Before & After (15 page)

“No,”
she says dryly. “Not really.”

I
pull her into me and kiss her. Her hands come up to grip my arms, and when I
pull back, it’s to lean my forehead against hers. “Are we ok?” I ask softly.

She
nods and brushes my lips again. “Always, Jokes.”

Chapter 26
:
After

Being with you is never

Easy.

It's
long nights and

Cryptic answers, and Constant challenges.

(
Rike’s
poems to
Peyton)

Being
back at the house is like living someone else’s life. The first few days are
awkward as I navigate around Scott and Rike. They’re both busy for the first
two days after I arrive, building ramps and supervising the crew moving Scott
and Lindsay’s bedroom downstairs. I drift between them, trying to find where I
belong. The problem isn’t them. They both are quick to include me in all their
conversations, ask me what I want to do and eat and if there’s a movie or a
song I want to hear—they’re so quick and eager, it’s almost suffocating.

And
when I do snap at them and slap them back into their place, they regard me with
wide, hurt eyes. Like I just smacked their puppy instead of their feelings.

That
happens four times before I retreat into my loft studio and hide there for most
of a day. Rike comes twice to check on me, but it’s a cursory thing. He’s
distracted. And I understand. We both get it. I’m here for Lindsay and the
family the four of us created, more than I am for him.

Or.
That’s what I keep telling myself.

The
truth is, I’m here for both. Lindsay is allowing me to come back under a
pretense that gives me some dignity instead of me calling and sobbing that I
miss him. Because I did. I don’t think I realized how much I missed him until
I’m back, and he’s everywhere and nowhere, a constant fucking presence that
keeps me grounded and high.

It’s
a little disconcerting. And I would never admit this to anyone—except perhaps
Lindsay—but I love it.

“Babe?”

I
blink as Rike appears at the top of my staircase. I’m sitting in front of an
easel, working on a watercolor that hasn’t really taken shape for me yet. I’ve
been sketching since I hugged Brody goodbye in Austin. This is the first time
since I woke up in the hospital that I’ve touched paints. His eyes go wide as
he takes that in, and I see the struggle to not comment. To treat me like I’m
just the girl he’s been with forever, and not the mental case we both know I
am.

I
glance over him—he’s wearing faded jeans with a few rips in them, a
tight-fitting t-shirt that
bares
his tattooed arms.
His hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his neck, exposing his
bright blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and infectious smile.

“Are
you going with us?”

I
nod, and drop my brush into a vase full of water. Wipe my hands dry on my apron
and tug it over my head. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Scott
is almost vibrating with impatience next to the truck, and he gives me a sick
look when we approach. Unexpectedly, for both of us, I give him a quick hug.
“Let’s go get your girl.”

He
clings to me for a long minute and when he pulls back, it’s with a shaky sigh.
He nods and I give him a small smile. Slide into the backseat of the truck
while the boys climb in.

“You
good, bro?” Rike asks, his voice low.

Scott
shrugs. “Let’s just go.”

Lindsay
still isn’t committed to coming home. She wants to go to her parents, and call
off the engagement. But Jillian told her flat out that coming home wasn’t an
option. A month. She made Lindsay promise to stay with us for one month, to
give her time to get the family home ready for a wheelchair and locate a
physical therapist for her. Lindsay bitched and threw a fit, but Jillian was implacable.

When
she left the hospital, her daughter screaming behind her, she looked at me and
Scott standing outside her door. “You have a month. If anyone can get her back,
it’s you. Don’t waste it.” Then she kissed my cheek, hugged Scott and got the
hell
outta
dodge. Leaving us with the furious, sullen
girl.

She’s
sitting in her wheelchair when we arrive. It’s actually hers, not a shitty
loaner the hospital is sparing for her. It’s motorized, and she has a tablet
and phone strapped to the side table. It’s even bright pink.

“You’re
late,” she says shortly, glaring at Rike. I bite my lip to keep from snapping
at her.

Lindsay
has always fought with the people she loves, to keep them distracted or to distract
herself. Whoever is the safest for her to fight with becomes her target.

I
pause in the doorway.

How
the hell do I know that? It’s not something that was written down in my
journals. I shake my head and focus on the Lindsay.

She’s
watching me, and I see hope flare there, and then it’s gone. “You came back,”
she says flatly. I nod and she laughs. “How long are you going to stay this
time?”

“
Linds
,” Rike says, his voice sharp.

“
It’s
fine,” I say, glancing at him. Calling him down. This
isn’t about him. I didn’t just run from Rike. I ran from all of them, and I ran
when she needed me. If I were in that chair, I’d be just as angry.

“I’m
here,” I say, meeting her angry gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. How about you?”

She
glares at me, but she doesn’t argue anymore when Scott pick up her bags and we
leave the hospital together.

The
ride home is tense and silent. Rike talks about a client he’s been working on.
I’ve figured out, through a little bit of trial and error, that Rike
specializes in large pieces. He’ll do anything, but he prefers large tattoos
that are heavy on the intricate detail work. He did the mandala on his side
that covers an ugly scar that he refuses to talk about.

And
I know he sketched the art that Scott has on his back.

The
talk of tattoos doesn’t do anything to draw Lindsay out of her shell, and we
get home in near silence.

The
wraparound porch has been added to. A long, wide ramp curves around it, and the
patio table has been cleared. Her eyes go wide and she darts a look at Scott
before she blinks, going blank. I say, softly, “He’s been working hard to make
this a place for you.”

She
shakes her head. “I’m not what he should be working on. He should be on tour by
now.”

I
laugh, and push out of the truck. “He won’t go anywhere while you need him.”

