Every Breath (8 page)

I can tell by the way he’s bouncing his knee up and down that he’s nervous about whether I’ll accept it or not. It does seem like a rational story, and he was probably so excited about this offer of a lifetime, that he was truly immersed in it, knowing that I would be here for him when he returned. “I’m proud of you, Drew. And thank you for the apology.”

His bright smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he appears relieved. “I’m not finished just yet.”

Great. “There’s more?”

“Well, I negotiated to have a few weeks to make the decision. I want to put some thought into it, and make sure it’s the right move for me. Career-wise, it’s an excellent opportunity, and I’ll be quadrupling my salary immediately. But money isn’t everything. I’ll have to leave my home and family behind again.”

“And me.” I see where he’s going with this now.

“I hope not. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. We have a few weeks to discuss it, but . . . would you consider going with me?” He holds his hand up as soon as my mouth opens. “Just hear me out. I know we haven’t been dating very long, and it seems like a crazy next step to take, but I don’t want to give up on us. And I don’t want to pass up this opportunity either. So I thought, ‘why can’t I have both?’”

The jumble of thoughts in my head crash into each other like an emotional mosh pit. Move in with Drew? Let me rephrase that. Move
away
with Drew? I can’t even fathom that right now. Even though I think I’m getting closer, it’s still hard for me to stomach the thought of kissing him, much less sharing a bed with him, sharing a home with him. I’ve only slept in Shane’s bed. I haven’t woken up to any man, other than him. But as much as it pains me to say it, I
know
that won’t ever happen again, and I should be able to move past it. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. He’s not going to come back.

I keep waiting for the empty hole inside me to heal. I keep waiting for something to fill it, but it never happens. And when I force myself to truly analyze it, I know that the problem is me. I haven’t let anyone inside. That scar on my heart won’t ever heal because I won’t let it. I keep ripping it back open. Every time I compare Drew to Shane. Every time I get close to him. Every breath I take is one I’m taking for Shane, not for myself.

And as long as I keep this up, I’m just as alive as he is.

“What’s going through that pretty little head of yours, Makenna? Talk to me.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’m stuck in this stage of grief, and the only way to move beyond it is to push myself out of my comfort zone. If that means seriously considering moving in with Drew, then maybe that’s the shove I need, even though I know deep down that I don’t want to do it. Not right now, maybe not ever. But I’m tired of pretending to be okay around everyone, I want to
feel
okay for once.

“Drew, I know you’re absolutely clueless when it comes to why certain aspects of this relationship are hard for me, and I hope to be able to tell you about it someday soon. I’m working on that. And I can’t promise that I’ll agree to it, but if you’ll give me a few weeks to do some soul searching, I’ll seriously think about it. I hope that’s enough for right now.”

He pulls me close and buries his face into the crook of my neck, sending goose bumps all over me. “You didn’t say ‘no.’ That’s more than enough right now.”

“Alright, most embarrassing childhood moment. Go.”

I tap my finger to my chin and ponder for a moment, wondering how I can pick one as the
most
embarrassing. “Sawyer, I’m a walking disaster. There are far too many to choose from.”

Over the last few weeks, Sawyer and I have been video chatting nearly every night, when he can, and it almost always turns into some version of twenty questions. He seems bound and determined to find out all of my juicy secrets. I’m convinced he’s plotting some serious blackmail.

“Come on, Mak,” he pleads. I love it when he calls me that. “I told you all about falling into the bay at my uncle’s wedding and half of the wedding party diving in after me.”

Yeah, he did, and it was hard not to laugh at the way he told it, too. I can hardly control myself when I imagine the groom, the groomsmen, and one of the bridesmaids standing at the end of the pier, dripping wet during the entire ceremony.

“Fine. I’ll just pick one. Picture this. I was seven years old and was standing backstage at my first piano recital. When I get nervous, I have to pee, so when they told me I was up next, I raced to the bathroom. I made it back and onto the stage just in time. There was a lot of chatter in the crowd when I came out, but I was really too focused to care. I played my piece, and at the end, I stood to bow to the crowd. As was practiced, I also turned around to my piano teacher, who was standing behind me, and bowed to her. That’s when the crowd absolutely lost it and started laughing.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Why? I don’t get it.”

