You Are Here (9 page)

Three steps from the stairs that led up to Michigan Avenue, a vise on my arm stopped me cold. I didn’t try to get my arm back, but gracelessly pivoted on the spot.

“Call your brother.” He dropped my arm and held out a business card. “I don’t care if you never do another thing for me or anyone else you
used
to care about, but do
something
for Drew. You nearly fucking destroyed him.”

I stared at the card in his hand. My eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to think about any of it. I’d had all I could take.

“Nash—”

But he didn’t let me say any more. He shoved the card roughly into my palm along with my hundred-dollar bill and stomped back into the restaurant.

Looking down at the crumpled paper in my hand, I felt them come. The tears. Sweet Christ, the tears. I stumbled back and collapsed onto a step. My breath came in gasps, my eyes blinded by the overflow. If people stared, I didn’t know. The physical pain centering in my chest was impenetrable. Being stabbed was more pleasant than facing the life I’d abandoned. This was agony erupting from within and it leaked from my eyes.

When I finally regained control over myself, I stood and shoved the crumpled card and bill into my pocket. I practically jumped into traffic to hail a cab.

When the cab pulled up to my hotel, I grabbed blindly at the wrinkled hundred from my pocket and handed it to him. Before he could offer me change, I was out of the cab and halfway through the lobby. I knew it was too much, but I needed that bill out of my hands. I also knew the card Nash gave me was still tangled with it.

For the first time in years, I decided I would like nothing more than to be unconscious. Maybe sleep would reset my system.

Can you put a cork in an active volcano?

Once back in my room, I veered toward the bathroom to turn on the faucet. I splashed the cold water on my face, rubbing my wet fingers over the back of my neck.

I lifted my head to scrutinize my reflection.

You look like shit.

Didn’t matter. I was going to rebound from this. I made the choice years ago and I was going to stick to it.

After a series of heavy breaths and a forceful exhale, my resolve returned hardily. I watched my eyes begin to flatten. I straightened. Pleased, I grabbed a towel and dried my face.

A fresh coat of sealant and the cracks would disappear, the plates of my world would steady and lock. I could be numb again. And I would goddamn well bury Grey Ellicott for good. My survival depended on it.

But sleep was not in the cards. No matter how hard I tried to sleep, I was uneasy, Nash’s questions kept me wired and prompted the rerun from hell.

What should have been one of the best days of my life thus far—high school graduation—was officially the worst on record. Dad had been his usual disapproving and disappointed-in-everything-I-did self. Even with a 3.8 GPA, I was clearly an underachiever without scholarships. Still, I had done my best not to be affected, which was never easy. Not with the way he treated Drew like a prodigy, no matter what he did.

Nothing was unusual about the day until a visitor showed up just before we were to leave. “Dad” had told me someone was here to see me, so I’d come downstairs to find a man about his age staring at me with tears in his eyes.

Then, my world had ended. My tearful mother confessed he was my biological father, unleashing unwanted details about her bachelorette party and a one-night stand with this Harris Campbell asshat.

I lay in my hotel bed in sweat-drenched sheets, but then sat up like a shot and gasped for breath. I could hear his deep southern accent—distinctly Louisiana—as he announced to my shell-shocked family,
“I’m so proud of you, son.”

Nausea propelled me off the bed and I stumbled to the bathroom. I didn’t vomit, but I wished I could. I wanted to be rid of all of this. The memory, the way it made me feel. I wanted none of it.

I took a drink of cool water and did my damnedest to calm down. I breathed deeply but it didn’t work. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I went rigid. With purple bags under my eyes and hair plastered to my skull with sweat, I was paler than I’ve ever been.

I moved mechanically as I switched on the shower. I rinsed off and got dressed to go for a run. Minutes later, I was on the street, heading toward Lake Shore Avenue.

The lake stretched to my right as I ran north, streetlights still flickering. I tried to exorcise the nightmare from my mind, but thoughts of my family continued to haunt me, sucking the solid ground from beneath each step.

Dammit. Damn Nash and his damn card. Damn that fucking foul cab driver. Damn all of them to hell and back.

