Living Backwards (33 page)

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Authors: Tracy Sweeney

BOOK: Living Backwards
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“He doesn’t?” Meg asked, looking at Danielle with as much shock as I was.

“No. Were
you
even listening?” she asked, looking between Meg and me.

“Apparently not,” she replied, sarcastically.

“Guys don’t get angry like that, Jillian, if they don’t care anymore,” Danielle explained. “And they sure the hell don’t invite the ones they hate to their houses for sleepovers.”

“He was being nice, Danielle, when my
friend
stranded me,” I countered, feeling annoyed.

“If Mike Wakefield was locked out of his car at the reunion, would you have brought him back to your apartment to sleep on the couch?” she asked, smugly. I threw up a little in my mouth. Hell no.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” she replied. “But he took you to his house, let you sleep in his clothes, in his bed. And instead of saying ‘Don’t worry about it, Jillian, it was a long time ago’, he says that you leaving wasn’t what was best for him. That’s huge.”

“She’s got a point,” Meg replied thoughtfully. “I dated Sean Myers for a year before he broke up with me for some slutty sophomore with big boobs. I would have dumped his ass at the nearest HoJo faster than he could say ‘push-up bra’.”

“That’s all well and good,” I complained. “But I still had a chance to say my peace and he wouldn’t listen. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re probably right,” Danielle began somberly. “But there’s something
we
can do.”

“Oh Jesus,” Meg muttered. “Theatrical much?”

“Can it, Meg,” she retorted, not even looking in her direction. Instead, she focused on me, smiling with a glimmer in her eye. “Saturday night, we’re going to his bar.”

I stifled a groan. “If I go with you, there needs to be some ground rules,” I warned her. “I dress myself. My keys stay in my bag. There will be no body shots or dropping anything like it’s hot. Understood?”

“Done and done,” she answered happily. “We don’t need any of that, although I’d dress you cuter.”

“I dress myself fine,” I growled, thinking back to the skinny jean incident.

“Whatever,” she sighed, dramatically.

Meg sat down next to me, giving me a one-armed squeeze.

“We’ll fix this,” she added, “and if Luke is still too Brooding-Leather-Jacket-Boy to get it, he’s not worth it.”

“Yeah,” I replied, with a half-smile.

I just wish I believed that.

Later, after Megan had returned to Nate’s, and Danielle had gone off to work, I puttered around my room, attempting to clear my mind of all the drama. I was about to sit down at my computer and begin research on an article when I decided to log onto Facebook. Then it all happened at once. My heart began to race, my hands started to shake, and I was positive that I was going to vomit. I reread the alert five, ten, maybe a dozen times. I still didn’t believe what it said.

Luke Chambers accepted your friend request.

CHAPTER 22
Luke

When Grace would feel stressed out, she’d bake cookies—dozens and dozens of cookies. I wondered if the neighbors ever caught on or noticed that when a deadline loomed or a book was about to hit the shelves, they received a plate of snickerdoodles from her for no apparent reason.

Carter played chess. He liked to lose himself in a game, shutting out any outside variables plaguing him. He claimed that it centered him, giving him the focus he needed to tackle the problem. Well, unless he was losing to me. That usually made it worse.

Jonas was the polar opposite. After a tough week, Jonas would hit the gym, choose a particularly intimidating sparring partner and proceed to beat the crap out of him. He took me with him once—years ago—and I’d left with a black eye. I didn’t find that very relaxing.

There was some merit to Jonas’ approach, though. While I didn’t feel like getting the shit kicked out of me, jumping on a treadmill—letting the aggression out during a run—worked wonders.

Less than a week ago, Jillian stood in my living room, shouting at me, saying things—things I just didn’t want to hear. I didn’t know what she expected me to say. I didn’t know how she expected me to react. I wasn’t even sure I believed her because if it were true, why would she have left? Wouldn’t she have tried to contact me sooner? You don’t treat the people that you allegedly love that way. At least, I didn’t.

I was so worked up that I barely functioned the entire day. There was a part of me that wanted to tell her to go to hell so I’d never have to deal with her bullshit again. Then there was another part that wanted to touch her, and wouldn’t stop thinking about that Friend Request. In the end, the part that was a pushover won out when I logged onto Facebook and accepted it.

I managed to resist looking at her profile for a day. I knew that if there were pictures of her with some guy, I’d be pissed. I knew I had no right to be, and that pissed me off even more. Then I’d inevitably get mad at myself for wanting to kill the fictional guy. No good was going to come of looking at Jillian’s Facebook page.

