The Space Within (The Book of Phoenix #3) (13 page)

She hadn’t told me what her ultimate decision had been that day in the coffee shop. We hadn’t grown that close in the ten minutes we sat with each other. But she did tell me she regretted it. Her eyes told me more—that it would haunt her until her dying day. And that’s when I’d told her that I’d finally made the decision to take my own life into my hands and suggested she consider doing the same.

“Stop letting others make decisions for you that
you
have to live with,” I’d said. “It’s
your
life. Own it.”

I rubbed the pressure points on my forehead for another minute, and then I wrote back to her:

“Hi, Kami ~ No problem on the delayed reply. I have to apologize, too. I only get on here for my boss and usually through her account as she dictates what she wants me to post. I’m glad things are going well for you. I guess they are here, too. I met a guy. A super guy. I thought he was going to be like all the rich, arrogant jerk-offs I’d grown up with, but he’s not. Just the opposite. Only, he has baggage. Pretty big baggage. As big as we have. I just found out last week, and I’ve put us in a holding pattern until I can figure out what to do. I mean, I don’t fault or blame him. I just don’t know if I can help him carry his load. I think I want to, but after everything I’ve been through, I don’t know if I can yet. You’re probably the only person I know who can understand that.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I realized the truth in that last statement. As I’d been typing, I’d wondered why I was even telling a near stranger all of this. I avoided giving too many details since everything stays on the Internet forever and a day. Even if it was a private message, I didn’t trust the Internet gods to keep it private into eternity. When I typed out that last sentence, though, I knew why I was spilling to Kami. We may have been mere acquaintances, but she really was the only person I knew in the world who would understand exactly where I was coming from with the Brock and Connor situation.

I wiped at my eyes before I reviewed what I’d already written and continued:

“Anyway, you’ve kind of inspired me now to take my own advice and make a damn decision. If I don’t, it’ll be made for me, and I probably won’t like it. That’s how things go, right? Let’s make a pact with each other that we’ll both stop letting others make all of our decisions. Sound good? Good luck with getting your ducks in a row. You keep in touch, too, and let me know when you start your new life. ~ Asia”

I signed off, closed the laptop, and set it on the coffee table next to Jacey’s old journal, which had remained there since the last time Brock and I had read it together. I picked up the book and ran my fingertips over the image embossed into the leather. I gasped as a tingling pulsed through my fingers. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, and I closed my eyes automatically, wanting to relish in the strange sensation.

By the time I opened them, my decision was made, based on something I felt deep in my soul. I felt the truth in it so strongly now, I couldn’t believe it had taken me as long as it had to figure it out. A knock on my door made me jump—it was nearly midnight—and when I opened it to find Brock on the other side, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow sensed that I was finally ready to talk. Except I wasn’t
quite
ready. Although my decision was made, I hadn’t yet figured out the best way to execute it, and now here he was, all rugged and gorgeous as usual, making my mind wander when I really needed it to focus. At least he wore a shirt. I never thought that would be a positive, but at the moment, it was.

His gaze skimmed down my tank top and pajama bottoms and back up, where they caught for a brief moment on my boobs, freed from their confines of a bra at the moment. I crossed my arms over my chest when I realized I was totally nipping out, and not because it was cold.

“You, uh, want to come in?” I asked, and his eyes jumped up to mine.

He shook his head. “No, it’s late. I just couldn’t wait another moment to talk to you. I’m letting you off the hook.”

My brows scrunched together. “What?”

His gaze dropped as he rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow. “I’ve been thinking hard about everything, as I’m sure you have. I really thought you knew from the beginning, and I’m truly sorry if you felt led on.”

“I already told you—it’s not your fault. I was too blind to see the clues, and I didn’t ask enough questions. Please don’t blame yourself for this. It was a misunderstanding.”

He snorted. “A pretty serious misunderstanding.”

I nodded. “Kind of.”

“Yeah, well, there’s more that makes it bigger. See, not only did I think you knew, but I thought you actually were okay with it.” He chuckled, but I heard no humor in the sound. “That was stupid of me, I know. Why would you want to take on something like a baby? I mean, I know he’s mine, but that means he’s part of my whole package. And who wants that? You obviously don’t. I’d been living in a fantasy world, and I see that now.”

“Brock—”

“Please,” he interrupted, “just let me get this out because it’s been killing me for days.” He watched me for confirmation before he went on. “Your reaction, Asia, your need to take this long to think about it, tells me you’re not ready for this life. For what I have to offer. And as much as it kills me to say it, I’m letting you go. You can stop freaking out and worrying about it. I’m not going to beg you to stay in something you don’t want to be in. I did that enough in the past. I won’t do that to you. I care about you too much. I care about my son too much to be with someone who doesn’t really want us.”

I’d frozen in front of him, my heart folding in on itself with each word he uttered. I could only manage to stare at him. No words came to me. Only feelings, hordes of them, crashing down on me. So after a long moment, he turned and jogged down the steps and into the darkness.

“Fuck!” I said aloud as I closed the door and leaned against it.

