Текст книги "Storms Over Secrets"

Автор книги: J. A. DeRouen

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“Best of You” by Foo Fighters

Present Day

“CAN WE USE these chairs since you aren’t using them.” The random girl in the red tube top is dragging two chairs away before we even have a chance to answer her.

Sara slams a hand down on each seat and glares at her. “These seats are saved,” she says with the intensity of a middle school brat.

Tube Top rolls her eyes and huffs, but leaves the chairs behind. Sara pulls them back under the table and drapes her arms and legs over as many chairs as she physically can.

“They better hurry their asses up … the vultures are circling,” she mutters.

It’s open mic at The Courtyard, and Adam’s performing. Sara and I managed to snag the front and center table for our crew, but we’re gonna get bulldozed by the masses if they don’t get moving.

“Thanks for coming early and helping me out, Cain. I wouldn’t stand a chance by myself.” She smiles at me, but her expression turns to a growl as more chair stealers approach.

“Don’t mention it, Cujo. I’m starting to think I’m protecting the crowds from you, not the other way around.”

She throws her hand up in the air. “I mean, seriously, are their boyfriends performing tonight. I highly doubt it.”

Her eyes shift to the stage, and a love sick smile plays on her lips. She’s got it bad, and good thing for her, so does Adam. If you’re gonna be a fool for someone, it pays to be sure they are equally as much a fool for you. That’s where I missed the fucking boat.

“Who are we expecting at this shindig?”

“Hmmm, why do you ask? Are you avoiding someone in particular?”

“I’m about to be avoiding you, if you keep up the Nancy Drew bit.” I take a pull off my beer and give her a warning glare. “Curiosity killed the cat, ya know?”

“Meow.”

I can’t help but laugh. I also can’t help throwing balled up napkins at her nosy little head, but she takes it in stride, using them to dab her makeup and stuff her bra. I have to hand it to him; Adam snagged one of the good ones.

“Look, all I know is two of my favorite people seem to be avoiding each other, and it’s harshing my mellow, man.”

“Far be it from me to harsh your mellow,” I deadpan.

“And newsflash,” she quips with a pointed finger and raised eyebrows. “You and Celia as a team? Y’all are fucking awesome. You all by your lonesome? Only slightly awesome. It’s like cookies with no milk … peas without the carrots … a massage with no happy ending. Think about it.”

Her head bobs up and down, and I smile despite myself.

“Ya know what I think? You and loverboy with Lily and Gage? Life of the party. Just the two of ya?” I shrug and roll my eyes. “Snoozeville.”

She gasps and clutches her chest. “How dare you?”

“Oh, I dare. I always do. Now, guest list, if you please.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Marlo, Alex, and Celia are meeting us. Happy?”

“As a clam,” I reply with crossed arms and a smile.

And I am happy, because while I’ll have to sit across from Celia and act as if I don’t miss the hell out of her, at least I won’t have Audrey to contend with. I haven’t given her a piece of my mind yet, but it’s coming—that’s a fact. Honestly, I’m still too fucking pissed to look at her, much less talk to her. Yeah, distance from Audrey is necessary at this point.

Sara squeals and bounces in her seat, waving. I turn around and see Alex, Marlo, and Celia standing in the entryway. Celia is wearing a baby blue sundress that shows off her delicate curves and way too much leg—in my opinion. Whether she agrees or not, those legs are for my eyes only. My eyes travel up her hot little body, and, when I reach her face, I see the daisy behind her ear. The sight makes seeing her hurt a little more. She’s a mirage to a man who’s dying of thirst.

She fidgets with her purse straps and gives Sara a nervous wave. Her eyes settle on me, and she winces. She fucking winces, as if the sight of me causes her physical pain. I know the feeling.

Let’s get this over with.

I spend the evening throwing in a random comment or two when necessary and pounding Rolling Rocks like a champ. It turns out the best way to keep my mind off the fairy sitting across from me is a single-minded focus on getting piss-ass drunk. I’m far exceeding expectations, and I’ll now have to hitch a ride home.

