His hand stays gripped on my arm as we climb up the porch and step through my front door. I crave his lips on mine, his bare skin on top of my body, but I fear neither will ever happen again, all over a stupid mistake—a grave misunderstanding.
It crushes me, pulls the marrow from my bones. I blame myself, knowing I’m losing him. He didn’t touch me on the walk to the car after breakfast, never attempted to hold my hand. It’s beginning to sink in that we’re over, and daggers dipped in the best parts of him rip through my heart.
I sigh, breaking free of his grip, the silence deafening. I feel his eyes on me, digging into the back of my head as I close my own and fight back tears.
“Hey, are you … okay?” His fingers brush my shoulder, but then quickly retreat.
My arms fold across my chest, my head shaking—a commitment not to cry. “I’d be lying if I said yes, Brooks.”
He spins around, our eyes matching marbles of pain. “Emily, I’m—I don’t want you to hurt. Okay? That was never my intention in any of this.”
A ball slides up my throat, and I blink away the salt threatening my eyes. “This is my fault. I did this. But I really, really mean it when I say it was nothing—Mr. Ronderful and me. He was nothing. It was just...” I hold up my hands. “I know I could say it a thousand times a thousand different ways, and you probably won’t believe me, but it’s true.”
His eyes move to the floor, hands stuffing into his pockets. “We both fucked up, Emily. We’re both to blame.”
“But?” I whisper, waiting for him to finish.
His eyes sweep to me again, jaw stiffening before he pulls his lip under his teeth. “We had something. At least, I felt like we did. And I am a total asshole for saying this, but Kate has consistently been the way I keep my mind off you. That’s all. It’s only physical between us, and she knows that. But don’t take that the wrong way. We’ve never—we haven’t done anything. But you and me,” he sighs, “it just feels wrong, you know? As much as it feels right to be with you … as much as I would love to be with you … it feels wrong to want to. There are too many reasons why we shouldn’t be anything more than Eliza’s ex-fiancé and Eliza’s ex-friend to each other. Plus, the manipulation—that has been a shock, and I simply don’t know if I can get over that.”
“Manipulation? I don’t—”
“Let’s not rehash it, okay?” His thumb reaches up to wipe a tear sliding down my cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you yesterday, but I think we both need space to clear our heads of everything that has happened.”
I chew my cheek. “And Kate?”
He shrugs, his head turning to the side. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think we should talk about her or Mr. Fucking Ronderful. The truth is, you and I aren’t in a relationship, so neither of us should have reacted the way we have. Really, I am not concerned with him so much as I am everything else. Makes it hard to trust.”
“Everything—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He grits his teeth. “Look, I’m gonna get out of here before we end up arguing. I don’t want it to end that way.”
He turns, and I tug on his hand. Pull him back to me. “Wait, so this is it?” My stomach begins to shake, the room beginning to spin around me. “This is the end? We go to the beach, we make love, and a couple of mistakes, and now we’re just done … for good?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t say that. I don’t know how I will feel in a week or two, but if I am being honest, it doesn’t look good. I don’t want to lead you on by telling you otherwise. Things are pretty grim on my end—at least right now.”
I say nothing, his statement paralyzing my tongue.
“Just … give me some space, all right? You need it, too. It’s best for both of us.”
The breath is sucked from my lungs as he walks outside and drives away, his daggers plunging deeper into my chest.
Depression. Hopelessness. Pain. All are symptoms of grief.
Grief.
It’s feeling as if a giant sinkhole is beneath your feet, and you’d just as soon dive in, before the pain swallows you. Grief is being stuck on a rusty roller coaster in the freezing darkness with no operator to stop it—only a crowd of spectators in thick coats yelling they are sorry.
Grief is love that you can’t give, but love that you want to give.
I throw the covers off my body and drag myself to the kitchen, Lucy sprinting ahead of me, knowing she’s about to get food. I fill her dog bowls and grab my phone from the counter. Scroll through Brooks’s Facebook. My heart crumbles at the sight of his morning selfie with Janie. He got her back. He looks so happy, so content. He doesn’t seem worried about us at all. He isn’t, is he? There are over three hundred likes on the photo and tons of comments from mostly gorgeous women. He could easily replace me, even though there isn’t anything to replace, because we’re nothing.
