Walking Heartbreak (11 page)

I guess hammering this song out in front of my muse’s friend did inspire me; Emil might not be the only one giving his all—which is how it works between the four of us: one band member’s inspiration gets the others rocking. If two of us, like in this case, go ape, insanity ensues, and it’s out-of-body. I wish we’d caught it on film.

Finally, I focus on our audience. In my limited experience with Zoe, she’s not one to be rendered speechless. Turns out she is now, and in her expression, there’s a naked vulnerability, an openness you don’t see unless you’re in bed with someone who loves you and trusts you like crazy. Someone this unguarded can make the most jaded bystander uncomfortable. But we’re bare too, after giving it all in this song.

“Zoe,” Emil croaks out. “Let’s…”

I hear the others shift around us. Start unplugging gear and crinkling with bags. We’re giving them privacy.

Yeah, this was too much. Zoe wasn’t prepared for her own reaction to the song and neither were we.

Emil, he’s utterly extroverted and everyone’s best friend, including mine. When he embraces her, it’s like he wants to shield her from our unintentional voyeurism by making her disappear in his arms.

He mumbles something against her ear, and Zoe’s short replies erupt with a breathing pattern that speaks of a heat no one but Emil should be privy to. It makes me clear my throat in an attempt to block her out.

“Guys, we’re off,” Emil says after a minute, and I’m impressed. No rambunctious laughter or silly behavior from my best friend and no bathroom visit for his chick. Emil’s hooked. It makes me wonder if it’s the real deal.

“All righty then,” Elias quips, head in the song and thoughts probably in the Nigerian girl.

All of these feelings. I guess I just wrote us some smut.

NADIA

“How could you do this to me?”
I sob out. “You suck, Jude! I’d never pull this on you.” I’m flinging cups and plates in our kitchen, all china Jude took me to buy with his first paycheck. “You’re the worst husband ever, and I hate the day I fell in love with you!”

My phone rings, and it’s making me mad too. I can’t deal with this much crap at once. All of this. Every single problem in my life. Is due to my beautiful, wild, sweet, kind husband who’s a traitor.

I slump to the kitchen tiles, raking shards between my fingers, not budging when they pierce the flesh of my left ring finger—because it’s perfect, right, true to who I am right now.

“See?” I hold up my hand, do a small circle on my knees in the kitchen, showing him, showing him. “Okay, I can do better,” I yell. “Here.”

I was raised to become a silent, subservient wife to a godly husband. Twice now in as many days, I’ve lost my temper, and it makes me sadder than I was before. On TV, people say it’s good for you to “let it out,” but me, I feel worse.

I just screamed my heart out at the love of my life, and I hurt so bad. I’m furious, my cracked-open heart destroying me, and though I’ll regret it later, I shoot the simple, gold band through the room and watch it ricochet off the wall and bounce in short, metallic clangs against the ceramic.

“Your. Fault! Help me, baby. Help me.”

Jude doesn’t come in.

The phone. The goddamn phone. That’s work buzzing me, and I’m supposed to be there. As I get ready, putting makeup on in the mirror, hyperventilating, drinking cold, thick coffee from the machine, I calm down enough to seem coherent.

“Remember? Everyone came. Full-on party, it was. Flowers everywhere, no surface spared. Your parents, all of your best friends from San Francisco from before you moved to Payne Point—people I hadn’t even heard of came. Your high school buds from Payne Point, hey, even the cheerleader that liked you so much. My family didn’t come, of course, but everyone else wore their most expensive, most beautiful clothes as they entered ‘The Garden.’

“I did too. I wore the red, silk-like dress. Remember how I surprised you with it when we got engaged on our way to Vegas before the wedding? Thanks to Mother’s rules, you hadn’t seen me in anything like it before. We’d escaped my family’s claws. Love won!”

I pull open the bottom drawer. Haul the blow dryer out and stare at my reflection. I wet my hair down and blow from the top, smoothing it down so it’s as flat as it can go despite its natural texture with the waves trying to break through.