My sound reasoning was shot to shit when I logged onto Facebook the very next day and saw something Jillian wrote to Danielle pop up. She asked Danielle what time “everyone” would be getting together on Saturday night. It felt so wrong to pry—like I was eavesdropping on a conversation that I shouldn’t. This was exactly the reason why I was against joining Facebook in the first place. Inevitably, my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know where they were going, and if the “everybody” Jillian mentioned involved another guy because clearly I was brain damaged. Apparently, running into Jillian had turned me into a creepy stalker.

Clicking on her profile, the small picture of Jillian sitting between Danielle and Megan was enlarged so that I could see the little details that were unnoticeable from the main page. Her hair was draped over one side and her head was tilted, resting slightly on Megan’s shoulder. She was wearing red and she was beautiful.

Feeling conflicted, but obviously not enough to stop, I scrolled down, reading a message from Suzanne Santin Hentschel asking Jillian to have drinks with her. When I started wondering where they’d be going, I logged off abruptly and jumped on the treadmill instead. I wish I could have pinpointed the moment I decided it was okay to spy on people.

The next day, as if she knew I had been looking at her profile, Jillian sent me a private message. I hesitated just a moment before opening it up, nervous about what I’d find. I couldn’t imagine what she wanted, worrying that she could tell I had been lurking. Facebook was complicated—you never knew. My whole body tensed as I started to read.

Luke,

I hate the way we left things on Sunday. It was never my intention to upset you. I just want you to know that I meant everything I said. While I know it wasn’t the best way to handle the situation, I truly felt I was doing what was right. I loved you too much to watch you throw away your future.

Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and it was the most painful thing I’ve ever done.

I regret that I’ve caused you pain, and I regret that I didn’t handle it better. I regret that I don’t know you now, and I want to know you again. But what I regret most of all is that I never told you how I felt when I had the chance. For that, I have the most regret…and probably always will.

Jillian

I must have read her message three times before storming over to the treadmill and running until my body practically gave out. I had clocked more hours on that machine in the past week than I had in all the time I’d owned it. My body ached, my head hurt and my chest felt tight. I had literally spent the entire week running from her, and my legs felt like Jell-O.

By Friday, I was barely functioning. Even though I had spent my entire week thinking of her, I had yet to respond to her email. Never in my life had I ever felt so conflicted. No matter how much I thought it through, I’d always come back to the same thing.

I would never have left
her
.

Frustrated, I sent a text to Carter, asking if he could meet me at the diner for lunch the following day. I didn’t want to explain everything that had happened with Jillian, but I needed some perspective. I’d seem to have lost mine, and he always had a way of setting me straight.

Although I was expected at the bar, I took a quick detour and drove to The Rusted Nail instead. I knew Danielle would be there, tearing the place up. She had blown in on Monday and begun her renovation. Fixtures were ripped from the wall, countertops were demolished, and tables were thrown in the trash. It was a disaster, but Danielle seemed to be in control of the situation so I tried to relax and let her do her job.

I decided on a new name for the restaurant, and I wanted to speak to Danielle about the marquee. As I moved past the carpenters installing the new front door, I heard her voice from inside.

“You need to stop worrying about it so much,” she said. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

I could only image the poor person she was terrorizing. As I scanned the room full of workers installing lights and painting the walls, I didn’t find Danielle lecturing one of the contractors. She was lecturing Jillian.

“That’s what you always say and look at what happened last time,” she shot back.

Danielle looked as though she was about to respond when she noticed me approaching. Jillian followed her gaze, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Luke!” Danielle exclaimed. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I added, glancing briefly over at Jillian.

“Oh, no, no. I was just telling Jillian that she needed to trust me. This…article she’s writing about the renovation…it’s going to be fantastic.”

“Article?” I asked, because this was the first I had heard about Jillian writing anything.

“Of course, silly. That’s how we work. I do a fantastic remodel. Jillian takes pretty pictures and then writes an amazing piece about it. The magazine picks it up and my phone starts to ring. It’s a beautiful thing,” she explained. “And you dropped by at such a good time. The fabric for the upholstery is on its way. I asked for a rush delivery and the kid at the fabric store kind of has a thing for me, so I think it should be here any minute.”

“That’s great,” I replied, a little overwhelmed by all of the information. I didn’t really care about looking at the rolls of fabric. She had given me some swatches. I picked a few I liked. After Danielle vetoed the majority of them, we decided on a striped print with oranges, tans and browns. Danielle claimed the dark wood would make it “pop”. Who was I to argue?

“Jillian’s going to take some photos of the rolls of fabric leaning against the old leather booths in the corner. It’ll be a great ‘before’ shot.”