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to Alex and the mystery man from her past. Since Alex is my weekly golf buddy, I’m well versed on this topic. Alex found her boyfriend from years ago, West, hiding in plain sight in Providence. While she had dreams of rekindling their relationship, he had other plans, mainly staying as far away from Alex as possible. West is a war vet, and he bears the scars of a soldier, both inside and out. He’s doing a bang job of pushing her away, and that’s his right, but when I hear her say he spent their entire golf game verbally attacking her and then left her without a word, I see red. How could anyone be so cruel, especially to a cool chick like Alex? It turns out I’m not the only one who agrees.

“That jackhole.”

“Douche city.”

“I’ll kick that fucker’s ass,” I add as I crack my knuckles. War vet or not, nobody fucks with my friends.

Celia shakes her head as we all dish out insults. “Remember what I told you. You’re gonna have to fight for the both of you.”

Alex sighs and tries to straighten her slumped shoulders. “It’s a set back, absolutely. But I’m not ready to throw in the towel. He’s gonna have to do better than that. Or worse, I should say.”

Celia stands and smiles at Alex. “There’s my girl. I knew you had it in you. Now, the ladies room is calling. I’ll be back.”

You’re gonna have to fight for the both of you? Are those her sage words of advice? As we sit with a table between us, a piece of wood that feels more like a continental divide, I wonder who will fight for us?

I watch her turn around and weave her way through the tables and people. My recent actions don’t feel rational any more. Keeping my distance seems ridiculous and counterproductive. What in the hell was I thinking?

“Excuse me,” I mumble as I stand up and follow Celia to the back of the bar.

I round the corner into the deserted hallway just before Celia walks into the bathroom. I call out her name, and her spine stiffens at the sound of my voice. She turns slowly to face me, and I keep walking until I’ve cornered her against the wall. I bend down and crowd her nose to nose, breath to breath, just the way she’s been crowding my thoughts for months. I rest my forehead on hers and breathe in, the familiar scent of honeysuckles assaulting me.

“Cain, I … we can’t,” she whispers as a shuddered breath leaves her lips. Her fingers curl around my shirt, fisting it tightly.

“I know he was the love of your life. I get it, I really do. But what if I told you that you were mine? I have enough love for the both us. I know I do.” I close my eyes and wish it all away—whatever it is that is tearing her apart piece by piece. Ragged breaths flow between us, saying more than any words can. “Tink, what if there was only you and me? No past, no ties, just a blank slate…”

A guttural sob escapes her body, and she tightens her grip on my shirt. I pull her close and hold on tight.

She pulls back and places her hands on my cheeks, tears and pain filling her eyes. “The hurt I’ll cause you will far outweigh any love you hold for me.”

“Impossible. You grossly underestimate my ability to love, Tink.”

She watches her fingers as they travel down my chest, landing at my waist. She grips my shirt and releases a ragged breath.

“And you underestimate my ability to cause pain.”

She sobs as the words leave her mouth, and I can’t take another second of this. I crash my lips to hers and take what I want … what I need. I want to swallow her grief and replace it with every magical and hypnotic feeling she breathes into me. I want her to know she is more than her sorrow.

She falls into me, if only for a moment, and I’m lost in sweet lips and salty tears. She lets her instincts and the undeniable chemistry between us guide her for a few seconds before her fucking head takes over. Her body tenses in denial, hands pushing away, body swaying, her lips ripping from mine. She covers her mouth with her hand and runs from me, leaving only her whispered plea echoing in the hallway.

“Move on, Cain.”

The shot glasses line the bar like tiny trophies, although there is nothing celebratory about them. No matter how many I add to the stack, I can’t make my mind incoherent enough to forget this fucking night. No amount of whiskey can erase the truth.

She doesn’t want me.

I’ve been clinging to the hope that time would fix things between us. I hoped she would come to her senses and admit she misses me as much as I miss her. As much as it hurts to admit it, it’s clear now she only misses her friend. She doesn’t love me the way I love her. I feel like such an idiot. I could feel it … I could feel her. How could I have been so wrong about this?

