Reckless Abandon (28 page)

“Go. I’ll call you.” He says it so dismissively I wonder how she could possibly believe him. But, she seems to. She turns on her heels, looking back once to eye me up and down, and leaves.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say as I close the door and reach for my coffee.

“Don’t be. She has issues.” He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee.

Standing in the doorway, I watch the muscles in his back flex underneath that sexy tattoo as he moves around the kitchen. I look for signs that he doesn’t regret last night. His apparent unwillingness to make eye contact isn’t reassuring.

“I’m sorry about last night.” He finally speaks as he sits at the table.

My eyebrows pull together as I sit across from him. “I’m not.”

“I meant the lack of protection. You’re not on the pill, right?” He’s watching the creamer swirl through his coffee.

“Oh, that. It’s fine.” I sigh, thankful he doesn’t appear to regret having sex—just not wearing a condom.

“It was really disrespectful, and I could have gotten you-”

“Look, it’s OK,” my cheeks catch fire, “my cycle’s normal. We’re in the okay zone, it’s fine.” The thought of possible pregnancy was far from my mind last night.

Bo sets his mug down and stares through my eyes—through my soul.

“Ember, it’s not ...”

“Bo, really ...” I shrug and we sit in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, drinking our coffee as darkness swirls between us.

Reaching across the table, I grab his hand. Tight. He stares at our knuckles, rubbing his thumb over mine for a while, before looking at me again.

“When did you two break up?” Bo brings up Adrian of all things.

“Um, the day after Josh and Monica’s engagement party.”

He pulls his hand away from mine and grips his mug with both hands. “Why?”

I watch him slide away from the table and head to the sink. I don’t think I like where this conversation is headed.

“We shouldn’t be together, Adrian and me. He knows you kissed me after the concert, I know I’m not myself when I’m with him...obviously.” I tug at my jeans, half-blaming Adrian for their loosened state.

Bo stares at me for a while. The silence is killing me.

“I think you should go.” I’ve heard this tone before. I used it on him in Room 323 at The Centennial.

“What? Why?” Tears sting my eyes. “If this is about what happened with Ainsley, I’m sorry.”

Bo takes both of our mugs and sets them in the sink before turning around, gripping the counter as he leans his back against it.

“I love you, November. I want to be with you. But, not like this. I’ve got a long road ahead of me—”

I stand and walk, panicked, toward him. “I love you, too. I won’t leave you. People who love each other don’t leave each other ...” I shake my head as he grabs my hands.

“I need to do this alone, November. It’s going to be ugly and painful. The past two months have made both of us sick.” He slides his hands down my ribs and grips my bony hips. “I can’t pull you down any further, but I can’t help you right now either. God, I wish I could.” Waves of tears crash through his eyes.

“No...Bo ...” I tighten my hands on his. “Please don’t do this. Last night—”

“Last night shouldn’t have happened, Ember. I wasn’t thinking. I just needed you. I’m sorry.” He shakes free from my hands and places his back on the counter. He looks away.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.” I slide my hands into my back pockets.

His voice cracks. “I’ll be fine, Ember. I’m going to spend some time with the therapist that helped me and Rae when our parents died. I just need space from everything right now. If we get our chance again, I want it to be when we’re both healthy and ready.”

If? Again?

Shit. He’s absolutely right and it kills me. We’re a disaster right now—apart and together—and I have no rebuttal.

“I’ll get my things.” I turn and make my way upstairs to collect my clothes and backpack, and head back down the stairs, where I find Bo waiting by my car.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but...I just need ...” He runs his hand over his face, sweeping away tears.

“No, I get it. You’re right. Can I say one thing?” He nods as I open my door. “I’m really sorry. About absolutely everything.” A sob chokes out anything else I planned on saying and he nods, pulling me into a mournful embrace.

“I’m sorry, too.” Bo smoothes his hand over the back of my hair and kisses the top of my head. He takes my face in his hands one more time. The pain in his eyes is unbearable. “I love you.”

I nod through tears pouring down my face. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

It’s too much for both of us. Bo releases my face and walks back to his house, face in hands. I collapse into my car and sob for half an hour before I’m able to start my car and drive home.

Chapter Thirty-Three

My breath floats in puffy clouds by my chin, as I anchor myself in a full headstand in the cold, damp sand at sunrise. The mid-October beach is empty as I breathe through the blood rushing to my head. My once-bony shoulders are now able to support all the physical and emotional weight I throw their way.

It’s been three months.

Three months without his voice, his touch, his presence. And, I’m OK. I wasn’t. But I am now. I cried for a week straight after I left Bo’s house that day. Monica was at a loss for words for the first time in our friendship. I missed Bo instantly. We’d just made love for the first time in two months and, just like that, it was all gone.

Bo was right—we were a mess. The day after I got home from Concord, I took a good long look at myself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the girl looking back at me. My green eyes were mossy with grief, stress, and malnutrition, and my body followed suit. Bones in my chest and hips begged warmth from a layer of fat that disappeared sometime when I wasn’t paying attention. I started yoga immediately—the only form of prayer I’ve ever been familiar with.

The first few days I headed to the beach to practice, I ended up in a ball in the sand for an hour, my salty tears mixing with the waves. I cried because I bailed on him in May, for reasons I have yet to understand—fear is the only one I’ve come up with. I cried over losing Rae. I loved her like a sister, and she
wa
s
someone’s sister. Once I made it into a headstand, I cried some more. Then, I started to heal.

Three months without Rachel. It seems like much longer somehow.

