David and I didn’t speak after that. But every afternoon after work he was there, waiting across the street. He’d be watching me from beneath the brim of his baseball cap. All ready to stalk me home safely. It pissed me off, but in no way did I feel threatened. I’d ignored him for three days as he trailed me. Today was day number four. He’d traded his usual black jeans for blue, boots for sneakers. Even from a distance, his upper lip and nose looked bruised. The paparazzi were still missing in action, though today someone had asked me if he was in town. His days of moving around Portland unknown were probably coming to an end. I wondered if he knew.

When I didn’t just ignore him as per my usual modus operandi, he took a step forward. Then stopped. A truck passed between us among a steady stream of city traffic. This was crazy. Why was he still here? Why hadn’t he just gone back to Martha? Moving on was impossible with him here.

Decision half made, I rushed across during the next break in traffic, meeting him on the opposite sidewalk.

“Hi,” I said, not fussing with strap on my bag at all. “What are you doing here, David?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looked around. “I’m walking you home. Same as I do every day.”

“This is your life now?”

“Guess so.”

“Huh,” I said, summing up the situation perfectly. “Why don’t you go back to LA?”

Blue eyes watched me warily and he didn’t answer at first. “My wife lives in Portland.”

My heart stuttered. The simplicity of the statement and the sincerity in his eyes caught me off guard. I wasn’t nearly as immune to him as I should have been. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He studied the street, not me, his shoulders hunched over. “Will you walk with me, Ev?”

I nodded. We walked. Neither of us rushed, instead strolling past shopfronts and restaurants, peering into bars just getting going for the evening. I had a bad feeling that once we stopped walking we’d have to start talking, so dawdling suited me fine. Summer nights meant there were a fair number of people around.

An Irish bar sat on a street corner about halfway home. Music blared out, some old song by The White Stripes. Hands still stuffed into his pockets, David gestured toward the bar with an elbow. “Wanna get a drink?”

It took me a moment to find my voice. “Sure.”

He led me straight to a table at the back, away from the growing crowd of post-work drinkers. He ordered two pints of Guinness. Once they arrived, we sat in silence, sipping. After a moment, David took off his cap and set it on the table. Shit, his poor face. I could see it more clearly now and he looked like he had two black eyes.

We sat there staring at one another in some bizarre sort of standoff. Neither of us spoke. The way he looked at me, like he’d been hurt too, like he was hurting … I couldn’t take it. Waiting to drag this whole sorry mess of a relationship out into the light wasn’t helping either of us. Time for a new plan. We’d clear the air then get on with our respective lives. No more hurt and heartache. “You wanted to tell me about her?” I prompted, sitting up straighter, preparing myself for the worst.

“Yeah. Martha and I were together a long time. You probably already know, she was the one who cheated on me. The one we talked about.”

I nodded.

“We started the band when I was fourteen, Mal and Jimmy and me. Ben joined a year later and she’d hang around too. They were like family,” he said, brow puckered. “They are family. Even when things went bad I couldn’t just turn my back on her …”

“You kissed her.”

He sighed. “No, she kissed me. Martha and I are finished.”

“I’m guessing she doesn’t know that, since she’s still calling you and all.”

“She’s moved to New York, no longer working for the band. I don’t know what the phone call was about, but I didn’t return it.”

I nodded, only slightly appeased. Our problems weren’t that clear-cut. “Does your heart understand you’re finished with her? I guess I mean your head, don’t I? The heart’s just another muscle, really. Silly to say it decides anything.”

“Martha and I are finished. We have been for a long time. I promise.”

“Even if that’s true, doesn’t that just make me the consolation prize? Your attempt at a normal life?”

“Ev, no. That’s not the way it is.”

“Are you sure about that?” I asked, disbelief thick in my voice. I picked up my beer, gulping down the bitter, dark ale and creamy foam. Something to calm the nerves. “I was getting over you,” I said, my voice a pitiful, small thing. My shoulders were right back where they belonged, way down. “A month. I didn’t really give up on you until day seven, though. Then I knew you weren’t coming. I knew it was over then. Because if I’d been so important to you, you’d have said something by then, right? I mean, you knew I was in love with you. So you’d have put me out of my misery by then, wouldn’t you?”

He said nothing.

“You’re all secrets and lies, David. I asked you about the earring, remember?”

He nodded.

