Текст книги "Pulled Under"

Автор книги: Sarah Darlington

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

CHAPTER 2:

 

 

 

 

2 years later…

SYDNEY

 

What and if. Alone those words never meant much to me, but string them together—what if—and suddenly I was faced with the most horrifying sentence ever. It was a sentence that used to fill me with hope. Now the words filled me with regret. What if? It was all I could think about—and feared that it would be a question that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

One week ago Ben Turner was alive and well. One week ago my life made a hell of a lot more sense. One week ago I still had the same silly dreams and hopes that I had been holding onto all four years of high school. Now, nothing made sense. I could barely breathe let alone think straight. Why? Why would God take him away from this world so young?

“Lost at Sea.” That was what all the local news stations had been blaring on repeat. And hearing that phrase over and over made me want to punch something and I thought if I heard it one more time I would go insane. Because I knew Ben would turn up. I knew it was only a matter of time before they found him—alive—and everything would go back to normal. But then, after only four days, the massive search party off the coast of California was called off and the phrase changed to something infinitely harder for me to stomach.

“Lost at Sea, Declared Dead.”

In the blink of an eye, the metaphorical carpet had been ripped out from underneath my feet and my entire world flipped upside-down. And what made it all so much worse—and it was already pretty damn awful—were all the questions I knew I would never have the answers to. What if this was all my fault? What if I should have tried to stop him, rather than encourage him, from leaving for the Coast Guard in the first place? What if I would have told him how I felt? Could that have changed things somehow?

Last summer, when other kids my age were exploring first loves and first jobs, I’d decided to take a few courses at the community college. What else can I say? I was a nerd to the core and I signed up because I had nothing better to do with my time. Only…I never expected a particular someone to be in one of my classes.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into the room on that first day and found Ben of all people staring back at me. I swear to God, I heard a hallelujah chorus in my head when I saw him sitting there. He’d been alone—none of his usual crowd surrounding him like a buffer. And when he’d spotted me walking into that classroom, even though we were barely more than acquaintances, he’d smiled his gorgeous ‘Crest-commercial’ smile in my direction. He probably only smiled because I was the only other familiar face in the room and although he wasn’t the type to sit alone, he’d smiled at me nonetheless.

Before that day I’d thought I’d moved on from my ‘school-girl’ infatuation. When I’d seen Ben having sex with Sonya two years ago and then subsequently kissed Rhett Morgan by the dumpsters, something inside me had changed. Maybe it was a punch to the face of reality or possibly a little loss of innocence, or maybe just the empowerment I felt from kissing someone else…ever since that moment, my feelings for Ben had subsided. In the time since, I’d even kissed a couple different boys and been on a handful of awkward dates. Nothing life-changing, of course, or even worth reminiscing over. But I couldn’t deny it, when I walked into that classroom and spotted Ben—it brought me right back to where I’d been prior to seeing him with Sonya.

All those dulled feelings started burning red-hot again. Because this time one little important detail had changed. Ben no longer was with Sonya. Their breakup had been ‘heard round the school,’ so to speak, and it was common knowledge that they were over. That fact opened my eyes to possibility once more, and I took a chance the old me wouldn’t have dared. I sat down in the seat next to his.

“Hi, Sydney,” he’d whispered. “Glad I know at least one other person in here.”

“Same,” I’d responded.

And that was the start of our friendship.

The real Ben wasn’t exactly as I’d assumed. In the days following that first day, I’d really gotten to know him. Previously I thought I knew him pretty well. But it turned out that I’d been wrong. Sure, I knew facts about him, like the fact that when he wore the color blue his eyes would make my knees feel wobbly, and when he spoke he could draw the attention of an entire room. But I quickly learned that studying a person from afar didn’t mean you actually knew anything about them.

There was a sadness inside Ben—this heaviness that weighed him down. It was something I noticed immediately. The class we shared was a calculus class and it was over my head. I’d always been good at math, but this was harder than I’d expected. Ben had the opposite problem. If anything the class was too easy for him. Almost immediately he recognized that it was difficult for me and he helped me in every way he could. He was kind and patient, staying after class to explain lessons when I didn’t pick things up as fast as he had. Ben had an altruistic side to him and it was his most attractive quality.