I need to get away for a few days. A mini vacation would do me a lot of good.
Suddenly, the lights in the kitchen shut off. Fear briefly pulses through me, wondering if whoever broke into my house is lurking, ready to slice me into thin chops, but logically, I know it’s probably only because I maybe forgot to pay the bill.
Shit.
I stand up, crossing the tile to get to the designated junk drawer, and begin sifting through the mail. I flip quickly through the envelopes until I reach something strange—a photo of a little girl, holding a panda drawing, with her parents.
Hmm. Where’d this come from? I cock my head. The pandas resemble the ones I doodled the other day, which were similar to the panda family in the sketch on Brooks’s shelf. Maybe I’ve seen this before but wasn’t paying attention. I turn it over in my hand, the back of the photo blank, leaving no clue as to when it was taken. I shrug, and then toss it back into the drawer. Brooks must have dropped it out of his wallet, and perhaps I absentmindedly scooped it up with my mail that I tend to let collect on the table. Has to be his cousin or niece or something.
Whatever. I don’t have energy to waste on that right now. I’ll get it back to him eventually.
I pull up my electric bill on my phone and frown at the past due balance. My finger hovers over the button to pay it when my eyes are pulled from the screen at the sound of Lucy’s water bowl toppling over.
“Lucy!” I scold her—sad, dark eyes peering back at me, her tail tucked between her legs.
I pull the dish towel from the stove and clean it up, my hands wiping vigorously over the mess before I pause and collapse against the cabinets. The towel drops from my hands, my palms rising to my eyes, tears beginning to leak. My body knows sadness well now—the constant burn in my eyes, the grease in my hair, the shooting pains in my chest, and the hunger in my belly. The only thing that can satiate me is the person I want who doesn’t want me.
We’re over, aren’t we?
No, the truth is we never even began. He was Eliza’s and not mine, and I was Deacon’s and not his. We crossed a line we shouldn’t have, and maybe he’s right. Maybe the spark we had at the concert all those years ago is where he and I should have ended. What if crossing paths again wasn’t meant to be anything more than that? Perhaps I mistook the world being small for destiny, soul mates, true love, because, in reality, I feel like a pawn of the gods in one of those Staci Hart novels.
Lucy lays her head on my lap, and I trail my fingers through her fur. “What do I do, girl?” Her tail wags, her eyes sympathetic but not understanding why I’m broken. “Should I go after him or not?” She nuzzles her nose against me, her tongue slipping out to lap against my skin as if to say yes.
Ever the romantic I am, I can’t stop the seed of hope from sprouting within. I know Brooks said he needed space, but every moment apart feels as if we are one step closer to never seeing each other again. It would be tough, no doubt, but couples have overcome far bigger issues than ours, right? I mean, it isn’t as if I was married to Deacon and he actually married Eliza. And Mr. Ronderful—he has to know that entire night was a Band-Aid to my pain and nothing more. Brooks and I have feelings for each other. That’s out in the open now. Do we throw that away, or do we fight?
I reach up to the counter and grab my phone, moving to his Facebook page again. Maybe there’s nothing to fight for. How can he post selfies at a time like this? I study the crinkles in the corners of his eyes and the easy grin, my breath hitching as I notice something in the bottom corner.
Two fingers on Janie—fingers that can’t be his. Slender, feminine fingers.
My breath rushes from me, my hands beginning to tremble. This isn’t good. I bet it’s that woman from his house again … Kate.
I pull myself up, rushing to swipe my keys before grabbing my shoes and slamming the door.
As my car nears his house, I see something that causes me to react so greatly I slam on the brakes—my body jerking forward as a family of four gives me dirty looks. I paste a broad smile on my face, and wave a hand at them. Cut my eyes back to the driveway, and lean over the steering wheel in disbelief.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
It’s in Brooks’s driveway. Holy Mother of Fuck, the red fucking car is in Brooks’s fucking driveway! What does this mean?
I squint in horror, terror flowing over my skin. Who knows Brooks, who would also stalk my house? I could only imagine Eliza doing that, but there’s no way her entitled ass would drive that mangled piece of junk, and he wouldn’t have her over. He can’t stand her.
