Unbroken (14 page)

Daniel freezes. “You mean, us?”

I swallow back a sob. He’s looking at me so nervously, like I could take away everything in a heartbeat. And I can.

“I… yes. No. I don’t know!” I cry, throwing my hands up. “I wish it was that simple, but it’s not.”

Daniel looks at me. “Do you love me?” he asks quietly.

“Yes!” I swear. “But, I don’t know if you’d love me anymore if you knew, if you knew everything.”

“So tell me.” He grabs my hands. “Help me work this out.”

I look into his brown eyes, wishing like hell that I could. If I could just tell Daniel everything, all my dark, broken secrets, and have him say it’s all OK anyway, maybe we could go back to the way things used to be…

But I know that’s impossible. There’s no going back now. And even here, with Daniel breaking apart in front of me, I realize: I don’t want it to.

I don’t want to pretend anymore.

I don’t want to think of what might have been.

I can’t build a future on half-truths and denial.

Daniel lets go of my hands. He sees it, he has to, because something in his expression deflates.

“Do you love him?” he demands.

I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. I did, once.”

“And now?”

“Now, I just don’t know.” I catch my breath, admitting it to myself for the first time. “Maybe?”

That’s the thing, I just don’t know yet. Maybe what I feel for Emerson is just desire, or maybe it’s more. But I can’t ignore it, not if I’m going to figure out where the hell I’m going to go from here.

“So what do you want?” Daniel’s voice is harsh. Hurt. I flinch away, but I know it’s no less than I deserve.

“I don’t know,” I say again. Useless. “Some time. To figure this out.”

“A break.”

“I… yes.” I swallow back a sob, staring at him plaintively. “I’m sorry, Daniel, you have to believe, I never meant to hurt you.”

He shakes his head. He’s angry, I can tell. Hurt and betrayed. But he holds it back. Even now, he doesn’t raise his voice, just asks. “How long do you need?”

“I don’t know.” It’s all I’m saying right now, over and over, but it’s the truth. I have nothing else to give him, but he deserves that, at least.

“But you’re going back there, to him?” Daniel’s eyes flash accusingly.

I nod, shameful. “I have to,” I beg, wishing he would understand even knowing I have no right to expect it. “I have to see, try and figure this out.”

“But I can be good to you.” Daniel’s voice breaks with emotion, and I feel a sharp stab of pain at his distress. I did this to him. He doesn’t deserve any of it, but I’m hurting him all the same. “I know you’re confused, and hurting,” he begs me, “but Juliet, we’re good. We fit. We can make a life together.”

I can’t hold the sobs back any longer. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, swiping angrily at the tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry I can’t be the girl you love. I just.. I need to figure out who I am!”

I turn and hurry away. The apartment door slams behind me, and then I’m running down his stairs, crying for real this time. I barely see where I’m going, and I trip on the bottom step, sprawling hard against the floor. Pain shoots through my knee, the one I hurt just a couple of days ago, and for a moment, I just sit there and let the tears take over. Aching, wrenching sobs, full of regret and self-loathing.

And worst of all, relief.

Because now I’ve told Daniel the truth, I don’t have to be crippled by guilt every time Emerson’s face comes into my mind. Which is like every other heartbeat.

He’s there now, watching me with those inscrutable eyes as I get to my feet and flee the building, out into the busy street. I blindly wave for a cab, not caring about the people passing by, or what they must think of my messy weeping breakdown.

How can it be that my heart feels like it’s breaking, and mending at the same time? How can I hate myself for hurting the man I love, but feel freer, all at once? Even as the guilt overwhelms me, remembering the crushed confusion on Daniel’s face, I feel it deep down in my gut: certainty. I’ve done the right thing here, and while it may not feel like it now, we’ll both be better off because of it.

I can only pray he’ll forgive me one day, I hope. If he ever stops hating me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Juliet? What the hell happened to you?”

Lacey’s voice wakes me up the next morning. I lift my head and slowly open my eyes. Daylight comes flooding in from the living room windows, and I shrink back from the glare.

“So you’re alive.” Lacey says. She’s standing over me, her duffel bag in her hand and a concerned look on her face. So, she’s back from her adventure with Garrett the Bartender then.

I groan. “Barely.”

I roll over, and swing my legs to the floor. I spent the night on the living room couch, too exhausted to even make it to bed. Now, I’m regretting not making it those extra fifteen feet: I’ve got a crink in my neck, and my right arm is dead from being propped up on a cushion above my head for hours.

“You going to tell me why you look like such a mess?” Lacey prods me.

“Gee, thanks.” I mutter, trying to massage some blood flow back into my numb arm.

“Juliet?” Her voice has real concern in it, so I look up and sigh.

“I broke up with Daniel.” I tell her. The words feel foreign in my throat, and for a split-second, I wonder if it was all a dream. Is Daniel going to show up at the door to take me out for breakfast like nothing ever happened?

Then the memory of last night comes rushing back to me, in all its messy, painful, jagged glory.

Nope. That was so not a dream.

I look up again. Lacey’s mouth is wide open, and she looks like I just told her I’m getting my head shaved, or running off to join a cult. Like I’ve completely lost my mind.

“ Well, technically, we’re on a break,” I add, as the details slowly take shape in my memory. “Or taking some time, or whatever you call it.”

Lacey gapes at me another moment, so I slowly get up, and behind to tidy up: picking the quilt from the floor where I must have tossed it in the night, and straightening up the couch cushions.

I feel a tug on the quilt, so I turn. Lacey yanks it away from me.

“What the hell did you do?” Her voice goes up a level and I flinch. “Jules, we talked about this, I can’t believe you just threw it all away!”

“Lacey,” I try to stop her, but she’s on a rant here: pacing back and forth in our tiny, cluttered apartment.