But that sadness. At first I attributed it to his breakup with Sonya. He never spoke of her, but I could see it in his eyes. Something was killing him so I figured that must be it. Sure, we’d talk about movies and laugh about the ridiculous outfits our professor wore, but there was more going on with Ben—more that I wished I could ask him about. Until one day—minutes before our last class and our final exam, we were sitting on a bench outside the classroom flipping through our notes in a final study session before the big test, and that was when Ben let me in.

“I’m joining the Coast Guard,” Ben confessed.

I froze. I’d been gnawing on the end of my pencil, anxious as all hell, because of our impending exam and because this was my last day with Ben. In the past few weeks we’d become friends. But I wanted more than a friendship…I wanted a relationship. I wanted to tell him how my heart always beat harder whenever he was near or how special he could make me feel with just a single look. If I didn’t tell him this today, I feared I would never get another chance. That was a lot of pressure to put on myself, especially when I had no idea where to begin or if Ben even felt a fraction of what I felt. But I had to try. Except, now he was dropping this bomb on me and it made me reconsider everything I had planned to say.

“That’s why I’ve been taking these classes,” he continued. “After today I’ll have enough credits to graduate early and skip senior year. I’m getting out of this town. I’ve already been talking with a recruiter. No one else knows, but I’m doing this. I have to…for my own sanity.”

Carefully breathing in and out, I attempted to process his words. My already frantic mind grew even more so. He wanted to skip senior year and leave? What? I could feel my opportunity to tell him how I felt slipping through my fingers. “Wow,” I whispered, trying not to sound disappointed. “That’s…unexpected.”

“Yeah. I know.” Ben’s pretty blue eyes focused on his notebook as his disheveled dark hair fell over his forehead and covered those eyes. He sighed, tugging his fingers through his locks. And it occurred to me as he did this—Ben was nervous. Or scared as hell. I couldn’t decide which. Either way, I wanted to erase whatever it was that seemed to be crippling him. To do that I knew I had to push aside my own feelings and tell him what he needed to hear.

“It’s unexpected, but also pretty badass,” I said, feigning some enthusiasm.

“What?” He looked up at me. Surprise and sincerity flooded his face. He was probably stunned by the fact that I—good girl Sydney Michaels—just used the word ‘badass.’

“Yes,” I answered, unable to stop myself now that I’d started. “You heard me correctly. It’s badass. Your leaving would be a giant ‘fuck-you’ to this town. I think that’s what you’re really going for.” I grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “Whatever your reason, you should do what makes you happy.”

The heaviness that hit my heart as I said this was crushing. The last thing I wanted was for him to leave, but I genuinely wanted him to be happy and the reward that came next made all my lies worthwhile.

Ben wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders and held onto me like a life preserver. “Thanks,” he whispered. “You have no idea how badly I need someone to support me on this.”

“No problem,” I mumbled into his shoulder—his very warm, muscular, heavenly shoulder.

After a moment, he broke his embrace. “Can I email you while I’m away?” he asked, clearing his throat and gathering up his math book and binder.

The blood that was racing through my veins sped even harder. “Yes.”

“Good. My decision to leave isn’t a ‘fuck-you’ to the town or to a certain someone. I’m leaving because some mistakes can’t be fixed. But know that…that I will miss you, Sydney.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

That conversation took place exactly six months and four days ago. It would forever be cemented in my brain. We exchanged many emails and several phone calls in those six months. And yet, there was never a clear definition as to what our relationship was—friends? More than friends? Perhaps a little of both. In the end I suppose it didn’t make a difference. Ben died when he fell overboard on a rescue mission off the coast of California. It happened at night, he was in full gear, and there was suspicion that the floatation device he was using wasn’t fully inflated. They waited forty-eight hours before officially declaring him dead, and his body was never recovered.

And today…today would be Ben’s funeral. Today his family and the world would bury an empty casket, saying goodbye, and forever killing the ‘what if’ I had dreamed about for the past four years of my life.

It felt like I was stuck in a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake up. Alive but not fully alive. Aware but not fully aware. Breathing but only just barely—each breath more difficult to manage than the one before it.

