Remembering Phoenix (6 page)

He arches his head up towards the ceiling for a few seconds then looks back down at me. “When you were little and scared, you would always bury your head in my chest. When you were a teenager and you thought your world was ending because your boyfriend of a few weeks dumped you, you’d do the same, and you would cry until you felt better. You always said I was your comfort when you needed it. You said you loved my funny smell, because you hated the smell of tobacco, but loved the smell of peppermint.”

A flood of emotions wrap around me, consuming me. I wish so badly I could
remember
that, but just having a sense of familiarity makes me so extremely happy. I feel like the connection I’ve been longing to have with my father since the accident just hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Can I keep doing that? When I just need comfort?”

“You can bury your head in my chest anytime you want, Charlie Girl. I’m still your daddy, and you’ll always be my little girl.”

I smile as I fan away the tears threatening to ruin my makeup.

“Daddy. Charlie,” Lizzie interrupts. “I’m really glad you two had this moment, but could you stop? I don’t want my makeup to mess up right now.”

Dad and I both let out a small laugh. I look at my sister. “Let’s get you married, shall we?” I ask, before walking back into position.

Slayter stares at me. “What’s your problem?” I chide.

“Nothing,” he replies, looking down at me. He smiles. “But, to get back to our conversation, I do think your scar is beautiful.”

My jaw drops. Literally. I think it disconnected from my face.

He said what?

I bring my hand to my face, covering the three-inch long scar, which runs from my cheekbone down towards my chin. I’ve gone through numerous laser treatments to try to diminish the scar. I’ve done countless at-home treatments, all of which failed miserably. It’s a constant reminder of the accident. A constant reminder I’m broken, that I have a missing piece. Ironically enough, it’s a constant reminder that I don’t remember. Nothing at all.

“We all have scars, Charlie. Some scars just aren’t physical.”

Little does he know I have those, too.

“Do you always try to be a life guru?”

He winks. “I am a guru at nearly everything in life. Trust me.”

I laugh at his innuendo. “I doubt that very seriously.”

“Oh, Charlie. You just need to see for yourself.”

“That will never fucking happen.”

“Didn’t I tell you there was no cussing in church?” He grins.

I roll my eyes. “Can we just get this day over with so you can go back to annoying someone else?”

“I don’t annoy anyone. Just ask Abby.”

My head snaps to him at the mention of her name. “What?”

“I am absolutely kidding. But I knew it,” he states. “You find me attractive.”

“Do not. I find you distracting.”

“Attractive. Distracting. It’s all the same.” He smirks like he’s just won a battle of wills.

“Just distracting,” I correct him, rolling my eyes in disgust. “I also find you rather annoying, self-absorbed, and I bet you’re a man whore.”

We take a few steps forward as Abby and Tim make their way down the aisle. Once they get to the front of the church, Olivia and Cade follow behind. “I’m not a whore of a man,” he replies. He’s quiet for a few seconds, then leans in. “You know, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other now that your sister is marrying my brother.”

“Doubt it. I’ve never met you before all of this, and they’ve been together forever.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t lived here during the entire duration. But now I do.” He winks. I roll my eyes, annoyed by his ridiculously good looks and his obvious inability to shut his mouth.

“I’m pretty recluse. Don’t get out much. So unless you barge into my apartment, we won’t be seeing much of each other.”

Randi and Hank make their way down the aisle and pause for the photographer to snap a photo. Slayter holds his elbow out for me to place my arm in. I hold on tight to the white and plum bouquet with the other hand as we start our trek down the aisle.

A small wave of sadness washes over me. I know I’ll never have this. I know I won’t ever have the fairy tale. I lost that two years ago.

My self-pity instantly disappears when Slayter whispers, “Barging into your apartment can be arranged.”

No. No, it cannot.

“Dude, Abby is a dime,” Tim says for the thousandth time. If I hear her name one more time, I’ll physically rip his voice box out of his throat.

“Nah, I was thinking she was more like the penny you see but never pick up, because let’s face it. It’s a penny. And we all know they get ran over more than anything.”

“Dude. You’re insane.”

His talking is equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. “Rule one: Never say
dude
again. You sound like a twelve year old whose balls just dropped. Rule two: Don’t talk about Abby in front of me again. I really don’t care to hear about her. And if you do either of the two in my presence, I’m not responsible for what bodily harm I inflict upon you.”

“Bastard,” he mumbles as he exits the room.

I throw his bottle of Jack back in his bag in case the preacher comes in here. Don’t want him having a heart attack.

The door swings back open and Stetson walks in. “Hey bro.”

I nod my head. “What’s up? Why aren’t you in the reception hall with everyone else?”

He huffs. “Because I needed to sneak a drink. I’ll never understand why Lizzie was so damn adamant about everything being done here. Jesus Christ, all these people staring at me constantly is just too damn much to deal with sober.”

