Brisé (6 page)

Seeing her audition last week killed me. It almost made me cave right there on the spot, but watching her dance made my resolve that much stronger. She has the talent to go far, and seeing the audience’s reactions to her solo was not a surprise. Everyone was rendered speechless, including the other dancers. She has a gift, and I swear if she doesn’t pursue it, she’s wasting it. I made up my mind and told my parents I wanted to go for my MBA. My two years would be complete this semester, and I would have my business management degree, after taking a light first semester but doubling my course load during summer and a few online classes. Once I got the hang of it, I could focus only on classes and it became easier. I wanted to be able to provide for us and let her dance; I can’t do real estate in New York or wherever we go without connections. It will be a struggle, and I’ll have a lot more coursework, but I
will
do it.

I have enjoyed the normal college parties, but most of my free time has been spent studying and trying to keep my head above water with my course load. Lisa was never intended to be a long-term relationship, but she was a warm body. Neither of us had expectations for our relationship. We enjoyed dates, parties, and sex. She was going off to med school and knew my heart belonged elsewhere. It was easy with us, no expectations and no promises. We were exclusive, but that was by default, we were both to busy to look elsewhere. I hated Phoebe and my mom thinking it was something more. I had met some cool guys, but our college experiences were different. Our lives were different. Phoebe’s cancer made me grow up fast, and I don’t begrudge her for it. Most of the guys at school are worried about where the next party or pair of open legs is, but seeing life and death at such a young age, made me better prepared for my future. I had one goal in my life . . . spend it with Phoebe.

Not everything was about her. I enjoyed other people, but she was always in the back of my mind. I hoped she was enjoying school, dance, and learning to become a bit more independent. Football days were the best, the entire school was like one big family, coming together and cheering our team on. It was those days I loved, then immediately felt guilty because I hadn’t thought of her, or missed her enough that day. I needed to remind myself I needed to do the same thing I wanted of her . . . to live life. Gain new experiences and grow up outside of each other.

Tonight validated my feelings. Seeing her made my heart speed up and my dick harden. She’s only gotten more beautiful with each year that has passed, and it kills me she’s so guarded. I’m going to rekindle what I threw away and revive friendship, then when the time is right, I will romance the shit out of her and make her fall in love with me, again. If it isn’t what she wants when the time comes, I’ll let her go. Everything I’ve done since I was seven-years-old is with her happiness in mind. I won’t change that now.

I want to take her out on dates, not be just her best friend, but her lover. I want to watch her face as I introduce her to new people I have met at school, and I want her to be proud to be on my arm. We have a familiarity about us, but I want that shaken up. I want to get the sweaty palms and want her to get butterflies in her stomach when she sees me. I want our experiences to be new, throw us out of our comfort zone.

Sitting on the porch, wondering if she’ll come home early or stay out all night, I watch her parents walk hand-in-hand to their car. Both called out a greeting attached to a friendly smile. That relationship is a bit strained, but I know they see the real me. They know my heart and have been an integral part of my life. I get lost in my mind and my thoughts. When I hear the scream from the kitchen, I immediately run inside. My mom is gripping the phone, white knuckled, not speaking. Other than her blood curdling scream, she hasn’t made a sound. My dad extracts the phone from her hand and listens to whoever is on the other end. I watch in agony as his face pales in front of me.

“Emily and Scott are gone,” my dad mutters as he hangs up the phone.

I stare at him trying to figure out what he means. I know they’re gone; I watched them leave a few hours ago. “There was an accident at the construction site. The building collapsed, and they had no chance. They were trapped.” My mom is sobbing; my dad is on the verge of a breakdown. I watch them mourning their best friends, and the only thing I can say is, “Phoebe.”