Today was also my eighteenth birthday. And the only reason I knew the date was because my brother John had once again made pancakes for breakfast, something that had become sort of an annual tradition. But I didn’t care what day it was or how old I was or what was for breakfast. Because Ben was dead. Nothing else mattered now.

“Sydney, wear this,” Mom told me as she unzipped her dress bag. She’d driven straight through the night and had arrived only ten minutes ago from Florida. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours—the proof in the four empty cans of Red Bull she’d chucked in the trash after walking in the door. But she was here and she looked more determined to be my mother than ever before. That was the thing about my mom—ninety percent of the time she wasn’t around, but when it mattered most I could count on her to show up, even if showing up meant driving through the night when she couldn’t get a flight.

From inside her bag she pulled out something black, lacy, and entirely too sexy for a funeral. I hardly had the energy to stand, let alone care what she’d brought me to wear. So I accepted her dress without complaint.

“Change,” she commanded. “Then I can help you with your hair and makeup. Today’s going to be a bitch and a half, but I’ll be here. Same with John. We will help you get through this.”

I swallowed, fighting down a ginormous lump in my throat. I wanted to thank her. And to thank John. Because John had never looked so frightened and unsure in his life—clearly freaked over my nearly catatonic behavior. But I couldn’t manage to say a single word. So instead, with the dress locked tightly in my fingers, I turned around and headed upstairs for my room.

Getting ready was the easy part. I didn’t need Mom’s help. On autopilot, I showered, groomed, and perfected. Typically, I never spent extra time bothering over superficial things like makeup, but for a brief moment pampering myself helped me to forget the emotional boulder that had been weighing on me for days. I only focused on the things I could control—like blow drying and meticulously curling my hair.

The hard part came after I finished getting ready, when my hands were no longer busy, and I had nothing to focus on but my thoughts. The ride alone, in the backseat of Mom’s car as she drove John and me to the funeral home, was unbearable. It was too sunny outside. All the songs on the radio were too happy. And when we pulled into the parking lot, my heart began to sting too agonizingly. It was as if someone had a grip around that very vital organ and was squeezing the life out of it.

From my seat in the back I watched as so many of my classmates emerged from their cars, some appropriately dressed in black and others in regular clothes. They were heading toward the building where everyone would say their final goodbyes. It seemed the entire school had shown up for this. Teachers, staff, locals…everyone. And watching them…anger flooded me.

How many of them really knew Ben or genuinely cared for him? How many of them were here simply because of his popularity? Why was death made into a greater tragedy when it happened to someone handsome, young, and well-liked?

Bitter thoughts were consuming me. Then I spotted Ben’s family as they stood outside the doors to the funeral home, greeting people and receiving hugs, and the anger inside me slipped away as fast as it had come.

There was Georgina. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in real life. She had long, silky, dark brown hair that fell like a curtain down her back. She and Ben were eleven months apart. Their birthdays fell perfectly so that they were in the same grade at school. Her arms were tucked in close against her body and her face showed all the pain my heart felt. Ignoring everyone around her, she slipped inside the funeral home. I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t have stood there listening to everyone give their sympathies—both real and fake—either.

Ben had two other sisters, one older, with lots of tattoos that I suspected were my brother’s work, and one several years younger. They stood with Ben’s parents, some blonde guy with a ponytail, and what appeared to be other relatives. These people were semi-familiar to me because they all attended every single football, baseball, and swim meet of Ben’s. I knew because I’d attended many of those same events myself over the years.

Seeing them all and seeing the sadness on their faces…well, it crushed my already broken heart into even smaller pieces. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I stepped out of Mom’s car. John followed. Then he held me close as we made our way past the family. He said a few words to Ellie, Ben’s oldest sister, as I stayed tucked under his arm. Then we went inside the building. Mom being Mom, unable to cope with ‘adult’ issues like this, waited for us in the car.

The funeral was a blur. I missed Ben’s eulogy because I couldn’t hear or think past my own pain. I openly wept, which was completely unlike me, but I couldn’t contain my emotions. Then, almost as soon as it had begun, the pastor was saying his final words and John was walking me back to the car.

