For Keeps. For Always.

by Haley Jenner

  I stare at her blankly, shocked into silence.

  She sighs at my depressive state. “If it’s any consolation, Alex was a dick. He stared at my tits the entire time we spoke last night. It was super creepy. I’m not condoning what you did, but don’t beat yourself up about it. We all make mistakes.”

  “Me seemingly more than others.”

  Grabbing her phone, she readjusts her hair. “That’s a you problem, one I can’t help you with. Choose to be better.”

  She leaves me with her words, moving off toward the lobby, no longer my enemy but also not quite my friend.

  I can live with that.

  three months later

  I had plans to move onto South and Central America following Addy’s wedding, but when it came down to boarding the plane, I couldn’t stomach the thought of starting somewhere new. I needed comfort. I needed a destination that offered familiarity, that offered me peace and perspective.

  Nursing my tea between my hands—promised to bring relaxation in its blend of herbs—I breathe in the company of endless flowers and potted plants.

  I found this flower market on my first day in Tokyo a few years ago. The abundance of greenery caught my eye in the otherwise muted city colors. Nestled inside the quiet sanctuary was the most charming cafe I’d ever seen in my travels.

  Glass tables adorned with flora visible right underneath the surface. Walls covered in creeping plants with large spherical lights hanging from the ceiling. It was a wonderland, one I could spend forever in and die content.

  Which is why, in my darkest moment, I came back.

  I’ve spent the past three months afraid to leave my safe zone. Working in and around Tokyo City, healing the broken parts of myself and praying I’d forget the pain from Brooks leaving.

  He was right.

  I hate him.

  Or more, I hate myself and the bitter extension of Brooks Riley.

  Keep loving me.

  I’m so mad at him for demanding I make that promise. For using me at my most vulnerable to vow something I wanted nothing to do with in the wake of my heartbreak.

  I hate that I love him and likely always will.

  I love that I love him hard enough that he’ll always own the deepest parts of my heart.

  I hate the person he brings out in me.

  I love that my love for him consumes me to a point where no one else exists.

  I’m destined to love him. For keeps. For always. And for that reason, I hate the way I love him.

  I check the time, knowing I should call it a night and attempt to catch a few hours of sleep before my flight tomorrow. But I can’t bring myself to leave. This place has become my security blanket, and tomorrow, I’m throwing it off.

  My heart was broken, and I came to a place that could offer me peace. I overdosed on tea and spoke to flowers in an attempt to heal all that was destroyed inside me. The plants didn’t talk back, but their allure offered me a glimmer of hope. Even with a heart shattered beyond repair, grace and beauty can be found in the world. And slowly but surely, that beauty infiltrates you within, growing like a seedling and giving you the belief you can bloom again.

  And that’s what I was going to do.

  By. Myself.

  I was going to fucking bloom.

  I was going to find happiness. Alone.

  Alex was right. I owed it to any man in my future to erase the longing I had for my best friend before trying to move on. It wasn’t fair. Not for them and not for me.

  Standing, I smile at the couple moving to occupy the table next to mine. They return the gesture before their focus returns to one another. I don’t let jealousy overtake me like it normally would. Love isn’t something to envy. It’s something to look forward to. It’s a hard lesson to learn, a more difficult one to accept.

  Paying, I hand over the equivalent of one hundred American dollars to the cashier who is as close to any friend that I have here.

  “No change,” I tell her. “Use the rest toward their meal.” I point at the couple I passed just seconds ago.

  “You know them?” she asks in soft, broken English.

  I shake my head. “A random act of kindness.”

  A wide smile forms on her face. “So nice.”

  “I won’t be back for a while,” I explain. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Where to?”

  “Sri Lanka.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “Tea gardens and mountains and beaches.”

  “Take me with you,” she jokes. “Be safe, Henley.”

  Bags packed, I drop to the hotel room bed. It’s soft, the goose-down comforter melding around my backside the way I’d imagine a cloud would feel.

  A frivolous expense, one that I don’t partake in often. I’m comfortable enough in hostels and budget motels, but every once in a while, I splurge. I use up a chunk of my very limited savings for a spa bath and king-sized bed.

  I’m excited about my next adventure, at becoming lost in this big, wide world. It’s nice to know how small and insignificant I am against the backdrop of Planet Earth. My past problems seem so purportless. It’s nice.

  I pick up my phone, deleting the copious text messages from Jacinta without reading them. I cut my mother from my life years ago. It wasn’t a notable moment. In fact, it had the same flair as many of our other conversations. Said with limited feeling and very few words.

  She reaches out on occasion. I made the mistake of reaching back the first few times. But she only ever contacted me when she was lonely. When her boyfriend wasn’t paying her enough attention, or when she thought I’d wrangle money from Derrick for her. Which is ridiculous, considering I haven’t spoken to him since the year she dragged me from my home.

  I refresh my social media. I check my emails, spam included. I scroll through my texts, just in case I missed it.

  But nothing.

  The one person I want to hear from, even though I don’t (I know, figure that one out and let me know once you do), hasn’t reached out.

  Absolute. Radio. Fucking. Silence.