I hadn’t been fast enough, and the decision had been made for me. Again. And as I’d suspected, it wasn’t the choice I would have made. I couldn’t say that to Brock now, though. It had obviously pained him to come to this decision. Although he showed no evidence of a broken heart as he delivered his little speech, I could feel it. Actually feel his pain deep in my own soul. I also felt his strong belief that letting me go was the best thing for all three of us, and I could no longer argue with him.

My short stint of happiness was over.

How had I ever lived with such emptiness? Had I felt this hollow before I met him, when living on my own with no friends and family? I didn’t think so. I didn’t think I’d been so bare and vacant since last summer. How could I feel such a big void after such a short time with one person? I never thought I was this girl. Not even in the
before
. But here I was, letting the days and weeks pass by with little notice or participation from me except for my work. Depression and its endless pit of darkness began to take a stronghold in my life again. Like last time, when I wasn’t working, I lost myself in books—in other worlds and lives that were much worse than my own but somehow more enjoyable.

Except for the leather-bound book that still sat on my coffee table, untouched. I couldn’t bring myself to open the journal again. Reading Jacey’s story had been something I shared with Brock. It had no meaning any more now that he wasn’t here to listen, too. I should have tossed the book, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. It became part of the scenery.

Although we were often in the same house for hours on end, we managed to avoid each other for weeks. I could always feel him when he was nearby, however, like my soul was more complete. Still hurting, but at least not empty. When he was gone, though—at classes or taking Connor out—I didn’t feel exactly sad, especially as time passed, but somewhat hollow. As if something had perforated my soul and part of it leaked out, returning only when Brock did. As stupid as it all sounded, I couldn’t shake the feeling. It wasn’t a mental or emotional woe-is-me depression. It was physical, and not something I could help no matter how many times I told myself to get over it.

“This is ridiculous,” Hope said one day as we were packing for a book convention.

This would be the first event I’d attend with her, and I was excited about it, but not as much as I should have been. For the first time in my entire life, I felt anxious about traveling so far away from home. We traveled all the time when I was growing up, going to the mountains or the beaches or out of the country—the more exotic the better, my parents thought—nearly every Christmas, Spring Break, and a good chunk of the summer. I’d looked forward to every trip as an adventure. For this trip, I’d be working, but I could finally show my inner nerd and be surrounded by people who shared the love of books and reading. But for some reason, my stomach turned every time I thought about boarding the plane.

“It
is
a lot of stuff,” I agreed, sitting on my knees as Hope handed me another costume to somehow fit in the suitcase with her others. She said not all events were like this one, where all of the authors participated in cosplay of their own characters. Hope had decided to play a different character for each of the three days of the convention, requiring all kinds of dresses and accessories.

“Oh, this isn’t ridiculous. Well, maybe a little, but it’s always fun. I was talking about you and Brock.” She looked at me with a single brow raised. “You both mope around this house, only yards away from each other but galaxies apart. The atmosphere’s perfect for writing angsty love stories, but not for your real lives.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it,” I said as I tucked a sleeve of the dress into the suitcase. “Brock doesn’t need a girl in his life right now.”

Standing over me in jeans and a simple t-shirt, she put her hands on her hips and nodded. “Any girl? No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to be running around like a man-whore when he has a baby to take care of and medical school to prepare for. But you’re not any girl, Asia. And from what I’ve seen, and what I know in my own heart and soul, you both need each other in your lives.”

I dropped my gaze from her and fiddled with a feather on a hat that sat in front of me, still needing to be packed. “You’ve said that before. I don’t understand. Shouldn’t you be protecting him? Keeping him from making another stupid mistake?”

“Exactly. That’s what I’m doing.
You
are not a mistake, Asia. His ex was, yeah, but we have Connor now, so I can’t even regret that. But you are the opposite of a mistake. You and Brock
belong
together. I believe you always have and just needed—how did you put it that first day?—that’s right, life to happen and priorities to shift to bring you two together.” 

I pondered this for a moment, and then looked up at her, my head cocked to the side. I tried to choose my words carefully because Hope was, after all, my boss first and foremost, and I didn’t want to piss her off.

“I can’t be what he needs and what you want for him and Connor. I can’t fill the shoes of Connor’s mom.”

“I certainly don’t expect that! Yeah, Connor needs a mom.
His
mom. That’s what would be best for him, of course. But he also needs his dad—a happy dad who can serve as a good role model. Right now, Brock’s not happy.” She pressed her lips together, and the corners lifted slightly. “You should have seen him that day he brought Connor home. He didn’t even walk in the back door like usual, but rang the doorbell at the front of the house. When I opened the door, I was in shock. There was my son who was supposed to be over a thousand miles north standing on my front step. His hair stuck up all over the place, dark circles were under his eyes, and a baby seat with a tiny bundle in it sat at his feet. He stared at the ground at first, shifting foot to foot as he refused to look at me, but when he finally did, I could see the fear in Brock’s eyes—fear of the unknown of being a dad just as much as the fear of my reaction. I did the only thing I could do. I threw my arms around him and welcomed them both home.” She wiped a thumb under her eye. “His relief was immediate, but he wasn’t really happy until you came along, Asia. And when he was happy, he was a better dad to his son.”