After the confrontation by the bathroom, I left without a word of goodbye to anyone. I couldn’t breathe, and the pressure in my head was blinding. I ended up at Smitty’s, a dive bar a few doors down from The Courtyard. It’s as good a place as any to tie one on.

The night burns away into vapor, and patrons file out of the bar at a rapid pace as the clock ticks closer to sunrise. Closing time is upon us, and the thought of going home is crushing. Smitty eyes me expectantly, waiting for me to leave, but he’ll have to say the word. Even a washed-up bar owner is better company than no one at all.

“Cain?” I turn around slowly in an effort to stay upright on my barstool, and I see long black hair, big red lips, and plunging cleavage. I’m so damn drunk I can’t make out much else. “I thought that was you. I looked through the window of the bar while passing by and … well, anyway, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

She leans in, hugging me and placing a lipstick-laden kiss on my cheek. I pull her back to get a better look, and nostalgia punches me in the face.

“Kimberly, wow,” I mumble with a smile. I hold onto her shoulder for balance, and she helps me sit up straight with a laugh. “It’s been a long, long … long time.”

“Yeah, it has. You look great,” she laughs and shakes her head. “Amazingly drunk, but great all the same.”

I laugh at her compliment, feeling every bit of my amazing drunkenness. “And you … you’re just plain amazing.”

Kimberly was always a beautiful girl. Her looks were never the problem. She wanted a lot more than a good time, and I wanted a companion to the many keggers I frequented. We weren’t exactly a match made in heaven.

“Riiiight … please tell me you and that cloud of whiskey vapor surrounding you didn’t drive here tonight?”

“Nope. I walked. My apartment is right up the street.” I point left, then think better of it, and point right. Shit, maybe it is to the left … who knows, but I’m sure I’ll stumble upon it at some point.

“I see,” she giggles and snakes an arm around my waist. I hop down from the barstool and feel her urging me toward the exit. “Why don’t I walk you home? I can make sure you don’t end up in the river, and we can catch up … talk about old times.”

I stop moving forward to think on Kimberly and old times. My brain can’t seem to walk and think simultaneously, and the room tilts on its axis when I look up and weigh my options. Her long fingernails dig tightly into my bicep, and I focus my attention back on those plump red lips.

I think back on our college ‘relationship’ through whiskey-tinted goggles, and realization washes over me. Was Kimberly a little pushy? Sure. Did she doodle Kimberly Bennett on any blank surface she could find, and plan out our wedding in painstaking detail? Most probably. But did she ever, even once, make me feel unwanted or unloved?

Not one fucking time.

Move on, Cain.

So I give in to the memories. I put my money on nostalgia. Relationships have been built on much less. History has a way of binding people, and tonight, I’m willing to take a chance on the past.

Move on, Cain.

I wrap my arm around her waist and give it a squeeze, smiling. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot, babe.”

And here I go, jumping in with both feet … moving the hell on with my life.

“Rusted From the Rain” by Billy Talent

Present Day

“ARE YOU GOING to keep your promise?”

“I’m doing the best I can, Lucas. I want to keep my promise, but between you and your parents, it’s very difficult.”

At the mention of his parents, his expression goes hard, and he leans back and crosses his arms. “They won’t take my calls anymore. I called twice this week, and they wouldn’t talk to me.”

I wish I could knock some sense into Mrs. Cindy and Mr. Gene, but I know they aren’t the only ones to blame in this instance. Lucas and his parents have developed a wildly dysfunctional cycle of pushing each other’s buttons to get what they want. Sadly, it doesn’t work for anyone, but they continue to bang their heads up against the same concrete wall.

“Did you threaten them?”

When his eyes dart away from mine, I have my answer. I release a sigh and pray for patience. I don’t have the strength to fight this never-ending battle, so I choose to change the subject.

“Are you hearing voices today?”

“You know I am.”

“Do you see hallucinations?”

“You know I do.”

Lucas’s jaw tenses in frustration, and his voice is tight and irritated. He prefers to ignore the illness, pretend any type of treatment would be futile.

“Will you elaborate? Please?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Why do we do this? Why does it matter?”

“Because one day, something will change. Either you or your parents will bend, and the more I know about your struggles, the better I can help you,” I explain for what feels like the hundredth time.

