Authors: Kristen Kehoe
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jake
I’ve been home for an hour when and I get a text from an unknown number and am half tempted to just ignore it, thinking that Laken or Woo gave a girl my number just to fuck with me because I declined their invitation to go out again. Since it’s the third rejected invitation this week, I know they’re planning retribution, especially since some girl at the game shouted that she’d give us a deal if I promised to come with her. Major emphasis on
come
. I declined and my teammates were less than pleased, their stares of disbelief enough to tell me that my locker was in grave danger of being filled with something disgusting and impossible to clean.
If your teammates can’t be bastards to you, who can?
I reach to delete the text and then I see the area code, the five-zero-three that signifies Oregon, and my heart leaps at the thought that it might be her, even though I have her number and that logically means her name would come up, not a random number. When I swipe my finger across the screen, I read the words once, rub my eyes and have to read them again.
Fucktard, her mom had a stroke. She’s at a bar with me and Liam, and I just had to throw a glass of champagne over her head to keep her from drinking it… and then letting the asshat she was talking to take advantage of her. We’re walking her home now, and she’s on the phone with her sponsor. I couldn’t get ahold of her cousin. Phone went straight to voicemail both times. Get off your ass and call her.
Another message bubble pops up as my heart careens to my throat.
Btw, this is A.J. Now fucking call her.
Before I can think of what to do, my phone’s ringing in my hand. One swipe and I answer.
“Are you a fucking idiot?”
The voice on the other line is not the female one I imagined it would be, which means… Liam.
“Is she all right?”
“No, she’s not fucking all right. She’s a goddamn mess and here I am, punching fucking people and keeping her from sinking in her own shit when it should be you she’s leaning on.”
An ache spreads deep inside of me, filling that hollowed out cavern until I can barely breathe. Clenching my fists, I take a deep breath. “I didn’t know about her mom, Liam. I didn’t fucking know.”
“No, but goddammit you should have,” he says and I realize how right he is. “I called because I know she meant something to you man, and I thought she still might. Unless you want me to step in and be her man.”
I see red, visions of Cora wrapped around someone else flashing in my brain and before I know it, my clenched fist is through the wall and my breath is heaving. I hear an echo of a laugh on the other end of the line.
“That’s what I thought,” he says with a sigh. “She’s sinking, Jake, and she has been since you left. Don’t get me wrong, she won’t say anything about it, swears up one side and down the fucking other that you both knew from day one that it was only temporary between you, that neither of you was looking to get serious, but we all know that’s bullshit. Whether or not you were looking, it was serious, Jake, and it did matter. So why the fuck are you radio silent when your woman needs to hear from you every day so she knows she has someone just for herself?”
I’m having a hard time keeping it together, mostly because every word he speaks rips my already battered heart once more, shredding it until it’s all I can do to keep from crumpling over. I can see Blue saying all of those things, and I can see her trying to mean them, mostly because until a month ago they were things I had convinced myself of too. But things change, life gets real, and everything you did in the name of
what was best
seems like the stupidest fucking thing in the world.
“Tell me what happened,” I grind out.
“I don’t know everything, I just know that her mom had a stroke and, sometime in the last three days of being permanently at the hospital, Cora came to the conclusion that she’s to blame, that somehow she pushed her mom too hard and everything bad that was happening to her was Cora’s fault. She sent A.J. a text earlier tonight saying she was going out and then when we get to where she said she’d be, I find some fucking Armani lookalike she apparently went to high school with panting over her, calling for drinks, hovering over her shoulder and trying his hardest to reunite with your girl.”
“Jesus,” I breathe and the image in my head almost brings me to my knees. “Did something happen to her?”
“Other than the fact that A.J. ripped into her and threw the drink in her face instead of letting it go down her throat? Or the fact that even while she was pretending to enjoy the shithead’s attention she looked miserable? No, I took care of him, A.J. took care of her, and now we’re taking her to our place. We tried calling her cousin, but her phone’s off.”
“She’s on her way home from Baltimore,” I say absently, wondering if she even knows about Cora’s mom or if Cora kept that from her so Mia wouldn’t cancel her last trip to see Murph before she started back as a full time student. I run through my options, wondering where to start so I can get out of the house and into Portland by morning. Before I can let Liam know I’ll be there, he speaks again.
“Go get your dream, Jake, but don’t forget to call your fucking girl and tell her that you love her and that you’re here for her. She deserves that much, and so do you.”
I hang up on him without saying anything else and immediately swipe through my contacts until I find the number I’m looking for. Pausing long enough to tap out an emergency text, I then hit send and swipe to a different number, writing a new but similar message before sending it.