How the hell do you tell her? Who is going to tell her? “Did you hear me, Luke?” My dad breaks in my thoughts. I shake my head, because I didn’t hear a word he said after he told me they were dead. “Scott’s partner from the firm is on the way to tell Phoebe and go over things with you.” My father never agreed with Scott and Emily’s decision to name me as Phoebe’s guardian when I turned eighteen, but he couldn’t change it. I sure as hell didn’t understand all of it, their reasoning or what it would actually mean, but Mr. Wells just told me nothing would change. I would still look out for the best interest of Phoebe. They didn’t pick my parents because they were usually together: vacations, dinners, and pretty much everything else. If something ever happened, it was likely they would all be together, leaving Phoebe alone. They decided this was a logical scenario, and I signed the paperwork almost two years ago. Never expecting I would ever need it. Mr. Wells said the conversation the two of us had when I turned sixteen made their decision.

I remember it so well, I was scared to death to approach Phoebe’s dad, but I manned up and did it.

“Mr. Wells, I’m in love with your daughter.” No pussyfooting around the issue, just straight to the point.

“We’re all well aware of that, son.” He stood up to get Phoebe’s mom. Emily’s sweet smile and kind eyes met mine as she walked into the room. Just like so many years before. “I couldn’t ask for a better man for my little girl, but you know the concerns with her health, she isn’t guaranteed a long life, and she hasn’t led much of a full life.” I wasn’t sure what he was telling me. Is she sick again?

“I don’t understand, Sir. Is the leukemia back?” I heard her mom choke back a sob. My heart clenched in my chest, and it seemed my lungs had forgotten their job of pumping oxygen through my body.

I remember him reaching out and squeezing my shoulder, shaking his head, “No, she’s still in remission. I know you’ve been through it all with us, I just don’t want you to have any illusions as to what life could be like. She loves you, we both know that, and it used to scare me. She’s only thirteen. Grown up in some aspects of life, but still a child in others. Are you sure of your feelings?”

“I am.” No hesitation, no second-guessing. I know I’m only sixteen, but Phoebe Wells has held my heart in her hands for as long as I can remember. “I understand what you’re saying, but please know I’d never force that on her. I want her to love me just as easily as I do her.”

“I know that, Lucas. We trust you with her, and that isn’t easy for us. Don’t abuse it.”

It was then I formulated my plan of allowing her to live the life she had been robbed of, so when she came to me it was on her own free will and not out of familiarity. Of course I shared it with her parents, and while her dad seemed to agree and appreciate it, her mom was pissed. She believed we were once again taking the power away from Phoebe and that at some point we needed to allow her to take some control of her own life. I stop my reminiscing and jolt back to the tragedy at hand.

“He can’t tell her. I have to.” I know it would kill me to see her pain and feel her devastation, but I needed to be the one to do it. I need to be there for her when she breaks, and she will break. I met with the partner and learned all the plans and provisions her parents had made, what my role was in them, then went outside to wait on her. I had no idea when she would be home, but I know from the moment I tell her, she will never take another step without me. She will never have to face life alone. She has always had a support system around her. With her parents gone I don’t want her to feel displaced or lost. I have a lot of decisions to make and plans to change. Tonight, while a part of her life will change forever, I am going to be there. No more games, no more waiting. From the moment she gets out of the limo, she will never be without me again.

Waiting is killing me, thinking about the past, what lies ahead for her, on top of everything she has been through. She doesn’t deserve this. God, she doesn’t fucking deserve to have any more pain and heartache in her life. I hear the limo pull up and see her register that I’m waiting on her. She knows something’s wrong, I can see it on her face. She’s ready to flee when I grab her, hold her, and try to anchor her because the words I say next will sink her. “There was an accident, Twinkle.” I choke on the words, unsure of how to get them out of my mouth. “God, I’m so sorry. They were trapped inside when the building collapsed.” With one final deep breath, I utter the words that are going to crush her. “Phoebe, your parents are gone.”

She tries to pull away, but I hang on tighter. The words haven’t sunk in yet, and I don’t know if it is denial, or she doesn’t understand what I am saying, but I am waiting for her collapse. I look down at her beautiful face, and when she stares in my eyes, the sobs begin. That’s the moment my heart begins to crack. I can’t stand to see her in pain, it guts me, but I can’t fix this, and that just about breaks me. I have to let her live with this, drown in her grief, and just hold her. I can’t do anything else, but be her solace in this storm. If I could take it away from her, switch places with her, I would. It may make me sound like a bastard, since I’ve been the cause of so much of her pain, but I would do anything to stop her tears and take this away. When I feel her body crumble and sag against me, I effortlessly pick her up and carry her inside. I make my way to her room and place her on the bed. She clings to me. Her whimpering crushes me. I have to be strong, I have to be the one to hold her up. I go back out into the living room with her in my arms to sit on the couch, cradling her as close to my body as I can. She continues to cry but doesn’t utter a word. I’m scared that she’s in shock. In an effort to get a response from her, I place a kiss on her temple. I need her to talk to me, I have to figure out what she needs.