His shoulders visibly relax, and he stares out the window. “The voices are quieter this week. Sometimes they yell, and I can’t think … I can’t sleep … it’s more than I can stand.” He shifts forward and rests his elbows on the table and meets my eyes. “For the last few days, it’s more of a whisper over my shoulder. When they whisper, the headphones help.”

I reach out and squeeze his clasped hands. “That’s good to hear.”

“When I listen to the music and close my eyes, I can almost pretend I’m at home, sitting at my desk, working through the numbers.”

I don’t miss the longing in his eyes, and I silently curse his parents for their part in all of this. I’m in no way innocent, but dammit, I’m trying to make up for my mistakes. I’d do anything to make his life easier.

“And the hallucinations?”

Lucas pulls back, breaking contact with me. He shuts his eyes and scratches his scalp. “Now, the hallucinations are a different story. Lately, the rats are the size of small cats, with pointed fangs dripping with drool. They have thick tails slithering behind them, and their greasy fur is black and patchy, like they have the mange.”

My guts rolls with every word he speaks. His description alone terrifies me, so I can’t imagine how frightening it is for him.

“They’re not always so scary. Sometimes they are tiny, rainbow-colored mice, flitting around the room. It’s not so bad then. But I always know the rats will be back … the shouting will return … it never ends.” He stops talking and chews his lip, deciding how to continue. “There’s an ebb and flow to my mind, but I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t figure out what makes one day different from the next. I rack my brain, looking for the trigger in all of this. I work harder on the numbers, spend more time with the equations, like the voices tell me to do, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference.”

I sigh and give him a grim smile. “It’s all chemicals, Lucas. There’s nothing you can do differently. You aren’t being punished for working more or less. There are medications that can alter the chemicals in your brain, because they are the trigger.”

I wish today would be the day he relents. I imagine him looking at me and saying he’s willing to try anything. I will it to happen. But his lips turn into a familiar frown, and I know I’ve lost another battle in this fight.

“The day I allow them to pump poison in my body is the day I lose control of everything. I won’t live my life in a hazy fog, Celia, shuffling around here like a fucking zombie. That’s a sentence even worse than death.”

I wish I could write a different story for him. I wish I could take an eraser to the page and pencil in happiness … peace … contentment. But that’s more than I can hope for—at least for today.

I peek my head into Caroline’s office, my purse hanging on my shoulder, ready to head home. “Hey, I turned off all the computers and locked up the back. I’m gonna lock you in when I leave, okay?”

Caroline looks over her cat-eye glasses and watches me in silence. My cheek twitches under her scrutiny. I shuffle my feet and look off into the distance. I avoid her “shrink ray eyes” at all costs. I know better than to underestimate the power of Caroline. She sees all things.

“Where have you been lately?” she asks, tapping her pen in the direction of her guest chairs.

I’m being summoned. I trudge into the office and fall into the chair. Caroline cocks an eyebrow at my dramatic entrance. She’s a no-nonsense kind of woman. Her blonde hair is always tied up in a high bun, usually by old paintbrushes, and her clothes and skin are often covered in paint spatters. As a counselor, she practices many different types of therapy, but art therapy is where her heart is. I couldn’t ask for a better mentor.

“Oh, you know, around … busy. My patients are keeping me tied up. What, with group, individual sessions, and crisis call, I’ve been swamped.” I shoot her a nervous smile and break eye contact as quickly as possible.

“Girl, that’s not what I mean and you know it.” Caroline crosses her arms and levels me with her knowing glare.

“Hmmmm?” I meet her glare with wide, innocent eyes, and she scoffs.

“You leave me no choice, Celia. I’ve waited for you to come to me—it’s been months, child. Well, I’m done waiting, and if you don’t want to talk to me about what’s going on in your life, I’ll just have to talk at you.”

“I’m fine, Caroline,” I whisper with a shrug.

“You most certainly are not. But we’ll play this your way. Have I ever told you about my Robert?” At the mention of her late husband, her expression softens a bit.

