Losing Romeo (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Bad mood was an understatement. Rosaline took out her anger on the files in the study, tossing them as hard as she could. Wherever Bryson was—most likely in his room—she hoped he could feel her anger. That he knew to leave her alone.

At the same time, it made her even madder he hadn’t come down and apologized the second she’d come in this morning.

“Stupid jerk!” Just like all guys. She thought because they were friends it would be different, but apparently all guys were selfish idiots who didn’t care about anyone’s feelings. She tossed another file.

The door connecting to the office opened, and Dafne peeked inside. “You okay in there? It sounds like you’re remodeling.”

“It’s all these files. They’re never-ending.”

“The heavy-duty shredder should arrive today. Maybe destroying them will make you feel better.”

“I don’t think anything will make me feel better,” Rosaline said, knowing she sounded pouty, but not caring right now.

Dafne leaned against the doorframe. “Why don’t you take a break? Go find Bryson and relax for a little while.”

  Rosaline crossed her arms. “I don’t want to hang out with Bryson. He can hang out by himself for the rest of his life for all I care.”

“So let me get this straight. You drove me crazy for days, saying you couldn’t wait for him to get back, and now you don’t want to see him? What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Actually, it’s everything. It’s like you said, he pushes people away. I thought I was different.” A sharp pain shot through her chest. “But he made it clear he doesn’t need me in his life.”

Dafne sighed. “I’m sorry, Rosaline. I’m sure—”

The other door to the study opened, and Bryson stepped inside.

Dafne glanced from him to Rosaline. “I’ll let you two work things out.” She stepped back into the office and closed the door.

Rosaline stared at a spot on the table, determined not to look at him again. “Just go away.”

She heard his footsteps draw closer, making it clear he wasn’t going away like she asked. “I think this would be easier over the phone,” he said. “But since I never got your new number…”

She whipped up her head. “Don’t think you can joke this away. And besides, I’d ignore your call anyway. I’m done, Bryson. I can’t take the emotional rollercoaster being your friend requires. I let you in, opened up to you like I’ve never been able to with anyone else—even Clara. But you keep me out.”

“It’s not about keeping you out, though. This is about me. My stuff.”

“That’s the thing about friends. Your stuff is their stuff. They know the bad and they’re your friend still. When you have a hard time with something, when you’re hurting, they’re there to make it better.”

Bryson leaned his palms on the table. “I talk about it with you, then what? Nothing will change. What’s done is done.”

“You’re right. Just like the fact I got busted for drugs, lost my parents’ trust, and now I’m here. But I can choose how that’s going to affect me, and I was starting to think it wasn’t so bad. Because I met you.”

His face paled. “Drugs? I thought you were sent here to get away from that guy.”

Shame crept through her, uncomfortable and hot. The horrified way he was looking at her made her feel like dirt—like less than dirt. It was the very reason she’d left that information out of every other conversation they’d had.

It was out there now, though. “The guy was the reason I took the drugs. My parents figured all my friends were bad influences as well and that shipping me out here would fix everything.”

Bryson took a step back.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said.

“Not a big deal!” He shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t get involved. I tried to stay away.” He took another giant step back. “I can’t do this.”

Agony bled in and out of her heart, each pump sending another crippling wave through her. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect.”

“There’s not perfect, and there’s getting high all the time. Do you have any idea how stupid that is? Did your parents send you here thinking you’d get clean?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I gotta go.” He spun around and rushed out the door, not even giving her a chance to explain.

Rosaline flopped into her chair and closed her eyes, the pain radiating through her chest making it hard to breathe. Bryson thought she was some kind of junkie now. She’d thought if she told him about her mistakes and how his friendship had helped her work through them he’d realize he could share his troubles with her. Instead it’d made him run, proving their relationship was one-sided.

Not just the friendship part either. Once in a while, she thought there might be more between them. As usual, she’d fallen for the wrong guy. Getting to know him first, starting as friends—it didn’t matter. It all ended the same: With the guy not wanting to talk to her anymore.

A knock sounded on the door, and Dafne poked her head inside. “I heard yelling, and I…” She rushed over and put her hand on Rosaline’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“Bryson and I aren’t friends anymore.” Tears blurred her vision, and she sniffed, trying to get a hold of her emotions but knowing it was too late.

