Page 48 of Forgotten Pieces

I don’t talk to either of them the rest of the time they are there except to take their food orders. Ryder sneaks glances at me the whole time, but I do my best to ignore him.

The rest of my night goes by slowly and uneventfully. By the time I make it upstairs and collapse on my bed, sleep sounds better than anything else.

Chapter Sixteen

Ryder

Shelley and I just finished packing up our things. She went to sleep early because she didn’t want to deal with my attitude anymore. She doesn’t understand that some days my mind gets heavy, the PTSD weighing it down with the weight of the world. When I add Tacoma into the mix, I become a miserable fuck no one wants to be around.

I haven’t seen Tacoma in a few days. Not since I met Mac at Sawyer’s and talked about moving all our shit to the new house. Yet I can’t get Tacoma out of my head. She acts like everything is alright. No one else can see the truth but me. And for some reason it hurts me to see her hurting. I hated it eight years ago and I hate it now.

I find myself sitting at the kitchen table nursing a glass of whiskey in hopes it will get Tacoma off my mind. But it’s not working. I text Mac to see if he wants to grab a drink, but he’s busy.

I glance at the clock. It’s only past seven. I should be tired but I’m not. I know if I sit here thinking about my life or thinking about Tacoma or thinking about our past I will get shit faced and tomorrow will be rough. I finish what’s left in my glass, set it down, and rub my hands over my face before picking up my phone.

Ryder: Seven for a secret?

I wait impatiently for a response. I figure she is probably working. I get up to pour another glass of whiskey and hesitate, giving her a little bit longer.

Thirty minutes pass and I finally give up and pour a strong glass. I take a sip when my phone chimes.

Tacoma: Just got off work. Meet in twenty?

Ryder: I’ll get there as quickly as I can.

A sigh of relief escapes me. I hate to admit that meeting her already improves my somber mood. But she always has. And right now in my life, I feel like I need her more than anything.

I don’t even change out of my sweaty shirt and gym shorts. I slip on a pair of shoes and leave a note for Shelley that I went out to grab a drink. I am sure she took something to help her sleep so I doubt she will notice I’m gone.

I make it to the lake in thirty minutes, bottle of whiskey in hand as I jump out of my Tahoe. Tacoma is sitting on our rock, blanket laid out, lantern by her side when I make the short walk to the lake. A smile breaks across her face as I walk toward her. She stands as I reach her and wraps her arms around me.

I don’t stiffen at her touch. I usually always do when I have flashbacks. But right now I embrace the feel of a warm body. I embrace the feeling of her.

She pulls away first, taking my hand and leading me to the rock. “So what’s on your mind?”

I uncork the whiskey and pour us each a small glass in the glasses she brought. “You.”

She looks into my eyes, a bit taken aback. “Why me?”

“I can’t get over what you said the other day. About how much it hurts to see two people in love.”

She sips her whiskey and looks off at the water. “I guess I just wish I had that. Two people who would go to the ends of the Earth for the other.”

“Have you?”

She mumbles softly, but it’s loud enough for me to here. “I thought I did once.”

I wince. I don’t know if she is speaking about us and the terrible way I left her, but I can’t help but think she is. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s fine. I got over it. Moved on.”

“You know we have these talks so we can say what’s on our mind. Not keep them bottled up.”

“I just don’t ever talk about it. And it hit me hard the other day. Knowing I had that and it was all a lie.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me a little. Not all the details. Maybe talking about some of it will get it off your chest.” Mostly I want to know if it’s us she is talking about.

She swirls her whiskey around in her glass before swallowing the whole thing. She hands the glass over to me and I give her a refill. Her brow creases, a look I know so well, the look of her internal battle to let go. “I met him when I was trying to get on Broadway.”

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