“Only the basics. I know you have a son together, and he died of a heart attack years ago. I don’t know much else.” I curl my feet up underneath myself, and smile, welcoming the change of subject.

“He was larger than life, my Robert. Whenever he walked into a room, that’s when the party started. And he loved me the right way. He loved all the things about me that are quirky and off balance—my wild hair, my paint-encrusted fingers, my inability to cook anything even remotely edible.” She rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in the air. “What can I do? I can mix paint colors and mediums and create a masterpiece. Give me some cake batter? I’ll make toxic paste.”

I giggle to myself, picturing a flustered Caroline bathed in flour, batter smudged on crooked glasses. I have to admit, the thought makes me love her a tiny bit more, too. Love is a funny thing—the good, bad, and peculiar roll themselves up into the emotion, making the relationship and the person unique and irreplaceable.

“Thank you for keeping your cooking abilities to yourself. Let’s leave the baking to Marlo, shall we?”

“That’s an outstanding idea.” Caroline nods with a laugh. Her expression grows cloudy, and her mouth turns down at the edges. “I’ve never considered remarrying. That part of my life ended when Robert left me. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

I unfold my legs and reach across Caroline’s desk, squeezing her clasped hands. She squeezes back and draws away. She clears the emotions from her throat and eyes me expectantly.

“Did you catch the message in my story? Did you pick out the part I wanted you to hear?”

I search my brain, but come up empty. “The whole story is important, no? It’s about love that stands the test of time—what could be more important than that?”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, but it’s not the message I’m trying to get across to you. I told you I never wanted anyone else. And isn’t that the key?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.” I sigh in frustration. Caroline stands up and sits across from me.

“What I mean, Celia, is if there ever comes a day where my heart wants to try again, I have every intention of letting it. Robert would want that for me, too. He would want happiness for me. And that, my dear, is the difference between you and me.”

I pull my keys out of my purse and get ready to leave. I see where she’s going now, and there’s no use in exploring it any further. She’s right, there is a difference between us, but she’s got the details all wrong. Her husband’s death was decisive. His life ended. I, on the other hand, am stuck in limbo. The finality of her situation makes us as different as night and day.

“Sit down, I’m not done yet.” Her harsh tone surprises me, but I do as she says. “I don’t know the entire story here, about Lucas or Cain, and I don’t want to know until you’re ready to tell me. But don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to yourself. There is want in your eyes, girl. You need to know it’s okay to move on.”

“Except that it’s not,” I say.

My words are strong and decisive, leaving no room for argument, but when has Caroline ever cared about that? She loves me and all the other volunteers like we are an extension of her family, and she wants to see us happy. I wish for the same thing, but it’s just not possible right now—at least not in the way Caroline is talking about.

Caroline huffs and leans back in her chair, eyes full of disappointment. “I’m not in the habit of changing stubborn minds. I find that time and heartache are the only sure fire remedies for that. But let me say one more thing before you go. Your feelings for Cain have nothing to do with how you feel about Lucas. One does not overshadow the other—both are important and needed. First loves aren’t always last loves, but they can certainly pave the way for the truly great ones. I’d hate for you to miss out on greatness while trying to turn back time.”

Her words hit home, and quite frankly, I don’t think I can take one more pep talk from my friends. I know they mean well, but I don’t need to be reminded of what I’m losing. I know all too well.

I smile graciously and stand. I lean in and hug Caroline, staying in her arms a little longer, squeezing a little tighter.

“Thank you, Caroline. I appreciate the advice.” I walk to the doorway and turn with a smile. “Lock you in?”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. She sees right through me. “Sure, Cece. That will be fine.”

“Good night.”

As I walk to my car, I’m flooded with thoughts of first loves, last loves, and true happiness. Before all of these new feelings, before Cain, I felt content in my life. I cared for my patients and helped them lead fuller lives. I made a makeshift family with friends I adore. I made the most of what little time I had with Lucas. It was enough.

But now, in the wake of greatness, those things seem less fulfilling, less satisfying, just … less.

I have to come to terms with my new old life. Patients, family, and Lucas will fuel my days, and the occasional glimpses of Cain will feed my heart and soul. It will be enough.

Because it has to be.