Arizona Heat (18 page)

I stand at the steps of my apartment and find myself in a foreign land. It’s amazing how something I used to love doesn't seem to matter anymore. I take my time climbing the steps and pause at the door, suddenly wishing that I brought someone with me. The door creaks open and I cross the threshold, bracing for whatever lies ahead.

There are clothes tossed around the entire apartment and two week
s
’ worth of dirty dishes in the sink. It smells slightly rancid and I can’t quite pin point where it’s coming from. I roll my eyes and head into the bedroom where Simon is passed out with an empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. I glance at my watch to double check that it is in fact ten thirty in the morning on a weekday.

Simon doesn't budge as I walk around the room, packing my favorite clothes and meaningful items. There’s less than I thought there would be. It only takes two suitcases and a duffel bag to collect the items I want. Everything else reminds me of the life I planned on building with Simon and I don't want any of it. I just want him out of my life, even if it means I give up my apartment and almost everything in it. Looking around the living room, I notice all of the photographs are of Simon and I from college. Everything in life happens for a reason, I believe that, but I hate thinking back on all of the friendships I let dwindle while I was focusing on him.

“Josie.
”
I hear my name called out from the other side of the room. It comes out as a low slur and I quickly draw the conclusion Simon is still very drunk. I turn around to find him standing in the doorway, swaying back and forth with his head downturned.

“I was just leaving,
”
I say flatly, carrying my bags toward the front door.

“No, don’t leave,
”
he says in a whiney voice as he stumbles over to me. Simon can barely keep his eyes open as he drops his head on my shoulder, nearly pushing me over.

“Simon,
”
I warn, pushing him backward. He stumbles, catching himself on an end table before knocking a lamp on the floor with a loud crash. I feel my blood start to boil and turn toward the door before saying something I might regret.

“I’m so sorry, Josie,
”
he says and starts to cry. I don't tell him it’s okay because frankly it’s not. “I miss you so much. Please don’t leave. I love you.”

“It’s over, Simon.”

“It doesn't have to be over,
”
he whines.

“You cheated on me,
”
I spat, surprising myself at the hatred in my voice. He winces like I’ve slapped him and his face turns sour. I contemplate what I should do next. He needs to lie down and as much as I’d love to watch him pass out in a pile of his own barf, I’m still a decent human being.

“Come on, you’re going back to bed,
”
I say, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to help him back into the bedroom.

“We’re going back to bed?
”
he asks with a sigh.

“
You
are going back to bed.”

“I want to make love to you.”

“Um, no,
”
I scoff, throwing his limp body on the edge of the mattress. He moans and grips his stomach with a pained face. I grab a trash bin and place it next to the nightstand before bringing him a glass of water. He smiles up at me from the bed and I want to slap him. “Goodbye, Simon,
”
I say, turning toward the door.

“Josie, wait,
”
he says.

I’m surprised at how sober he suddenly sounds so I answer him. “What?”

“Give me another chance.”

I feel my face get hot and see red. “You had two years of second chances and you wasted that balls deep in another woman. Meanwhile, I’m busting my ass at school to build a future for us while you sit around all day letting your life fall apart. You said you were upset, you said you were tired, you said you were fucking depressed. I call bullshit!”

“I lost my entire future,
”
he says. “So I acted out? Get over it.”

“
Get over it?
Are you kidding me? Screw you, Simon.”

“I gave you everything.”

I can’t help myself, I get up in his face. “You gave me nothing. You’re a liar, and a cheater, I don’t trust you, I never will, and I’m done with you.”

“You won’t do better than me,
”
he challenges.

“Really? I already did,
”
I spat and immediately regret. A comment like that means stooping to his level of intentionally hurtful comments. His eyes get wide as realization sets in. The hurt on his face turns to anger and before I know it, I feel a sharp pain run through my face and everything goes momentarily black.

When I open my eyes, I see Simon hurled over the trashcan. I raise my hand to my face and find blood coming from below my eyebrow. Brushing past him, I stumble into the bathroom and gasp at the red mark on my cheek. Did Simon slap me? It takes a minute to recall the blow and process what followed. I must have fell over and hit my eye on the nightstand. Pain radiates through my entire face but the rage I feel is stronger.

“You son of a–
”
I march back into the bedroom where Simon is on the floor next to the trash bin. “Get up asshole,
”
I say bitterly. Simon attempts to look up at me but can barely lift his head.