  I drop back to my bed. Body splayed out on the excessive thread count as if it matters.

  Brooks Riley will be the death of me.

  Of my heart for certain.

  What I’ve come to realize over these past months is that we’re merely pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle in this life. Once upon a time, Brooks’s and my pieces connected perfectly. They joined without issue and helped make a beautiful image. The prettiness of the picture wasn’t complete without us side by side.

  But over time, we’ve changed. Our pieces have adapted to reflect the new people we’ve morphed into.

  Brooks and I no longer fit.

  Forcing ourselves together only misaligns every other aspect of the puzzle. The result isn’t a beautiful picture, pieced together over time and patience. It’s worthless and, frankly, downright ugly.

  If perspective has taught me anything, it’s that Brooks and I are two pieces destined for opposite sides of the expansive picture. Maybe, one day, as we change and mature and morph into the people we’re meant to be, our jigsaw will connect once again. But for now, we’re just two pieces of a billion, wondering if we’ll ever find where we belong.

  The past three months have been a trip down memory lane like no other. One saturated in self-reflection and censure. I’ve picked apart Brooks’s and my relationship. Every moment; the good, the bad, and the downright fucking ugly. And trust me, there’s been plenty of ugly.

  I’ve made mistakes.

  A lot of them.

  Possibly too many to count.

  But I tallied them up. Each and every one. I analyzed every single stumble I’ve trudged through. It hit me like an epiphany I never wanted.

  It was me.

  It was all me.

  Right up until this very last interaction.

  Brooks has spent the last few years declaring his love for me, and I grabbed on to it like a fucking lottery check whether I was in the
frame of mind to accept it or not. I was so deprived of love and affection that when it was open to me, I stared at it blindly, rejecting the possibility of its truth.

  Lifting my phone above my face, I search through my contacts, seeking out his name.

  I block his number and then delete it from my phone.

  I move my photos next, ignoring the tears that leak down my temples as I expunge any hint of him from my life.

  Logging into my social media accounts, I remove and block him from those as well. I can’t look at his life in pictures anymore. I can’t see him living his life and being happy doing it. Without me.

  It’s a cathartic process. One that feels as necessary as it does painful.

  It’s not the first time I’ve cut Brooks out of my life, but I can recognize it’s the most poignant. The slices our union has carved into my heart are a constant ache in my life.

  One that I need to erase.

  One that can only be purged through healing and space.

  25

  BROOKS

  AGE 26 (TWO YEARS LATER)

  “Where to next, mate?”

  I lean back in my chair, weariness catching up with me as I nurse the black beer giving me heartburn.

  “The homeland.”

  Home.

  Such a strange and foreign concept. No place has ever called to me permanently. Sure, my family home is situated in the United States. But no one place has ever felt like mine.

  Wanderlust and work have held me hostage for as long as I can remember now.

  “Where will you go?”

  “Anywhere,” she dreams. “Everywhere.”

  She’s the only thing that ever felt like mine. No matter where I was in the world, if I was connected to Henley, I was grounded.

  “Nice. Whereabouts exactly?”

  I clear my throat. “Originally from Denver, may hit that up first. Family is in Lake Geneva, though.”

  Jack nods his head, the froth of his beer decorating his top lip before he licks it away.

  After my six-month stint in Siberia, I needed something to clear my mind. More, I needed something to pull me out of my own head.

  Henley hated me.

  I knew it would happen.

  Knew the moment I gave in to temptation and fucked her well into the early hours of the morning following Addy’s wedding that I’d come to regret it.

  She seemed ready to go all in on the dance floor, and although I knew I couldn’t give it to her, I took what I could at the moment, needing to claim something of her before I was forced away from her once again.

  Forced may be a slight exaggeration.

  But it was fucking Siberia, and truth be told, I didn’t trust her enough to give up on my dreams.

  Jesus. What an opportunity. I spent one hundred and seventy-six days exploring the remote parts of Russia. I found myself amongst mountain ranges one day, then walking across an obscure tundra the next, moving into a forest of evergreens after closing my eyes. I was overwhelmed and elated but mourning.

  I missed Henley.

  I missed the way she tasted and the way she moaned my name.

  I missed the catch in her breath as she came and the way her body shook underneath me.

  I missed her smile and her laughter and her perpetual fucking frown.

  I craved the way she looked at me and the odd way in which she’d talk at times.

  I longed for her.

  Without her by my side, I was in a constant state of deficiency. Something was missing from my life, and I’m man enough to admit I hated her a little bit because of it.

  I was on the adventure of a lifetime, and she monopolized my thoughts.

  I resented her for the power she held over me.

  I fired Grace the moment we left Addy’s wedding.

  She invaded my privacy, and worse, she violated Henley’s.

  I’d fucked up by fucking her before I knew the damage she could cause. She read into our one night together as the promise of more. Inviting her to the wedding likely didn’t help.

  What a waste of a fucking orgasm she turned out to be.

