Make Me Sin (34 page)

My heart goes wild, ping-ponging around inside my chest. What could this mean? Has he been sick? Why wouldn’t he show at the band’s sessions? My frantic thoughts are cut short when Brody clears his throat.

“Chloe, there’s something you should know. I thought it would be easier for you if it wasn’t a surprise. And just for the record, I told him not to do it. We all did.”

My stomach clenches. I know whatever he’s going to say will be bad.

But I don’t know just how bad, until he drops a bomb on my head so powerful I stumble and he has to grip my arm and pull me upright so I don’t fall flat on my face on the processional aisle.

“A.J. brought Heavenly as his guest.”

The violins suddenly sound off-key and screeching. The sun shining so cheerfully overhead burns my bare shoulders. The white swans floating in the lake beside the ceremony area look sickly and mean. Everything beautiful about this day turns ugly, and I want to drop my flowers and run.

I don’t, of course. I plaster a smile on my face, grit my teeth, and remain silent, because I don’t trust myself not to start screaming if I open my mouth.

Brody successfully gets us down the aisle. We take our places on either side of the pastor. Though everything inside me is a wasteland of ashes, I straighten and smile wider.

I don’t look down the aisle to watch A.J. approach with Grace. When he takes his place in front of Brody, I turn my head and watch Kenji, Ethan, and Chris head down. I watch Nico walk down, swaggering, grinning from ear to ear. Then the music changes, and everyone stands for the bride.

A murmur runs through the crowd when they see her, and I understand why. Kat has never looked so stunning. Her dark hair is gathered back on the sides and pinned beneath a long, trailing veil, which is edged in crystals and seed pearls. Her ivory silk chiffon dress is fitted across the bodice, cinches tight around her tiny waist, and flares out into a ballerina skirt. She’s wearing over one million dollars of Fred Leighton diamonds Nico bought her, including a twenty-carat pair of drop earrings and a choker with a ten-carat center stone. She looks like a fantasy princess.

She looks like a perfectly happy, blushing bride, which I know deep down in my soul I will never be. I’ll be the single mom everyone feels sorry for and tries to set up with their divorced friends. I’ll be the bitter career girl who wrinkles early and drinks late.

I’ll be the spinster aunt.

I swallow, looking down. Without thinking, I turn my head and find A.J. staring right back at me.

Like it always was, our connection is instant and electric: a jolt of sizzling heat, a plug into a socket.

I feel like I might faint. I suck in a breath. His gaze flicks to my mouth, then flashes back up to mine. When I see the look in his eyes, that endless dark longing he used to look at me with, my heart stops.

He doesn’t look away. Neither do I. My hands shake so hard the flowers in my bouquet tremble.

I’m finally able to break eye contact when Kat meets Nico at the end of the aisle. The wedding officially begins, but I don’t hear a word. I don’t see a thing.

All I’m aware of is the burning heat of A.J.’s gaze on me the entire time.

M
isery: noun, plural
miseries
. 1. wretchedness of condition or circumstances. 2. distress or suffering caused by need, privation, or poverty. 3. great mental or emotional distress; extreme unhappiness. 4. a cause or source of distress.

“Yep,” I say, staring at the dictionary app on my cell phone, “that’s just about covers it.”

“Put away your damn phone and go dance,” Jamie says, snatching my cell from my hand.

I grimace. “With who? My baby daddy, or his paid-for piece on the side?”

“There’s no reason to wallow, bug, it’s unbecoming. It’s like the line from that Metric song, ‘There’s no glitter in the gutter.
’
”

I glare at him. “Don’t you talk to me about gutters! You’re the genius who told me I might find a diamond there, covered in mud, and mistake it for a turd. Well as it turns out, counselor, it actually
was
a turd!”

I’m at Jamie and my parents’ table because I couldn’t stand one more instant at mine, which was inconveniently right next to A.J. and the whore’s. The reception is in full swing. The main course has been served, the band is halfway through their first set, and I’ve never been so miserable. Hence the dictionary lookup; when Jamie asked me how I was doing, I wanted to be sure I was using the right word to describe my current condition.

Jamie sighs and looks to my mother for help.

She pats his hand. “Leave her be, James. She’s earned the right to be miserable.”

I raise my water glass in a toast to my mother.

Glowering at A.J. across the room, my father mutters, “I’ve got half a mind to make someone
else
miserable right about now.”

“Thomas,” my mother says without moving her lips, “you will
not
embarrass us at Kat’s wedding. For goodness’ sake, behave yourself!”

Other than the four of us, our table is empty, as are most of the others in the ballroom. Everyone else is on the dance floor, having a blast. Everyone but A.J. and Heavenly that is, who are sitting at his table, deep in a heated conversation. They both look pissed.

