Page 114 of Forgotten Pieces

I take a shot with her and let the warmth of the liquor calm me down.

We go shot for shot as I tell her the story of my broken heart. I don’t remember how I got home. Or why I put on one of Ryder’s USMC shirts. But when I wake up the next morning, I vow to not let him get to me like that again no matter how much it hurts.

I bury the shirt deep in a drawer.

I bury the smell of him from my memory.

I bury the memories of us in the furthest corners of my mind.

I bury the pain I let myself hold on to.

I press my hand against my swollen eyes and vow to not let this happen again. I take a deep breath and do all over again, what I did eight years ago.

I delete his number from my phone.

I delete the texts that he sent.

I delete the voicemails I saved.

I delete Ryder Thompson from my heart.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Two Months Later

Tacoma

I grab a step stool so I can see the top shelf of liquor in the storage room. I check off on my clipboard the total number of bottles we have. Charlie has given me more responsibility over the last few weeks, inventory now included. She said she could tell I used to manage bars from my work ethic and said she could use the extra help in her everyday tasks. I know she doesn’t trust some of the other bartenders to do it and I’ll gladly take on the extra tasks. Keeping busy has been the one thing that has kept my mind clear.

My headphones are on as I listen to Lana del Ray, quietly singing along to the words. I turn to count the shelf to my left and nearly lose my balance when I see Charlie standing in the doorway smiling at me, her hair now purple.

“You scared the shit outta me,” I say as I pull off my headphones and step off the step stool.

“You been holding out on me?”

I look at her confused. “What do you mean?”

She crosses the threshold of the storage room and leans against one of the shelving units. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

I shrug as I turn back to the shelves, not wanting to have this conversation. “I’m not that good.”

“Bullshit,” she says as she moves over and stands next to me so I can’t avoid her eye contact.

I keep counting bottles. “It’s nothing.”

“Tacoma, that voice isn’t nothing. You could be making money with those pipes.”

I look away from her but she pulls on my shoulders so I am forced to look at her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I look into her stormy gray eyes, these last two months we’ve grown closer. I’ve told her a lot about Ryder and my family, Cam and Laney, but my time on Broadway is one thing I haven’t told her.

She speaks before I can figure out what to say. “I get it. More secrets. You don’t have to tell me.”

I look down and grip my clipboard tight against my chest. “I—I just—I don’t talk—”

“I get it, honestly, T. We all have secrets we don’t need to tell others. Secrets too hard to speak of for fear they might break our souls.”

I finally look up at her and see a brokenness in her eyes I haven’t seen before. I take a deep breath before I speak. “I used to sing on Broadway. Nothing big, just small roles. But it was my dream for a long time.”

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