“You lied.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Did you do that before or after our honesty rule? I can’t remember. It was definitely after the cheating rule though, right?” Talking was a mistake. All of the jagged thoughts and emotions he inspired caught up with me too fast.

He didn’t deign to reply.

“What’s the story behind the earrings, anyway?”

“I brought them with my first pay check after the record company signed us.”

“Wow. And you both wore them all this time. Even after she cheated on you and everything.”

“It was Jimmy,” he said. “She cheated on me with Jimmy.”

Holy shit, his own brother. So many things fell into place with that piece of information. “That’s why you got so upset about finding him and that groupie together. And when you saw Jimmy talking to me at that party.”

“Yeah. It was all a long time ago, but … Jimmy flew back for an appearance on a TV show. We were in the middle of a big tour, playing Spain at the time. The second album had just hit the top ten. We were finally really pulling in the crowds.”

“So you forgave them to keep the band together?”

“No. Not exactly. I just got on with things. Even back then Jimmy was drinking too much. He’d changed.” He licked his lips, studied the table. “I’m sorry about that night. More fucking sorry than I can say. What you walked in on … I know how it must have looked. And I hated myself for lying to you about the earring, for still wearing it in Monterey.”

He flicked at his ear in annoyance. There was still a visible wound there with shiny, pink, nearly healed skin around it. It didn’t look like a fading earring hole at all.

“What did you do there?” I asked.

“Cut across it with a knife.” He shrugged. “An earring hole takes years to grow over. Made a new cut when you left so it could heal properly.”

“Oh.”

I waited to come talk to you because I needed some time. You walking out on me after you’d promised you wouldn’t … that was hard to take.”

“I didn’t have any choice.”

He leaned toward me, his eyes hard. “You had a choice.”

“I’d just seen my husband kissing another woman. And then you refused to even discuss it with me. You just started yelling at me about leaving. Again.” My hands gripped the edge of the table so tight I could feel my fingernails pressing into the wood. “What the fuck should I have done, David? Tell me. Because I’ve played that scene over in my head so many times and it always works out the same way, with you slamming the door shut behind me.”

“Shit.” He slumped back in his seat. “You knew you leaving was a problem for me. You should have stuck with me, given me a chance to calm down. We worked it out in Monterey after that bar fight. We could have done it again.”

“Rough sex doesn’t fix everything. Sometimes you actually have to talk.”

“I tried to talk to you the other night at that club. Wasn’t what was on your mind.”

I could feel my face heat up. It just pissed me off even more.

“Fuck. Look,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The thing is, I needed to get us straight in my head, okay? I needed to figure out if us being together was the right thing. Honestly, Ev, I didn’t want to hurt you again.”

A month he’d left me to stew in my misery. It was on the tip of my tongue to give him a flippant thank-you. Or even to flip him off. But this was too serious.

“You got us straight in your head? That’s great. I wish I could get us straight in my head.” I stopped babbling long enough to drink more beer. My throat was giving sandpaper serious competition.

He held himself perfectly still, watching me crash and burn with an eerie calm.

“So, I’m kind of beat.” I looked everywhere but at him. “Does that cover everything you wanted to talk about?”

“No.”

“No? There’s more?” Please, God, don’t let there be more.

“Yeah.”

“Have at it.” Time to drink.

“I love you.”

I spat beer across the table, all over our combined hands. “Shit.”

“I’ll get some napkins,” he said, releasing my hand and rising out of his chair. A moment later he was back. I sat there like a useless doll while he cleaned my arm and then the table, trembling was all I was good for. Carefully, he pulled back my seat, helped me to my feet and ushered me out of the bar. The hum of traffic and rush of city air cleared my senses. I had room to think out on the street.

Immediately my feet got moving. They knew what was up. My boots stomped across the pavement, putting serious distance between me and there. Getting the hell away from him and what he’d said. David stayed right on my heels, however.

We stopped at a street corner and I punched the button, waiting for the walk light. “Don’t say that again.”

“Is it such a surprise, really? Why the fuck else would I be doing this, huh? Of course I love you.”

“Don’t.” I turned on him, face furious.

His lips formed a tight line. “Alright. I won’t say that again. For now. But we should talk some more.”

I growled, gnashed my teeth.

“Ev.”

Crap. Negotiation wasn’t my strong suit. Not with him. I wanted him gone. Or at least, I was pretty certain I wanted him gone. Gone so I could resume my mourning for him and us and everything we might have been. Gone so I didn’t have to think about the fact that he now thought he loved me. What utter emotional bullshit. My tear ducts went crazy right on cue. I took huge, deep breaths trying to get myself back under control.