I opened my mouth, but she continued.

“That’s how parenting works best. Parents always think they need to make sacrifices for the well-being of their kids, and that’s absolutely true. But we all forget that sometimes we also need to do what’s right for ourselves for the benefit of our children. What happens to children who only witnesses misery as they’re growing up? They become miserable adults themselves, not knowing any better. I want Connor to grow up witnessing and knowing love.” She took a much needed deep breath and then chuckled. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get on my soapbox. I know too many people who’ve grown up in a dark world, only to lead dark lives themselves. I’ve done my best to show Brock only love, and I hope he can do the same for his son.”

Heat rose to my face.

“Um … love? I don’t think—”

“Never deny the possibility of something good like love. The world’s a dark enough place as it is. We need to let the light in every chance we can.” She smiled. “And that’s all I’m going to say. Conversation over, I promise. Just think about it. Maybe reach out to Brock. I know he regrets letting you go.”

Both of my brows shot up. This was news to me. She sucked her lips in and shook her head.

“You didn’t hear that from me,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. “But, seriously, talk to him. For everyone’s benefit.”

“I thought this conversation was over.”

“Right. It is.” She nodded. “Think about it while we’re gone, at least. I bet you come home with a better idea of what to do.”

I had little better to do than think about it while we were gone because I was sick the whole time we were in Chicago. The plane hadn’t crashed, as I’d feared, and the hotel never burnt down, but I sure felt like I’d died and returned as a zombie. I spent the entire convention curled in a ball in bed, except when I was hunched over the toilet. Every cell of my body ached, and my skin was like a radiator. And for some stupid reason, all I could think about was Brock and how I wished he were there to hold me and care for me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why was
he
, of all people, the one I thought about when feeling my worst?

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered to Hope as we took our first-class seats for the flight home. I curled into my spot and closed my eyes against the brightness of daylight that didn’t help my aching head. “I wasn’t one bit of help. A hindrance more than anything.”

“No worries,” she said, patting my knee. “I’ve always done these things alone before. One more time didn’t kill me. I’m just sorry you didn’t get to enjoy all the fun. I’m sure you’ll feel better as soon as you get home, though.”

She was right. I hadn’t been home and in my own bed for more than a few hours when my aches dissolved and my twisting stomach finally settled. I was even able to drink some Sprite and eat a few crackers Hope had brought over when we’d arrived home, the first solid food I’d eaten since we’d left. By the next morning, I was back to normal. Thank God for that. I’d never been so sick in my life.

Even my appearance—I hadn’t only felt like a zombie but had looked like one, too—had improved overnight, I noticed as I brushed my teeth. I ran a hand through my hair, which had grown even more. When I’d been in my deepest depression, I’d dyed my hair black to match my mood, but then shortly after, regretted it, so I’d chopped it all off. I also regretted that. It’s not that I missed my once beautiful, waist-length, golden-colored hair all that much. I’d worn my hair like that for as long as I could remember, and I’d become as sick of it as I had the rest of that life. I just hated that drastic measures had to be taken to make a change, and then it took forever to grow it out to something I could change again. When Hope had needed an idea for her book and asked me if I could have a superpower, being able to change my hair color and style at whim was what I’d blurted out.

“It’s stupid, I know,” I’d admitted. “It was just the first thing that came to mind when you asked, besides all the obvious ones.”

She’d tapped her pen against her lips. “I guess it would be useful for instantaneous disguises.”

“Or for empowerment. You know what they say—a new hairstyle can change a girl’s life. Or at least her outlook on it,” I’d said with a snort, paraphrasing all the fashion magazines I used to devour like I consumed full novels now. “For me, though, I’d do it just because I could and nobody else can. It’s different, I guess.”

Hope had eyed me, as if something had occurred to her, and then disappeared, back to her writing cave. I’d assumed I’d helped her figure out whatever she’d been stuck on with her book.

Now, I brushed the blond strands back, but it still wasn’t long enough for a decent ponytail, so I put it up in a clip. I was beginning to feel human again.

Not sure about a strenuous workout in Hope’s gym yet, I took a long walk to the beach that evening, reconsidering one more time the conversation I’d planned to have with Brock instead of actually finding him to start it. I still felt the sting of his first rejection and feared Hope was wrong about him regretting that he’d let me go. Or even if she wasn’t wrong, what if he’d changed his mind? She’d told me that nearly a week ago. A lot could have changed in that time. Maybe my absence had allowed him to clear out the cobwebs of our relationship, and he was completely over it now. He’d probably moved on and didn’t even think about me any more.

Yeah, I was good at psyching myself out.

In fact, by the time I headed for home, I’d pretty much convinced myself that approaching Brock would be disastrous. He’d send me on my way and break my heart again. If he really wanted to be with me, he’d have to come to me … even if I was the one who never spoke up to share my feelings in the first place. Hope said he was giving me space, not wanting to force me into something I didn’t want, which was pretty much what he’d told me, too. But if he really regretted saying that, maybe I needed to make him fight for me to prove it.