At least, I sure as hell hope it isn’t her.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts to find Mom. I try to be patient as it rings repeatedly. I curse under my breath. Hang up and dial Dad, the stale air of the car prompting me to roll down the windows.
“Hello?”
“Mom!”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me. I just tried to call your phone, but you didn’t answer.”
“Who is me?” she asks, her voice heavy with confusion.
“Emily!”
“Emily?”
“Yes...”
A pause before she says, “Sweetie, I think you have the wrong number.”
“Huh? Mom, I really need some help.” My voice cracks. “I need some advice. I don’t know what to do, I—”
“Ma’am, I already told you, you have the wrong number.”
I pull the phone away from my face and stare at it, confirming I selected Dad’s number from the list. “Is this a joke? Where’s Dad?”
“I think you’re the one pulling a joke here.”
“What? Seriously, Mom … Evelyn—”
A quick burst of laughter. “My name is not Evelyn. I only have one daughter, and she’s at cheer practice. I just got this number about a year ago, so maybe that’s who you were trying to reach. Please don’t call again.”
The call ends, my mouth dropping as I stare at the phone. Frantically, I go back to Mom’s contact. Call again. Maybe Dad got a new number, and that woman simply sounded like my mother. Or maybe she’s fucking with me, because I’ve been slacking off with the family business, which I wouldn’t appreciate. Not with the state I’m in right now.
My fingers tap on the steering wheel while the phone rings and rings, again not going to voicemail.
Finally, “Breasts and Legs Chicken.”
“Uh...” I say, processing the teenage boy’s voice. “Is … Lewis around?”
“Hold on, lemme check.” The phone crunches against something as his muffled voice yells, “Hey, Valerie, does a Lewis work here?”
My hand clamps to my mouth. What the fuck is going on? Stupidly, I look around myself, open the glovebox, examine the rearview mirror for cameras. Am I being punked?
“Sorry, no one works here named Lewis. Did you call the right location?”
“I—I’m sorry, I...”
“You there?” Pause. “Hello?”
I hang up, unable to find words to ask questions. I click my email, scanning the last few days for any communication from my parents about getting new numbers, but see nothing. I shake my head, deciding to worry about it later, because that’s the only explanation. I’ll just have to handle this myself the only way I know how, which is to march up to that door and confront the person myself.
A horn sounds from behind, jolting me. I’m blocking the street, so I pull off to the side and shut off the engine. Timidly, I get out of the car and make my way to the gate to enter the code. I smooth my hair as I quietly climb the steps to the front door, then run my fingers over my eyebrows.
Brooks opens the door with his head turned, laughing to someone behind him, but when he turns to look at me, his smile quickly vanishes.
“Hi,” I say, my voice shaky, twisting my hands.
“Uh...” He looks behind him before stepping onto the porch and pulling the door closed. His neck flushes as he scratches his stubble. “Wh—what are you doing here, Emily? I thought we agreed on space?”
“I know, I just...” I look down at my feet, my head shaking as I force myself to continue. “I just wanted to see you. And then I saw the car...”
His eyes move to the decade-old hunk of metal. “Oh.” He folds his arms across his chest, his pecs demanding my attention before I can meet his eyes. “Well, uh … now’s not exactly a great time.”
“Who does it belong to?”
His brows knit together, his hand moving up to his chin to rub it. “Please don’t do this.”
“Tell me … please,” I beg.
“Emily, don’t take this the wrong way, okay, but that’s none of your business. We aren’t together. We never were.”
I swallow the lump sticking in my throat, my lip trembling.
His hand reaches for mine. “Hey, don’t do that. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but what do you want me to say?” He shrugs. “Having feelings for each other doesn’t mean we had a commitment. In a perfect fantasy world, I would have wanted that. But shit was already difficult, and now I’m trying to process whether it was even genuine.”
“Of course it was genuine,” I say quickly. “I told you … that guy was a mistake, a misunderstanding. Look at me,” I motion with my hands. “I’m a fucking mess. I haven’t showered in days, I haven’t been eating. I care about you, Brooks. Do you even give a shit? Do you even care that I—that I think I’m in love with you?”