I fell forward, panting so forcefully I had to stop moving completely, landing hard on my hands and knees.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” I screamed at the sun, barely yet escaping the east. So much for my goddamn resolve.

I needed an assignment.

Yes, something to divert my focus. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as if I could call a manager and say, “Where do you need me? Florida? Afghanistan? The Arctic fucking Circle?”

After a few minutes, I was able to get back up and finish my run, even with the nagging thoughts pushed to the back of my mind.

I made it back to the hotel and showered again before ordering some room service for breakfast. The food was wheeled in twenty-four minutes later. Once the attendant left, I heard my phone chirp with a text

GOTH WED12 WSP

I do believe in miracles.

I stared at it, rereading again and again until I could be sure there was no mistake: New York, Wednesday at noon, Washington Square Park.

New York. Home. The one place I had successfully avoided for years.

While the location was bad given my predilection for unsuccessfully avoiding the past, I reminded myself it was just what I’d wished for: work. I decided to drive there and get the hell out of Chicago immediately. I had a few days and the road usually had a meditative effect on me. I was in control of where I was going and constantly moving.

Lots of memories slipped through the cracks, though, so the drive became both torture and a surprise. My resolve and a coat of sealant had just been false confidence.

One flashback pulled me over to the side of the road, earning me several angry car horns and a few middle fingers. I couldn’t breathe as I recalled leaving for boot camp. Drew was the only one to see me off, though he could only argue with me to stay. My body reacted to it as if it were all happening here and now. It hurt.

What was actually more devastating, though, were the good memories that came up. All I could do was remember and try to enjoy it.

Cancun for senior spring break. The four transvestite hookers convinced that Nash wanted them for an orgy thanks to Drew’s excellent Spanish. My black eye when I had to get between them due to said hooker incident. Bonus: I had parlayed the black eye into a covered bar tab for the last full day of the trip and an extra case of laid.

Hours from New York late Tuesday night, I fought a shit-eating grin as if it were my nemesis. Before I could stop myself, I was laughing out loud. All the years I had cultivated detachment to keep me numb, and one stinky cabdriver cracked my carefully constructed foundation and opened the door to my destruction.

Bloated with memories, more and more of them happy, my mind reeled. I was so tired. I found myself somewhere in New Jersey when daylight began to tease the horizon behind me. A few yawns quaked through me, but I wasn’t about to stop for sleep. The mental railroad I’d been on had me wired, but I almost felt
good
.

A few hours later, I parked in a garage somewhere in the village. Once I found a spot, I checked my watch: 8:39.

It was a surprisingly brisk morning, despite being late July. I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of my jeans as I toured the streets. I thought about breakfast but I couldn’t stomach the idea of food at the moment.

I ended up over at the High Line, a public space that had been converted from an elevated freight rail line. I wandered slowly up and down the park, sitting when I found a bench facing the Hudson.

I was too antsy to sit still. I searched out a coffee cart. Waiting, I ran my hands over my face. I was a raw nerve. I took my new cup and relaxed a bit at the strong aroma.

“Thanks very much, ma’am,” I said to the vendor, wincing at the southern bend in my words.

Before I could walk away, a gasp stopped me. I slowly turned my head to see a slim firecracker of a woman staring at me.

Her beautiful, hauntingly dark gray eyes were fixed on me. I stood, captured. Though I saw many emotions cross her face, those I’d expected to find were absent: fear, offense, and hesitation. Whoever she was, she recognized me.

I wanted to walk away, but the thought of doing so made it hard to breathe. Partly horrified at the reaction, there was another part—maybe the part deep down that had been waiting for such a break—that was relieved.

Her skinny fingers nervously tugged at the hem of her blouse. Her lips pressed together and she blinked, perhaps for the first time since I found her staring. As she stepped toward me, I instinctively moved left so as not to let her closer.

I couldn’t take my focus off her.

Suddenly a mere few inches away, she turned expectant. She was waiting for me to speak. Her expression had gone calm, a subtly serene smile playing on her lips.

“You can’t be real, angel.” Clearly, I’d splintered. I actually said that. Out loud. I hadn’t the faintest idea why.