“Well, apparently when I went to the bathroom, I tucked the entire back of my dress into those dreadful pantyhose my mom made me wear. The entire audience got a great view of my blue panties, and for the next few weeks at school, my classmates sang “Blue Moon” every time they saw me. It was mortifying. To this day, I refuse to wear blue underwear.”

He slaps his knee and belly laughs, deep and resonant. I love that sound. His laughter was rare when we first started talking, but it’s becoming more frequent.

“Okay, that’s enough humor at my expense, soldier boy. It’s my turn to ask a question. First kiss. Tell me about it.”

His raucous laughter slows until he’s only grinning. “That’s an easy one. Her name was Julie, and we were in the same eighth grade class. I talked her into going to see the fireworks display with me on Independence Day, and I found a secluded spot on the grass to lay out our blanket, away from everyone else. As soon as the fireworks were over, I made my own fireworks, or so I thought. She told everyone at school that I slobbered all over her and made her want to gag.”

Now, it’s my turn to laugh. “Poor girl!”

“Poor girl? What about me? After I heard about what she said, it took me a couple of years to get up the nerve to try it again. But what about you? It’s only fair. Spill it.”

Why didn’t I think this through a little better? I forgot that this question would come back around to me. “Aside from a kiss on the cheek after a junior high dance, I didn’t have my first real kiss until my first year of college. Let’s just say I led a sheltered life until then. College was a real eye-opener for me.”

“Well, I still need details. Good? Bad? Saliva-ridden?”

I sigh, feeling what smile I had slide right off my face. “His name was Shane, and it was perfect. It was our second date, and we had just left the movie theater when he asked if I wanted to go for a walk. We went to this state park and strolled along the roads that looped around various areas while we talked, all by moonlight. Then, when we were about to leave, he escorted me to the passenger side of his car, but instead of opening my door, he just stared at me for a moment. The next thing I know, he moved in close, causing me to lean back against the car, and he pressed his lips to mine. I think we stood there like that for half an hour.”

I pull out of my reverie, nearly forgetting that Sawyer was listening, and I look back at the screen. He’s watching me intently, solemnly.

“What happened to him, Makenna?”

I must have let my guard down too much. “What do you mean? Nothing happened. Besides, it’s
my
turn to ask a question.”

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Look, I know pain. I know loss, believe me. And it’s written all over your face.”

“Fine,” I concede. I’m not ready to talk about it to him either. I’ve already told him way more than I’ve even told Drew. “I don’t really like to talk about it, but I’ll just say that things didn’t work out quite like I had planned. That’s how life works sometimes.”

“That’s okay. I get it.” He nods. “But you can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?”

“I do. Thank you.” Crisis averted. “Now . . . what’s the first meal you want to eat when you come home?”

I force my eyes open. The foul scent of burning rubber and smoke fill my nose, but I don’t really panic until that first metallic taste of blood touches my tongue. I attempt to bring my left hand to my nose, guessing I’m having a nosebleed, but my hand won’t move.

I look over to my arm, twisted at an odd angle over my head and dangling right next to my blood soaked hair. I’m suspended upside down, and I have no idea why. Was there a tornado in the middle of the night?

My right arm is pinned to my side. I can feel something pinching my wrist, but all I can see are tree branches coming through glass. A broken windshield.

I’m in a car.

My brain is foggy, synapses firing unusually slow. There are voices around me. Groaning. Pleading for help. Crying. I have to help them. But I’m so tired. The rhythmic sound of something steadily dripping over my head is soothing. Like a heartbeat. I want to close my eyes, but the noises around me are keeping me awake. My leg burns.

Gasping. Moaning. I want it to stop.

I feel a hand on my face, my neck. I hear a whisper of words that I can’t distinguish. The hand falls away.

The sirens get closer. I can sleep now. Someone else can help them.

But more voices. More yelling. More hands on me.

Stop. I want to sleep.

Darker. No more gasping.

No voices now.

Eyes close.

Sleep.

The phone rings, jerking me painfully from my nightmare, and I pull my pillow over my head, crushing it to my face to fight the sobs that threaten to escape me. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had that dream, and I know that talking about Shane last night is what brought it on. It doesn’t matter how many times I relive it in my dreams, it always hurts just as bad.

The phone stops ringing only to start again, so I fling the pillow across the room, angry that I can’t just have a moment to pull myself back together. Taking notice of the alarm clock as I reach for the phone, I groan. Eight-thirty. I’m late for work.

