Chapter Thirteen
Ty
After work the following day, I’m outside Jas’s apartment block before I know it. It didn’t even occur to me to go back to my place first, as though this is where I need to be.
I lean my forearms on the handlebars of my bike and exhale a long breath. The last two nights I stayed with her felt so right. Didn’t even question it. The apartment’s shabby, almost stripped bare, and the single bed we share makes my body ache like a bitch, but a strange sense of home seeps through me every time Jas opens the door.
Something I’ve never once felt in all the time I’ve lived in my own house.
I’m not stupid. I know it’s nothing to do with the apartment. All day I’ve been looking forward to coming home, and this run-down building, in this shitty neighborhood, is home.
Because of Jas.
She’s leaving in two days.
I swing my leg over the bike and make my way inside. Long ago we planned on setting up house together, and I couldn’t wait for the day when we had our own front door we could shut on the whole, damn, unforgiving world.
The stairwell is littered with garbage and doesn’t smell too good, but the elevators didn’t work even back when we were dating. I stand outside her apartment, and there’s a strange tightness in my chest, an irrational need to get as far away from here as possible. Because Jas doesn’t live here, this isn’t our home, and in two days it’ll be nothing but an empty reminder of the past.
She opens the door, and the strong odor of bleach and soap wafts out.
“Hey.” She kisses me, and I wrap my arms around her, burying my face against her neck. “Are you okay?” Her whisper brushes against my ear, and it’s a wrench pulling back from her.
“I’m good.” I can’t let go of her as she backs into the apartment. I told her there was no need to scrub the place—it’s not like the landlord cares one way or another—but she wouldn’t listen. I grasp her wrist and examine her hand.
“I wore gloves.” She kisses me softly, and the need to get away engulfs me again, but this time, with the antiseptic stench drenching the air, it’s like a powerful punch to the gut.
“We’re going out. Grab your coat.”
She stands there, an inquiring smile on her face. “I’m not dressed for going out. I guess I could get changed.”
I sweep my gaze over her. In jeans and a shirt that she’s tied off at the waist, she’s perfect. “You don’t need to get changed.”
“Why not? What’ve you got in mind?” Even as she questions me, she picks up her jacket and shrugs it on.
I link my fingers through hers. “We’re going for a ride.”
…
Jasmine
It’s not a question, and as we leave the building and stand beside his Harley, excitement whips through me. Although he suggested taking me to the Hammer last night on the back of his bike, he wasn’t serious. In any case, I wasn’t going to turn up there looking windswept.
But there’s no point denying it—a part of me longs to wrap myself around him again and embrace the exhilarating freedom that only comes from riding.
He hands me his spare helmet and our gazes mesh. It’s not the same one I wore before, but it reminds me of when he went out and bought me my very own helmet.
I smile, bittersweet. “This takes me back.”
“Have you done much riding since you left?”
“No.” It comes out in a long sigh of regret.
“Good.”
I shake my head in mock disapproval before strapping the helmet on. “Where are we going?”
His daredevil smile steals the breath from my lungs. “Wait and see.”
…
I don’t care where he’s taking me as he weaves through the evening traffic and heads out of town. I wind my arms around him, just like I used to, loving how the old memories flood back, pure and untainted, of when we used to ride to the beach where nobody knew who we were and nobody cared.
When he pulls off the road and parks, I laugh, and he turns to grin at me, even though he can’t have the first idea why I’m laughing. “It’s like you read my mind.”
“I’ve not been to the beach in years.” He gets off the bike, secures the helmets, and we hold hands as we stroll down the path that leads to the sea. “Looks like there’s a party.”
“We can walk in the other direction.”
He gives a silent laugh and tugs me closer. “There’s a barbecue. Can’t you smell it?”
I sniff, and the faint aroma of charcoaled food drifts in the air, reminding me it’s been hours since I had lunch. “I’m starving.”
“Yeah, and I’m taking you out for dinner.”
His meaning drops like the proverbial penny, and I pull back. “What? No way, Ty. We’re not gate crashing.”
“Sure, we are. It’ll be like old times, remember?”
I give a disbelieving laugh, even though my feet totally disregard my brain and fall into step beside him. “We’re not crazy teenagers anymore.”