She carefully tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I found myself grasping her hand before it had even fallen back to her side. This woman threaded her fingers between mine and grinned. I mirrored her.

“There you are,” she said quietly enough that it must have been to herself.

I had no idea what the fuck was going on.

“I’m certainly not an angel,” she continued with a gentle laugh, “but if that’s what you need, I’ll tie on some wings and fake it ’til I make it.”

Her thumb stroked the back of my hand. I thought I had vertigo as the world flipped on its axis. Breathing her in, a resurrected heart and lungs rejoiced. I exhaled, and it bordered on excruciating. Life coursed into every recess of my void soul.

“I’m so excited to see you.” She was damn near giddy.

Doubt crushed the smile on my face to a grim line as I asked, “Why?”

Lucie

Collision

We continued to stare into each other’s eyes like a couple of love-drunk teenagers—at least that’s how I felt. The spark between us was so strong it was a physical sensation. Whatever was happening was extraordinary and while
I
believed in it, that didn’t mean I understood it. It was hard enough believing he was
here.
It was the reason I couldn’t let go of his hand.

That said, my previews just got real—and I mean that literally.

A cell phone chirped and he startled, roughly pulled from our shared preoccupation. He was caught completely off guard and panic flashed across his face. He never let go of my hand as he reached into his pocket for the phone. He read the text and the expression on his face fell slack. When he turned back to me, the smile I craved did not return. He was gone.

“What’s your name?” I’d been obsessing over the promise of this man for months now. I had to help him feel it. I squeezed his hand, rubbing my thumb over his. Something like a smile dimpled his cheek. Encouraged, I tried to introduce myself. “I’m—”

“Lucie?”

I’d completely forgotten Charlotte was meeting me here as soon as I’d seen
him
. I turned toward her voice behind me, sure to keep a hold on his hand. To my surprise, she was looking past me. She seemed confused and maybe even a little scared as recognition washed over her.

“Grey?”

My head snapped back to him.

Grey.

My entire body sighed. Relief flooded me and I wanted to laugh. But it didn’t last—anxiety kicked off him like radiation, his eyes stuck on Charlotte. I volleyed between them, trying to reconcile the two.

“No.” Grey coughed up the scratchy refusal and pulled free of my hand before charging toward the steps down to the street. My heart nearly stopped.

“Charlotte? What the hell?”

I didn’t wait for her answer. I ran after him. This couldn’t be it. I’d seen so much more. My mind reeled, my heart hammering in my chest as I ran, nearly tumbling down the stairs. When I reached the street, it was as if someone had gripped my head and turned it for me. I looked toward the opposite side of the underpass where Grey was ducking into an alley.

Tires squealed as cars slammed on their brakes, skidding patterns all over the asphalt as I burst across the street, oblivious and unwilling to waste a second. Every aching moment I ran, he seemed to get farther away. I tried to push my body harder, but it was clear I needed to work on my cardio. I barely managed to keep up until he reached a parking garage and disappeared inside.

My stomach dropped and I nearly tripped my way inside the underground structure after him. Thankfully, just before I was out of breath and about to collapse, I spotted him and found my voice.

“Grey!” My shriek reverberated against the cement walls, and he stopped and swung his head around. He looked stunned.

Not willing to let him go any farther, I sucked in a deep breath and sprinted to him. His apprehension was palpable, but I flew at him anyway. He caught me, a collision of desperate arms and legs.

I held onto him, getting lost in the feel of our heads pressed together, his arms holding me. I pulled back to take in his face, panting as if I’d outrun a jaguar. The longer I stared, the more I could see how lost he was. His eyes seemed to beg me for help, for direction, or just some kind of answer. I wasn’t sure if I had anything like that, but I was sure he was supposed to stay. He wasn’t supposed to run from me. I just couldn’t say it. I managed to surprise myself when words failed. So, I kissed him.

He didn’t react right away, so I froze. Everything I had built myself around came under harsh bright lights—was I
really
confident in what I’d foreseen? To my profound relief, his lips began to move. Soft and ferocious, he was caught up and made the terrifying moments of doubt worth every painful second.