“Sounds like it.”

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, having nothing of value to add to the conversation. Jillian hadn’t spoken either, making the tension I was feeling seem that much worse.

“Excuse me,” one of the workers interrupted. “Some guy is out front with a delivery for you.”

Danielle hopped in place, clapping her hands. “Yay! It’s fabric time. If you’ll excuse me.”

“I’ll…won’t you need help?” Jillian asked.

“That’s what delivery people are for,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ll be right back.”

After a week of thinking of nothing but this girl, I found myself wishing that I had gone directly to the bar. I wasn’t ready for this conversation. I was too aware of what I was doing with my hands. I ran one along the back of my neck, tucking the other in my coat pocket.

While I was still trying to think of a safe topic to broach, Jillian broke the silence.

“I sent you a message,” she said softly. “On Facebook.” This was exactly the conversation I wanted to avoid.

“I’ve been really busy,” I lied. “I haven’t been on my computer in awhile.”

“Oh,” she replied, looking down at her shoes. “Well…I did.”

“Jillian! Luke!” Danielle called, walking through the doorway. It was a relief that our awkward exchange was over and we could focus on something else. “Wait until you see how beautiful the colors are against the grain.”

Jillian walked over to Danielle, who was holding a roll of the material up against the wall.

“Nice, right?” she asked, beaming.

“It’s great,” I replied. “Listen, I need to get to the bar, but I stopped by to talk to you about the marquee.”

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “Have you decided on a name?”

“Um…yeah,” I replied, suddenly self-conscious. “Grace’s Fire.”

“Aw, Luke,” Danielle sighed. “That’s so sweet. Don’t you think that’s sweet, Jill?”

“That’s a lovely idea, Luke,” she said, gazing at me. Embarrassed that I had stared a little longer than I should have, I decided to make a quick exit.

“Well, I need to get going. I’ll probably stop by tomorrow and check in.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” Danielle replied, happily. “We’re coming to the bar tomorrow night.”

“We?” I asked, even though I knew who she meant.

“All of us. Me, Josh, Nate, Meg, Jillian,” she explained, looking at me like I was crazy. I suddenly felt like there was a lump in my throat.

“That’s…great. Um, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”

“Bye, Luke,” Danielle replied, with a cheerful wave.

I glanced at Jillian just as she was looking up at me.

“Bye,” she added, with a tight smile.

Once I got into my car, I grabbed my phone, praying that Carter had responded. Fortunately, he replied that he’d meet me at the diner around eleven. I needed that talk with him now more than ever.

By ten forty-five the following day, I was settled into a corner booth, waiting for Carter to arrive. I fidgeted with the salt shaker, spinning it in place absently as I watched the door for him to arrive.

At eleven on the dot, Carter breezed in, heading straight to the booth we always occupied. He slid into the seat, watching as I rolled the salt shaker between my hands.

“So, are we going to exchange pleasantries, or should I just ask now why you look like hell?” he asked, nonchalantly.

“I was going to say hello first,” I replied. “But that’ll do. Thanks for that, by the way.”

The waitress made her way over to us, filling the empty cups in front of us with coffee. Carter looked up at her and smiled, pausing to speak until she’d walked away.

“Seriously. Are you even sleeping?” he asked, searching my eyes. There were dark circles underneath them when I looked in the mirror that morning. That tends to happen when you wake up at five o’clock every day to run on a treadmill like a lunatic. “What’s her name?”

Startled by his assumption, I knocked over the shaker, spilling salt all over the table.

“Why would you assume—”

“So you’re saying this,” he began, motioning to my face, “is not about a girl?”

I suddenly felt very uncomfortable—embarrassed to be falling apart over a girl from so long ago. I should be over this by now. I shouldn’t be acting this way, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be feeling this way. Biting back my nerves, I drew a deep breath, closing my eyes and resting my head against the back of the booth.

“Do you remember Jillian Cross?”

“Of course I remember Jillian Cross,” he replied, as if the answer were obvious.

“Well, the girl we ran into at the grocery store last month is a friend of hers.”

“I see.”

“So I’ve seen her a few times during the past month…not a date. Just…casually.”

I knew I was probably driving him crazy drawing this out but I sounded like such an idiot already. Telling him that I was screwed-up over a girl I knew in high school was going to take some time.

“How’d that go?”

“Not great,” I replied. “We left things…there were a lot of unresolved issues.”

“She didn’t want you to go to New York with her,” he said flatly. “She was right, you know. I know you don’t want to hear that.”

“Carter…I can’t…how can you even say that? She just left. Who does that?”

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