  Again, my stupidity knows no bounds because I invited her to Addy’s wedding as a buffer. Sure, she was supposed to be heading to Siberia with me as an assistant. But the real reason I needed her there was insurance. Addy had told me Henley was bringing a plus-one. And not just any plus-one . . . a fucking boyfriend. I knew walking in there without a date on my arm would’ve seen me hauling her out like a fucking caveman while banging on my chest and chanting mine. In hindsight, the date didn’t matter. From the moment she stepped out onto the aisle, my hand ached to touch her. I had to squeeze Grace’s waist to remind myself she was there.

  Returning from Siberia, I reached out to Henley, but my fears had once again came to fruition, when I discovered she had blocked me from her life.

  She wouldn’t return my calls.

  She changed her email address.

  She even fucking unfriended me on social media. Worse still, she’d blocked me so I couldn’t even stalk her like the creep I am.

  I needed a distraction, and a loud and slightly unhinged musician seemed like my best bet. I’ve spent the last eighteen months living on a tour bus with one of the world’s biggest popstars. Total fucking asshole, but his manager, Jack, is good people.

  “Do you get tired of this life?” I ask him honestly, gesturing around the empty bus.

  He gives a swift shake of his head. “What’s to hate? The entitled brat I work for? The women who fuck me with the sole purpose of an introduction to the grand prize? The sleepless nights? Lack of stability?”

  I laugh.

  “It works while I’m young-ish,” he adds as an afterthought.

  “I couldn’t do it again. A year and a half is time enough.”

  Jack nods. “Been nice having you around.” He taps his glass against mine, and I lift it in salute.

  “I got a fuckload of good shots of your boy. You can’t even tell he’s a twat.”

  He stifles a laugh. “Careful, I don’t trust the prick not to have the bus bugged.”

  I glance around. “I’ve finished my gig, and I’ve been paid. Let the little shit do his worst.”

  “What’s home?”

  I purse my lips. “Nothing.”

  A small smirk pulls at his lips. “The girl?”

  I frown. “What girl?”

  “The girl you’re always staring at photos of.”

  “Henley.” I clear my throat. “She’s not home. She’ll never go back there. I don’t know where she is.”

  “She was your girl?”

  I sip my beer. “I thought so.”

  “She didn’t?”

  My eyes close. “Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck she thinks. I don’t think she really knows.”

  “Ah.” He sighs. “We all have the ones who get away from us. We can dwell, or you can pick one of the many eager groupies about to board the bus and fuck your sorrows away.”

  I force a smile. “I’m out, dude. This is my last hurrah on this ship.” I lift my beer. “I’m heading to the airport in about ten minutes.”

  “More for me.” He claps, standing on a smirk. “I’ve gotta make a few calls about our next stop. Best of luck, mate.”

  I lift my chin in acknowledgment as he makes his way off the bus, leaving me to my thoughts.

  “Sounds like you need a refresher on what love actually is, photographer-man.”

  The soft lull of the English accent I’ve come to despise drifts from a lone bunk.

  I turn in my seat, seeking Britain’s highest-paid pop star out.

  “Yes, I heard you call me a twat, but I’m choosing to ignore that snipe to bestow some much-needed advice to you.”

  “Advice?” I chuckle. “I hadn’t realized you’d matured past puberty.”

  The soft strum of his guitar echoes my insult. “I write love songs for a living. I have enough money to buy you and force you to follow me around and listen to me for
the remainder of your life, which tells me I do it well.”

  I scowl, grimacing at the taste of acid on my tongue at his truth.

  “Have you not read the New Testament? Love does not demand its own way,” he recites.

  My eyebrows raise. “That’s where you’re getting your inspiration from? The Bible?”

  An irritated sigh hits my ears before he gives a hearty groan as he sits up. “You’re rather daft for an almost geezer.”

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  His eyes widen in exasperation as he jumps from the bunk. “Love doesn’t exist for the sole basis of romantic relationships. It’s family. It’s friendship. I may not have had my heart broken too many times in my life yet, but I know what love is.”

  I watch him expectantly. He epitomizes the bad-boy charm his marketing executives have forced upon him. The fall of dark hair brushing his forehead, hiding the tinted lashes that drive teenage girls to madness. The grayscale tattoos haphazardly inked into his skin like an obscure art show. Fingers adorned with metal bands of all different sizes and shades. He’s the UK’s crowning jewel. A seventeen-year-old boy who likely still cracks no-reason boners but could—like he threatened—buy me a dozen times over.

  “Love is about compromise. It's the sacrifice of considering others first. You can’t tell someone you love them, but then ask them to wait for you in the same breath.”

  My gaze chooses to watch his fingers pluck at the strings of his acoustic.

  “You’re going down a one-way path in the wrong direction,” he tells his guitar. “How do you ever expect to meet your girl at a point that it’ll ever work?”

  I scratch my head.

  “Love takes two people, mate. Otherwise, it’s just an ill-directed obsession.” He finally looks up, his whiskey-colored eyes fixed on me. “If you love your girl, you’ll wait for her. From what I’ve heard you moan about, she ain’t ready, brother. Or maybe you’ve got an obsession that’s gonna leave you chasing for an eternity.”

  I pinch my bottom lip.