“Look at my face,
”
I command.

His eyes get wide as he realizes what he’s done. “I’m so sor–
”
I don’t let him finish his sentence before lifting the barf filled trash bin and dumping it on his head. As far as I’m concerned, this isn't my apartment anymore and therefore not my mess. He sits up and looks down at his drenched clothes. The smell is appalling.

“What the–”

“Do not call me. Do not try and find me. Stay in the apartment or leave the apartment, I don't give a shit. As far as you are concerned, I don’t exist anymore. You’re lucky I’m not a violent person or I would fuck you up right now. Thanks for wasting five years of my life asshole.”

I don’t wait to hear his response before grabbing my bags and never looking back. Forward is the only direction I’m concerned with anymore. I could spend the rest of my life dwelling on my failed engagement and everything I missed out on, but that’s not me anymore. I’m finally free to be my own person and there are more pressing matters, situations that are literally life and death. Reagan has shown me what it means be myself. He left me alone with my thoughts when I needed it and was a shoulder when I had to cry. I’ve discovered what it means to love another person as an extension of yourself. Reagan inspires me, supports me, and most importantly makes me feel happy in a way Simon never did. Not the temporary or relative happiness I’ve become accustomed to but an overwhelming feeling of joy. I feel like the world is possible when I’m with him. He has remained completely selfless while fighting cancer and with him or without him, I am a better person for just having known Reagan. If I become half the person he is then I will have lived my life fully.

I open the door to Reagan’s empty hotel room and place my bags in the corner. The room looks so empty without him here. I idly wonder what’s taking so long at the label while I clean my face off in the bathroom. My eyebrow has already started turning yellow and I can tell I’ll have a nasty bruise on the side of my face in a few hours. I settle in under the covers and inhale Reagan’s scent. My face still throbs but I nuzzle the pillow, letting my body relax and drift off.

My eyes flutter open as I feel an arm wrap around my waist. Reagan sighs from behind me and I smile at the warmth of his embrace.

“I missed you,
”
I murmur.

“I missed you more,
”
he whispers in my ear.

“How was your meeting?
”
I ask.

“Good,
”
he says simply. “I see you got your stuff.”

“Yeah, there’s less than I thought there would be.”

There is an awkward silence and I realize what he really wants to know. I won’t be able to hide my face much longer so I take a deep breath and turn over to face him. He smiles at me before furrowing his brow at my somber expression. I lift my head so he can see the bruise on my face and his mouth forms a thin line.

“What happened to your eye?
”
he asks, anger already apparent in his voice.

“Um,
”
I stutter.

“Josie,
”
he says, warning me to tell the truth.

“So when I went to the apartment, Simon was there but he was passed out.
”
Reagan clenches his jaw but remains silent, waiting for me to finish the story. “I packed up all the things I wanted and put them by the door. I was just about to leave when Simon came into the living room. He was really drunk so I helped him back into bed and got him some water.”

I take a deep breath and pause, making sure I word the next part correctly. “He asked me to give him another chance and I may have started telling him off. We started fighting and I mentioned you which made him mad and he was drunk–”

“What did he do?
”
Reagan asks through clenched teeth.

“He slapped me which made me fall over and I hit my face on the nightstand. Really, I’m okay. He was drunk and didn't mean to.
”
I don’t know why I’m defending him. Probably because Reagan could kill him.

Reagan gets up and starts putting on his shoes. He looks a trillion times angrier than our night in Chicago which I didn't know was possible. I walk over to him cautiously, knowing better than to come up on someone who’s angry.

“Reagan,
”
I whisper softly, reaching out my hand to touch his face. His body radiates fury as he gently pushes my hand back down to my side. I give him credit for not lashing out, not yet at least. “You don’t know where my apartment is,
”
I point out in an attempt to deter him from leaving. He pauses for a moment before lacing up his shoes and walking over to my bag. I eye him curiously as he reaches into it and pulls out my wallet, looking at my license for the address.

Reagan walks to the middle of the room where I stand and places a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Please don’t go,
”
I beg quietly. He shakes his head and places a hand over the bruise on my face, looking remorseful. It twists my heart to think he somehow blames himself for this even though I told him I wanted to go alone.

