Unbroken (7 page)

Finally, Emerson exhales. “So much for civil,” he mutters, almost to himself.

“What?” I ask cautiously.

He gives me a wry shrug. “I told myself, I’d at least try to be civil to you.”

Civil.

His words send a fresh ripple of pain through me as I realize the bleak truth behind his words. If that’s the best he can hope for—if he has to force himself to even say a polite word to me—then this is so much worse than I ever imagined.

“I have to go!” I blurt, lurching away from him. I stumble in the sand, and nearly fall. Emerson puts his hand out to steady me, reaching for my arm.

I freeze, feeling heat course through me from the contact of his hand on my bare skin. I look up, helpless, into his eyes. Emerson gazes back. Something ricochets between us, that undeniable flood of desire and longing and memories of his skin, hot and damp against mine…

I pull back like I’ve been burned.

“Bye,” I tell him quickly, before I come undone right in front of him. “Take care of yourself.” I add, and my voice comes out so clipped and distant, I sound like a stranger.

Emerson blinks. “Uh, sure. You too.”

I don’t stick around to humiliate myself any longer. I take off, scrambling back up the dunes as fast as my legs will carry me. My thighs burn as I clamber up the sand, but I don’t stop, even for a second. I know this is the last time I’ll ever see him, but force myself not to turn back for one more look. Not that I need to: I have the image of him burned onto my brain now, more permanent than any photograph. Face set with disappointment, harsh and angry to know what I’ve made of myself.

His judgment stings, and I feel my protests rise up in me, all the drive home. I didn’t quit anything! I made the right call, I reassure myself. I had to. I picked myself up after his cruel rejection, and did what I could to mend my broken heart. The life I’ve chosen is solid, and real—not some flighty dream of art school, and God knows whatever would come after. After everything I’ve been through, I couldn’t face the insecurity that comes from that kind of life: living paycheck to paycheck, never knowing what’s around the corner. I’d had enough poverty and instability to last a lifetime—enough grief, at the tragic curveballs the world could fling my way.

I was done with reckless, I wanted safe and sure and true.

Emerson made sure of that.

CHAPTER FOUR

By the time I reach the beach house, a storm of emotions are whirling through me. Pain over Emerson’s anger, defensiveness at the way he judged me, and a fresh wave of regret over everything else I lost that summer.

Part of me wishes I never came back to Cedar Cove at all. I remember my stupid confidence on the drive out, so sure I could make it through without even seeing Emerson, let alone falling into a hundred shattered pieces with just one look, one touch… Now look at me, fleeing the scene of our meeting like I’m running for my life. If only my feelings could be packed away as easily as the house: wrapped up in tissue and plastic bubble-wrap, and stacked neatly in a box. No messy breakdowns, or treacherous longing, tugging at my heart every time I look at him. I could throw the lot in storage, bolt the door, and never have to think about him ever again.

I drag my thoughts out of the dark past, and turn down the drive. There’s another car parked up by the house: a battered VW yellow Beetle, with fluffy dice and dream-catchers hanging from the rearview mirror.

Right away, my heart lifts. I shove the Camaro into park and leap out of the car, racing across the lawn to where the person I need most in the world right now is waiting on the porch.

“Lacey!”

I hurl myself into my best friend’s arms and hug her tight. Relief sweeps through me. For the second time today, I have to swallow back tears, but this time, they’re tears of gladness.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” I say, still hugging her.

“Mneugh! Boobs! Crushed!” Lacey manages, against my neck.

I release her, grinning. “Sorry, I just missed you so much!”

“You’ve been gone, like, two days!” Lacey points out. Her choppy blonde hair is pushed back with a pair of oversized shades, and she’s wearing an oversized guy’s singlet over a red bikini that matches her smear of bright lipgloss. Bright, bold, brash—that’s Lacey.

“But what are you doing here?” I ask, the surprise wearing off. “You didn’t say you were coming.”

“You need me.” Lacey announces. “To deal with all this ex shit.”

How does she know? I haven’t even told her about last night with Emerson, or what just happened this morning.

