Brother's Keeper (23 page)

“Come on, Row. It will be fun. They don’t even want us to pay rent.”

She obviously sees the hesitation in my expression. Staying at his place is hard now, and once he’s gone I’m terrified that it will be nothing but a gut-wrenching reminder of what I’ve lost. “I don’t know. It seems like a lot of effort just to turn around and move again a few months later.” My eyes shift from hers in my guilt, but not before catching hers drop and her face slacken. I’m hurting her.

She hasn’t missed my sullen, depressed mood lately, and I know she worries. “Please, Row.” And then she unloads her wounded heart in my lap and leaves me wanting to beg her forgiveness. “I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on with you right now.” She has tears in her eyes, and they threaten to spark my own. “You’re so far away from me, and I hate it. I can’t help fix what is going on in your life when you won’t talk to me, and … I know if you wanted my help, you’d tell me about it. I know that, and it hurts. You’ve never shut me out before. Please just at least let me be here for you.” Now her tears are falling, and so are mine. I feel awful. I feel guilty. I’ve set her friendship aside in exchange for my own sorrow. I’m hurting one of the most important people in my life, and I hate myself for it.

I manage nothing more than “Okay,” in my voice that is fighting hard not to break down into sobs.

Sara has every reason to hate me, but she doesn’t, inexplicably; she’s just concerned. I can’t help wonder if I would be so gracious if the tables were turned. I’m more blessed than I deserve with her. I know I’m bitter as hell pretty much all the time, but even I, in all my piss poor attitude, have to admit I’m being a monstrous bitch, and staying in Logan’s apartment is without doubt the best place for me to be, even if the thought is excruciating.

In truth, I suspect Logan is the one behind this whole scheme, but I have no other real options lest I destroy my relationship with Sara. I won’t survive the next year without her, and I can’t allow myself to push her away in my pain. She doesn’t deserve it.

Over the next weeks, my ever-watchful best friend worries incessantly about me. Most days, it’s hard just getting out of bed in the morning, let alone reassuring her I’m fine. She asks, but I’m sure she doesn’t expect to get much response from me at this point, and eventually she gives up asking and does her best to just support me. And she does. Patiently and quietly she sits by day after day waiting for me to talk. But I can’t talk to her about this, and it just furthers my sadness. Still, she’s happy I’ve agreed to move in with her for the summer, and it seems to bring her some degree of reassurance.

Every day is a struggle, and I wonder if it will ever feel better. Ending my relationship with Logan was my choice, and I know it was the right decision. However, there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t reconsider and have to fully fight the urge to beg him to take me back. But the fact of the matter is there is nothing to go back to—a relationship destined to die from the start. A relationship built on coupling more than anything else—and coupling in the most juvenile of terms at that; I am, after all, still a virgin. He just didn’t want me enough, or did he respect me too much; what was the excuse he fed me? It all feels the same, and it hurts. It doesn’t really matter how you slice it.

But truly hating him is an impossibility, and through all my bitterness and anger I still love him desperately and painfully.
Love.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. Then again, the past half year should never have happened. I remember the first night I spent at his apartment. Never in a million years could I have imagined going from awkward encounters standing in his kitchen in the middle of the night to finding myself in his bed, to ending the most satisfying and amazing relationship I could ever have imagined. And I want to regret it. But I don’t. Instead, I would give anything to go through it all again … perhaps with a happier ending.

* * * *

I bow out of Logan’s graduation ceremony as gracefully as is possible, though I’m sure the Harringtons find it strange I should miss such a big day in Logan’s life. Logan, on the other hand, is ever present on my own graduation day, and as Sara and I take our turns receiving our diplomas, it reeks of finality to this last school year, and I’m not sure I’m ready for the life that lies in front of me. My father manages to make it to the occasion, though the stench of last night’s booze is following him. I’m far past being embarrassed by him, and as we approach the Harringtons after the ceremony, Marcus holds a hand out to him genially. Logan appears to be seething with hatred, and as my father’s stale cigarette and alcohol stench reaches the group, a few noses wrinkle. Okay, I take it back; I’m embarrassed. Still, they are pleasant as I stand by nervously and uncomfortably rocking on the outside edges of my wedge sandals.