“Later, not today,” he said, in an affable, reasonable voice. I didn’t trust it or him at all.

“Fine.”

I strode another block with him hanging at my side until again a crossing stopped us cold, leaving room for conversation. He had better not speak. At least not until I got my shit together and figured all this out. I straightened my pencil skirt, tucked back my hair, fidgeted. The light took forever. Since when did Portland turn against me? This wasn’t fair.

“We’re not finished,” he said. It sounded like both a threat and a promise.

*

The first text arrived at midnight while I was lying on my bed, reading. Or trying to read. Because trying to sleep had been a bust. School started back soon but I was finding it hard to raise my usual enthusiasm for my studies. I had the worst feeling that the seed of doubt David had planted regarding my career choices had taken root inside my brain. I liked architecture, but I didn’t love it. Did that matter? Sadly, I had no answers. Lots of excuses—some bullshit and some valid—but no answers.

David would probably say I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to. I knew all too well what my father would say. It wouldn’t be pretty.

I’d been avoiding seeing my parents since I got back. Easy enough to do considering I’d hung up on the lecture my father had attempted to give me the second day after my return. Relations had been frosty since then. The real surprise was that I wasn’t surprised. They had never encouraged anything that didn’t directly support the plan. There was a reason I’d never returned their calls when I was in Monterey. Because I couldn’t tell them the things they wanted to hear anymore, it had seemed safer to stay mute.

Nathan had been running interference with the folks, which I appreciated, but my time was up. We’d all been summoned to dinner tomorrow night. I figured the text was my mother ensuring I wasn’t going to try and wheedle out of it. Sometimes she sat up late watching old black and white movies when her sleeping pills didn’t kick in.

I was wrong.

David: She surprised me when she kissed me. That’s why I didn’t stop her right away. But I didn’t want it.

I stared at my cell, frowning.

David: You there?

Me: Yeah.

David: I need to know if you believe me about Martha.

Did I? I took a breath, searched deep. There was frustration, plenty of confusion, but my anger had apparently burned itself out at long last. Because I didn’t doubt he’d told me the truth.

Me: I believe you.

David: Thank you. I keep thinking of more. Will you listen?

Me: Yes.

David: My folks got married because of Jimmy. Mom left when I was 12. She drank.

David: Jimmy’s been paying her to keep quiet. She’s been hustling him for years.

Me: Holy hell!

David: Yeah. I got lawyers onto it now.

Me: Glad to hear it.

David: We retired Dad to Florida. I told him about you. He wants to meet.

Me: Really? I don’t know what to say …

David: Can I come up?

Me: You’re here??

I didn’t wait for a reply. Forget my pajama shorts and daggy old T-shirt, washed so many times its original color was a faded memory. He’d just have to take me as he found me. I unlocked the front door of our apartment and padded down the stairs on bare feet, my cell still in my hand. Sure enough, a tall shadow loomed through the frosted glass of the building’s front door. I pushed it open to find him sitting on the step. Outside, the night was still, peaceful. A fancy silver SUV was pulled up at the curb.

“Hey,” he said, a finger busy on the screen of his cell. Mine beeped again.

David: Wanted to say goodnight.

“Okay,” I said, looking up from the screen. “Come in.”

The side of his mouth lifted and he looked up at me. I met his gaze, refusing to feel self-conscious. He didn’t seem put off by my slacker bedtime style. If anything, his smile increased, his eyes warming. “You about to go to bed?”

“I was just reading. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Is your brother here?” He stood and followed me back up the stairs, his boots tapping loudly on the old wooden floors. I half expected Mrs Lucia from downstairs to come out and yell. It was a hobby of hers.

“No,” I said, closing the door behind us. “He and Lauren went out.”

He looked around the apartment with interest. As usual he took up all the space. I don’t know how he did that. It was like a magician’s trick. He was somehow so much bigger than he actually seemed. And the man didn’t seem small to begin with. In no rush at all, his gaze wandered around the room, taking in bright turquoise walls (Lauren’s doing) and the shelves of neatly stacked books (my doing).

“Is this yours?” he asked, poking his head into my bedroom.

“Ah, yes. It’s a bit of a mess right now, though.” I squeezed past him and started speed-cleaning, picking up the books and other assorted debris scattered across the floor. I should have asked him to give me five minutes before coming up. My mother would be horrified. Since returning from LA I’d let my world descend into chaos. It suited my frazzled state of mind. Didn’t mean David needed to see it. I needed to make a plan to clean up my act and actually stick to it this time.