I laugh, because it’s hilarious he thinks being the center of attention is too much. “I do recall you always wanting to be the in the spotlight when you were growing up.”

“Yeah, well, then I grew up,” he adds.

“You did, didn’t you?”

He laughs. “More than you’d believe, big bro.”

“Listen to little Beck talk the big talk,” I joke. “On a serious note, I’m proud of you, Stet. Mom and Dad would be too.”

He snaps his head towards me. “Not now, Slayter. I don’t want to go there.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. I respect his need to not talk about it. I just wish he
would
talk about it sometimes. “Okay. I get it.”

After taking one last swig of his liquor, he grabs a CD out of the side of his bag. He hands it to me. “Could you run and give this to the deejay? He’ll know what to do with it.”

“Uh, okay. Sure,” I answer as he walks out the door.

I look down at the clear CD case. Scribbled in permanent marker on the front is one word:
Phoenix
.

Who or what is Phoenix?

I watch as the guests meander around and visit with other guests they know. A herd of girls circle around Lizzie, gawking over her dress as they snap photos of each other and themselves with the bride. I sink down further in my chair. Why I have to sit at a designated table for the wedding party is beyond me. I really didn’t have a choice in the matter, so here I am.

At least I get to see Charlie.

The real question here is,
why
do I want to see Charlie? I don’t even know the girl. There’s just something about her. The way she’s guarded. Her dry sense of humor, which I find oddly attractive. Her complete unknowing how damn beautiful she is. The fact she doesn’t vie to be the most beautiful person in the room, but she just
is.

Dammit.

I shake my head at myself. I lock gazes on the 5-tier cake in the front of the room, trying to think of anything else.

Why are weddings always so formal? Why can’t they just say
I do
and then have one big, thrown together party? There’s so many expectations, so much money spent on one day when it’s not about the day at all. It’s about the days that follow. But what do I know? I’m just a twenty-seven year old man who’s never been married, not that I haven’t wanted to be.

I throw back the bottle of water, drinking it down, wishing it were alcohol instead
.
“Better slow yourself down there.” I look over and see Abby standing by my chair, pushing her boobs out to make her cleavage look even bigger than it is. I guess I wasn’t frank enough with her last night at the bar.

“Can I help you?” I ask, with the water bottle up to my lips.

“I think I lost something in the back room, but I can’t find it. Can you help me?” She’s eyeing me like I’m a piece of meat as she twirls her bleach blonde hair around her fingers.

I laugh. “Really? Is that your way of trying to hook up with some guy you barely even know? And in a church, of all places. I might not be a saint, but I’m a man of morals. Maybe you should find some of that while you’re looking for whatever it is you’ve lost. Because I can’t help you find it.”

She scoffs then stomps away, but not before I hear her say, “Well aren’t you a prick.”

If a prick turns down a girl that’s been pounded more times than a basketball court, then by all means, call me a prick.

I grab my phone out of my pocket to check the time. I click the lock button and my lock screen displays. Claire’s smiling face shines bright and a pang of sadness washes over me. I wish I hadn’t wanted to check the time.

I miss her. I miss her more than any damn thing in this world. She was my world for nine incredible months. And even though I haven’t seen her since the day Jodi walked out on me, informing me Claire
wasn’t
mine, I still think about her every single day. I constantly wonder what she’s doing.

I sit there, hands pressed against my eyes. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening right now. I feel sick, physically ill. I shake my head and stand up, determined that every bit of this is a nightmare.

Pacing the length of the hallway, I replay the past two hours in my head. I never thought when I woke up this morning that I would be waking up and entering hell, but here I am. I’m in hell.

“Slayter,” Jodi calls from the end of the hallway.

I look up, my eyes bloodshot from the blow she just gave my heart. “What?” My voice is cold and harsh, filled with bitterness and anger.

“I… I just wanted you to… I just thought you might want to see Claire one last time.” She looks down at the ground, seeming ashamed. She damn well should be. Letting me think for over nine months that little girl was mine is the absolute sickest joke anyone could ever play.

She lied. Not only did she lie, but she toyed with my entire life.

I run my hands through my hair, tugging at it.  “Why are you pretending like you care? And why in the hell did you not tell me before I fell in love with her? Nine months and thirteen days, Jodi. Tell me, why?” I march closer to her.

She looks up at me. Her brown hair thrown in a bun, her cheeks are tear stained, and her brown eyes red from crying. “I didn’t want this, Slayter. I didn’t—“

“Don’t you say you didn’t want this,” I demand. “You played games with my life and hers. What? Would you have let me go years, a lifetime, thinking she was mine if you still wanted me?”

She looks up at me, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. It just happened. Slayter, I never meant to hurt you. I only want the best for you.”