Having given up hating my father with his eyes, Logan is now concentrating on me, not paying attention to any of the pleasantries around us. Logan’s parents are congratulating me generously and graciously. Marcus puts an arm around me and gives me a good squeeze before kissing my cheek. Ronnie pulls me into a tight hug, crying the whole time. These aren’t new tears, though; she’s been going on since Sara and I woke up this morning. Logan’s family looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to congratulate me as well, and with the eyes of his entire family watching, he takes both of my shoulders in his hands and leans down to kiss my cheek gently. His lips linger a moment too long, and I blush furiously as his lips meet my skin that has been so deprived of his touch for so long. My knees weaken as the breath leaves my lungs, and as my breath hits his neck so very close to my mouth, he inhales sharply. My body has been on fire from the moment he closed the space between us, and as his lips leave my skin, my body cries out for more.

He congratulates me with a quiet voice as he pulls away, and I’m left once again with his absence. The loss of him floods back to me in an instant, and my eyes well over with tears. I turn from the group trying to hide my eyes, but not before Ronnie notices the tears slide down my cheek. And as our eyes meet, hers drift to Logan, who is now holding Sara in a tight bear hug. I avoid our small group, pretending to see something else of interest across the room, but moments later I feel Ronnie’s hand on my arm.

She pulls me into another hug, but rather than congratulations, she offers me support. And in a tone laced with compassion and at least some degree of understanding, she whispers in my ear, “You’ll be okay, kiddo.”

At her words, my tears fall freely, and I excuse myself to the restroom. Tears aren’t hard to come by on this day, and I’m guessing I fit in quite well. To add insult to injury, Marcus invites my father and me to join them for dinner at a nearby restaurant. My father has no intention of turning down a free meal or free drinks, and so I’m to suffer with more Logan today.

As we are seated, Logan takes the seat across from me. He focuses on me while I struggle to make the most minimal of eye contact with him. I revel in his presence, yet I suffer at the same moment. I dread the end of dinner when it will be time to part from him again, but I feel like I’m coming unglued at the seams the entire time we are there. My father, holding true to form, starts drinking early and doesn’t stop until the end of the meal. He’s drunk by the time we are ready to leave, and the humiliation I felt earlier at his presence has now been quadrupled.

Marcus suggests I drive him home, but as Logan starts to object my father pipes up in a rather loud, slurred, and belligerent voice. “Doesn’t even live with me anymore. She probably can’t even remember how to get there…”

And as Sara and Marcus start questioning what he’s talking about, Ronnie pipes up quickly, saving me any further lies. “Well, Sara, the two of you do spend a good deal of time together. I’m sure it just seems as though she’s never around.”

Before anyone can comment further, she is out of her chair ushering us all out the door. Logan offers to drive my father home, and I bristle at the thought of them together. And as I eye him warily, Ronnie again interjects and agrees Logan should take care of it. Hasn’t she turned into quite the puppeteer today? Logan gives me a small nod and a final quiet
“congratulations”
before escorting my stumbling father to his Jeep.

Given my father’s reception to Logan, I would guess he doesn’t have any recollection of the last time they were together, but where my father’s memory might be lacking, Logan’s certainly isn’t. He hasn’t stopped glaring at my father all day. I’m worried about Logan being alone with him, but it seems the choice isn’t mine to make. I can’t quite comprehend what Ronnie knows, but she, without doubt, has her suspicions.

The day ends with Sara and I crashing in exhaustion, and at least one of us excited for summer and the rest of our lives. I sure wish I could share her enthusiasm.

Chapter 22

I feel so terribly guilty for not having foreseen just how truly devastating the end of our relationship would end up being to both of us. I care so much for her, but all I do is cause her heartache. I wish now that our relationship had never crossed the line it did, but at the same time, I can’t imagine not having had her. The pain of my presence and my touch was so evident in our interaction today. I miss her insanely, but I cause her nothing but grief when I’m around her.

And as I start to pack up my boxes for the move, I start to see more and more withdrawal from her. She is escaping to Sara’s the better portion of the time anyways, but with the boxes comes more absence. I get it. It hurts. It hurts me, too.

