Unbroken (4 page)

Right away, I’m surrounded by the low hum of conversation and laughter. It’s a weathered old dive bar, with Bon Jovi playing on the jukebox, and people playing pool over in the corner. I go take a seat on a stool at the far end of the bar, and quickly sweep my eyes across the crowd. I see some old familiar faces, regulars I remember from when I was back in town last, but nobody gives me a second look, or any flicker of recognition.

I let out a slow breath of relief. I didn’t realize until now how tight I was wound, wondering if I’d see Emerson again. Or not even him, but someone who knew him, well enough to come say ‘hi’, and ask after me and my family.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks, strolling over to me. I’ve not seen him before—he’s young and blonde, wearing a plaid shirt and a laid-back smile.

“Jack and coke,” I reply. “And a burger, thanks.”

“Coming right up.” He grabs the liquor bottle from the row on the shelf behind him, and gives me a long pour. “You just get in to town?”

I pause. “How did you tell?” I frown.

He gives me a lazy grin. “I know everyone in town.”

His eyes flick over me, and I remember that I haven’t changed since breakfast with Daniel this morning, what feels like weeks ago. My preppy silk dress and sandals may be normal for the city, but here in Cedar Cove, the uniform is cutoff jeans and flip flops. “You got me,” I tell him, uncomfortable.

“I’ll go see about that burger,” he winks at me, and strolls away.

I shift awkwardly on my stool, registering how out of place I must look. Further down the bar, a couple of guys in baseball caps and workman’s tans are checking me out with long looks. I try to ignore them. I grasp my drink and take a long sip. It’s strong, and the alcohol burns in the back of my throat, but I keep drinking. I need it tonight, with all these old ghosts dancing around the edge of my mind, trying to trip me up.

I turn my mind to safer things, like trying to remember the last time I was in a bar alone, without friends, or Daniel. The answer is never. Even back in college, I was never really the bar-hopping type. Lacey dragged me off to parties, and the pub crawls in the city, but after Emerson, my heart was too raw to make a real go of it and flirt with the frat boys lining up on a Friday night. I didn’t even want the random makeouts Lacey would always use to rebound after her heart got dented by a guy. My pain was too deep for that. Nothing was ever going to make it better.

At least, that’s what I thought. Then I wound up meeting Daniel in my Ethics class, spring semester of my sophomore year. He’s three years older than me, but was taking the class to make up a basic requirement for law school. The first few weeks, he just smiled at me. Cute brown hair, brown eyes, preppy Oxford shirts and pants. There was something genuine in his expression, like he had a joke to share with me—just me—so soon, I found myself smiling back. Then he moved to sit beside me, just appearing in the next seat one day, offering me a spare pen and a copy of his notes. We paired up for assignments and started studying together, and by the time the end of the semester came, he finally asked me out on a date.

A real date. It was funny—there I was, surrounded by casual hook-ups and one-night stands, and Daniel took the time to do it right. While Lacey was hanging off two AM booty texts from random guys, I was getting to know him the old-fashioned way. Dinner and a movie. Weekend brunch, then strolling the bookstores and cute boutiques in the arts district. Somehow, Daniel could tell I needed the time. After everything I’d been through, I wasn’t about to just throw myself into something all over again, risk my newly-healed heart on another guy when I knew just how much it could hurt me to love someone the way I’d loved before.

Because I couldn’t love another man like that, even if I tried. That part of me—the part that loved so recklessly, desperately, it was dead and gone. But as the months passed with Daniel, and my fears slowly melted away, I came to realize: maybe love doesn’t have to destroy you. Maybe it’s not all unbearable passion, and kisses that make you want to die. Maybe love can be that gentle breeze my mom told me about: strong, and sure, and true.

“Time for another round.”

I look up. One of the guys from down the bar has sidled over. “I’m Kenny,” he says, standing over me, too close, so I can smell the faint scent of sweat and beer and tobacco on his breath.

I try not to recoil.

“No thanks.” I answer firmly.

“Aww, c’mon,” he grins at me, tanned and solid-looking, but with a cocky arrogance about his stare. “What’ll it be? You want one of those girly cocktails, or are you up for the hard stuff?”

Kenny leers at me, gaze slipping suggestively over my chest, and even though my neckline is sensible—hell, practically demure—I feel naked under his stare, in all the worst ways.

My chest tightens. I feel sick.

“I said, no thanks.” I murmur, trying to keep my voice low. I don’t want a scene, but this guy seems determined to talk to me. “Really, I’m good. You can get back to your friend.”

Kenny’s smile slips. “What, you won’t drink with townies?”

“I didn’t say that.” I answer quickly. I look around, but nobody’s paying us any attention, and the bartender is still out in the back.

“Sure, but it’s the truth.” Kenny sneers at me. “You think you’re too good for us, is that it?”

“No.” My voice is louder now. I catch the eye of an older woman at the next table, but she just drops her eyes and glances away.

“So have a drink.” His eyes narrow meanly, “Maybe it’ll loosen you up.”

I gulp. I know exactly what kind of loose he wants, and that’s never going to happen.

Even though I’m still hungry and I have food coming, I can’t stay. I scramble down from my stool and quickly pull a twenty from my purse, leaving it on the bar. “I have to go,” I tell him quickly, taking two steps towards the door.

He blocks my path. “Where you going?” He reaches out to touch my cheek. I flinch back. “We’re just getting’ to know each other.”

“Please…” My voice comes out a whisper, heart pounding. “I have to go.”

“Or what?” his smile is tense. “You got someone waiting on you?” he snorts, “Poor fucker, living with a frigid bitch like you.”