“Tell you what. I just got a call from the post office, and the shredder arrived. The carrier said he’d bring it out here tomorrow, or that we could go get it. You want to get out for a while? Go pick it up?”

Rosaline nodded and let out an uneven breath. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

Dafne led her into the office and handed her a grocery list and a wad of cash.

Rosaline stared at the rolled up bills and then looked up at Dafne. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course I trust you,” Dafne said.

“But after what I did in Verona, and with my parents, and the drug tests…” A lump formed in her throat. “Why? I don’t deserve your trust.”

“I can tell when you talk about it that you realize you made a mistake. We all make mistakes.” Dafne set her hands on Rosaline’s shoulders. “I’m glad you came here. You’ve helped me in more ways than just at work, and honestly, I was a little lonely before you came. You’ve made life interesting. I trust you, and I should’ve said so before now, but I love you.”

Rosaline threw her arms around her aunt’s waist, squeezing her tight. “I love you, too.”

Dafne ran a hand down her hair. “I’m sorry about you and Bryson. I’m sure you’ll work things out.”

“I don’t think we will. Not this time.”

“He needs you. He’ll figure that out someday. His pride might keep him from admitting it, but he’s changed since you came into his life. For the better.”

“I don’t think I can take the ups and downs anymore anyway.”

Dafne gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, take your time in town. In fact, since you’re running errands, stop by the Trading Post, too, and pick up some plant food. My rose bushes are starting to look sad.” She grabbed a Post-it and scribbled the exact brand she wanted, along with a couple of other supplies. “Go there before the grocery store, or the groceries will get too hot.”

As Rosaline turned to go, Dafne said, “You do know how to drive a truck, right?”

“Of course.”
The same way you drive a car, duh.

***

So the truck took a little more maneuvering than a car, what with the added hugeness and extra-long bed. Being up so high was pretty cool, actually. Rosaline picked up the shredder from the post office, then drove to the Trading Post.

The shop smelled of metal, leather, and wood. An elk head she suspected was real stared at her from the wall. She wandered the aisles, looking for the supplies Dafne wanted. On the drive over, she’d tried to convince herself that she didn’t care that Bryson said he “couldn’t do this anymore.”

But the thought of never hanging out with him again made her heart feel like someone had peeled it apart one piece at a time. His face when he’d looked at her, though—her heart clenched as her mind replayed it again and again.

He looked at me like I was the worst kind of person.

According to Dafne, and even to him, he used to get into fights all the time. What made her one slip so much worse?

Because mine was stupid and illegal. And I knew better. I knew better, and I did it anyway.

“Rosaline?”

She spun around and came face-to-face with Sam. “Hey.” Come to think of it, Dafne had mentioned he worked here.

He put his hand on her back. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Dafne sent me for some supplies.”

Sam glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a break in about twenty. You wouldn’t happen to be free for lunch?”

This morning she’d decided to give up on guys completely, but Sam had been nothing but nice so far. Lunch with him would mean longer until she went back to the estate, and what better way to prove to herself that there were more people to hang out with than infuriating Bryson than hanging out with Sam? Sounded like a win, win. “Lunch would be great.”

***

Drugs. Rosaline had been busted for drugs.

Bryson was still trying to wrap his head around it as he paced back and forth in his bedroom. He turned up his music, trying not to think. It wasn’t working, though. Her confession played over and over in his head, too loud to ignore.

Anything else he could’ve handled. But he’d had too much experience with druggies to believe they could change. Some of his earliest memories were of a house filled with strung-out adults. Of digging through cupboards to try to find something to eat when Mom was passed out.

Then there were the years when he was older—at least he was better able to fend for himself by then. Sometimes Mom would be fine for weeks at a time, and sometimes she hardly got out of bed, depending on if she was only abusing OxyContin, or if she’d turned to cocaine, LSD, or meth. During the bad periods, he’d have to take care of her and call Winslow and ask for money to help pay the bills, which he’d always hated doing.

But how else was a twelve-year-old supposed to get money?

Bryson picked up the framed picture of him and Mom. For a long time, he didn’t want a reminder. After he’d managed to make some peace with what had happened, he’d put the picture in a frame and set it on his desk. She wasn’t all bad, after all. They’d had good times.

But they’d had a lot more bad. Days when she wouldn’t get out of bed. Weeks when she was trying to get clean, puking and shaking and screaming for a fix.