“The outfit you wore, amidst the beautiful decorations in ‘The Garden,’ was the most gorgeous suit I’ve ever seen you in. Better than what we hastily rented in Vegas before Beauty hauled you inside the church and the Beast grabbed my hand for you and plopped it in yours for holy matrimony.”

I shove my feet into my work shoes. Take steps that are too long to be comfortable toward the door. I need to get out, away, be done with this. As I turn, a faded flicker of light at the far end of our hallway catches my attention, but it disappears before I can register what it is.

“I gotta go.
Someone’s
got to work, Jude. Just, you need to know how much you suck. Everyone was there, dressed to a T, loving you. And you?

“I don’t want to remember your face, because it was just a salt-stone non-expression. Never, never, never had you done this to me. Okay, I’m not dumb. I get why, but… How could that expression accompany the best suit of your life? We were all there for you, and you—

“The lack of emotion in every limb of your body… damn you, Jude!”

I lock the door behind me and start down the narrow driveway. Then I turn and scream back at our windows. “Thanks for screwing me over!”

NADIA

It’s easy to forget
my outburst in the stacks of cups, tourists, dirty plates, spoons, and the napkins stuck to the restaurant floor. I can do this. Two hours into work, I’m having one of my better days. The owner, Scott, nudges my side and winks conspiratorially at me, wanting me to know he’s got my back. He’s a sweetie. Around fifty, not yet obese but getting there, his bluish nose a reminder of steady alcohol abuse.

“Good job, Nadia. The customers like you,” he reminds me. Since I started here, he’s been my cheerleader. Zoe’s original impression was that he liked me too much, but in the years I’ve worked at the diner, he has never eyed me in an uncomfortable way. I think he just wants the best for me.

“They love your food is all,” I reply, making him chuckle happily. Scott’s Diner is not only his livelihood. It’s his life. Scott’s regulars become his friends, and he’s as much in the kitchen whipping up food as the cooks.

The bell jangles over the door. It’s four thirty, late for the lunch crowd, but the group entering takes my breath away. I don’t need to see perky Zoe in the front troupe to recognize them. No, these boys are their own sort of recognizable.

Somehow they stand side by side inside the narrow entrance. Four guys, the same height, broad shoulders and slender build. They’re different shades of color, from Troy’s gorgeous chocolate, via Emil’s sun-kissed Scandinavian and Bo’s indoor artist pale, to Elias’ ghostly white. Every one of them with model-worthy features and different degrees of smoldering. What the heck are they doing here? Emil’s eyes burn against Zoe’s bottom. Elias’ milky blues scan the locale and briefly settle on a booth with four girls in their early twenties, whose skin color chessboard-matches Elias’. Troy, the drummer, seems to be the only one intent on food. Because Bo—

Is staring at me.

Oh Lord.

With Zoe being off and Victoria on break, I’m the only waitress on the floor. Victoria will be back in fifteen, I tell myself for no reason because no restaurant would wait to seat a party of five when there are ten booths open.

Zoe leaps in to hug me. Over her shoulder, Bo’s eyes remain fixed on me. It’s odd, so odd to see him at my job. We know each other in a different way.

I’ve had Bo’s arms around me. His body against mine. He moved inside me, I—I’ve heard him sigh out in pleasure, and now he’s just standing there. Customers pass him like it’s no big deal that he’s in here.

My cheeks flame.

Bo folds his arms over his chest, the angles of broad, bony shoulders making him look impervious to American food and oversized portions. The man is startlingly gorgeous, and my stare is glued to him.

My heart shoots into a crazy flight. I try to breathe inside Zoe’s embrace while she chatters about super sexy songs, about intercourse, wild boys, Emil, even something about Bo and me.

I finally break free of her. Striding toward the restroom, I call out for Scott to seat them. He nods and gives me a thumbs-up, but I know he expects me to take their orders once I’m back.
At least take care of their beverages,
I plead inwardly.

I’m not a big drinker, but now I wish I had a flask of something strong hidden in the bathroom. I lock the door behind me and hang over the sink, palms pushing down against the porcelain. What did I think would happen? That I’d never see him again? Zoe has a crush on Emil, and they live five minutes from my job! It’s a miracle I haven’t seen them in here before. I lift my gaze and find myself in the mirror.