Instantly, I regret my admission. I want to fish the words from the air. Stuff them back down my throat.
His mouth opens as if to say something, but he doesn’t. His eyes soften, filling with something I can’t decipher, before they harden again. “I guess I just don’t know what all came from the book and what came from you. And I feel like I can’t ask you, because honestly, I don’t think I can trust you.”
“What book?”
His head juts back, a perplexed smile pulling on his lips. “Really?”
“Yes, really … what fucking book?”
“Wow,” his eyes widen before he tsks. “You’re not helping.”
What the fuck is happening to my life today? I start to speak, but the door opens, the face jarring, despite my suspicion it was her. Brooks’s head turns to Kate, her brows raised, lips pressed in a thin line.
“What’s this?” she asks, wiping her hand against her stained apron, looking amused.
Brooks lets out a breath. “Well, this is awkward. Again.”
“You crazy bitch,” I say through my teeth.
“Excuse me?” Her eyes flit from me to Brooks.
I step closer to her. “You heard me.”
“Whoa,” Brooks’s hand flies between us. “What’s going on?”
I push his hand away, stepping so close to her I can smell the cilantro oils that have touched her mouth. “She’s been stalking me.”
“Wait, what?” Brooks says, his head snapping to her.
She smiles defensively. “I have no clue what she’s talking about,” she says to him before turning to me. “Are you feeling okay, sweetie?”
“Liar,” I hiss. “That car,” I say to Brooks, my finger pointing to it, “has been riding by my house for weeks now. I didn’t know who it was, but that’s definitely the car. You can even ask Jared. I described it to him.”
His eyes move in a circle before they cut to Kate. “Is this true, Kate?”
She looks at him blankly before widening her eyes. “Do you really think I’d waste my time following some chick you know?”
“Ordinarily, no, but Emily seems to think otherwise.”
Yes. Yes, he’s starting to believe me.
“Everything all right up there?” a voice calls from the street. The mother in the family who walked by my car earlier smiles broadly at us, the father clutching his youngest child’s hand.
“Fine!” Brooks calls, shooing Kate into the house before pulling me inside and shutting the door. “Emily, you really believe Kate is following you?”
“I don’t believe,” I say, moving my hands to my hips. “I know.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” Kate says. “There must be a thousand people in the area with that car. Or you’re just lying.”
I cock my head. “Yes, there must be a thousand people around here with that car sporting the very same dent on the side of it.”
She rolls her eyes, her face reddening as she spins to Brooks. “Are you just going to let her talk to me this way? Why is she even here? I thought you were done with her.”
My heart tumbles into my stomach when she says that. He’s been talking about me, about us … and not in a good way. “Wow, okay. That’s news to me.” I turn for the door.
“Emily, wait.” He grabs my hand. Spins me around. “Don’t leave yet.”
“Brooks, this is ridiculous,” Kate says. “You let some crazy girl into your house to make even crazier accusations against me, and you’re going to ask her to stay? Either she’s leaving, or I am. Your choice.”
He holds a hand up to her. “Just … just wait a minute, okay? Five minutes.”
“Unbelievable.” She turns toward the living room and disappears around the corner.
“Emily, what—”
“So, you’re seeing her now? Like … actually seeing her? What about everything that’s happened between us? I didn’t know space meant fucking another woman.”
“Is that what this is about? Are you making shit up to get rid of her?”
“So you are...” I say, tears pooling in my eyes.
“Are what?”
“Fucking her!”
His eyes close, a sigh leaving his lips. “No. No, I am not fucking her, but what you are doing is confusing me even more. I’m fucked up, Emily. I feel crazy right now. All kinds of shit is going through my mind, wondering if she actually followed you or if this is some fucking strategic move you came up with to get my attention. Do you not realize what that book has done to me?”
My shoulders lift in frustration, my hands rising and then slapping against my pants. “What book, Brooks? Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about so I can defend myself!”
He grunts, his fingers fisting his hair as if he wants to rip it out. He pulls me into the living room, and I roll my eyes at the sight of Kate standing near the bookshelf, staring at the framed panda drawing.