A Love So Tragic (7 page)

“Yeah, of course. I just wanted to tell you that. Just needed to get it off my chest.”

“I wish things had gone differently too. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, you too, Nic. Bye.”

And with that, he hangs up. Any hope I’ve managed to cling to just crashed into a flaming pile of shit on my porch. Rejection slaps me in the face, followed by guilt because I had no business calling him.

I put the phone in my back pocket and swipe my hand down my face. I lean against the rail and stare off into the woods, refusing for the first time in three months to let myself cry. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here, but Jen opens the door, which means I’ve been out here long enough for her to worry. 

She hands me my glass of wine and rubs her hand over my back. “You have to let him go now, Peyton. Just let him go.”

The fuck it's cold! It shouldn't be this cold already.

A gust of frigid wind howls between the buildings as I step around a homeless man sprawled out against a building. Lindsey smiles at me, squeezing my hand as we continue down 59
^th
Street.

“You sure you're okay? You've been quiet” she says.

“Huh?” I narrow my gaze at her, pulling my coat closed. “Oh, yeah. It's just this thing with work. The plans for one of those big banks they’re building out in Jersey...just a little fucked up. That's all.”

Arching a brow, she huffs, and the air instantly turns to a white cloud of fog. “You work too much.”

“I know.”

The crowd in front of us stops at a crosswalk, except for one person who steps out into the middle of the road. A horn blares and someone yells, that noise in and of itself signifies New York to me. We cross the street to Central Park.

“Is it wrong that I love this place so much?” Lindsey asks. “It's just so New York, but not, you know?” She drags me through the flock of tourists, hurrying down the steps. She's talking, but not one word she's saying registers with me. It's all just a hum in the back of my head because I can't stop thinking about Peyton calling me this morning. 

“Nic!” she elbows my side. “Hot chocolate or coffee?”

“Oh, uh, coffee.”

She shakes her head as she walks over to a vendor. While I wait, I notice an elderly couple sitting on a bench. The woman's arm is looped through the man's arm, her wrinkled hands clutching to him tightly, and they're smiling at one another. They've lived their lives together and they're happy. They look in love, more so than most people do, and it makes me think of Peyton, not Lindsey.
Fucking hell.

I feel over my pocket. The hard box holding a two karat ring feels wrong in this moment. After Olivia's funeral, I told myself I'd been too busy worrying about what I'd lost and not appreciating what I have. I told myself Peyton was Peyton, that she's my past, that as shitty as it is, she's with Isaac. I convinced myself that she is happy, and that's what made it easy.

And then she called me.

Even after everything that has happened between us, after how fucked up she left me, and four years of not speaking to her, I had to stop myself from saying, “I love you” when I got off the phone—I had to
force
myself to tell Lindsey that I love her, and I had to
stop
myself from saying it to Peyton this morning. As much as I want to say us ending was all Peyton's fault, it was mine too. It was mine too...

Just as the elderly couple slowly rises from the bench, Lindsey trots over and hands a steaming Styrofoam cup to me. She glances at the empty seat. “Let's just sit here,” she says. “I love this spot,” 

“Sure.” I smile, put my arm around her, and walk to the bench. “Whatever you want.”

Lindsey cups the hot chocolate with both hands, letting the steam swirl up around her face. She inhales and exhales, the grin plastered to her face growing deeper. “I just love it here so much,” her voice is nearly drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the city swarming around us.

“The trees, the lake,” she says. “There's something about it that makes you feel good, you know. A little piece of heaven in the middle of madness.” She takes a sip and looks at me. “It's just...” she drifts off into her thoughts and I nod.

My mind is not here. It's on Peyton.
I'm sorry.
She said she's sorry.

Why, after all this time is she apologizing and why do I even give a shit? It makes me angry. It makes me feel pathetic. And it makes me uncertain of whether I should take this ring out of my pocket after all.

It’s just past Thanksgiving. And I’m dreading this Christmas without her and Daddy. It’s going to feel empty not having anywhere to go, not having Momma call and sing
Oh, Christmas Tree
to me at six o’clock in the morning.

I’ve gotten better about dealing with the loss though. I’ve learned to ignore it, that’s the best I can do. Their house was sold months ago, and I finally had her cell phone cut off, so now I can’t call and listen to her voice. I regret that. The thing about losing someone you love is you don’t stop loving them just because they’re gone. It’s been seven years since I said goodbye to my daddy, and I still love him just as much. Death doesn’t kill love, just the person you love.

I hang the last glass ornament on the tree and I sit on the couch to admire my work. Isaac’s across the room sprawled out on the sofa watching an NFL game.

“Are your parents coming in town for Christmas?” I ask.

A whistle blows and Isaac sits up, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares intently at the TV. “Damn it, Jarvis! Run the damn ball for Christ's sake, would you!” he shouts, looking over when he realizes I must have said something to him. “What, baby?”

“Are your parents coming in town?” Just saying that causes a twinge of jealousy to course through me. He has his parents, and I have memories. That shouldn’t make me angry, and I try not to let it, but it does.