I hope they’re arguing about the virulent strain of herpes she’s given him.

“Dad,” I say, trying to distract myself, “did you get my message this morning?”

He turns back to me, frowning. “No. What message?”

“About what Eric left on my car.”

My father sits up ramrod straight in his chair.
“What?”

I nod. “When I went out to my car this morning, Eric’s badge was sitting in the corner of my windshield. I put it in my purse.”

His eyes bulge. “Did you see him?”

“No.”

Jamie and my father share a look.

“Is it a violation of his restraining order?”

“Absolutely. The protective order covers your vehicle as well as you. I wish I’d known sooner, I’d have called it in.”

“I left you a message!”

He shakes his head. “No matter. I’ll report it now. And then we’re going to get a civil contempt order for that bastard, too.” He rises abruptly from the table with his cell phone in hand and stalks off, headed for the exit.

I want to drop my face into my hands, or, even better, crawl under the table and hide, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to do anything that even resembles looking like I’m as affected by A.J.’s presence as I actually am. Though I’m not dancing, my face hurts from all the fake smiling I’ve been doing, especially after Kat came by to apologize for A.J.’s surprise guest. Apparently she and Nico didn’t know what the rest of the band knew, and they’re livid about not only his cruel stunt, but the fact that nobody had the balls to tell them about it.

I told her if that’s the worst thing that happens tonight, she should count her blessings. At the last wedding I attended, a drunk guest fell onto the dessert table and destroyed the bride and groom’s five-thousand-dollar wedding cake.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I announce, knowing if I don’t tell my mother where I’m off to she’ll assume it’s to go have a good cry outside in a shrubbery and want to follow me.

Proving my point, she says, “I’ll go with you.” She starts to rise, but my brother puts his hand on her arm and gently pulls her back to her seat.

“Give her a minute to herself,” he says, shooting me an understanding glance.

I mouth
Thanks
to him, then grab my clutch and scoot away before she can charge after me. I hurry out of the ballroom, releasing my breath only once I’m outside in the fresh evening air. The closest ladies’ room is a short walk through a lushly landscaped garden. I take my time, replaying everything that’s happened so far today in my head, blinking back stinging tears.

I sort of wish I hadn’t told God he’d never be hearing from me again, because I have a strong urge to raise my eyes skyward and wail “Why?”

How do people survive this kind of pain?

I push open the door to the ladies’ room. Inside it’s quiet; I’m the only one here. I stand in front of the mirror and look at my reflection, wondering how long I can reasonably hide here before my parents send a search party.

The door opens behind me. I quickly look down and open the little clutch I’ve brought for my cell phone and lipstick. I don’t want to be caught crying, so I bite the inside of my cheek and breathe deeply, digging inside my bag, trying to look busy.

A voice says, “He’s never fucked me.”

Startled, I look up. When I see who’s followed me inside the restroom, my clutch falls from my hands and drops to the floor with a clatter.

Heavenly crosses her arms, leans against the side of the toilet stall, and shakes her hair off her face.

“Excuse me?”

“A.J. and I have never had sex. I thought you should know.”

Blood rushes to my face. I square off with her, my fists clenched. “Whatever kind of game this is, I don’t want to play.”

Her face remains impassive. “It’s the truth. He’s never had sex with me. He’s never wanted to; he just wanted someone to talk to. He pays me for my time, not my body.”

I’m certain I’m going to vomit. And this room feels like a furnace; I start to sweat. I hiss, “You have a really bad memory, lady, because
I walked in on you both nake
d
!”

Her lashes lower; I think she’s ashamed. “That little act was for your benefit. He knew finding me there was the only thing that would make you leave him, so he paid me to be naked while he waited for you to come home.” She raises her eyes and meets my gaze. “It was his plan for you to find us, understand?”

I’m staggered. My legs are suddenly so weak I have to lean against the sink for support. “No. No, I don’t understand.”

She sighs, straightens, uncrosses her arms. She moves to the sink beside me and fluffs her hair while looking in the mirror. She’s wearing a sleeveless, long lavender gown with a side slit practically to her navel, and no bra. Her nipples show right through the fabric.

“He didn’t look at me the entire time. I think he was too embarrassed. He thinks of me like a sister. Who wants to see their sister naked? No one.” She turns to and fro in front of the mirror, checking herself out. “Even if their sister looks like me.”

Her tone, expression, and manner all indicate she’s telling me the truth, unbelievable though it is. There’s a chair in one corner; I sink into it. I ask hoarsely, “Why? Why would he do that? Why would he want to make me leave him?”

There’s a moment of silence as she stares at herself in the mirror. Then she turns her head and looks at me. In her eyes I see pity, and also a deep, frightening sadness.