“Luke,” she bellows. I can’t tell her it will be okay, because even if time heals wounds, this one will never close. There is nothing that will heal this; this emptiness will always exist. I am sure each day will get easier, but her life will never be the same again. Each moment, each accomplishment, every milestone, she will feel a void that can never be filled, and I can’t fix that.

“I’m right here, I won’t leave,” I whisper to her. She clutches me more tightly as if she is trying to climb inside me. She’s shaking. I reach for the blanket behind us, and she cries out. “Promise, I won’t ever leave you again.” I manage to get the blanket wrapped around her. There will be plenty of time to talk later; right now I am giving her the only comfort I can. I pull her against my chest and rub her head like I did years ago, in this exact spot. It doesn’t bring her the same comfort, but at least she isn’t sobbing. The tears are still coming, but the gut-wrenching noises have stopped. I know soon the questions will start.

About an hour later, my parents come in the door. My mom has pulled herself together trying to be strong for Phoebe, like Emily would have wanted. We sit in silence for a while waiting on Phoebe to set the tone of what will transpire. If she wants to sit in silence then we will, if she wants to talk, then we will. “Did they die together?”

“Yes.” My parents let me take the lead. They’re just here for support.

“Was it fast?” I can’t answer these questions. Nobody really knows that. It took over an hour to find their bodies. I lie. “As far as they know it was.” These aren’t really the questions she has. She wants to ask why? What now? She wants to scream at the injustice of it all, but she won’t.

“I don’t know what to do.” She knows her parents are gone; she understands the finality of it, and she is devastated enough, but now her mind won’t turn off, and it’s time to come clean.

“You don’t have to do anything. Your parents had everything covered.” I pause to take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m so nervous to tell her, it isn’t anything we expected to happen. “Before I left for college, your parents had papers drawn up naming me your guardian in the event anything ever happened to them.” I am waiting for her to freak out, but she’s still just staring at me, waiting for me to finish. “They made sure you would be taken care of. You’re almost eighteen. Nothing has to change for you. You can live here, finish school, whatever you need, and I’ll be here by your side.”

“Why not your parents?” This isn’t the reaction I was expecting. I explain to her what her parents’ thoughts were. She seems to process that and surprisingly agrees with them. “What happens when you go back to school?”

“I had a little time to think while I waited for you. I have finals next week. I’ll call my professors to get an extension. Once they’re done, I’ll transfer to wherever you go or I can start working with my dad. It’ll all work out.”

Tears stream down her face. “Luke, what about your plans?”

“You’re all I need. Let’s get through this one day at a time, and we’ll figure it out together. I promise I won’t leave you.” She grabs me again, and I hold her just as tightly while she breaks down again. In my arms I will always shelter her. I can’t heal this, but I can hold her through it.

I watch over her the next few days. She isn’t breaking down, isn’t turning into herself, she seems to grow stronger with each decision being made. I don’t know if this is normal, I don’t have any experience to base it off. Each book or article I read is like a how-to guide for dealing with grief, and then in fine print it states, ‘Each person deals with grief differently, just offer your support.’ I let her take the lead and stay close in case she needs me. Each night she sleeps for a few hours with my arms around her on the couch like the first night. I’m waiting for her to come apart at the service, but she sits stoically next to me, sheds a few tears, but has a resolve of steel. She accepts the condolences of well-wishers and greets her parents’ friends with a stiff smile and hand shake. She catches me watching her several times and reassures me she is fine, but I don’t think she is. I think she is ignoring the grief. She isn’t dancing it out, so I know she is keeping it in.