“Oh, yeah. I think so.” His attention goes back to the television and he tosses his hands up as the running back fumbles the ball. “Fuck, man!”

My phone vibrates next to me with a text from Jen:

Aiden's having his Christmas party again this year. You guys coming? It's next weekend. Saturday.

Aiden and Isaac played baseball together in high school. We go to his Christmas party every year and all of the girls fawn over Isaac because he's, well, he's Isaac Miller. He's been on the cover of
Sports Illustrated;
he's been on the
Today Show
. He's a local celebrity, and to say it annoys me would be an understatement.

“Hey, babe,” I shout over the ruckus of the game. “Babe?” Isaac glances at me. ”Aiden’s having his Christmas party next weekend, want to go?”

“Huh,” he glances back at the TV then back at me, “Oh, nah. I’ve got to go to Baltimore for that Under Armour promotion thing. Remember?”

“No.” I roll my eyes, annoyed with his lack of organization. I have to call his PA to know what his calendar looks like, and that gets old.

“Huh, I could have sworn I told you. I’m flying out Saturday, be back Sunday. Sorry, baby. Go if you want. It'd be good for you.”

Jen pulls up to Aiden’s ranch-style house and puts the car in park. “So, remind me, what did Isaac have to go do now? The season’s over. He does know that, right?”

“Some promotion thing in Baltimore.”

“Huh. He’s outta town more than he's in town. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

I unfasten the seatbelt and shrug. “It’s his job.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s worth it since he makes bank,” she laughs as she climbs out of the car. “Lucky bitch.”

The icy wind whips around me, making my skin tighten and prickle when I step out of the car. I pull my wool coat closed as we walk toward the house. The front door opens, music and laughter filtering out into the night sky as two girls stagger onto the porch. They huddle together, place cigarettes to their lips, and light them, shaking from the cold. I follow Jen up the concrete stairs and one of the girls squints against the yellow porch light.

“Jen? Peyton?” she says excitedly, and I recognize her voice. Brianna, Aiden's fiancé.

Before we can say anything, she’s wrapped her arms around us both, her cigarette blazing next to Jen’s hair as she squishes us together. “It’s so good to see you guys.” 

This party is like a high school reunion every year, and for the first few years, I used to wait anxiously to see if Nic would show up, but not long after I got married, he moved off and stopped hanging out with most of the people from high school.

“Yep.” I nod and wriggle out of her grasp. “It's good to see you too, Brianna.”

She pulls a drag from her cigarette and grins. “Getting older sucks ass, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck yeah, it does,” Jen groans as she pushes the front door open.

The heat inside serves as a relief. I slip my coat off and fold it over my arm just as Aiden stumbles up, a red solo cup in his hand. He loses his balance, and beer sloshes over the edges as he slumps against the wall. 

Jen rubs her hand over his spiky blond hair like she’s scruffing a dog behind the ears. “Geez, you drunk. It's only ten o'clock. You're gonna be puking before midnight.”

“Nah. Not gonna happen this time,” he laughs as he grabs me and pulls me in for a hard hug. My cheek smoshes against his soft chest. “Your dumbass husband skip out?” he asks.

“He had some Under Armour thing,” I say as I toss my coat over a chair.

“Man, the ladies are gonna be pissed.” He smiles. “That's how I used to get the single ones over here. Back in my days as a bachelor, I’d throw epic parties, and promise all the single girls they could meet Isaac Miller, then I’d ply them with alcohol, get them three-sheets-to-the-wind, and, well, you know...”

“Yeah,” I smirk at him. “I get it, and gross, Aiden.”

“Oh, what the hell ever,” Jen laughs. “You look like the guy from
Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs,
you know the one that wore the diaper and chicken suit? What girl wants that?”

“A drunk girl.” Aiden pokes her with his finger, spilling beer over her shirt. “That's who. It's how I hooked Brianna.”

“Oh, for the love of...” Jen walks to the kitchen to get a towel and I follow her. 

“Tell Isaac he owes me one, Peyton,” he shouts as we shove our way through the crowded living room.

“God, he's such an ass,” Jen says with a groan. She grabs two cups from the counter before pumping the handle to the keg. “Annoying as shit.”

“And you, my dear, sweet, horny friend,” I playfully arch a brow at her and smirk, “had sex with him...”

Jen glares at me and points the keg spout at me. “Shut your mouth, P. That was four years ago, and I was drunk. Really sloppy drunk.” She pretends to gag at the memory. “And it was so awful. God.” Foam drips down the side of the cup as she hands it to me. “Thanks, now I need to get drunk just from remembering that,” she says and tips her drink back.

A game of beer pong, a round of shots, and two hours later, I’ve got a hard buzz. The ping-pong ball bounces over the tabletop, splashing into the cup, and I squeal right before I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. Still giggling, I turn my head around, my laugh ceasing when my eyes land on Nicolas. He is the last person I expected to see here. The look on my face must make that apparent because he smirks just before he lifts a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam to his lips. My gaze trails over his face, up to the brown hair peeking out from a black, wool toboggan.