***

After
three days of the four of us in the house, we’re beginning to find a rhythm.
Rike spends his mornings sketching, and his afternoons with me or Scott.
Evenings are for the tattoo shop, before he comes home, tired but happy, and
falls into bed to fuck me until we’re both exhausted.

Lindsay
spends all morning in her bedroom, bitching when Scott drags her to physical
therapy. When he retreats to practice with his band, her mood improves and she
sits quietly reading or working from her computer while I sketch and write.

And
I drift, absorbing everything silently. Every night, Rike watches me with those
bright blue eyes, quietly, hopefully, and every day, I have to admit that
nothing is changing.

“I
think,” I say on the third night, while we’re lying on the chaise in my studio,
catching our breath after sex, “that if I don’t remember what we were, it would
be ok. That we would be ok. I don’t have to remember everything to know that I
could be happy with you.”

His
face softens, and he leans down, brushing a kiss over my lips before he rolls
to curl against my back, holding me tight to him. “I want you to remember,
sweetheart. I want you to know what we had. But if you don’t—you’re right. We
will be happy. It doesn’t change the way I love you.”

“Do
you think it’s easier for us because I wear my scars inside?” I ask.

He
sighs and shrugs. Kisses my shoulder. “We can’t fight that one, Fish. They’ll
stand or they won’t, and we can only do what we’ve always done—love them as
much as we can, and be there for them.”

“What
if she leaves? How can I be there for her when I have to be there for Scott?”

“Scott
is my best friend. My brother. But Lindsay is yours. And I won’t ever stand
between that. Neither would he. It might be awkward and uncomfortable, but
you’ll do what you need to do, to be there for her.”

I
nod and pull his hand up to brush a kiss over it.

“Does
it bother you?” he asks.

I
don’t need to ask what. “Yes. I wish I knew everything. That I could remember the
first time I told you I loved you, or when you said it to me. Our first fight,
and when you made love to me, or why we moved here, or—everything. I wish I
could remember everything. But that’s the past. And the girl I was chose you.
The girl I am today is choosing you. So in the end, does it really matter?”

He
rolls me and slips into me, easy and effortless. I gasp a little. It never
fails to surprise me, how ready he always is. Slow, lazy thrusts have me
arching silently against him, and he leans down. I tilt my head for a kiss, but
he murmurs into my ear. “In my shitty apartment, after a gig at Barrie’s.
That’s the first time I took you to bed. We had been fighting about the secrets
you were keeping, and that night everything changed.” He twists, taking me with
him as he rolls to his back and I gasp, bracing my hands on his chest as I
settle on top of him. “And in the rain. We were camping, and it was raining.
And you were dancing in it, like a little girl. We made love in a field, with
the rain all around us, and you riding me, and I told you then, because I
couldn’t stand another minute without you knowing that I loved you. That I will
always love you. You’re it for me, Fish. The sea and the air I breathe and
every fucking thing that matters.”

I
shatter, gasping his name as the orgasm reaches up and pulls me under, a
crashing wave of sensation that begins and ends in him and the steady push and
pull of him.

He
keeps thrusting, and I lean down, kissing him, grinding against him until he
pants my name, his body shaking as he comes.

We
lie still for a long moment, wrapped around each other, breathing with each
other. “I love you, Fish,” he whispers. “Always have. Always will. You
remembering that won’t change a damn thing for me.”

***

Lindsay
is in the living room when I come downstairs the next day, and her gaze when it
lands on me is miserable. It dims the quiet glow that I’ve been feeling since
last night.

I
make two cups of coffee, dumping too much sugar and milk into hers. Grab a
Pop-Tart and go back to the living room. I put her coffee in front of her, and
curl on the other edge of the couch. Tear open the Pop-Tarts and hand her one.

“Is
that something you remembered or something that’s muscle memory?” she asks,
taking the sugary cardboard.

I
shrug. “Let’s split the difference and call it a day.”

She
snorts. I hide my smirk behind my coffee and study her. “So let’s talk about
you.” Her eyes go careful and guarded and I make a noise in the back of my
throat. “Don’t. Don’t do that ice queen bullshit,
Linds
.
I’m here because I’m worried about you. So talk to me.”

“You’re
here because Rike is hot and the sex is phenomenal. Don’t delude yourself.”

“The
sex
is
phenomenal,” I say with
feeling and she giggles. A real noise that strings hope along me like fireworks.

“Tell
me about the wedding,” I say.

Tears
fill her eyes and she shakes her head. “I can’t, Peyton.”

“I’m
not asking for much, sugar. What colors were you using?”

“Teal
and black. My dress was white with a light teal lace overlay and black accents.
It was so damn gorgeous.” Her voice cracks and for just a second, I think she’s
going to give in. Let me in. Tell me everything that she’s been keeping bottled
up and secret. But she takes a sip of her coffee, fighting to get control, and
she gives me a watery smile. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“Why?”
I whisper. “Fuck, Lindsay, he
loves
you.
The kind of crazy, stop-the-world-from-spinning love that people only dream
about. Why on earth are you walking away from that?”

“Because
it’s the kind of love that stops the world from spinning. And if the world
stops spinning, it dies. I don’t want him to get this close to having it all,
and then throw it away to take care of a cripple who can’t be what he needs. I
refuse to be the reason he doesn’t get his dreams.”

I
stare at her, stunned by the fierce passion in her voice. By the pure belief
that she’s right.

There
isn’t a way to convince her that she isn’t. And she isn’t walking away because
she doesn’t love him. Which makes it so much more difficult.

She’s
walking away because she loves him too much.