should still be fucking furious at Matt for the way he treated you and then for offing himself so he didn’t have to deal with the consequences of hurting you over and over—and so that you never got a chance to heal. He took himself out of the equation by committing suicide. Because how the hell are you going to be mad at a dead man? That’s not fair, is it?”

  Tears that I’d been unable to cry for a solid month filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. “You’re saying I should be pissed at Matt for killing himself? That’s awful. He had a mental illness. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Oh, wasn’t it?” Zelda stood up, walking closer to me. “How many times did Leo try to get Matt to seek help? How many times did you? How many chances did you give him? That summer when he lived with us at Birch—that was his big opportunity to make a change, remember?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, some change. He fucked around the campus, he was high or wasted or both almost all the time, and he put you through hell.” She hesitated, and I could sense she was trying to decide whether or not to go on. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.

  “I never wanted to tell you this, Gia, because . . . holy shit, I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe at first because I thought you wouldn’t believe me, which was stupid, because you’ve never been anything but a loyal friend. And then later—well, there wasn’t any reason to say anything. But if you’re looking back at Matt now and seeing him through the suicide-colored glasses, you should know the whole truth. That summer he lived with us, Matt . . . he attacked me. He tried to rape me.”

  All of the blood in my body drained to my feet, and I reached for a chair to steady myself. “What . . . oh, my God, Zelda. Why didn’t you . . . I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “He was drunk, and he was buzzed on something else, too. He was wired. You were out—the two of you had had a big fight—and I was in
the apartment alone. Matt felt that my reputation meant I’d be more than happy to spread my legs for him, too.” She blinked slowly, staring at the floor. “I’m strong and I’m tough, G, and I protect myself. Even in those days, I didn’t go into a hook-up without an escape plan and a bottle of pepper spray. But this time, I was in my own bedroom, and I was utterly unprepared. He was crazy strong, and if Eli hadn’t come along . . . I don’t know what would’ve happened. But he did. All Matt was able to do was push me onto the bed and spout off a lot of shit. I was okay in the end—just freaked out.”

  I was dizzy. “Zelda, God. If I’d known, I’d have . . .” My voice trailed off. What would I have done? Kicked Matt out? Called the police? Or tried to smooth it over and convince myself that Zelda was overreacting? I wasn’t sure. I hoped it would have changed things.

  “Hey.” Zelda rubbed my back. “I’m not telling you this so that you’ll feel guilty. I want you to see Matt for who he was, and to realize that it’s okay to be mad at him for what he did before he killed himself. You’re right that you can’t blame him for the suicide. I wonder sometimes if Matt didn’t face his own monsters that night and find out that they all wore his face. He was weak, G. You don’t have to hate him for that, but you don’t have to live the rest of your life in penance, either.”

  I nodded, my lips numb. “But what if that’s the only way I know how to live anymore?”

  She smiled and drew me close for a tight hug. “I think I know someone who can help you with that, if you’re really serious about getting better.”

  It was scary. I felt as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and while the thought that there might be a bridge to the other side gave me a flicker of hope, it was still safer to stay where I was, gazing down into the terrifying canyon below.

  But on the other side of the bridge was hope and light . . . and maybe the future. I thought of Tate, and my heart contracted painfully. If there was anyone who I’d cross that bridge for, it was him. I was afraid to believe we could still have a chance, but there was only one way to find out.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I think I’m ready.”

  That had been two months ago, and after many sessions with Darla, the therapist whom Zelda had recommended to me, I knew I was making progress. We’d talked about my childhood, and my mother had even agreed to come down for a joint session, during which, miracle of miracles, she listened more than she spoke. Afterward, she’d been quiet and thoughtful, and although I was hesitant to believe the change could be genuine, I had to admit that she’d been trying more. So was I.

  On the other hand, my dad had resisted any kind of session and refused to believe that there was anything wrong with me, let alone that he might have had any culpability.

  “Dad, I’m not blaming you. We’re just looking for a way to move forward, so that we can be healthier together.” I’d heard the almost-pleading note in my own voice and hated it.

  Still, he’d remained stubborn. Darla had reminded me that this was his choice; I’d opened a door, but it was his decision whether or not to walk through it or to close it.

  I’d talked to Darla a lot about Tate. I’d described our time together in detail that frequently left me crying, but she assured me that these were healthy, healing tears.

  And while it was true that Darla had agreed I might not be ready to face Tate in person yet, she hadn’t said it as definitively as I’d made Zelda think. Rather, when I’d protested that it was too soon, Darla had only nodded and reminded me that it was my choice and my timeline.

  Being so close to his house today had been weird. I’d been inundated with memories of the afternoons we’d spent with Pops. I wondered if the older man hated me now for breaking his grandson’s heart. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Some days, I still kind of hated myself for that.

  But lately, the days of hope were outnumbering the days of despair, and despite myself, I was daring to believe in the possibility of tomorrow.

  “Hey, Durham. Great game today.”

