Preservation (2 page)

I gripped the doorframe to steady my balance, a sharp kick to the gut almost bringing me to my knees. Working to focus my eyes on the floor, I blinked and concentrated on pulling my gaze from the sight in front of me.

Then it focused on her ring, and the location of her left hand.

“Ahhhh!” I charged toward them and Jamie let out a half-laugh, half-shriek as she slipped off of him and jumped away from the dryer and up against the wall. Barreling straight past her, I tackled the prick, pounding into his jaw with more force than I’d ever known I’d had.

“Ryan! Oh my God, Ryan! Stop it, damn it, stop it!” Her voice pierced my ears, the anger in it only adding fuel to my rage. She was pissed at
me
? My fiancée, pissed at
me
, in my own home, for beating the shit out of her lover? Was she serious?

The naked ape I was wrestling swung back and I took a hit, but wasn’t down for long. I threw the entire weight of my body into a hurricane-force shove, aiming for his chest, my hands gripping his shoulders and knee to his groin. He grunted and stumbled back, hitting the wall between the machines and the closet. I had him cornered.
Perfect.
I tossed off my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves.

“Who the hell do you think you are, you piece of shit? You picked the wrong girl to fuck around with, man. Do you see that ring on her finger?” I shoved him back again and he took a swing, missing.

“Oh I see it,” he snapped, voice gruff. He spit blood on my shirt and wiped his lips, his jaw already swelling up. “She doesn’t seem to care. You’re obviously not doing it for her, pretty boy.”
Oh, no. He didn’t.

It was time to pretty up his face.

My fist plowed into his jaw, wiping that grin right off , and then he reversed the game, charging toward me and rushing me out of the laundry room, my back smacking up against the hallway wall. Scraps, kicks, and punches passed between us, my knuckles growing bloodier by the second.

“Jason,
stop
it! Ryan, let him go, damn it, I don’t love you! I don’t want to marry you!”

Jamie’s voice stopped us both, the ape named Jason staggering backward, turning to face her. She tossed him his shirt and he began buckling up his pants.

“You two can sort this on your own. I’m out of here, Jamie. Call me when you’ve handled this chump.” Jason puffed out his chest and adjusted his shirt, walking straight between us, heading for the door.
Oh, he’s a real winner.
It took everything in me not to jump him again, but I had an unfaithful slut of a fiancée to deal with.

“How could you do this?” I let my back sag against the wall.

“You heard me, Ryan. I don’t want to marry you.” She crossed her arms and sighed, leaning against the opposite wall. Thank God, her clothes were back on.

“And this is how you tell me?” My voice cracked, the pain breaking through the anger, filled with disbelief that my whole world was caving in around me. My meeting with the publisher, my future career, and now this girl. This woman who I’d thought just ten minutes ago was my sun, my compass, my life. Gone in an instant.

“I haven’t been happy, Ryan. If you’d paid an ounce of attention to me, maybe you’d have noticed that.”

“What—attention? That’s what this is about?
Attention
? I thought I gave you a lot of attention just last night.”

“The sex is great, Ryan. It’s not about that. Sex is the one thing you have going for you, that’s no secret.”

Oh. My. God.
The one thing?
I let out a breath of disbelief at what I was hearing.

She continued. “But it’s always writing
this
, writing
that
. You’re always lost in your little world of stupid, fake characters, and I just won’t take a backseat to your childish imagination anymore. Frankly, it’s a bore.”

“I almost had a publishing deal this morning, Jamie. That’s anything but boring, are you fucking kidding me? What does lover boy do? Something more respectable? What, is he a pool boy? A mechanic? You’re throwing our whole relationship away over my career choice?”

“Oh, aren’t you completely full of yourself. He’s a hockey player, thank you very much. A pro, might I add.” She dropped her arms to her sides and started for the kitchen. I followed.

“Oh, yeah, so much more respectable. He hits pucks on ice with wooden sticks. Whoopty-fuckin-do!” I shook my head, watching her grab a plastic bag from the kitchen before making her way to the bedroom. Remaining in the living room, I watched her pace the bedroom. She was completely indifferent. Cold. Remorseless.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, but it’s over. Really, you’ll be better off. More time for your imaginary friends.” She gave a wave of dismissal as she tossed a pair of clothes and a toothbrush into the bag. “I was planning on telling you tonight. Now you know. It’s done.”

The shock and anger that emanated off of me started to evolve, shifting into sudden desperation and sadness at the realization that this woman was really leaving me. She was really ending this, and in a matter of minutes, it would no longer be Ry and Jamie, Jamie and Ry, the sweethearts from college, the ones who wanted to live in a little farmhouse in the mountains with two dogs and a cat. It would just be Ryan, the guy with a writing degree and no writing career, the apparent sex God with nothing else going for him except a little charm and some good looks.

“Jamie...I wanted...” My voice cracked again.
Traitor.
“I wanted to give you everything you ever wanted, you’re my whole world. Wanted to give you everything—”

“Yeah, well you can’t, okay? You can’t give me everything because you don’t have what I want.”

And that did it.

I dropped to my knees next to the couch, my body sagging into the side of the cushions, palm gripping my forehead. “How could you....how can you say this?” I pulled my gaze from the ground to meet her, and damn it, I could feel my eyes watering, the emotions about to steamroll over me and expose me at my weakest.

She so didn’t deserve to witness that.