Clicking back to my contacts, I tap a different number and grab my backpack from beside the bed. “Laken — no, I didn’t change my mind. I need a favor.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cora
I wake in an unfamiliar bed and tense instantly when I feel someone next to me. Panic seizes me and for a minute I stop breathing, the pain of failure and disgust so large I think they might crush me. And then that someone speaks, and my heart stops.
“Relax, Snow White, your virtue is safe.”
A.J..
Sweet Jesus, thank you
.
Now that my heart’s pumping again, albeit a bit unsteadily, I relax enough to take in my surroundings. The room I’m in is what I would consider true bohemian flare with a ton of clutter. There’s a red sheer fabric over the window, giving the room a weird, ethereal glow. The majority of the wall space is taken over by some sort of painting or photograph or collage. There’s an old style oval vanity in silver against one wall, its surface covered in earrings, makeup, hair tools and more. A sewing mannequin stands in one corner with several necklaces, scarves, hats, and other paraphernalia decorating it. Finally, I turn to the girl in bed with me and I take in her clear skin and bed head.
“You remember now?” she asks and I nod, though I desperately wish I didn’t. Flashes of the crowded bar, my over enthusiastic flirting, the almost hook-up that was closely paired with the almost drink so I could go through with it. My anger toward A.J. and Liam after they saved me. Knowing the fact that I do remember those things, however awful, is something I owe to her, I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth and meet her eyes.
“Thank you.”
I don’t have any other words, nothing that will truly be able to tell her what it feels like to know I almost lost it, almost had to start over and work out of the hole that I’m now positive comes with that relapse.
She’s lying on her stomach with her pillow smashed under her cheek and her arms tucked under her body, staring at me. Without her black eye liner and exotic makeup, she’s still beautiful, but there’s a much more innocent appearance to her. Then she speaks and I realize it’s still the A.J. I know.
“Yeah, well, I figure there’s enough going on in your life that you get a pass for being an idiot. And if I’m being honest, throwing a drink in your face holds its own kind of satisfaction.”
I smile because she says it without sting, and because I can see the worry in her eyes. “I was a bitch to you yesterday. You could have just left me and let me ruin myself.”
She eyes me for a second before inclining her head on her pillow slightly. “Yeah, I could have. But, seeing as how I’ve been a bitch a time or two, and you helped me a few months ago, I figured our friendship could withstand a little turmoil. We
are
friends, Snow White,” she tells me, and for some reason it makes my throat want to close. “And regardless of bitchy outbursts, friends don’t let friends ruin sobriety and everything else to sleep with a douche who in no way would have been good enough in bed to make her forget why she was sleeping with him in the first place. Since you admitted to never sleeping with him in high school, despite his abundant attempts, I think you already knew that.”
This makes me laugh and I give in to press my fingers to my eyes. “Shit, A.J., I’m a mess.”
“You’re actually pretty fucking put together, Snow White, considering.”
“Christ, how can you say that? I almost ruined a year and a half of sobriety and slept with someone I couldn’t stand four years ago and barely remembered until last night, all because I’m angry.” And sad. Goddammit I hate being sad.
“Yep, but you didn’t, because even before I got there to give you an ass kicking, you’d already stopped yourself a few times, hesitated enough that it gave me time to get to you, slap you around and make you call your sponsor, who also verbally slapped your around, which I must admit shocked me. Aren’t sponsors supposed to be supportive and coddling?”
I smile. “Kari’s a breed of her own, that’s why I like her.” Blowing out a breath, I kick off the covers and smile down at the boxers and T-shirt I remember struggling into in a haze of tears and self-pity last night. They’re Liam’s, and when I hear a throat clear at the doorway, I look over to see him leaning a shoulder against the door jamb, a cup of coffee in his hand, an amused smile on his face.
“Now here’s a familiar sight. Coffee, anyone?”
“I’d give you any sexual favor you wanted for it,” A.J. responds and Liam laughs.
“I’ve got enough of those in reserve from others, thanks, so why don’t we settle for you brushing your teeth and doing away with the dragon breath before you come into the kitchen. You, too, Cora,” he says as he stands up straight. “That way you can have caffeine in you before I take my turn yelling at you for thinking the dipshit you were letting hit on you was worth any of your time or tears.”
I flick my eyes up but he’s already turned his back and walked away. A.J. must see my face because she laughs and flings off the covers. “Having friends can be a real bitch, huh?”
My mind flashes to Mia and guilt settles over me as I think of the fact that I haven’t called her, haven’t told her any of what’s happened in a feeble attempt to let her live her life without my interference and constant need for help. “You’re telling me. Why’s he so mad?”