  I turned to glance over my shoulder as Clive Hanson, a middle linebacker, slugged me on the back. He was sweaty and filthy, too, just like we all were after our hard-fought victory over Dallas.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “Not a bad way to start a season, huh?” He elbowed his way closer to the lockers and began to strip off his pads. “Or maybe even better, what a way to say welcome to the City of Brotherly Love.”

  I forced a grin. “No complaints here. I had more play time today than I did in a month of Sundays in New York.”

  “And you made the most of it, too.” He sat down on the bench to untie his shoes. “So, a bunch of us are going out to celebrate after. You in?”

  I hesitated. “Who’s going?”

  Hanson counted off names on his fingers. “Ahhh, Skeeter, Douglass, DeLain . . . you know. The single guys. Gonna hit a couple bars, hang out.”

  I swallowed back a sigh. There had been a time this year when I’d looked forward to not being numbered among the unattached team members. Stupid, naïve me had pictured telling my teammates that I couldn’t go out to party, because my girlfriend and I had plans. In my mind, those plans had been very private ones and a hell of a lot more fun than hitting the bars.

  Yeah, I’d been a fool, counting the chickens that were never going to hatch.

  There wasn’t a single reason for me to say no to Hanson’s invitation. Pops had come to the game, but he’d ridden over with a couple of his buddies, and they were likely already back in Jersey by now. He wouldn’t mind me hanging with the guys—heck, he’d probably be thrilled that I was out of the house and not moping around. And the girl who I’d thought would be at my opening game in Philly, and every other home game, too, was still lost to me. She was somewhere in the city, probably, but she didn’t want me, and I was damn tired of fighting a losing war. I was done with trying to hold on to hope.

  “Sure.” I grabbed my towel and turned for the showers. “I’m in.”

  “This is sweet, man!” Tripp Douglass shouted in my ear, trying to be heard over the thumping music. His face was flushed, and fleetingly I wondered if that came from the heat or the beer. Or maybe both.

  We’d arrived at the upscale pub that wasn’t too far from the stadium, and immediately, we’d been escorted to a huge round booth in a prime location just off the dance floor, adjacent to the bar itself. Within minutes, women of various ages and types had flocked over to us, smiling, flirting and tossing their hair, trying to make inroads with any of the players.

  I might’ve been more flattered if I hadn’t overheard an exchange between two of the women early on.

  “Which one do you want?” The blonde had asked her red-headed friend.

  The red-head had shrugged. “Who cares? They’re all football players, they’re all hot, and they’re all loaded.”

  Yeah, it was hard to feel special after that.

  But Douglass was even more of a rookie than I was, since this was his first year in the pros. He’d left college after his junior year, so he was younger and greener than most of the newbies. He was looking around like he was a little boy in a candy store.

  “Hey, kid, take it easy, okay?” I’d never been in the position to play big brother, but I hated to see him get sucked into a bad situation, and some of the women had bad situation written all over them.

  “Yeah, I got this.” He winked at me, cocky, and I just barely refrained from rolling my eyes. He was hell-bent to get into trouble tonight, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.

  Then again, I wasn’t really qualified to give advice, given that the only woman I’d ever wanted had stomped on my heart and left me as soon as I’d told her that I loved her.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t sit there any longer. I nudged Douglass. “Hey, let me out, would you? I need to hit the mens’.”

  The kid, who was flirting heavily with a woman who looked like she had at least ten years on him, barely paid me any attention, moving down the bench until I c
ould get out of the booth. I stretched a little, rolling my shoulders; sitting still for any period of time after a game as intense as the one we’d played this afternoon was never a good idea.

  I headed in the direction of the restrooms, taking my time and looking around to see if I could possibly make an escape from the bar without making it a big deal among my teammates. I didn’t want to be here anymore, but I didn’t want to interrupt their good time, either.

  The bathroom was blessedly quiet after the cacophony of the music and talking. I did what I needed to, washed my hands and stepped back out into the corridor, glancing down the hall for a back exit.

  “Looking for a getaway?” The voice was low and filled with humor, and I glanced over my shoulder to see a tall woman with dark hair and a half-smile playing on her lips. She was regarding me with poorly-concealed amusement.

  “Ah, just scoping it out.” I offered her my official, dismissive but polite smile and tried to side-step her to get back into the main room.

  “I was watching you there, sitting with your teammates. You looked bored.” She tilted her head.

  “Not at all. Just tired. In case you didn’t know, we played a game today, and it took a lot out of me.”

  “Oh, I know. I was there.” She lifted a small plastic square that had her picture on it. “On the sidelines, as a matter of fact. I’m a reporter. I cover you guys for the Inquirer.” She held out her hand. “Lana DiMartino.”

  “Tate Durham.” Thanks to the years of manners drilled into me by Pops, I automatically reached out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I know who you are. Philadelphia’s lucky to have you.” Her eyes roved up and down my body, making me acutely aware of every inch of my skin. I couldn’t help comparing the sensation to how it had felt when Gia had looked at me. Then, I’d been eager to be perfect for her, to make her want me. Now I just felt uncomfortable and more than a little objectified.