He brushes a kiss across my cheek. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
He’s laughing at me, the way he laughed at me years ago when I’d protest that we couldn’t just gate crash parties whenever he wanted to. Not that he took any notice. And God knows, wherever Ty led, I would always follow.
I’m not a gullible teen anymore, but the urge to follow him into that party right now is too damn strong.
I’m already following him. I don’t stop walking, though.
“Well, now.” I pretend to ponder his question, and he rolls his eyes and groans, which makes it hard not to laugh. “We could get arrested. Did that occur to you?”
“You’re an attorney. You could get us off.”
“Yes, I’m an attorney, and wouldn’t being arrested look good on my CV?”
He bumps my shoulder as we reach the sand. “So that’s a yes, then?”
“How can you possibly think I mean yes by that?”
“I can tell you’re thinking about it. You know I only ever take you to the best parties.”
“You’ve got me there.” We might not have been invited to them, but more often than not, the rich kids loved having a bad biker invade their space. Me, not so much, but I was part of the package, so they didn’t give me a hard time. Sure, there were a few disasters, but usually Ty, with his cocky comebacks and infectious grin, could charm anyone.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. A grown woman of twenty-seven, behaving like a seventeen-year-old. Now that we’re closer, it’s obvious they’re not a bunch of trust fund kids, but people more our own age. I tug on Ty’s hand.
“Are we seriously going to do this?” Should I really be so excited at the idea?
“Already doing it.” And just like that, he strolls into the throng, and people part before him like the Red Sea.
Five minutes later, we escape the milling crowd, clutching massive burgers in paper napkins. I can’t take a single bite until the party’s a dot in the distance, and I’m sure everyone else enjoying the beach knows exactly what we’ve done.
“That was so bad,” I tell him, and he just grins at me before finishing off his burger.
“The only thing missing was the conversation.”
I scoff. “They couldn’t wait for us to leave.”
“I don’t think they even knew we weren’t invited.”
I consider that. Except for the way everyone gave us a wide berth, no one looked as if they wondered why we were there.
“You could be right,” I concede, and take a bite of my dinner. “This is pretty good.”
“Only the best for my girl.”
He says it so casually, as though I really still am his girl, and I rest my head against his shoulder. I’m not going to dispute his words. Not tonight. Not when my heart’s full of everything that might’ve been, recreating one last memory to cherish forever.
The palm trees are dark silhouettes against the spectacular backdrop of orange, yellow, and gray streaks across the never-ending sky. We stand in silence, his arm around me the way we used to stand so many times in the past, as dusk descends like a phantom all around.
…
The following afternoon is chill and cloudy, and I grip my hands together as I sit on the hard chair in the small, whitewashed room. I should’ve just let the crematorium director take care of everything the way they took care of the cremation. There was no need to arrange a memorial service, even the most basic one, since I’m the only one here. Even Dad said that Mom didn’t need a fancy send off to know how I always felt about her, but I just couldn’t do it.
Not that there’s anything fancy about this. I try not to look at the standard issue cremation urn, or the bright, late-spring flowers that look so out of place on the small table up front.
I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry for not being the golden-haired daughter you wanted. Sorry for wishing you were different. Sorry for so many stupid, wasted years.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t cry. My throat aches and my chest hurts as disjointed memories from my childhood shiver through my mind. I suck in a jagged breath, trying to keep it all inside, and someone sits next to me.
My eyes jerk open, heart thudding in unformed panic. Ty’s sitting there, wearing black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt beneath his leather vest. He offers me a small smile, but doesn’t say anything as he takes my hand.
There’s no time to question him, even if I had the power of speech, as the service starts then. It’s short, with no eulogies from loving family or friends. I’m the only one giving her a silent, final farewell.
But Ty came here for me.
I cling on to his hand as though he’s my lifeline and somehow manage to say all the right things to the gentle-mannered woman who conducted the service and hands me the urn.
For a second I freeze, terrified I’ll drop it or do something equally horrifying. Ty takes it from her and leads me outside, a strong, silent protector.
I don’t have the energy to squash the thought because right now he’s exactly what I need.
We stand by my car, and I take a few deep breaths and gradually relax my death grip on his fingers. “Thanks.” My voice is hoarse and my eyes gritty. Thank God for sunglasses.