“Liam’s a regular white knight. Doesn’t like to see anyone hurt — especially when the person hurting them is themselves. After he laid into the guy you were doing the pre-sex dance with, he called your cousin and left a voicemail, and then he called Jake and laid into him, too. I don’t think your hunk will be hearing normally for a while.”
This stops me cold. Even the mere mention of his name has my body tingling, yearning, needing… everything. And that’s why I had to let him go — I need too much and he deserves more than some rehabilitated leech who can’t control her own emotions.
“He shouldn’t have done that,” I say as I throw back the covers and stand. “Mia has a life of her own, and Jake needs to be focusing on his career. Neither of them needs to be worrying about me.”
“Wow, you’re dumber than I thought.”
I whip a glare her way as I search for my clothes. “Fuck you.”
“I knew you’d ask eventually,” she says glibly and I’m struck with the twin urges to laugh and scream. I hear her get out of bed while I’m searching out my shoes, and pause when I feel her hand on my shoulder. “Cora, listen to me and listen good. Sometimes, you have to let people know you need them — and more than that, that you want them. You gave me some advice once, now let me give that back to you. Your cousin loves you, which means she wants to help you. And Jake? He’s the one person you trust with everything, so trust him with this. Lean on someone, Cora, and let yourself expect them to be there. You deserve it, and so does he.”
~
I hate to admit it, but A.J. has a point. I hadn’t let Jake know I needed him to stay, or that I wanted him to, because I thought it was selfless to let him go. And, I was protecting myself against possible future rejection. Walking home from the meeting I stopped in on after I left A.J. and Liam’s apartment with my tail between my legs and pride smashed into the sidewalk, I rehash the words of each of the members that were there today, the stories they shared, and then those that I shared.
I always sit in the back to listen and find solace in the words of others, those people like me who can’t quite battle their demons and win on their own — the ones who understand weakness and pain and the always present draw of oblivion. But this morning I walked in wearing Liam’s borrowed white T-shirt with my black sequined pencil mini and stilettos, and after ten minutes of listening to others, I found myself standing and walking to the front. It came out in a rush, the fact that I’m not sure how to be a person who stands on her own and relies on others. I don’t know how to ask for help when I’m so afraid the person I’m asking will look at me and think I’m unworthy. Or that I’ll ask for too much and make life impossible for them, like I did for my mother. I admitted that I almost took a drink and then another last night, because the idea of waking up and feeling bad was better than waking up and feeling useless.
Being someone who makes bad choices somehow always looks more appealing than being someone who has no control over her life, but now, in the light, I understand that the darkness is too easy to hide in. Sometimes, we have to feel hurt and out of control, because life isn’t just black or white — it’s gray and blue and red and every other color, and when we feel them all, we know we’ve lived.
I can’t stop the thought of Jake or how good I felt when I was with him, how safe… and how loved. A.J. wasn’t wrong when she said I never let him know how much I needed him — I’m strong, but I’m also an addict who fears falling back into weakness and, in the last year, I’ve learned to protect myself against that possibility. Now, I’m walking home after a night I can remember with too much clarity, and I understand that sometimes, protecting ourselves from too much is hiding, and it hurts just as much as the emotions we’re hiding from. I don’t know if I feel better or worse or if I feel anything at all with this revelation, but I do know that before I can deal with what I feel for Jake, I need to deal with what I feel for myself, which means I need to go and see my mother, to sit with her and talk to her, because no matter what my head tells me, I know in my heart that what everyone else is saying is right — I didn’t cause the stroke, and I can’t change the bad things that have happened in the past, I can only move forward today.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, my fist version of penance and a damn harsh one in these godforsaken stilettos, and when I walk through the hall door I’m searching my bag for my fucking keys that continue to disappear on the daily. Stopping a few steps from my apartment door, I groan and crouch down to dump my purse out, sifting through the meager contents to discover that my keys are not there.
“Here I was worried that you wouldn’t need me when I left,” a familiar voice says and I pause in the act of cussing myself out to look up. He’s sitting with his back against the door to our apartment, his knees bent and his feet flat on the floor. His head is still resting against the wood, but it’s angled toward me and I can’t help the shameless perusal I give him, greedily soaking in the black baseball cap that’s pulled low to shadow his eyes, that beautiful dark hair flipping out from underneath it. He’s wearing a simple white V-neck and jeans that are cuffed over unlaced Nikes. He looks tired, but when he shifts to stand, I get a closer look at his eyes and they’re alert as he reaches toward me, taking my hand to bring me to my feet.
He keeps my hand in his as he stares at me and, without realizing I was holding it, I let out a breath and bring in another, this time filling my nostrils with the glorious scent of Jake Ferrari. He smiles and holds out his free hand until I look down and see the key he’s holding.
“How you doing, Blue?”