Sorrow, anger, and regret welled up in him, until every muscle in his body shook with the toxic mix. He cocked back his arm and chucked the photo against the wall. The glass shattered on impact and the broken pieces rained down on his bed. He couldn’t go through it again. People who did drugs were people he made sure to stay far, far away from.

“I thought Rosaline was smart,” he said, shaking his head. “She has it all. Why would she ruin her life like that?”

That made him as angry as anything. So much ruined potential. Just like Mom. She’d been the smartest dumb person he knew. Brilliant ideas one minute, dulling out the world with drugs that ate away those ideas the next.

Bryson sat on the foot of his bed, wondering how long Rosaline used. What she’d used. Wondering even more how long it would be until she used again.

That’s it. No matter how much I care about Rosaline, I can’t risk getting close to someone like that again.

I’ll never survive another one.

Chapter Nineteen

Every person in the diner greeted Rosaline and Sam as they passed by. Sam introduced her, throwing out a comment about the weather or football season nearing or asking after their families. She knew she’d never remember all their names, but they were all so friendly, just like all the people she’d met in Lowell. Her best friend lived in Verona, but more and more, she was learning to like this small town life.

If only I lived closer to town instead of so close to Bryson.

Rosaline shook her head.
No more thinking about him.

Sam sat next to her in the booth instead of across from her and put his hand on her thigh. “Everything okay?”

She smiled at him. “It’s getting better by the minute.”

They ordered and ate, nothing more than small talk between them. It was nice, though. Easy. And she didn’t want to throttle Sam like she occasionally wanted to Bryson. But she didn’t laugh like she did with him either.

On their way out of the diner, they had to stop at each group of people—especially since new people had arrived—and say hello or goodbye. An older woman named Sheryl Wilson took Rosaline’s hand in hers. “You be good to our Sam. He’s such a nice boy.”

Sam smiled at Rosaline and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Mrs. Wilson’s just saying that because I give her the good bingo cards.”

“You’re good luck,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I do better whenever you’re there.”

“Then I guess I better miss a couple times, let some other folks win for a change.”

“Oh, you.” Mrs. Wilson made a shooing motion with her hand, but the smile on her face was all adoration.

They finally made it outside, and Sam intertwined his fingers with hers. “Wow,” Rosaline said. “You’re
their
Sam.”

“They’ve all known me since I was a boy.” He glanced around and then leaned in conspiratorially. “I sometimes wonder if I’d still be their Sam if I couldn’t play football, though.”

Her stomach sank. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Aw, it’s not that bad. I’ve been training all summer, so I’ll be ready for season.”

“I mean for me,” she said. “I feel like I was passive-aggressively threatened by a woman who kills at bingo. That’s practically the mafia ’round these parts, isn’t it?”

Sam laughed, then pulled her closer, hooking his hand on her hip. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

Having his arm around her was nice, but she couldn’t help wondering what he’d do if he knew the truth about her. Would he drop her as fast as Bryson had?

They reached Dafne’s truck, and Sam spun her to face him. “Can I kiss you now?”

The easy vibe between them evaporated, tension now crowding the mere inches separating them. She didn’t know what to say. People were out, everyone staring. Then there was the fact that her kisses were like the kiss of relationship death. “I…it’s…” Her throat closed up, choking the rest of her words. They wouldn’t have made sense anyway, but it felt like she couldn’t breathe now.

Sam gave her a tight smile, then kissed her cheek. “No worries,” he said, but she could tell she’d offended him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

One last squeeze of her hand and then he dropped it and headed toward the Trading Post.

Rosaline leaned back against the truck, the metal warm from sitting in the sun.
I’m such an idiot. A perfectly nice guy asked to kiss me—and yeah, it’s a little weird being asked, but still...

I should’ve just kissed him.

She kept thinking that when it was right, she wouldn’t hesitate. It would just happen, like magic, and she’d know to lean in instead of tense up. But that was stupid. You either went for it or you didn’t, and you dealt with whatever happened after.

This is exactly like the Romeo situation. By tonight, Sam will probably have a new girlfriend.

And I’ll be home, trying not to think about Bryson.

***

Rosaline turned up the radio as she eased the truck down the road. Miles of highway stretched before her, not another car in sight. Just the trees blurring together in a sea of deep green all around her.