“Because he’s dying.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t even blink. I just stare at her, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

She turns around, rests her weight against the sink, and stares down at the floor. “It’s a brain tumor. He’s known for years. It’s very slow growing, but he’s refused surgery. The doctors didn’t think he’d even make it this far; they thought he’d be dead by twenty-five. That’s where he was that day, when he told you he was going to see his manager. He sees his doctor every three months. And that day . . . they told him he’d run out of time.”

This isn’t real. I’m having a nightmare. This can’t be happening.

I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until Heavenly glances up at me. “They think the tumor is what caused his chromesthesia. It presses on the optic nerves. He’s probably had it since childhood, but he only found out about it four years ago, when he had a CT scan after he was hit in the head by a bottle someone threw onstage. That little scar above his eyebrow? It’s from that bottle.”

With a shudder of horror, I remember something A.J. once told me.

So you started fighting for your keep.

Earlier than most, because I was big, and always angry anyway. I didn’t understand why I was so different, why I saw colors in sounds and no one else did. I felt like a freak.

“So because he refused surgery to remove the tumor, they gave him
a year. He was stronger than they thought, obviously.” She laughs softly
to herself, shaking her head. “He’s too stubborn to die on schedule.”

I’m sick and reeling, but I manage to ask, “Why would he refuse surgery?”

She pulls in a deep breath through her nose, then lets it out all at once. “Because even if they could successfully remove the tumor, he’d be blind. He said he’d rather die.” She looks at me, her eyes glittering. “That’s what he thinks he deserves, anyway.”

Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t bother to wipe them away. They don’t matter. Nothing else matters.

Heavenly looks at the ceiling. “He used to talk about you. All the time, all he could talk about was you. You know it was him who had the elevator and security gate fixed in your apartment building, right? The management company didn’t move fast enough when he threatened them with a lawsuit, so he paid for it out of his own pocket. Twice what it should have cost, not that he cared. He would have paid any amount to make sure you’d be safe.”

My mouth is open. No sound is coming out. But Heavenly isn’t paying attention; she keeps on talking, telling her story as if she’s grateful to finally be getting it off her chest.

“We watched this movie together once,
Moulin Rouge!
. There’s this part where someone sings something like ‘Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste,’ and he turned to me and said, ‘That’s it. That’s how I feel about her.’ This was before the two of you were together. And then when you got together, I didn’t see him again until the Memorial Day party.” Her voice breaks. “And I was really happy for him. For you both. And also, really, really sad because I knew you didn’t know. He didn’t want you to know.”

She looks at me again, and now her eyes are wet. “He hated himself for letting you fall in love with him, knowing he didn’t have much time left. And at the end, he thought it would be better if he made you hate him, too. He thought it would be easier for you, when the time came, if you’d already put him far behind. He didn’t have the strength to walk away from you, so he made it so you’d be the one to leave. And he knew the only way he’d be able to stay away from you today is if he brought me, so you’d hate him all over again. He thought he was doing the right thing. For you.”

Heavenly pauses, swallowing. She whispers, “Right or wrong, Chloe, everything A.J.’s done since the day he first met you has been for you.”

I’m moving. The decision wasn’t made in any conscious part of my brain; my feet are just obeying some urgent, subconscious command. I run out the door, flying over the short path back to the ballroom with my heart in my throat.

Dying. Dying. Dying
. It echoes inside my head. I can’t let that happen. He can’t die, not now, not ever. I have to tell him, I have to let him know about the baby, make him change his mind about the surgery—

The sound of people screaming makes me falter, then stop. Abruptly, the music inside the ballroom cuts off. The shrill, high-pitched squeal of feedback from a microphone fills the night air, and then there’s an eerie silence.

From somewhere behind me, a cop comes running. He pushes past me, barking into a handheld radio. In his other hand he holds his gun.

I bolt toward the ballroom. People have started streaming out in panic, some of them screaming, some silent and white faced with fear. I run past them, shove my way through one of the doors, and look wildly around, trying to find the cause of the uproar. Twenty steps in, I come to a dead standstill.

In the center of the empty dance floor stands Eric. He’s got my terrified, crying mother in a chokehold.

He’s holding a gun to her head.

“Where is she?” he screams, looking around wildly. He drags my mother backward toward the abandoned stage.

Everything takes on the quality of a dream. I move in slow motion, my feet heavy, the sound of voices muffled and distorted like I’m underwater. Someone is calling my name; it’s my brother, standing near our table, his arms stretched out toward me, his eyes terrified. I ignore him and keep moving, walking numbly toward Eric.

This isn’t about my mother; she’s only a placeholder. I know he’ll let her go when he gets what he’s really come here for.