“Nadia. You okay?” Zoe calls from outside.

“Yeah, be right there.”

Half an hour ago, I gathered my hair in a loose ponytail. Now I pull the hairband out and shake my head carefully so it doesn’t poof up. Brown kohl still lines my eyes. I’m not wearing lipstick, so I bite my lips to force some color back into them. Then I blush, realizing that I’m primping for Bo.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I’m so confused right now.

I draw in a deep breath before I leave the restroom. Zoe has seated them herself. I can tell because she chose her favorite, ten-person booth with the great view of the street.

The guys are chatting quietly among themselves, Troy writing something out on a napkin with Elias nodding his approval. Bo isn’t paying attention. He’s leaned back against the faux-leather upholstery at the center of the booth, his eyes twinkling from beneath his bangs as he follows my progress toward them. I swallow, sensing the blush creep up my throat.

“Hi, guys,” I say, clicking my pen open over my order pad. If I can slide back into my waitressing mode, I’ll be fine. “Good to see you. What’re you having today?”

“Nadia!” Emil calls out like we’re best friends. He nudges Zoe in against his side, and she grins, charmed. “How’ve you been? Why didn’t you come to the movies with us the other night? T’was a good movie. Something about a, um...”

“A boxer who needed to win a championship to get the girl,” Zoe helps. “It was romantic. Nadia knows. I’ve told her about it.”

“No.” Emil shakes his head. “T’was more of a cool movie. That was some bad-ass boxing.” He juts his chin at Bo. “Remember all the blood in that last scene? Whoosh! And sex. Geez, but it took the poor guy forever to get laid.”

The good thing about Emil and Zoe together is that I don’t have to say much; Emil put me on the spot for exactly two seconds before they went out on a tangent about a completely different subject. Sometimes I wish I could do that. Switch gears on a whim and just… snap out of things.

“How are you?” Bo’s voice is much lower than the others’, but I still hear him better and it spreads instant heat in my abdomen.

“Good,” I manage. “Working. Busy, you know.”

“Right,” he says. “When are you off?”

I’m too stunned to lie. “Eight.”

“Plans after?”

“Well, no but—”

“Is he waiting for you?” His eyes gleam as they glide down to my left hand. On impulse, I hide it behind my back.

“Sort of,” I reply at the same time Zoe murmurs, “He never does.”

Bo sits forward in the seat, elbows on the tabletop, and it feels like we’re inches apart instead of on opposite sides. His intensity eats up the space around us, and I’m not the only one feeling it. Besides Zoe’s input, our exchange has been so quiet it’s almost a whisper, and yet the conversation dies out among the others. That includes a few regulars at the bar.

“Can I pick you up?”

“I’m eating here,” I blurt out clumsily.

Calmly, he negotiates with me. “Then we won’t eat. I’ll take you somewhere else. The boardwalk?”

“I. Um. I mean… no.”

Even Emil turns his head to look at Bo. “Bowling?” he cuts in, and that breaks the silence around the table.

“Hell yeah,” Troy laughs. “Bo sucks at bowling. Let’s do it!”

“Fuck,” Bo mutters and sinks his forehead into a hand. The smirk lifting his mouth isn’t lost on me—it makes my heart skip; I’m affected by every little thing he does, it seems, and it’s both delightful and painful.

“Are we talking similar to his kite-flying skills?” I can’t help asking, which sets Emil and Elias off into guffaws.

“Yes! He’s one for the books. Ah you’ve got to see this, Nadia. Sorry to say, you might not like him anymore after,” Emil says, drying an eye, and then I blush again because—really, that’s how obvious I am? Anyone, even egocentric Emil notices.

Thankfully, no one comments on my general state of flustered. Bo keeps an eye on me though while I take their orders. Thank you God they’re straightforward: burgers and fries all around.

“Eight o’clock,” Bo reminds me as I walk away with their orders.

“Eight,” he whispers playfully every time I come by to refill their drinks. When they get up to leave, with Zoe wrapped around Emil’s throat and half-carried out onto the sidewalk, Bo turns in the doorway to give me one last mouthed
Eight
, and I smile.

I smile!