Rowan has agreed to move in here with Sara, and for that, I’m relieved. But I have still to work out the details of moving her in here
after
I leave and disguising the fact she’s been here all along. It shouldn’t be hard, considering her entire life’s possessions can easily fit in the back of her old Jeep, but she won’t be able to spend the night here on the night before I move out.

My family will be here helping me pack up that evening, and then they’ll be arriving early the next morning with Sara’s furniture to unload before Dad and I head westward in the moving truck with my Jeep in tow. I couldn’t quite come to terms with buying a house in Denver given my current hatred for anything more than a mile from Rowan, but I did find a great house for rent in the LowDow neighborhood. It’s an easy commute to downtown Denver, and I’ve always loved the area—eclectic, old homes, mature trees.

Mom will be staying behind with the girls to help them move and organize. I’d suggest Rowan stay with Sara the night before, but Sara will be busy here helping me. She needs to just disappear for a night, hopefully somewhere safe and quiet where I can join her after my family leaves for the evening. I can’t bear the idea of not spending time with her on my last night in Michigan. And though I know I’ll be treading on thin ice with her, I have to see her one more time. There is so much to be said, and I need at least the chance to undo some of the hurt I’ve caused her.

So when I finally catch up with her at the beautiful old hotel that sits on Grand Haven’s bay late on the evening before my departure, I’m disheartened to see her state.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here? I mean, here of all places…” She can barely look me in the eye, and the look of bitter agony is evident in her face.

“One of my most favorite memories was being in Grand Haven with you. I just wanted us to be here together again.” She’s right. Of course I understand why it’s hard to be back here, and I suddenly feel like a complete asshole for dragging her back here once more for an encore. This will be no encore of our previous night spent here. Instead, it will be one more reminder of our time together and the fact it is now over. Why did I bring her back here of all places? What was I thinking? I haven’t seen her smile in over a month, and when I thought of this place, all I could think of was how much we smiled. The memory of that evening—the farmers’ market, the pier, the beach, it reminded me of us. But that time is over, and this place is now just an unbearable reminder. God, she’s right.

My eyes drop in guilt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I just wanted someplace quiet and out of the way that we both enjoy, but I should have realized this wasn’t a good idea.” And that same sad face is all I get in return. Sad isn’t even the right word. Her face is simply slack and emotionless—her eyes dead of their usual spirit. I haven’t seen that spirit and twinkle for so long, and the loss of it has destroyed my ability to feel joy anymore. I’m just a dead carcass of a person, and I should have known this place would just torture us both. But I do my best to salvage the evening.

It’s late, but I’ve not eaten all day and suggest dinner down on the bay. She reluctantly agrees, and the trip down is uncomfortable and devoid of any conversation. She spends the entire meal picking at her food and not eating anything. She stares off at the water, unwilling to look at me. When we return to the hotel, she closes the bedroom door in the suite, making it clear she doesn’t want anything more to do with me. But I can’t let it end like this. As I knock on the door, I half expect her to tell me to fuck off, but she answers, and with a weary sigh she lets me come in. But she stands impatiently, refusing to look at me, waiting for me to speak, and quite obviously wanting to get rid of me.

So I take a stab at softening her heart. “I’ve missed you. I wish it didn’t have to end like this. I can’t bear that you hate me so much.”

She says nothing for a moment, letting her emotions wash over her face, twisting it in agony at my words and what they mean to her. When she speaks, her voice is a mere whisper, softened in defeat. “I’m not mad at you. I can’t stand this.” Her voice falters, and her composure disintegrates.

Her tears well over and flow; she doesn’t even attempt to restrain or compose herself, and at the sight of her pain my breath and emotion hitch in my throat as I feel every awful stab of it, too. She continues. “It hurts so much.” And that’s when she comes apart altogether… And I do, too.

As she sobs, I grab her up in my arms and hold her tightly and desperately to me. I hold her, afraid to release her even slightly, terrified I won’t get the chance to hold her so close again. Her arms are around me, and I lift her gently to the bed and lie down next to her. For the moment, the constant anxiety that has plagued me for the past six weeks is completely abated. And while I know it won’t stay gone long, I revel in this short reprieve. Her body is in my arms where it belongs, and I soak up this momentary relief.