“I used to be organized,” I said, flailing, my fallback position for everything lately.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“This won’t take a minute.”

“Ev,” he said, catching hold of my wrist in much the same manner that his gaze caught me. “I don’t care. I just need to talk to you.”

A sudden horrible thought entered my mind.

“Are you leaving?” I asked, today’s dirty work shirt clutched in my suddenly shaking hand.

His grip tightened around my wrist. “You want me to leave?”

“No. I mean, are you leaving Portland? Is that why you’re here, to say goodbye?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The pincer grip my ribs had gotten on my heart and lungs eased back a little. “Okay.”

“Where did that come from?” When I didn’t answer he tugged me gently toward him. “Hey.”

I took a reluctant step in his direction, dropping the dirty laundry. He pressed for more, sitting on my bed and pulling me down alongside him. I sort of stumbled my butt onto the double mattress as opposed to doing it with any grace. Story of my life. Object achieved, he gave up his grip on me. My hands clenched the edge of the bed.

“So, you got a weird look on your face and then you asked me if I was leaving,” he said, blue eyes concerned. “Care to explain?”

“You haven’t turned up at midnight before. I guess I wondered if there was more to it than just dropping by.”

“I drove by your apartment and I saw your light was on. Figured I’d send you a text, see what mood you were in after our talk today.” He rubbed at his bearded chin with the palm of his hand. “Plus, like I said, I keep thinking of stuff I need to tell you.”

“You drive by my apartment often?”

He gave me a wry smile. “Only a couple of times. It’s my way of saying goodnight to you.”

“How did you know which window was mine?”

“Ah, well, that time I talked to Lauren when I was first came to town? She had the light on in the other room. Figured this one must be yours.” He didn’t look at me, choosing instead to check out the photos of me and my friends on the walls. “You mad that I’ve been around?”

“No,” I answered honestly. “I think I might be running out of mad.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

He let out a slow breath and stared back at me, saying nothing. Dark bruises lingered beneath his eyes, though his swollen nose had gone back to normal size.

“I really am sorry Nate hit you.”

“If I was your brother, I’d have done the exact same fucking thing.” He braced his elbows on his knees, but kept his face turned toward me.

“Would you?”

“Without question.”

Males and their penchant for beating on things, it knew no end.

The silence dragged out. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly. At least we weren’t fighting or rehashing our break-up one more time. Being broken and angry got old.

“Can we just hang out?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Lemme see this.” He picked up my iPhone and started flicking through the music files. “Where are the ear buds?”

I hopped up and retrieved them from among the crap on my desk. David plugged them in then, handed me an ear bud. I sat at his side, curious what he’d choose out of my music. When the rocking, jumpy beat of ‘Jackson’ by Johnny Cash and June Carter started I looked at him in amusement. He smirked and mouthed the lyrics. We had indeed gotten married in a fever.

“You making fun of me?” I asked.

Light danced in his eyes. “I’m making fun of us.”

“Fair enough.”

“What else have you got here?”

Cash and Carter finished and he continued his search for songs. I watched his face, waiting for a reaction to my musical tastes. All I got was a smothered yawn.

“They’re not that bad,” I protested.

“Sorry. Big day.”

“David, if you’re tired, we don’t have to—”

“No. I’m fine. But do you mind if I lie down?”

David on my bed. Well, he was already on my bed but … “Sure.”

He gave me a cagey look but started tugging off his sneakers. “You just being polite?”

“No, it’s fine. And, I mean, legally the bed is still half yours,” I joked, pulling out the ear bud before his movements did it for me. “So, what did you do today?”

“Been working on the new album and sorting out some stuff.” Hands behind his head, he stretched out across my bed. “You lying down too? We can’t share the music if you don’t.”

I crawled on and lay down next to him, wriggling around a bit, making myself comfortable. It was, after all, my bed. And he would be the only male who’d ever lain on it. The slight scent of his soap came to me, clean and warm and David. All too well, I remembered. For once, hurt didn’t seem to come attached to the memory. I poked around inside my head, double-checking. When I’d said I was out of mad, it had apparently been nothing more than the truth. We had our issues, but him cheating on me wasn’t one of them. I knew that now and it meant a lot.