“You didn’t think I’d let you face that alone, did you?” Still holding my hand, he traces the tip of his finger along my cheek, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. The truth is it never occurred to me that he’d come to the memorial service, and even if a tiny part of me wanted to ask him, I didn’t want to put him in that position.
It’s not like we’re dating.
“No.” The word slips out, regardless, and I sigh. “Not if we were together, the way we used to be, but we’re not. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
He releases my hand and winds his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. We stand like that for forever, or maybe it’s just moments, but his familiar cologne soothes me, and the worn leather of his vest against my cheek is strangely comforting.
“We’ll never be together the way we used to be.” He rubs his jaw across my head in a tender gesture. “We’re not kids anymore, Jas.”
No, we’re not. And tomorrow I return to my real life.
I don’t want to think about leaving Ty again.
He eases back, and it takes all my willpower to let him go. “Give me your keys,” he says.
“My keys?” I frown at him, uncomprehending.
“Yeah. You’re not driving anywhere, and you’re in no state to get on the back of the bike. Give me the keys to the rental.”
“But you don’t drive cars.”
“Not often. But I am today. Now give me the keys.”
Wordlessly, I fish the keys from my purse and hand them to him. My heart hurts, in a good way, that he cares enough to make sure I get back to the apartment safely, but the fact he’s prepared to drive a car in order to do it takes it to another level.
He never liked being caged. That he didn’t expect me to climb on the back of his bike while I’m wearing completely inappropriate clothing is…well, I guess it’s just another reminder of how much he’s changed.
As if the other night when he walked away from a fight wasn’t proof enough.
I glance along the street to where his Harley’s parked. “What about your bike?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, when I know he loves his Harley almost as much as his MC.
“I’ll ask Zach to take it back to my place.”
He opens the door and waits until I’m seated before handing me the urn. I clutch it on my lap and watch him shrug off his cut and place it on the back seat before he swings himself in beside me.
He handles the car with expert ease, but what else did I expect? My tense muscles relax, and I’m relieved he doesn’t try and fill the silence with idle chatter.
As if he would…
We’re almost there before he speaks. “Have you finished sorting out the apartment?”
The empty rooms flash through my mind. All the junk’s been dumped, and the only things left to pack are the sheets on my bed. A painful, hollow sensation slithers through my chest. “Yes.”
He shoots me a sideways glance. “Okay.”
I don’t know why disappointment washes through me. What else was he going to say? I thought his question was leading to something.
I close my eyes, and this time he doesn’t interrupt the silence that stretches between us.
Ty unlocks the door to the apartment, since I’m still clutching the urn with both hands, and we walk through to the kitchen. It’s so bare and sad with everything gone. I’d originally intended to spend tonight in a hotel near the airport, but those plans slid when I hooked up with Ty.
I carefully place the urn on the counter. “Did you want to stay?” He’s slept over most every other night. Why am I suddenly so unsure that he’ll want to tonight? “I’ll order takeout.”
“No.” His tone is uncompromising, and disbelief stabs through me. Is this how it’s going to end? “Get your things. You’re coming back to my place.”
“I’m…what?”
“You’re not staying here.” His voice is no longer harsh, and he gives me a faint smile. “Come on, Jas. You’ve finished here. You don’t need to spend another night in this place.”
He told me the other day he’s buying his own house, but he hadn’t invited me there. I tried to pretend I didn’t care, because it’s not like we’re serious, but it did hurt.
I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. “I’d like that.”
…
Ty
Some of the tension leaves me when she agrees. I hadn’t been sure she would.
“Grab your things. Where’s your luggage, in your bedroom?”
“Wait. You mean right now? But I can’t walk out just like that.”
“Why not?”
She blinks, like she doesn’t understand my rush. All I know is she needs to get away from this dump and the bad memories it holds. I’m not thinking about her mom, either.
“Well…” She hesitates before taking a deep breath. “No, you’re right. We’ll go now. I just need to check a couple of things and then I’m done.”
She disappears into her bedroom, and I prowl the apartment. All that’s left is the heavy items of furniture that she’s arranged to be collected some time tomorrow.