“Are you crazy?” Lacey demands. “Did you seriously just lose your mind? What did I tell you? This Emerson thing is a blip, a nothing.” She snaps her fingers. “But Daniel, that guy is forever.” Lacey shakes her head. “I don’t understand you. He’s sweet, and kind, and fixes things! Remember, when our fuses all blew and he knew exactly what to do? Jesus, if I had a guy like that…” She trails off, and for a moment, I see something flicker in her expression. “But guys like that don’t pick girls like me. They choose you, and you don’t even realize how fucking lucky you are!”

“Lacey,” I frown, confused by her anger. “I can’t lie to him, I just can’t.”

“So work it out!” she yells. “Do something, apologize, it doesn’t matter, just fix it!”

“It’s not that simple!” I yell back. “I can’t pretend like everything’s OK with Daniel when I feel this way about Emerson!”

“Like you want to rip his clothes off?” Lacey rolls her eyes. “Big deal.”

“No, it’s not like that.” I protest. “And what’s with you? You’re my friend! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Lacey catches her breath. “I’m trying to understand, Jules, I really am.” She tells me, anguished. “So Emerson is hot, and sexy as hell, and has this… hold over you. But he fucking broke your heart, remember? And you moved on.” She crosses the room to me. “You’ve spent all this time talking about how you need your life to be different, and how you can’t deal with being in love like that again. And now you’re just going right back to him? What happens next?” She demands loudly. “You’re going to just stay in that tiny town with him and live happily ever after until he decides to bail all over again? What happened to making it, the job, the apartment, everything?!”

What happens next?

It’s what my mom asked me, four years ago. It’s what she warned me about. Men like that, you can’t build a future with them. Love that fierce always burns out. She knew that better than anyone. She begged me to leave Cedar Cove and Emerson behind, and make a real life for myself, not to fall into the same mistakes she did. After Emerson proved her right, I told myself over and over again, I would be careful next time.

But look where that’s gotten me now.

“Jules?” Lacey prompts me, and I realize I’ve been standing there, not saying a word.

“I don’t know.” I hug myself. “I just know, I have to see, if there’s anything there to make work. I have to be true to myself. Can’t you understand that, even a little?”

Lacey looks torn. “I understand,” she says finally. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re making a gigantic, monumental, epic mistake.”

“Well, just as long as you’re clear about it.” I mutter. It breaks the tension. Lacey cracks a smile.

“You know I want what’s best for you, doll.” She pulls me into a hug. “I just think Daniel is the best. Seriously, you should see the way that guy looks at you: like you’re the most precious thing in the world.”

I let out a long sigh. “I know exactly how Daniel sees me. That’s the problem. He treats me like I’m special, and good, and pure.”

“Jules…”

“No, it’s true!” I protest. “Even when I came clean about making out with Emerson, he still acted like it was just a mistake, something that happened because I was stressed and confused. He could never believe I wanted it.”

No,
I correct myself. Not just wanted.
Needed
. I burned, and ached, and begged for Emerson’s touch. When I think of myself, trapped beneath him on that couch, moaning with pleasure from the sensation of his skin against mine, clawing at his clothes, and thrusting up against him…

Emerson looks at me like I’m a goddess, like I’m water, and he’s been roaming in the desert for a thousand years in search of just one drop. Like it takes everything in him not to devour me right there where I stand.

Like he sees my soul: raw, and damaged, and wanting. And he loves me all the same.

“Then I guess you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.” Lacey sighs. “You heading back?”

I nod. “You want to get breakfast before I hit the road?” I ask, looking at her hopefully. Even after everything, I can’t bear the thought she’s angry at me. She’s been my best friend since the very first day of freshman year, and I can’t imagine life without her. “My treat,” I add. “We could get those chocolate chip pancakes you love…”

Lacey rolls her eyes again, but this time, it’s affectionate. “Way to ruin my rant.” she tells me, smiling.

“So that’s a yes?” I grin, relief coursing through me.

“You know me, I’m a cheap date.” Lacey grabs her purse. I laugh,

“Shut up.” I follow her out the door, but something niggles at the back of my mind. I pause. “You don’t really believe that stuff?” I ask her, frowning. “What you said, before, about guys like Daniel not picking you—“

“Forget it.” Lacey waves my concerns away. “I was just bitching, you know that.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” I tell her, following her down the hallway. “You’re awesome, and smart, and sexy, and you could have any guy you want.”

“Right now, I’ll take any guy who can give me bacon.” Lacey cracks. I laugh.

“You know I love you, right?”

Lacey links her arm through mine. “Love you too, babe.”

* * *

After breakfast, I pack up for the road – for real, this time. I don’t pretend to myself I’ll be done in town for just a few days. I honestly have no idea how long I’ll be gone, so I email my professors and study groups to tell them a family emergency is sending me out of town: I’ll check in every day to keep up, and be back at school for sure by finals. By the time I hit the road around midday, I have a backseat packed with my laptop, all my textbooks and notebooks, and enough clothes and toiletries to last a month.

Not that I even know I’ll be staying that long. Hell, for all I know, Emerson and me will take exactly five minutes to realize the past is the past, and there’s no getting back to what we used to have. He hurt me so bad, I don’t even know if I could trust him again. If I’m crazy to even consider it.

But something in me is certain now: I have to try. I have to sit down, and talk to him, and find out if these feelings overwhelming me are just temporary desire and old memories, or built of something more solid.

Is he even the same guy I fell in love with back then?

The thought rattles around my brain all the drive back to the coast, mingling with music on the radio and the sound of the wind whipping through my open windows as I try to get my emotions straight. Because hell, I know I won’t have the time or self-control to figure this stuff out when I’m drowning in those dark blue eyes.