Other Broken Things (23 page)

His face goes expressionless. “I delayed my job. It wasn't a huge deal. There's so much work to be done, a few weeks won't matter.”

Oh God. All the adrenaline from the past hour rushes out of me, pools at my feet, and leaves me feeling so hollow I'm not sure my heart's even beating anymore. Of. Fucking. Course. “So you're here to say good-bye.”

He nods. “In a manner of speaking.”

I feel like I've been punched harder than anything Silvia did to me in the ring. “Why fucking bother? You gave me your good-bye. Why would you even make me hope for anything but this?”

He shakes his head. “Because I didn't want to leave without telling you that I love you.”

“You love me?”

He nods and I split open, my heart oozing too many emotions. I can barely breathe. God, why does this hurt so much?

“Yes, Natalie, I love you. And if things were different, I'd be taking you home right now. Every moment I was with you was a good one. I don't regret anything, except maybe telling you about the job too early on your birthday so neither of us got a chance to eat those Red Lobster biscuits.”

I want to laugh, but I've got nothing. I think if a sound came from my throat right now, it would be like a bird dying.

“I want more for you, Natalie. I can't give you everything you deserve.”

“No one can. That's not how love works,” I manage to choke out.

“You could do anything, be anything. You don't need me.”

“So you love me so much you're walking away. Again.”

“Yes. That much. I love you
that
much, Natalie. And maybe one day you'll understand. And maybe one day you'll thank me. But I don't want to head out without that being clear between us.”

I'm torn apart, broken into two pieces that don't feel like they'll ever manage to come together again. I want to fight and argue and scream and fuck. But none of it will matter. He's decided and there's nothing I can do.

“Good-bye, Joe,” I say, because that's all that's left.

“Good-bye, Natalie. Make yourself a good life.” He leans down and kisses me and it's so bittersweet that I almost choke from the sob escaping my lips.

Then he's in his truck and I'm standing in the parking lot with my bag of boxing gear at my feet and my heart right next to it. I look at my phone and send a quick text to my mom before getting in my car.

When I slide the key into the ignition, my phone rings. I'm sure it's Mom but it's actually Brent.

“Hey.” My voice sounds shaky, but not terrible.

“Aw, shit. Did you lose?”

I swallow hard. “No. I won actually. In just a few rounds.” I glance at my red knuckles and a surge of pride bumps up against the pain of Joe leaving.

“That's great. Congrats. Why do you sound like crap?”

I choke on a sob. “Not one to mince words, are you, B?”

He laughs. “Certainly not at this point.”

“It's nothing. There was a guy. I thought we could have been something we're not.”

The sharp inhale of his breath tells me he's still there, but he says nothing.

“Brent?”

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Sorry. That took me by surprise. Didn't know you were seeing anyone.”

The reality of it all hits me in the gut again and I blink back tears. “Well, it's complicated and we're not seeing each other anymore.”

After another long pause, Brent says, “But you'll be okay, right? I mean . . .”

For the first time in months, I feel like having a cigarette. I reach for my bag, then forget that I got rid of all of them after Jerry made me jump rope for forty-five minutes straight.

“Will I be okay?” I echo. “I don't know. I guess. Love sucks. Even stupid, ridiculous, impossible love.”

Brent laughs again. “Yeah, Nattie. It really does.” His voice cracks and I shake the sound from my head like I'm shaking off a stinging jab.

I can't deal with any more of his sadness and I don't want to explain any more of mine, so I say good-bye and toss my phone back into my bag, my hands gripping and loosening on the steering wheel. It feels like my insides have been scooped out of me and all that's left is this hollow need. I glance at the clock, breathe into my Breathalyzer that Mom and I can't figure out how to disable, and start the car.

*  *  *

I'm late and have to sneak in the back, but I need this more than anything right now. I've missed the announcements but I know them anyway. It's full, but Friday nights always are. My knee is bouncing as I listen, and I don't even really know what I'm going to say, but I raise my hand.

“Hi, I'm Natalie. I'm an alcoholic.”—“Hi, Natalie”—“I won a boxing fight tonight. And lost someone I love. Within fifteen minutes it went from being the best night of my life to the worst. And I guess that's how it goes sometimes. And I don't want to drink. Not really. But I want the hurt to go away. I wanted him to love me enough to risk it all, only he didn't. Or maybe he did. It still sucks, though. But I'm here, which I guess is something. And I'll go home to my mom and watch a bunch of shitty movies and maybe eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's and wake up tomorrow remembering everything, and hurting again. But sober. Thanks for being here for me. I guess I'll keep coming back.”

This book wouldn't have been possible without the help of my dear friend Jay Asher, who is ragingly patient and tolerant of me. Thanks for sticking around, Asher, even when there were a lot of reasons not to.

To my formidable editor, Liesa Abrams, you are a very good partner for me and have given so much love and care to this book. There aren't enough words of gratitude.

To the entire Simon Pulse team, who has showered this book with support, particularly the cover artist, Dave Foster, and my adorable publicist Kelsey Dickson. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

To agent Jonathan Lyons at Curtis Brown, Ltd., who has been a champion of this book from the start. Thanks for seeing all the best things about it, J.

To Mandy Hubbard, who read the first fifty pages and suggested Nat have something she's passionate about. You said horseback riding and I went with boxing. Tomato-tomato, Mandy. It was still a great idea.

To my critique partners, Jolene and Lucy and Carrie. Your brains are astounding and I love how much you fill in the giant holes I manage to leave in my first drafts.

To Kristina Martin and Leslie Wu, thank you both for directly and indirectly supplementing my amateur women's boxing knowledge.

To Drew, Ted, Carrie, Amy, and Gayle. You are a very good circle. I'm grateful for every email I exchange with the lot of you. Ted, I am particularly grateful for your invitation to come watch you box. I promise I'll get there one day.

To Brent and Bryson, the two of you really make my days way better. Thanks for believing in me.

I'm also extremely blessed to be part of the YA writing community at large, who fights and listens and tries to make things better every day. You have welcomed me and I'm so glad to be part of you.

Finally, a mountain of love and gratitude for my family and friends, who have stuck with me through everything. My parents and sister, who cheer and help with the kids and ask me about my books even when they aren't really your bag. My friends, who pull me away from my computer to do roller derby and eat sushi and go to book clubs and teach Sunday school and talk. I would be lost without you. And most of all, to my husband, Julio, you will always be my first, last, and everything. Jojo, Bijou, and Butter, you are the best parts of me. I'm so lucky to be your mom. I love you.

SDG.

Also by C. Desir

Fault Line

Bleed Like Me

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition January 2016

Text copyright © 2016 by Christa Desir

Jacket illustration copyright © 2016 by Dave Foster

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