It’s kind of eerie with the place stripped clean of every personal touch. An odd pang of regret grips my chest, like I’m saying a final goodbye to a part of my teens. I stop outside her mom’s room and stare at the closed door, and dread sinks through me.
Don’t fucking do it. But I can’t help it, and push open the door.
I exhale a ragged breath. The image of Jas on the floor, her tearstained face shredding my heart as I tried to help, flashes through my mind. Why did I come in here? Some shit about facing my worst nightmares? I stopped dreaming about that night years ago, but I never got over it.
I force the memory away and rake my gaze around the room. Like the rest of the apartment it’s empty except for the bed and an old dresser. In all the time Jas and I dated, we never once came in here to use the double bed, or for any other reason, if it came to that. It was like this room was completely off-limits, and not because Kelly laid down the law.
It was Jas. She just didn’t like going in her mom’s room.
For a few seconds, the old familiar unease hovers in my mind like an angry wasp about to attack. What am I missing?
I grip the doorframe, my gaze riveted on the floor as I recall every tortured moment of that night. And finally, the thing that’s always gnawed my subconscious hits me.
She was here, in Kelly’s room, that night when everything fell apart.
Why was she in her mom’s room?
It wasn’t important. Didn’t matter at the time. But the question’s always been there, hidden in the back of my mind.
“Ty? What’re you doing?”
Is it my imagination or is there a hint of panic in her voice? Christ, what am I thinking? She’s just had a memorial service for her mom. I swing around, pulling the door shut behind me.
“Saying goodbye to the old place.” I give her a faint smile. “You done now?”
…
When we arrive, I open the front door and she walks in ahead of me. “Crash on the couch. I’ll bring your things in.”
She turns around, still clutching the urn. “Nice place. Have you been here long?”
“Five years. I’m getting there.”
“You always did say you wanted an old property so you could do it up.”
Yeah, but I always thought she’d be a part of that life. Sure, I can knock down walls, fix the plumbing, and rip out carpet, but I’m no good when it comes to figuring out how to make a house feel lived-in, with cushions and rugs and whatever magic touch it takes.
I don’t answer her right away, but it’s like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she remembers those long, lazy summer afternoons when we’d lie on the grass in the park and spin endless dreams.
“Guess I got my wish, then.”
“I’m happy for you.” She smiles, but it’s more sad than happy, and if her mom’s ashes weren’t between us, I’d pull her into my arms and tell her I only got half my wish.
I scrub my hand through my hair but can’t turn my back on her yet, even if it’s just to bring in her luggage. “You must have a nice house in Florida.”
“A tiny one-bedroom apartment, actually. I need somewhere bigger but…” She gives a tired shrug. “You know how it is.”
“You always wanted a house with your own backyard.”
“I wanted a lot of things.” She glances down at the urn. “One thing came true, though. I became close to my dad again.”
She always worshipped her dad, even though he packed his bags when she was a kid. At least he kept in touch with her, more than a lot of deadbeats do.
Except her old man was never a deadbeat. He just needed to get away from Kelly before he made something of his life.
Just like Jas.
It drills through my brain, but I can’t escape it. Was it Kelly she needed to get away from, or me?
…
Jasmine
Ty walks back to the car, and I look around for somewhere to place the urn. His house is a nice sized end-of-row with a garage, which isn’t any surprise. He always said he could never live anywhere that didn’t have a lock-up for his precious bike. Guess he wasn’t joking when he said the Hammer turns a good profit.
The living room has a leather couch and a couple of armchairs, a coffee table scattered with bike magazines, and on the wall is a massive flat screen.
There aren’t any framed photos or personal stuff. No bookshelves. It’s like he’s only just moved in and hasn’t finished unpacking yet.
I stifle a sigh and check out the other room. There’s a dining table and chairs, but otherwise it’s as empty as the front room. Since I can’t hug the urn for the rest of the day, I place it on the table and bite my lip. Why did I tell Dad I’d bring Mom’s ashes to Florida? I should’ve let the people at the crematorium deal with this, too.
By the sound of it, Ty’s hauling my luggage upstairs. I grip the back of a chair and bow my head. He’ll never know how much it meant to me, him turning up today, or how much I was dreading spending tonight in that apartment.
Or how much I wish that tomorrow will never arrive.