Two people had stopped her in the grocery store to tell her what a nice guy Sam was—apparently news traveled supersonic speed ‘round these parts. Every time they did, she felt that much stupider for pulling away, and the I-suck-at-life wound in her chest was now achy and raw.

I’ll just make my way across the country, screwing up every chance I have with a decent guy. I’ll fall for the ones sure to break my heart and then cry about them, even though I totally saw it coming.

Suddenly, the country music coming through the radio seemed appropriate.

At least she had Dafne. Winslow would probably never get a clue, and she and Dafne could live together forever, complaining about men and gathering an army of cats.

“Nope. That’s not depressing in the least.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Brown. Animal. Fast.

She slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel. Tires squealed. The back end of the truck whipped to one side, then the other. The back tire caught the dirt, and the truck flipped. Something slammed into her face. Glass shattered.

Dirt, sky, dirt, sky.

Dirt.

Pain.

No breath.

Another impact, accompanied by a loud screech.

Then there was silence. Nothing but silence.

Miles and miles of silence.

***

Bryson dropped his wrench, scooted away from the bike, and dug his ringing phone out of his pocket. It was from the office. With how he left things with Rosaline, he doubted she would call him. But if it was her, and he heard her voice…

He knew he wouldn’t be strong enough. Maybe after some time and space, but not right now, when the ache in his chest got worse every time he thought about her.

They’ll leave a message if it’s important.

Sure enough, the message beep sounded. He opened his voicemail and pressed the phone to his ear. It was Dafne, and all she said was, “Call me as soon as you get this,” but there was an urgent undercurrent in her voice that made every nerve in his body stand on edge.

He hit the callback button.

“Rosaline’s not with you, is she?” Dafne asked, sounding breathless, like she’d just run a marathon.

“No.” He hesitated, not wanting to tell on Rosaline if she hadn’t gotten permission to take Dafne’s truck. The worry in her voice dug at him, though. In fact, it was contagious, because his pulse was steadily rising and his lungs stopped expanding like they were supposed to. “I saw her get into your truck earlier today.”

“But that was hours ago. I told her to take her time, but she should be home by now. Why isn’t she home yet?”

Guilt crept in with the worry, tightening his gut. “We had a fight.”

“That’s why I let her go into town. I thought maybe she had come back and run into you. Parked the truck in a weird place or something.” Dafne sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ll call the Trading Post. I sent her there, and hopefully they’ll remember when she left. Maybe she met up with Sam.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

In the space of a few minutes, Bryson had felt sad and desperate and worried and guilty. Now burning jealousy was mixing in, overtaking his other emotions. She probably was with perfect Sam Webster.

Let him deal with it. The ups and downs. The drugs.
His breath grew shallow.
Her smile. Her laugh. The soft skin, the amazing way she smells.

“Shit.” He grabbed his cane and started for the house. He’d swing by the office, double check she was with Sam, even though it’d kill him a little to know, then move on with the rest of his lonely life.

The front door of the house opened, and Dafne stepped out. She had her cell phone pressed to her ear. “That was one o’ clock? You’re sure?” She paused, listening to the voice on the other end. “Yes, please. Check and see if she’s seen her.” She shook her head at whatever the other person was saying. “Thanks, Sam, but I don’t want to drag out the whole town. It’s probably nothing… Mm-hm, just let me know.” She hung up the phone and tossed it in her purse.

“Well?” Bryson asked.

Dafne jumped, throwing her hand to her heart. “I didn’t know you were there.” Her face was drained of color, and it looked like she was fighting tears. “Sam said they had lunch together, but they finished up at one. Then he saw Mrs. Fischer on the street and asked if she’d seen Rosaline at the grocery store. Mrs. Fischer said Rosaline left the store a long time ago. She wasn’t sure, but thought it was a little after two.”

Bryson glanced at his phone, which told him it was now 4:00. It took about twenty-five minutes to get home from Lowell—forty-five if you drove like a grandma, which he doubted Rosaline did.

Dafne ran her fingers across her forehead. “Sam offered to help look for her, but if she’s just driving or taking some extra time to be alone, I don’t want to turn it into a big deal. I don’t even care if that’s the case. But I can’t seem to shake this awful feeling that she’s in trouble.” She dropped her hand and looked at him. “Can I take your truck?”

“I’ll drive you.” Bryson gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

It was a lie. But he didn’t know what else to say.