One detail from the day stood out in my mind. A random man—the same random man, the one with blonde hair and a ponytail, who’d been standing with Ellie Turner and the rest of Ben’s family outside. I noticed him outside again as we left. I noticed his brown eyes were filled with tears. Who was he? A cousin? A friend? It didn’t matter. But he helped me realize something. Ben was loved by so many people. Not because he was handsome or popular, but because he was a good person. When it came time for my funeral, I hoped to be half as lucky. And I vowed to myself, if I ever fell in love again, I wouldn’t hesitate a second time to tell that person how I truly felt.

CHAPTER 3:

 

 

 

 

 

SYDNEY

Fast forward four months and I am a well-adjusted, normal young adult once more. Yeah…not so much. Actually, the opposite. If there was such a thing as grieving properly verses grieving poorly, though it is likely neither one of those exist, I would have been in the grieving poorly category. Or maybe the problem was, my heart was still broken. Either way, I couldn’t shake the feelings of loss. I couldn’t stop imagining Ben around every corner. And I still cried myself to sleep every single night. It was annoying, to say the least, because I just wanted to move past all of this.

In the first few weeks after Ben’s death, I stayed with my parents. They (and by ‘they’ I mean my grandfather) had several different houses up and down the East Coast, so they let me choose where we went. I chose the penthouse apartment in New York City. The reasoning behind my decision was…how could anyone be sad or bored in New York? And Mom was on a mission…to do anything and everything in her power to help me.

My inner/outer transformation started with a makeover. After years of never letting Mom touch my hair, I finally gave in. She took me to the fanciest salon I’d ever stepped foot in. I let the hairstylist work her magic, and I walked out blonde. Well, blonder. The change was drastic and surprising, but I loved it. It made me open to more changes. Following my hairstyle makeover, Mom talked me into getting Lasik eye surgery. Mom called it ‘maintenance surgery,’ but it was something I’d always wanted but never been brave enough to do. So when she suggested it, I went for it.

Once my eyes healed, Mom and I filled several days with shopping, museums trips, Broadway plays, and meals at overpriced restaurants. And there were these moments in the middle of everything else, sometimes only lasting for a second or two but sometimes lasting for a few minutes, where I would forget about Ben. Poof, gone from my mind. The first time it happened I felt guilty as hell afterward, because forgetting him was the last thing I wanted. But at the same time, despite the guilt, I began craving these fleeting, brief moments of relief, and then I started living for them.

Distractions became my coping mechanism.

I began doing and trying things the old Sydney wouldn’t have dared. Mom, a bit of a socialite, and always up for another party, was my enabler. She encouraged me to keep pushing my boundaries. We drank on the rooftop terrace, danced in clubs, sang at karaoke bars, and attended fashion shows with celebrities. The clothes, the parties, the people—none of it was truly me, but all of it helped me to forget. Or so I thought.

That’s the thing about distractions…they only last for so long. Pretty soon it all stopped working. Drinking made me miss Ben more, I didn’t have the energy to dance or sing, I stopped caring which celebrities were where, and a new outfit no longer gave me the same thrills. This forced reality to crumble down the wall I’d built, and quickly. And I missed John. I missed his cooking, his dumb advice, and even hanging out at his tattoo parlor on the weekends. I needed to be home. Besides, I had school to finish and the whole ‘homeschooled while grieving’ excuse wouldn’t last forever.

So after one month in New York, I left.

The last months of high school were rough. I hated every minute of it and my grades slipped, but luckily not enough to hurt my GPA and take away my acceptance into Luke University. My new hair style and improved wardrobe attracted attention I wasn’t familiar with. Boys suddenly wanted to date me and girls randomly wanted to be my friend. Having a social life at school, even if it only lasted for the short amount of time remaining before graduation, provided yet another distraction, one that I pretty much loathed, but a distraction nonetheless.

Finally graduation came and then summer. Almost four months had passed since Ben’s death. For everything that had happened in that time, I still felt just as hopeless and broken-hearted as the day of his funeral.

“Maybe you should get a job,” John said one morning as we both sat at the kitchen table. He was sketching something for a tattoo in one of his sketchbooks, while I sat across from him still wearing yesterday’s clothes and staring into a bowl of soggy cereal. Meanwhile, my hair was so tangled, that it was entirely possible I would never be able to get a comb through it.

“Maybe I should get a therapist,” I mumbled to my Cheerios.