“I’m sure you’ll make someone else happy.” She crossed her arms again, glancing at her watch.

“Someone else?”

“Trust me, you’ll survive. You get attached easily, love easily. There are plenty of pathetic women out there just begging for a Romeo like you; plenty of them willing to put up with your joke of a career. I’m not one of them.”

“Get out.”

“You should never have hit Jason. He’s a public figure now. He can’t have a busted jaw; there will be pictures of him. I can’t believe you—”

“Get out! I said
get out
!”

Her eyebrows rose and she adjusted the bag in her hand, rolling her eyes before turning for the door. “Pfft. Fine. I’ll be back to get my things later. Have a nice life, Ryan.”

The door slammed behind her and I couldn’t think about life. All I could think about was the end—the death of something that wasn’t real, never was in the first place. I’d been completely delusional, unable to see what was right in front of me. She never loved me, and the love I had for her would slowly drive me on the edge of insanity now. I rolled off my knees with a groan and sat on the floor, legs propped up, red knuckles stationed on my thighs.

Silence moved in and surrounded the apartment, making the blaring vow in my mind painfully loud.

Never again.

PROLOGUE

Running. Something I’m really fond of. Even now, at twenty-five, more than ten years after I discovered my passion for it. It doesn’t matter which direction I’m going. Either way, I’m headed somewhere other than where I was to begin with, and I alone can determine the direction I want to go. I’ve mastered the art of running; a regular pro beginning at age thirteen, when dad took off. Hitting the pavement when his white Chevy pulled away, I chased the car as long as I could. When it was out of sight, I didn’t stop. Just kept going, slowing to a jog before picking up speed again, heading toward the golden, California horizon like it was the last drop of water in the desert.

I knew what was awaiting me back home. Ashtrays hurled at the walls, echoes of hysterical sobs, the fridge that wouldn’t be filled, the dog that wouldn’t be walked. The list of responsibilities that would then be mine went on and on. Thinking back, I’m not entirely sure how I knew at thirteen that my childhood, my innocence, had been taken from me in a matter of seconds...you know, being a child at the time and all. How do children even understand those things when they’re faced with them
?
I guess a switch is flipped; a sobering one. In that exact moment when my dad walked out the door with his trash bags full of clothes, I just knew.

So fully aware that I’d been deemed the adult in the house and my mother the child, I lied to the hole-in-the-wall clothing boutique up the road that I was fifteen so I could get a job. So I could start putting money away for a car. The shop owner actually bought it and I forged the signature on the underage work permit form. A job meant money, and money meant the means to get a car, and a car meant freedom. It all equaled the ability to travel much longer distances than my feet could carry me during my runs.

Somehow, I stumbled through my teens and made it out alive, escaping with a few cuts and bruises from the typical teenage experience, along with a few wounds no teenager should ever have to face. My drug-dealing boyfriend took my virginity and I had no idea at the time what was so wrong with an older twenty-something having sex with me, a sixteen year old. Age was just a number. And sexual experience was important. It was the right of passage for grown-ups, after all. Besides, he did me a favor, drugging my drinks half the time, effectively saving me from having to remember all the lovely details.

I never crossed paths with the high-school-graduation and prom-dress-shopping milestones, but I did eventually hitch my way north to Washington State when I was eighteen, immediately falling in love with Seattle upon realizing their gloomy days weren’t just a myth. A break from the relentless California sunshine was a relief, and Northwesterners were different. Good different. A lot of them didn’t like Californians. Some of them were still living in the Kurt Cobain era and believed everyone else should be, too. Most of them loved good music. We were instant soul mates.

So, here I am, still living in Seattle, embarking on a collegiate career for the first time; a late bloomer and yet older than anyone else my age. My mom moved here a few years back after she sobered up, but her health took a turn for the worst and I’ve been taking care of her ever since. It wasn’t until just recently I’d been able to swing some tuition money for classes. Life is good now; promising, albeit a few financial road blocks here and there.

But this isn’t a story about my coming of age or all the shit I went through growing up. It’s a love story about how I met Ryan. How he stole my running shoes and put reality in perspective for me. In the most infuriating, blindingly beautiful way possible, a way that only he could. And how I wrestled with his influence until the inevitable instilled me with a brand new kind of fear—regret.

1. DETENTION

“Is there a problem, Ms. Parker?” My new professor glared at me from the front of the classroom, no doubt waiting for me to explain myself. His hazel eyes burned into mine, his perfect, lean body resting on the edge of his desk. His arms folded, he twirled a pencil between his fingers, cocking an eyebrow when I met his question with nothing but flushed cheeks and a sigh. With my back to the classroom door, I stood gripping my books to my chest, ready to dart right back out of the room.
Shit.
This was only the third class and I’d managed to make a fool out of myself, again, late and out of breath. The sea of faces followed Mr. Campbell’s gaze and I quickly sank into my chair.

“No, sorry. Again,” I muttered, pulling my laptop from my bag. Being late wasn’t the problem. Well, it was. But what was worse was the fact that I was soaking wet. The past three classes, I’d managed to parade through the door like a wet mouse, my boots sloshing across the floor and my trench coat buckle rustling obnoxiously against the cotton fabric beneath it as I made my way to my seat. And let’s not forget the gear I lugged into the classroom. I practically carried my life in my book bag, not to mention my massive, ratty duffle bag that could take out an entire army if I swung it just right.