I stay in the headstand a bit longer, letting Rachel wash over me. I’m so, so sad that she’s gone, but it doesn’t have to take me out. I can feel sadness and be OK.

Slowly bending my legs and folding into child’s pose, I ready myself for flower shopping with Monica. Shortly after Rae’s funeral, she tenderly asked if I was still “up” for being her maid of honor. I hugged her, and then smacked her for asking. I can’t wait for their wedding; it’s only three weeks away.

“You’ve got one hell of a headstand, Harris.” Monica pleasantly disrupts the last moment of Zen I’ll have for the next twelve hours.

“Thanks. Feel free to join me any time.”

She ignores my invitation. “When are you going to take these sessions inside? It’s cold as hell out here.”

I look around and breathe in the freshest air anyone could ever breathe. “When the snow falls, I guess.” I stand and we walk to the parking lot.

“Your arms are looking fierce, Ember. I haven’t seen you look this good since you were twenty.” Monica playfully grabs my tight upper arms. “Are you singing at Delta Blue tonight?”

“I planned on it, unless you have something else in mind.”

I’ve been signing at a tiny jazz club on the outskirts of Boston on the weekends. I needed something new, something challenging. I wanted to flex my singing muscles just outside the shadow of my parents. Jazz and soul are the ticket for me. I can still play the guitar, but it sounds sexier somehow. Our house band took an indefinite break when, as promised, Regan headed back to Ireland two days after Rae’s funeral. C.J.’s been the only one to speak to him and says he’ll be back eventually, but I doubt he will. I wouldn’t if I were in his shoes.

Monica smiles and shakes her head. “I’m glad you have that. You’re so freaking good, like you could go on tour with ZZ Ward or something. Seriously. I can’t come tonight is all. Josh’s brother is coming to town so we’ve got dinner plans.”

“It’s OK. So, what is it, exactly, that we’re doing at the flower shop today? I thought you had all the arrangements and whatever picked out.” Poor Monica, I’m the least “in-the-know” person she could have chosen for maid of honor.

“I have to choose my flowers for the bouquet toss.” She sighs as though this is something we’ve been over, or that I should know.

“Your what now?”

“I won’t toss my super expensive bouquet, you nitwit. You pick a smaller arrangement—”

“Ah, yes, to chuck at some unsuspecting girl’s forehead?” I roll my eyes and snicker.

“You laugh now, November. But my friend’s cousin, Daphne, used to catch the bouquet at, like, every wedding she went to.” She’s dead serious as she tells this story.

“Oh did she, now? And, Ms. Pierce,” I flutter my eyelashes, “did this Daphne girl ever find her happily ever after?”

Monica grabs my face and plants a dramatic kiss on my cheek. “She did.”

* * *

As I sit amongst leaves and petals, my mind wanders. I try to rein it in as much as possible, but a stroll once in a while is necessary. I think about Bo. A lot, actually—I just don’t make it hurt. He asked me not to call him, and I haven’t. I have, however, been in semi-frequent contact with David Bryson for work purposes. Out of respect for Bo, I haven’t directly asked David about him, but he has slipped unrequested information into our conversations.

“He’s coming along.”

“Yesterday was tough.”

“I sure miss seeing you around here, Ember. You should stop up and see the center again soon.”

Each time David has offered something about Bo it’s been at the end of our conversation, allowing me to deliver a polite “goodbye” without addressing his information. He hasn’t said anything in a while. I try not to think about why.

I wander through the flower shop as Monica talks about ribbons with the florist, inhaling hydrangeas as I think about Bo’s music. I hope he’s still playing.

“How about this ribbon, Ember?”

“It’s great, Mon.” I smile.

“OK, one more time with you actually looking at it.” I hear her rolling her eyes.

“Sorry,” I laugh, “let’s see. I love the champagne-colored one.”

“Awesome. Maybe you’ll be the one to catch it.” She winks and shares some sort of private laugh with the florist. I stick my tongue out at her.

“I plan on hiding in the bathroom during that whole spectacle.”

After Monica finalizes her order, we drive her back to her apartment.

Monica starts to fidget. “So,” she asks nervously, “still no word, huh?” Monica tries not to ask about Bo too often. She fails, beautifully.

“You say
still
as if I’ve been waiting around for him.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just...you are doin
g
s
o
well, I—”

“Spit it out, Mon.”

“I just wonder what it would be like if he...showed up.”

Hope. Her words surge hope through me and it tugs a cautious smile across my lips. I take a deep breath.

“It would be ...”

Monica places her head on my leg. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Bo

I park in front of the tiny brick building and double-check the sign on the door.

Delta Blue. This is it.

I called earlier today to see when their open-mic acts go on. She won’t go first—she doesn’t like that—but I get here in time, just in case. I don’t think I’m ready to see her face-to-face yet. Dr. Brown says I shouldn’t feel shitty about the way I suspended things with
us, but I do. Neither one of us
wanted
her to leave that day.

My days since then have gone back and forth between being a total mess and being functional. I still haven’t gone into Rae’s room. I opened the door once—the day Ember left—but I slammed it shut and haven’t been back since. It was too much, seeing her stuff just...there, and knowing she wouldn’t be. Anymore. Aside from the absolute fucking hole my baby sister’s death has left, anger has become a dangerous ally.

I haven’t been drinking away my emotions like I thought I might. I couldn’t do it after I saw Ember had gone through the trouble of putting all the liquor in my house into a box on the back porch. She knew. Instead, I broke things. And punched things. A lot of things. Ember and I were both better off with her leaving that day. She didn’t need to see some of the ugly shit the last few months have brought me.