I go upstairs and find him in the master bedroom, a pile of laundry in his arms. He gives me a half smile as though he’s embarrassed I caught him doing something so domestic.
“Just clearing up the shit.”
“I don’t mind mess.” At least his bedroom looks as though it’s lived in. Although I probably don’t want to follow that line of thought, as the only way that can end is Ty and bedroom equals countless girls.
Although, to be fair, it doesn’t look like a den of iniquity. And stacked against the walls are piles of books, novels and nonfiction, and nostalgia twists through me. He wasn’t a great reader when we met. Just bike magazines and the usual soft porn that teenage boys hoard. He never laughed at my obsessive love of reading, the way so many people in my life did, seeming, at some level, to understand it was my escape from reality. And sometimes he’d pick up one of my books and we’d spend secret hours sharing an imaginary world.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs and comes to stand by me at the door. “Why don’t you go have a long soak in the bath, and I’ll start dinner?”
My jaw drops—can’t help myself. “Dinner?” My voice comes out in a disbelieving squeak. “You mean order takeout?” I know that’s not what he means, but he can’t be telling me that he’s going to cook something? He never boiled as much as an egg when we were together. It was almost a badge of honor to be useless in the kitchen, even though I offered to teach him some basic culinary skills.
“No. I mean I’m going to fix us dinner.” He grins, as though my shock is funny. “Hey, I’ve been living alone for five years. It was learn to cook or die by takeout. Anyway, no one can live for more than twenty years with Angie Jenson and not pick up a few tricks.”
I have several retorts to that remark, but none I’d ever repeat to Ty. Angie’s his mom, after all. “Well, don’t let me stop you. And I’d love a bath.” There was only a shower at the apartment, and the thought of a soaking in a tub of bubbles sounds like bliss.
He nods along the hall. “Bathroom’s right there. Take as long as you like.”
I watch him go downstairs, dirty laundry still in his arms, and my chest compresses with grief. For Mom, for Ty, for everything we might have had.
The bad boy I fell in love with grew into the best man I ever met.
…
The steamy bath helps clear my head and loosens the knot in my chest, and when I emerge from the bathroom wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt, the mouthwatering aroma of real food cooking almost knocks me off my feet.
Whoa. He wasn’t kidding when he said he picked up a trick or two. I sniff appreciatively as I enter the kitchen where he’s leaning against the counter drinking a glass of wine and checking his phone. A multi-tasking pro.
“Whatever it is, smells like heaven.”
He scoffs, but is clearly pleased by my comment. “Keep it between us. I don’t want my brothers giving me hell.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. Both,” I add, nodding to the wine, and he gives me a grin as he pours me a glass. I crouch down and peer through the glass door of the oven, but it doesn’t help. “What’ve you done with the chicken?” To underscore my question, my stomach chooses that moment to grumble.
“I stuffed it with herbs and cherries.”
“Ah, so that’s your ulterior motive, then. Using the cherries to seduce your way into my good favor.” I stand and shoot him a teasing grin but it’s obvious by his blank expression he has no idea what I’m talking about. “Sorry.” I move closer and cradle his jaw, caressing his stubble with my thumb. “I was just being a smart-ass. Cherries are an aphrodisiac.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “I thought that was strawberries.”
“Trust me, having you cook for me tonight is all the aphrodisiac I need.”
“You’re such a sweet talker.” He wraps his arms around me, still holding his wine and phone. “Does this mean I’m getting some tonight?”
“Of course, you are. It’s our last night, remember?”
“Yeah. I remember.” There’s a brooding look on his face that I don’t want to analyze, and so I go onto my toes and brush a soft kiss across his lips.
“No more recriminations. No regrets.”
“Are you being a smart-ass again?” He kisses the tip of my nose and pulls me a little closer. “Guess you can’t help it, being an attorney and all.”
“Ouch. Did I deserve that?”
“You deserve everything you’re getting later tonight.”
“That sounds promising.” I pause, losing myself in the blue of his eyes. “I hope.”
“Believe it.” He holds on to me a little longer, as though there’s more he wants to say, and unformed panic swirls low in my stomach. Don’t spoil our last night. I don’t want to talk about the past or discuss the future. I just want now.