John grumbled. “As someone who has been through years of therapy, I will tell you that most therapists are full of shit. But if you think that will help, I will fully support it.” Sighing, he set his pencil down and picked up his drawing to show me. “What do you think I’m missing? I can’t get it quite right.”

His drawing was of the most stunning mermaid. She was topless with her back arched and her hair flowing all around her, as if she were underwater. It was gorgeous, but John was right. It wasn’t finished yet. Her tail didn’t fit the image. I took the sketchbook from his hands. “May I add something?” I asked.

He nodded, so I finished her tail and adjusted the scales, shading heavily. His image was beautiful…but it was almost too beautiful in a way. Sometimes a mixture of darkness with beauty is best…like both are needed to counterbalance one another. John taught me that long ago, and I used that concept to finish his artwork. The mermaid’s scales were now as scary as they were beautiful.

“Damn,” he said when I showed him. “I hate that you’re better than me without even trying. It’s not fair. You know, if you want you can work in the shop this summer. Mom and Dad would probably flip, since for some reason my career choice is blasphemy to them, but they’d get over it.”

“I don’t know. I thought I’d find a waitress job.”

He grimaced as if I’d told him I wanted to clean toilets at a prison all summer. “I’m just kidding,” he said after a moment. “Work wherever you want to. I just want you to be happy. I want you to move on.”

I groaned. The last thing I really wanted to do was move on from Ben. I think that was why I’d been putting myself through hell since his death. The fake distractions always ended up making me feel worse in the end. And the pain was all I had left of him. I realized I didn’t need a therapist to tell me that. What I needed was a true distraction of something I loved, not just a temporary one, if I ever wanted to actually move on. I loved art. I loved painting and drawing. I secretly had been waiting years for John to ask me to work at his shop, but I couldn’t take his offer. I still needed to hold onto my pain. I still needed to make crappy decisions that ultimately led me back to Ben. As moronic as that might have sounded to someone else, it made perfect sense to me. It was torturing me, yes, but it kept Ben alive somehow. And I had an idea for my next distraction, one good enough to ensure I’d forget Ben in the moment and bad enough to guarantee he’d be all I would think about after.

* * *

“You can’t call me Ms. Whittle anymore. You’ve graduated. Our teacher/student relationship is officially over. So stop it. Call me Kimberly.”

Kimberly, aka Ms. Whittle and my former teacher, took a long swig of her Bud Light as she wiggled around to get comfortable in her plastic lawn-chair. She shot me a look, and I knew I could never call her ‘Ms. Whittle’ again.

“Fine,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Is Kimmie okay?” I joked.

“Not if you expect me to answer.”

“Noted. I take it ‘Kim’ is a no-go as well then.”

“You got it. I’ve never liked nicknames, and I’m not about to change my opinion on the matter tonight.” She winked at me and then glanced around the bar, taking in our surroundings. It was a little strange seeing her outside of the classroom, especially with a beer in her hand, but our age difference wasn’t that drastic, only six years, and now that I’d graduated there was no reason that we couldn’t hang out. She’d been my only friend throughout high school, excluding my brother of course, so I hoped that tonight was the first night of many.

“The big question is…are you going to talk to him?” Kimberly asked, her chestnut colored hair shining in the moonlight. “Or are we going to sit here pretending the elephant in the room doesn’t exist and that you didn’t come here for a reason?”

It had been almost two and half years since I’d last set foot inside Chancy’s Claw—as per my brother’s demands. The restaurant and bar still looked exactly as I remembered—dingy but with a certain beachy charm. It was late June. Our table was on the deck portion of the bar and the breeze coming off the ocean felt heavenly, but I was too distracted to notice or care about the ambiance.

Because there was this bartender.

And I’d come here tonight specifically for him.

“Oh, Christ, there he is,” Kimberly said, fanning herself with her menu as she stared across the room intently. “I can’t believe your first kiss was Rhett Morgan—Rhett Morgan! And I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me. Jesus, girl!”

I grabbed my vodka tonic and took a sip. Our waitress hadn’t even carded me, which was a testament to how shady this place was. With my liquid courage in hand, for the first time since we’d been seated, I allowed my eyes to drift in his direction.

Rhett.

