Page 34 of Drifting Hearts
“Whatever happens or doesn’t happen with your cast coming off, Clay, I want you to know you’re not alone.”
It felt like I was alone. And that was as good as being alone. For a blink, it had felt like Kieran and I had crossed the line from casual enemies to friends. And now he was just… gone.
It had been a stupid fantasy. A momentary lapse in his sanity, most likely, that had made him kiss me. Had made him want me. If I closed my eyes, I could trace the path his hands took on my body, but remembering wasn’t the same as having. And though I’d had him for a night, he was never mine to keep. I wanted to regret what we’d done, but I was selfish and incapable of regret when it came to Kieran.
Regret was reserved for the lifetime of shitty decisions that led me here. It had no place between Kieran and me. I knew the bliss of having his mouth on mine, his hand on my skin. I knew the way his hand felt baby soft and smooth and how his stubble felt against my skin. I couldn’t bring myself to regret even the smallest interaction between us. Even back at the beginning when he’d made no secret of the fact that he couldn’t stand me. He’d disliked me on principle and who could blame him? I didn’t.
Something had changed between the day he got me from the hospital and brought me to his mom’s house and the day he’d kissed me. Whatever it was, it had obviously been as temporary as I knew it would be. Even Patricia had noticed her son’s sudden absence. She gave me one sad look filled with pity and apology and I’d schooled my expression and shrugged.
It didn’t matter that Kieran ghosted me. It wasn’t anything I didn’t expect. There was no version of history that would lead me to believe that I deserved someone like Kieran to begin with.
“What will you do if the function of your hand has changed permanently?”
I sucked in a breath through my clenched teeth. “To be honest, I try not to think about that.”
Most days it was all I thought about. What if I never drew again? What if I did? What if nothing had changed and everything about my body went back to normal, and I was still unable to get my life together? What then? Without the excuse of a ruined body and a lost talent to fall back on, what if I failed anyway?
Because if I healed right, which I was, the doctor said my function would return just fine. And that meant that despite my fears, I would draw again. My skills would still be there waiting for me to blow the dust off when the cast was removed.
And nothing in my life would be any different than it was now. Everything would still be a mess and if it stayed that way, I only had myself to blame. I didn’t wish for my arm not to heal right, or for my hand to not work, or for my talent to magically disappear. But if it did, it would mean I could shift the blame for everything onto that.
Theresa changed the subject and we talked about my gambling problem. Did I miss it? Was I struggling? Did I need a support group? I wanted the answer to all of those questions to be no, but I couldn’t say for sure if I missed it or not. I didn’t have the compulsion currently, but I also lacked the means. It was easy to avoid doing something you couldn’t find a way to do. Not that I’d been trying.
“I’m okay right now.” I told her, wiping the sweat off my palm. “It’s… it hasn’t been my focus.”
Kieran was. His anger and his patience, his dream of taking a road trip. His smiles. Kisses. The way he touched me, the heat of his hand on my body. The way his stubble scratched at me and the sounds he made.
Theresa reminded me to practice my breathing exercises before the session ended. Sometimes I doubted that they made any difference, but she’d told me once that if we can’t breathe, we can’t think. And if we can’t think, we spiral. Breathing doesn’t solve anything, but it allows us an opportunity to solve things instead of making them worse. Acting instead of reacting.
The television was on in the living room when I was done with my session and I sat on the recliner in the corner. Some kind of nature documentary was on and I watched a few minutes of it. The quiet drone of the narrator was soothing, almost meditative. After the third time my eyes drooped, I stopped pretending I was going to stay awake and I let sleep take me. I deserved it after the shitty week I’d had, andthe way I’d barely slept at all. Night after night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
A lot of things were keeping me awake. Kieran was at the top of the list. But my nightmares were another. I hated waking up sweaty and anxious, my heart thrashing in my chest, my limbs tangled in the sheets. I’d been getting better about the nightmares, but the one at the hotel had scared me into wondering if I was always going to have bad dreams.
I came awake more slowly than I’d fallen asleep, the deep timbre of a familiar voice stirring me toward consciousness. I couldn’t make out what he said, but Patricia’s voice cut through the fog clear as a bell.
“He’s barely slept all week,” she said. In the background, I heard dishes rattle around. Cinnamon and vanilla filled the air and my stomach growled. Patricia was always baking and cooking. It didn’t matter what mood she was in, or what her day was like, how busy she was, there was always time for a batch of cookies.
Kieran said something else that was too quiet for me to hear. Keeping still, I strained to listen to the conversation that was going on in the other room. Patricia’s replies were muffled, probably because the woman never stood still. If she was baking, she was cleaning as she went, rinsing dishes and stacking them in the dishwasher.
“I’m handling the dessert, but Shane insists on grilling something. I think he just wants to keep a barbeque between him and Clayton.”
Hearing my name, I strained even harder to listen in.
“I could pick you up and we could have dinner at Shane’s instead.”
“I’ve already arranged to have dinner here. Plus, I’ve invited some of the girls, so there will be plenty of people to act as a buffer.”
My heart lodged in my throat. Shane and Archer were coming here. For dinner. And I was expected to attend. I could think of a million things I’d rather do than face Shane and Archer again. Like subjectmyself to a million tiny paper cuts then go swimming in lemon juice. Or maybe licking a frozen pole in the middle of winter. Swimming with crocodiles. Tightrope walking. Anything was more appealing than the idea of sitting in the same room as Archer and Shane. The idea of facing them was like swallowing glass but I couldn’t think of a way to get out of it. But it would be worth it, I thought, if Kieran was going to be there.
Chapter 18
Kieran
Shane greeted me likewe’d never had that fight a few days ago. He walked into the back yard at Mom’s, hand in hand with Archer. The two of them radiated happiness and commitment to the point that it was almost hard to look at them. Not because I was jealous, but because a part of me knew where I could find something like that. Had found someone to look at me the way Archer looked at Shane.
I hadn’t seen Clay yet. Mom said he’d come out sooner or later, but I had my doubts. I’d made sure to arrive before Shane and Archer so he’d have a buffer, but Clay had yet to appear. Some of Mom’s girls were coming by; some couldn’t stay, but wanted to drop in to say hello. All that was really missing were Brodie and Clay.
“I already put the stuff in the fridge,” Shane greeted Mom first. He stooped down and hugged her where she sat in her patio chair.