I bite my lip. “I said I was fine.”

Lacey rolls her wide blue eyes. “Yeah, with like five exclamation points. If that isn’t a cry for help, I don’t know what is.”

I pause for another moment, still tense, but then I relax and laugh. Only Lacey could read between the lines like that. She can always see through my bullshit. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” I decide.

“Me too,” Lacey leans in the open window of the Bug, and lifts out a brown paper bag. I can hear the clink of glass inside, and see the top of a bag of chips peeking out the top. Cool Ranch, our go-to comfort snacking. “And I came prepared. Come on, you’re going to tell me everything!”

* * *

A few hours, three beers, and two bags of Cool Ranch Doritos later, and I’ve just about caught Lacey up on everything that’s happened over the last forty-eight hours.

“Shit.” Lacey says at the end of it all. We’re sprawled out in the remains of the living room, surrounded by junk food wrappers and empty bottles.

I turn my head and look over from where I’m laying down on the floor in front of the couch. “That’s all you’ve got to say?” I ask, “I tell you the great and epic tale of how I went from fine to a total fucking mess in like, a day flat, and the best you’ve got to offer is, ‘shit’? Aren’t you the English major?”

“Hey!” Lacey hurls a pillow at my head. “Give me a minute to process here.”

I wait, scavenging crumbs from the bottom of the chip bag. The beer has sent a pleasant buzz through my body, and with Lacey around, I’m beginning to feel more like myself, and less like the whirlwind of pure emotion I was earlier at the beach.

Finally, Lacey sits up. She waves her bottle dramatically. “Now I’ve had time to think about it, I’m ready to share my thoughts on your weird and messed up life.”

I beat out a drum-roll on the bare floorboards.

“What I have to say to you is this,” she continues. “Motherfucker.”

I blink.

“
Mother fucker.
” Lacey says again, drawing out each syllable.

I collapse into giggles.

“What? It’s true. He breaks your heart into a million fucking pieces, and then has the nerve to judge you for your choices? Asshole.” Lacey takes a long gulp of beer, and then gives a burp.

“Real classy.” I joke, to distract myself from the other things she said.

“That’s me, babe!” She winks. Then her smile softens. “Honestly, hon, I don’t know what to say. How do you feel about it?”

“I told you…” I trail off, uncomfortable at the question.

“Ah, but you haven’t.” Lacey points her bottle at me. “You’ve said what happened, and what he said, and what you said. But you still haven’t actually told me about how all of this is making you feel.”

I don’t reply. What can I say? That despite everything, I forget myself when I look in his eyes? That one touch from him, and it’s like my body is burning up, so full of desire I can hardly see straight? No, I can’t tell her any of that. Somehow, admitting out loud what Emerson does to me would be like a betrayal – of Daniel, and the life we’re building together, and everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve. It’s a secret; my dark secret, just another to add to the collection.

“I feel like… I need another beer.” I say finally, reaching for the bag. It’s empty. “You only bought one pack?” I cry, making my voice louder and more dramatic to distract Lacey from her still un-answered question.

She gives me a look, like she knows exactly what I’m doing. “I didn’t think this was a three-alarm fire,” she points out.

“There’s a liquor store in town,” I suggest. “We could just cut the crap and get some tequila. And pizza. I’m hungry,” I frown, yawning. I’ve lost track of time with our afternoon gabfest, but I know I haven’t eaten since… The PB&J sandwich I cobbled together last night? I shake my head. No wonder the beer is doing a number on me already, I’m running on nothing except fumes here.

Lacey struggles upright. “Ooh, wait! I know what we need to do!” She crawls over to her purse, and rummages around. She pulls out a bright blue flyer. “Party time!” she announces. “I saw this on my way into town. A big thing, down at the harbor tonight.”

“A party? No fucking way.” I shut it down quickly, before she can get carried away.

Too late.

“But it’ll be fun, just what you need!” Lacey proclaims. “Food, booze, some dancing, some cute guys… That last part’s for me,” she adds, climbing to her feet. “You have enough to worry about, with Daniel and the Ex.”