“I’m up, I’m up, Callie. I’ll be there in thirty.” I blurt out as soon as I pick up the phone. Bounding out of bed to jerk the closet door open, I begin the search for clothes.

She’s silent for half a beat. “Umm . . . where are you going?”

“To work! Isn’t that why you’re calling? I’m forty-five minutes late!”

She giggles. “Sweetie, it’s Saturday. Did you get drunk last night, or something?”

Oh, crap. I stop hopping on one foot in an attempt to drag my slacks on. I’ve been so sleep-deprived lately since Sawyer and I have been talking late that I can’t keep up with what day it is. And that dream. Ugh. “No, I’m just exhausted. I slept so hard last night; I don’t think I even turned over.”

“Drew’s been keeping you up late, eh?” I can just imagine her devious smirk, and I’m in no mood for it.

“You know better than that.”

I hear her huff. “You can’t fault me for trying. You have to give it up sometime.”

I can’t believe she just said that. “I know,” I snap. “You’ve mentioned it.”

“Grrr . . . someone is in a foul mood today. Did you see the text I sent you last night? I have fifteen dozen cookies to bake today for the fire station cake walk. Can you help?”

“Cal, I don’t even know where my cell phone is at this point. But, fine. I’ll be over in an hour.” I know there’s no use in arguing with her because she always wins, but I already know I won’t be “helping” in the true sense of the word. Not only is Callie a whiz at preparing a horribly unappetizing breakfast, the girl can’t bake to save her life.

My mood isn’t much improved by the time I make it over to her house. The very first words out of her mouth? “You look like hell.”

Mine? “Well, I feel like it, so let’s bake the damn cookies.”

The bad thing is that she thought I was just joking. She purses her lips, half-smiling, and she nudges my shoulder. “Always such a cynic. But you’re my favorite cynic, since you’re here to save the day. Everyone always likes your cookies better.”

See?
My
cookies. I can read her like a book. “Only because mine are actually edible,” I mumble, but not trying to keep her from hearing.

By the time the fourth batch is in the oven, we hit a rhythm. I mix everything and scoop out perfectly-sized spoonfuls onto the cookie sheets, and Callie puts them into the oven and sets the timer. At least she can handle that.

And I am starting to feel a little better. Cooking, in general, is somewhat therapeutic to me. I force myself to focus on measurements, ingredients, and stages of cooking, so I don’t have much time to think about anything else. That all started with my grandmother.

My grandpa was a gruff old man, and it got worse as each year passed. I always wondered how two people so different could love each other so much. But that didn’t mean they always got along. It only took one little thing to go wrong for my grandpa to fly off the handle. He’d start ranting and wouldn’t stop until his face was nearly purple. Then, he’d storm outside and stay there the rest of the day. That’s when my grandma would tell me it was time to bake. She always stayed quiet while we cooked, completely focused on the task at hand. She would start out tense and with a hardened scowl on her face, but by the time we were finished, she was back to normal. Funny, happy, and content.

Then, of course, my grandpa would come back inside and smell the fresh bread, cakes, or cookies, and he’d apologize. He was quite a rotund man, so that clearly happened often. It may not have been the healthiest of relationships—mentally or physically— but it worked for them.

“I have to ask,” Callie says, grabbing the empty bowl from my hands and swiping at the remnants of gooey dough with her finger. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about Drew yet? Isn’t he supposed to tell them soon?”

I fold my arms across my ribs and lean my hip against the counter. “We’ve been talking about it a little, but honestly, Callie, I don’t think I can do it. I keep trying to convince myself, but it’s not fair to either one of us if my heart truly isn’t in it.”

“What’s holding you back? Keep your house here for a while. You can always come back home if it doesn’t work out.”

“Callie, it’s not that easy. I’d be giving up my job here, and who’s to say there will be one waiting for me if I come back? I’ll also be further away from my parents; I already see so little of them. And you. I wouldn’t get to see you and Wes anymore.”

She rinses the bowl in the sink, now that she’s practically licked it clean. “Honey, I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand you. Drew adores you, and he’s a total sweetheart. Why won’t you take the next step? And don’t give me that crap about Shane. Makenna, you know he would want you to move on. You have to snap out of it.”