“Here.” He handed me back the ear bud and started playing with my cell again.

“How’s Jimmy?” I rolled onto my side, needing to see him. The strong line of his nose and jaw was in profile, the curve of his lips. How many times had I kissed him? Not nearly enough to last me if it never happened again.

“He’s doing a lot better. Seems to have really gotten himself right. I think he’s going to be okay.”

“That’s great news.”

“At least he comes by his problems honestly,” he said, his tone turning bitter. “Our mother is a fucking disaster from what I hear. But then, she always was. She used to take us to the park because she needed to score. She’d turn up to school plays and parent–teacher nights high as a kite.”

I kept my mouth shut, letting him get it out. The best thing I could do for him was to be there and listen. The pain and anger in his voice was heartbreaking. My parents had their overbearing issues, certainly, but nothing like this. David’s childhood had been terrible. If I could have bitch-slapped his mother right then for putting that pain in his voice, I would have. Twice over.

“Dad ignored her using for years. He could. He was a long-haul truck driver, away most of the time. Jimmy and me were the ones that had to put up with her shit. The number of times we’d come home to find her babbling all sorts of stuff or passed out on the couch. There’d be no food in the house ’cause she’d spent the grocery money on pills. Then one day we came home from school and she and the TV were gone. That was it.” He stared up at nothing, his face drawn. “She didn’t even leave a note. Now she’s back and she’s been hurting Jimmy. It drives me nuts.”

“That must have been hard for you,” I said. “Hearing about her from Jimmy.”

One of his shoulders did a little lift. “He shouldn’t have had to deal with her on his own. Said he wanted to protect me. Seems my big brother isn’t a completely selfish prick.”

“Thank you for texting me.”

“S’okay. What do you feel like listening to?” The sudden change in topic told me he didn’t want to talk about his family anymore. He yawned again, his jaw cracking. “Sorry.”

“The Saint Johns.”

He nodded, flicking through to find the only song I had of theirs. The strum of the guitar started softly, filling my head. He put the cell on his chest and his eyelids drifted down. A man and a woman took turns singing about their head and their heart. Throughout it, his face remained calm, relaxed. I started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. But when the song finished he turned to look at me.

“Nice. A bit sad,” he said.

“You don’t think they’ll be together in the end?”

He, too, rolled onto his side. There was no more than a hand’s width between us. With a curious look, he handed me the cell. “Play me another song you like.”

I scrolled through the screens, trying to decide what to play for him. “I forgot to tell you, someone was in saying they’d seen you today. Your anonymity might be about to run out.”

He sighed. “Bound to happen sooner or later. They’ll just have to get used to me being around.”

“You’re really not leaving?” I tried to keep my voice light but it didn’t work.

“No. I’m really not.” He looked at me and I just knew he saw everything. All of my fears and dreams and the hopes I did my best to keep hidden, even from myself. But I couldn’t hide from him if I tried. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“You asked me if you were my attempt at normal. I need you to understand, that’s not it at all. Being with you, the way I feel about you, it does ground me. But that’s because it makes me question fucking everything. It makes me want to make things better. Makes me want to be better. I can’t hide from shit or make excuses when it comes to you because that won’t work. Neither of us is happy when things are that way and I want you to be happy …” His forehead furrowed and his dark brows drew tight. “Do you understand?”

“I think so,” I whispered, feeling so much for him right then I didn’t know which way was up.

He yawned again, his jaw cracking. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m beat. You mind if I close my eyes for five minutes?”

“No.”

He did so. “Play me another song?”

“On it.”

I played him “Revelator” by Gillian Welch, the longest, most soothing song I could find. I’d guess he fell asleep about halfway through. His features relaxed and his breathing deepened. Carefully, I pulled out the earbuds and put the cell away. I switched on the bedside lamp and turned off the main one, shut the door so Lauren and Nate’s eventual return didn’t wake him. Then I lay back down and just stared at him. I don’t know for how long. The compulsion to stroke his face or trace his tattoos made my fingers itch, but I didn’t want to wake him. He obviously needed the sleep.

When I woke up in the morning he was gone. Disappointment was a bitter taste. I’d just had the best night’s sleep I’d had in weeks, devoid of the usual tense and angsty dreams I seemed to specialize in of late. When had he left? I rolled onto my back and something crinkled, complaining loudly. With a hand, I fished out a piece of paper. It had obviously been torn from one of my notepads. The message was brief but beautiful.

I’m still not leaving Portland.