“Lacey, I can’t.” I say, feeling a tremor of nerves. “Something like this, he’ll be there, for sure.”

“And you’re going to let him run your life?” Lacey challenges.

“Yes!” I cry. “Just until I leave Cedar Cove.”

“Psh.” Lacey shakes her head so fast her hair flies out in a tangled halo around her head. “I never figured you for a pussy.”

“I’m not.” I try not to let her bait me. “I’m being sensible. The last thing I want is another awful run-in with him!”

“Or maybe you’re just scared it won’t be awful,” Lacey adds, her eyes gleaming. “Maybe, you’re afraid that if you see him again, you won’t be able to resist dropping your panties and having one last goodbye fuck.”

My chest constricts. Am I really that obvious?

“Fine.” I spit, getting to my feet. “We’ll go. I don’t care.”

Anything to prove her wrong.

“Yay!” Lacey claps her hands together. “You and me, out on the town… After you go do something about that.” She gestures up and down, from my head to my bare feet. “I love you, but you look a mess.”

“It’s just a cookout,” I protest, reaching up to pat at my now-tangled hair. “Everyone’ll be totally casual.”

“All the more reason to look drop dead fucking hot,” Lacey declares. “Come on, don’t you want to look fine for the Ex?” she asks mischievously.

“No!” I gasp, folding my arms across my chest.

She sighs. “Fine then. Look good for me. I’m the one who has to stare at your raggedy-ass face all night. Just a little bit of mascara…” she comes over to me and begins prodding at my face and shirt. “And maybe a cute top, and a skirt, and some lipstick…”

“OK, OK!” I bat her hands away. I know Lacey well enough to know, she doesn’t quit. Better I save us both the hassle of her bugging me all night. “I give up. Do whatever you want to me!”

“That’s what all the boys say.” Lacey winks.

Since I’m already buzzed on the beer, and I figure we have a long night of drinking ahead of us, I convince Lacey to trade the Bug for a pair of bicycles. We ride into town, unsteady on the rusted old frames, making wide loops on the empty road.

“You should have told me about the biking part before we got dressed!” Lacey huffs along beside me, her short pink sundress hiked up high as she pedals.

“Like that would have made a difference,” I laugh. “You didn’t bring anything that hits past your thigh!”

“Yeah, but maybe I wouldn’t have worn my lucky thong.” She shoots back, sticking her tongue out at me.

“Guess my panties aren’t so boring now,” I tease, sing-song. We’ve already fought about my dull taste in underwear. Lacey brought a backseat full of clothing—enough to last a month—and she insisted on dressing me up in a short, white denim mini and colorful print tank. She layered my wrists with metallic bracelets that jangle in the night, and finished off the look by scrunching my damp hair into loose ringlets, and painting me with blusher and gloss.

When I saw the result in the mirror, I have to admit, I was pleased. If I’m going to venture back into town again, there’s nothing wrong with looking good for it, I decide.

Now, as we reach Main Street and cycle down to the harbor, I feel my nerves kick, all over again. I can already hear the music and laughter from the crowd down by the docks, and I wonder if Emerson is among them, knocking back a beer with friends. Or worse, a girl.

“Don’t make that face!” Lacey cries, “That face is banned tonight, you understand?”

“It’s my face!” I protest weakly.

“Yeah, and you look like you’re heading in to have Marta rip hot wax of your va-jay-jay.” Lacey retorts.

I can’t help but giggle.

“See? Better!” Lacey cheerleads. “Trust me, by the end of the night, I’ll have you forgetting this guy ever existed. Me, or tequila, anyway.”

We reach the harbor and chain the bikes up against a railing. I look around. It’s early, but there’s already a huge crowd. Music is blasting loud, with food stalls and tables set up serving fresh shrimp and crabcakes. There’s a makeshift bar with beers and liquor, and the party continues all the way across the harbor: boats playing more music, lights strung up along the dock. I see locals, and unfamiliar faces; tourists and college kids, and families too. It’s a real party, and I can’t help but feel a small sense of anticipation.