What comes next happens so fast I barely have time to register it. One minute, Kenny is leaning in towards me, the next, he’s flying through the air. He lands with a crash into the nearest table, glasses smashing to the floor. His assailant doesn’t pause a second, he goes after him, grabbing his shirt by the collar to pull him up from the ground, while the other fist smashes into his face in several quick jabs. Blood pours down Kenny’s face, as he splutters, flailing helplessly against the attack.

The other guy just keeps punching.

I gasp. “Stop it!” I cry, rushing forwards. I grab the other guy by the shoulders, trying to pull him away, but he’s too big: six foot of solid muscle, the sinews in his back rippling with every new blow he rains down on Kenny, now bloody and whimpering on the floor.

“Please,” I beg, desperate, “You’ll kill him!”

The guy finally pauses, just for a second. I grab a fist-f his T-shirt and haul him away.

He turns, breathing heavily, violence still alight in those deep blue constellations I know by heart.

Emerson.

I freeze, staring at him in total shock. Of all the ways I’d imagine meeting him again, all the millions of scenarios I used to invent, none of them involved a guy beaten and bloody on the floor, and a whole bar of people staring at us.

I hear blood rushing in my ears, and suddenly, I’m dizzy. I can’t breathe. But this isn’t a panic attack, this is something else altogether. Here he is in front of me, like all those nights I tried not to think about him, but wound up replaying every moment and every kiss all the same.

Emerson. In front of me. At last.

My eyes drink him in, greedy. He’s older now, of course he is. I’ve been remembering the young man he used to be, but the boyish glint in his eye is gone now: he’s all grown up.
All man.
His features are etched deeper, dark stubble shading across his jaw. His dark hair is cropped short, showing the strong curve of his skull, and that body that was always slim and taut is stronger now—arm muscles pressing at the fabric on his black T-shirt, his whole torso radiating power and animal rage.

“Jules.” He says it hoarsely, still breathing heavily from the fight. Not that it was a fight, not really, it was annihilation.

My eyes meet his again. We’re standing three feet apart, but the connection between us is like a surge of electricity, surging from his dark gaze to mine.

“I…I… ” I stutter, gasping for air, but no words come. Seeing him is more than I ever imagined: his presence fills my world, overwhelming, like there’s nothing else in the room. Like the room doesn’t even exist—it’s only him, and me, and the storm of emotions crashing through me I thought I’d never feel again.

It’s too much. God, it’s all too much.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, and turn on my heel and flee. I push past the other people crowding round, and out of the doors. My footsteps echo in the dark parking lot as I sprint for my car.

Tears sting in the back of my throat. I don’t know what happened back there, how I could just fall apart with one look from him, but suddenly, it’s like I’m eighteen all over again, feeling everything so fresh and fierce, as if for the first time.

How could I be so stupid to think I’d
ever
be over him?

“Jules! Juliet, wait!”

He’s coming after me.

I don’t slow, fumbling in my bag for my keys. I have to get away, before he can see me, see what a wreck I’m reduced to with just one glance.

“What, I don’t even get a thank you?”

Emerson’s voice echoes, sarcastic, in the empty lot.

I stop. Suddenly I’m mad as hell—furious at myself for falling apart so easily after all this time, but more than that, I’m angry at him. Hot, spitting, fists-clenched furious.

I whirl around. “Thank you?” I spit back at him, my voice high and fevered. “What the hell was that in there? You could have killed him!”

Emerson folds his arms, lips set in a thin, determined line. He’s standing in the shadows, his body coiled, dark and forbidding. “He deserved it.”

I feel the anger boil up in me. Now I remember it: the dark side to Emerson’s passion. The jealous streak, the possessive arm around my shoulder. I used to feel safe in it, treasured, like I was the most important girl in the world, but this is different. He has no right to act like I belong to him, not anymore.

“I can take care of myself!” I insist angrily.

“Didn’t look like it to me.” Emerson’s voice is a low drawl.

I bridle at the ownership in his tone. “I had it all under control. You just don’t know me anymore!”

Something flickers across his face even in the dark, and I feel a stab of regret slice through me. Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that. Then his harsh look fades away, and for a moment, Emerson’s eyes meet mine: naked and vulnerable.

“You came back,” he says softly. He takes a half-step towards me, and despite all my anger, I find my body frozen in place, yearning for him to touch me—sweep me in his arms, like before.

Closer,
my mind cries out.
Close the distance between us.

“You came back.” He says again, like he can’t believe it himself. There’s wonder in his eyes, fierce and breathless. “All this time, I kept watching the door, like you might walk through it. And now, here you are.”

I inhale in a sharp rush, hating myself even as I feel the surge of delight course through me at the words.

He was watching for me? He wanted to see me again?

After the way we ended things, I figured for sure beyond any doubt that I was the last person on earth he’d ever want to see again. He told me that he never wanted to hear from me: no emails, no calls, nothing. That he would rather cut me from his life completely than pretend we could ever be just friends.

It’s hurt me more than anything, imagining that he was out there somewhere, hating me. Regretting me.

But now…?

My heart catches in my throat but I push down my runaway thoughts. “You shouldn’t have looked for me.” I say quickly. “I told you, I wasn’t coming back.”

Emerson’s face darkens again. “I remember. Believe me, I remember everything.”

That last day suddenly springs into my mind: the funeral service, damp winds blowing on the desolate clifftop. Emerson at my side, holding me up when I thought I didn’t have the strength to keep it together. And then, just when I thought I couldn’t hurt more than I already did—when I thought my heart was broken all the way—Emerson proved there was still something left to destroy.

I meet Emerson’s eyes, and I can tell from his expression, he’s remembering it too.

“And I’m not back,” I babble quickly, clutching at my keys. “Not for real. We’re selling the house, I’m just here to pack it up. A couple of days. Then I’ll be gone.”

Forever.

The word hangs in the air between us.