Sucking in a breath, I took him in. Rhett was good-looking in the completely opposite way of Ben. Ben had been handsome in a clean-cut, manicured way. Then there was Rhett…who looked like he could have been a construction worker or a firefighter…or maybe a male stripper dressed up as a construction worker or a firefighter. He was lean, muscular, tan, rugged, and the very sight of him, even from a distance, brought heat to my cheeks.

Not to mention, the man was like catnip. The bar area was packed with hungry felines on the prowl. He moved fast, making drinks, smiling at the women he served, and embodying every frat-boy (minus the frat) image I could conjure in my mind. The memory of him from when I was sixteen wasn’t something easily forgotten, and a tingle touched my lips as my mind replayed the kiss we’d once shared.

Still…he wasn’t Ben.

Sadness washed over me like a bucket of ice water. I shook off the feeling. Rhett had made me feel better once before, and I had no reason to doubt the same thing couldn’t work for me a second time. The only difference now was, I wanted to take it to the next level. I wanted to give up my virginity to him…tonight. No point in saving myself for someone who wasn’t alive anymore.

“Holy shit,” I said aloud. Breaking my eyes away from Rhett, I brought my attention back to the table and to my drink. Feeling like I was buried ten feet deep in teenage hormones, grief, and God knows what else, I removed the straw, as it was only slowing me down, and I finished the remainder of my drink in a giant swallow. The alcohol burned going down, and I grimaced. “That man is not for the faint of heart,” I mumbled to myself as I set down a now empty glass. “And neither is my plan for him tonight.”

Kimberly sighed. “The teacher in me probably should warn you that this is a bad idea,” she said, shaking her head. “But the girlfriend in me is going to do the opposite.” She leaned closer and her face turned very sincere. “You deserve this—to be young and stupid and go for something you want. All we have is the present moment. The past is gone, and the future isn’t guaranteed. So have a little fun. Knock that boy off his feet.”

For the first time in a long time, I laughed. “He’s not going to remember me.”

She shrugged. “So what. Make a new memory.”

Convinced, though I’d made up my mind hours before coming here tonight, I stood up ready to go talk to Rhett, ready for whatever to happen.

Kimberly’s eyes went wide. “Yes,” she whispered. “You can do this.”

“I need to know something,” I said, lingering by the table. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I kind of got the impression that you might have liked Rhett when you went to high school with him. I could find someone else—”

“No. Rhett is perfect for this. Sure, I had a crush on him like everyone else in high school, but that was ages ago. I’m with Cody now. I love Cody. I don’t need a man-child like Rhett, that’s for damn certain.” She smirked at me. “But you go get your man-child, honey. He should be fun for one night.”

“Fine.” Laughing, I left Kimberly. I’d lied to her a second ago. If she’d said no about Rhett than I wouldn’t be attempting this with someone random. Only Rhett would do.

Feeling surprisingly confident, I approached the bar. I wore a short beach dress that buttoned in the front and showed off my long legs. My platinum hair was curled in big waves, beauty pageant worthy, and it fell just past my shoulders. I’d even broken out the high heels for this. No matter who I was on the inside, outwardly I wasn’t the nerdy girl with glasses anymore.

There was exactly one open seat. Setting my purse on top of the bar, I sat down. I unbuttoned one more button on my cotton dress and waited to be noticed. Rhett’s back was to me so he wasn’t noticing anything.

Five minutes passed and nothing happened. I unbuttoned another button, but changed my mind and redid it when the older man sitting beside me started staring at my chest and winking at me between sips of his whiskey.

Oh God. My confidence began to falter.

The bar was chaos, with only two bartenders working, and they both struggled to keep up with their demand. Rhett moved more quickly than the girl working, but he worked the opposite end from where I sat and had yet to even glance in my direction. I realized I was crazy-pants for thinking I could just walk over here and he'd suddenly see me, remember me, and we'd have some magical repeat moment of the one we had shared years ago.

Yeah, not happening.

Another woman already had Rhett’s undivided attention. Brunette. Older than me. Ruby red lips with a leopard print bikini on under a sheer cover up. She was, without a doubt, a sure thing. Between every drink he poured, he'd return to her for a brief moment of flirting. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the chemistry between them was enough to let me know that I had a better chance at winning the lottery tonight than ending up in his bed.