“You don’t have to do whatever it is you're planning on doing. I want you to stay with me.
”
I take a deep breath and grab his face, forcing him to look at me. Deep brown eyes stare back at me but I don't think he can see me. His glazed over expression sends chills down my spine. He’s going to do something bad, something he’ll regret if the media finds out.

I watch him turn away and move toward the door. Panic runs through me as he gets closer and closer to the threshold. I know deep down that no begging or holding onto him will convince him to stay. He thinks he's doing the right thing by trying to defend me but I don’t want him to go, I can’t let him go.

“Wait!
”
I scream as he disappears down the hallway. His heavy footsteps echo against the walls as I stand frozen in the middle of the room. My mind runs in a million different directions as I try to come up with something I can do or something I can say to bring him back to me. His footsteps stop, sending fear through my body. Time is running out. I run into the middle of the hallway, looking both ways to see if he’s already gone. Reagan stands by the elevator, back straight with his arms crossed like he’s ready for a fight. The bell dings and the elevator doors open. My forehead moistens with nervous sweat and I search my brain for something, anything to say.

“Reagan, I love you,
”
I say loud enough for it to echo through the hallway. There it is, I said it. I was looking for the right moment to voice my feelings. This seems like a good enough time as any.

Reagan pauses at the elevator opening, tilting his head to the side as if fighting something inside himself. Seconds feel like minutes as my heart pounds against my chest, waiting for him to make a move.

Reagan turns to look at me and for a few seconds I think he’s still going to walk into the elevator. Then he starts taking long strides in my direction, closing the space between us. His lips crush into mine and I’m forced back into the hotel room and up against the wall. I wrap my arms around his neck and savor the feel of him against me. It feels so good to have him here that I feel tears form in the corner of my eyes. He pulls back, resting his forehead on mine with heavy breaths.

“I love you too,
”
he says, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. I let out a short laugh, overwhelmed with happiness and pleasure. My hands find his face and I rub the stubble on his chin, smiling like I’ve won the lottery. I needed him to know that no matter what, even the cancer and lives on opposite sides of the country, I love him. Nothing is going to change that.

I lay next to Reagan on the hotel bed, sated and utterly content. He traces a finger along the curve of my hips and kisses the top of my nose. I smile and bury my head into the warmth of his bare chest, inhaling the smell of sweat and body wash.

“You know if I ever see that fucker, I’ll kill him.”

My head shoots up to find an amused expression dancing on Reagan’s face. I glare at him and he laughs. “I can take care of myself,
”
I mutter.

“I don’t doubt that,
”
he says with a playful smile.

“Besides, I got him back.”

“Oh?
”
he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I dumped a trash can full of throw up on his head,
”
I say proudly. “His own throw up.”

Reagan throws his head back and laughs. “That’s my girl,
”
he says, wrapping me into his arms. “But if you ask me, he still got off easy.”

“Maybe, but he doesn't know how to use a washing machine,
”
I say with a smirk.

“Lazy ass.”

“Enough about him,
”
I say, wrapping my leg around his. “How was your meeting with the label?”

“You already asked me that.”

“And you didn't really answer me.”

Reagan sighs and nuzzles his mouth in my hair. “They want me to play a show here.”

“Really? When?”

“Friday,
”
he says with a drawn out breath.

“Friday, as in two days from now?
”
I ask with a gasp. Reagan nods and my heart sinks. “Do you feel well enough to play a show?”

“It would be shortened, only forty-five minutes,
”
he says with a shrug.

“But are you
well
enough?”

“Yes,
”
he snaps. I jerk backward, surprised at his outburst. “I’m sorry, it’s just frustrating,
”
he says, pulling me gently back to his chest. “No, I don’t know if I’ll be okay but I want to try.”

“Okay,
”
I whisper, understanding why he needs to do this.

“Will you come?
”
he asks.

“To the show?”

Reagan nods.

“Okay, I’ll come.
”
He smiles a smile so beautiful, I can’t help but smile back at him. “But I’ll only come if Francesca can come with me and I want to be on the floor right in the front.”

“Why would you want to be on the floor when you could stand backstage?
”
he asks with a frown.

“I want to be where the action is. I’m there on the floor or not at all.
”
I roll over and cross my arms so he knows how serious I am.

“Fine,
”
he says, rolling his eyes. “But for the record, I feel you’d be safer backstage.”

“Duly noted.”