Love Scars (8 page)

I hit my bedroom door handle with a clenched fist. The muscles in my shoulders were tight as hell, and the spasms in the back of my neck burned like hot crawling worms. I forced my hands open and pressed my palms flat against the door to stretch them.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

I opened the door and my heart dropped. J.D. wasn’t in the bedroom and his clothes were gone. A wave of sadness washed over me. I wanted to see him alone one more time before he left. Touch him. Kiss him. I’d find him in the kitchen and suggest we take our coffee out to the flower garden.

I changed from my pajamas to a pair of shorts and a tank top and ran the brush through my hair. After a few more relaxing breaths I went out to the kitchen, but Frank was the only one there.

“Hey, Nora. J.D. said to tell you goodbye. You just missed him.” Frank held up a plate of cinnamon rolls. “Want one?”

“In a minute.”

I ran to the front of the house to the big picture window in the living room in time to see J.D. in the driveway, riding away on that funky bike of his. I wanted to race out the front door and tear across the front lawn after him, but I stayed at the window and watched him go.

Stop. I can’t.
His words from last night rang in my ears.

I shouldn’t be surprised, not after my big freakout. But I was confused. Last night he was wonderful. He brought me out of my flashback.
I’m here,
he’d said. His calm deep voice had reached into the chaos in my mind and pulled me back to sanity like a lifeline.

It was a blur to me now, but I would swear he kissed me first. I could still taste him, still feel his mouth on mine, his longing. I could feel his arms around me, holding me so close to his hard muscular chest.

And later, he called me beautiful.
You’re an American Beauty.
Was I remembering that wrong?

I wasn’t remembering us tearing off our clothes wrong, or the desperate need in me that he answered so well. Or his perfect body, lean, hard, and muscular. Or his confident handling of me, strong but gentle. I’d held him and stroked him, naked beneath me. I swelled between my legs thinking about it now. He wanted me. I know he did—and then he didn’t. He pulled away, and to protect myself I did too.

Then in bed this morning it felt so friendly and comfortable and safe, joking about his shoes and guessing his name. I thought he liked me. But he was just being nice until he could get away.

He turned his bike onto the road, and the roses climbing the fence at the front of the yard blocked him from my sight. He was gone.

I turned away from the window. I would never see him again. For the few hours we’d spent together, it had felt good to be alive in the world. I hadn’t felt like that in a long, long time.

In a way, I was glad we didn’t have sex. I didn’t want him mixed in with my hazy memory of the one-night stands of my rage binge, as I called it. My year of living dangerously.

I wandered back to the kitchen. Frank and Lisa were locked in a passionate embrace. Frank saw me come in and broke it off, grinning. “A guy can kiss his fiancée before he goes to work in the morning.”

He was dressed for work in his white vet coat. He always seemed more than two years older than us, and the coat made him look like a frigging adult.

Lisa stood up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’d better kiss yours anytime she wants it.” She poured out two cups of coffee, and as she put one in front of me on the counter her engagement ring sparkled.

I grabbed her hand and held it up in the morning sunlight. “Very nice.” I hugged her. I could tell my face was red. I hadn’t said anything about it in the bathroom. “Things were so crazy last night. I didn’t get a chance to tell you guys congratulations.”

“Thanks, Nor,” Lisa said.

Frank rinsed out his coffee cup and put it in the dishwasher with a shudder. “That’s it. I’m getting you your own espresso machine. I should have done it ages ago.” He put an arm around Lisa’s neck and pulled her close for a kiss. “The Saturday shift calls, baby doll. I’ve got to go.”

I looked at Lisa and mouthed
baby doll? Eww.
She shrugged and rolled her eyes. I guess she really loved him. He was different this morning. Possessive. I wasn’t sure I liked it, but I wasn’t the one marrying him.

“By the way.” Frank stopped at the back door. “J.D. looked at your precious Perns. He had one out and was reading all over it.” He flashed a smile and was gone.

“That’s all right.” Lisa looked at me with a worried expression. “How would J.D. know?”

I went to the bookcase and ran my hand over the top of the books. My mom’s set of
Dragonriders of Pern
looked undisturbed. I mentally crabbed at myself. My precious Perns, as Frank called them, were off limits to everyone. I hadn’t thought to put them somewhere safe before the party.

When the sheriff’s deputy brought me home from Foresthill, I had found
The White Dragon
lying open on my little brother’s bed. Nick and I had been reading the books at the same time. Just that week we’d both started
The White Dragon
. We’d steal it back and forth, neither of us willing to wait until the other finished.

I never opened
The White Dragon
again. When I came to live with Grandma, I put it here in the bookcase with the others and snapped at anyone who opened any of them—including, once, poor Frank.

For years I’d imagined a protective charm surrounded these books, keeping them safe, repelling all outsiders. But I didn’t mind J.D. touching them. His mom named him for a character in these stories. Jaxom, a dragonrider. And they were my mom’s favorites too. I liked sharing something special with him.

I ran my hand over the spines. I had to go to Foresthill. I’d face my demons and get well—well enough to stop using sex as an escape mechanism. I’d lost my chance with J.D., but the next time life offered me the possibility of a real relationship, I’d be ready to ride the dragon.

At that moment I felt a lingering wound inside me heal, and one small emotional scar dissolved.

Chapter 11

J.D.’s house in Princeton Reach.

“Dammit!” Brad drove his empty beer bottle into the tub of ice on the coffee table. He muted the TV as the basketball game went to commercial. “Fucking refs.”

“What do you care?” I said. “You hate the Kings.”

“Not when they’re playing the Mavs, dude.”

I hadn’t heard from the guy since he drove away from the party on Friday, then just before the game he showed up at my place with a six-pack of Pale Ale. 

Sacramento was losing to Dallas in a crappy game perfect for my crappy mood. My resolution to put Nora Deven out of my mind was not going well.

I rode away from her house yesterday morning, but I never really left. I kept picturing her sitting at the end of her bed with her legs crossed, wearing those green piranha pajamas. I kept thinking about crawling over to her and burying my face in the rosemary and mint perfume of her hair, running my tongue over the skin on her neck. I wanted to slide those pajama bottoms off over her smooth hips and plunge inside her.

I wanted to feel her swallow me whole.

Friday night I could have sworn she was into me. On the other hand, Friday night she was whacked out. Yesterday morning, when she was herself again, she pulled back. She was polite, cheerful, and distant. A wall had gone up between us. Hell, maybe I put it there.

All yesterday and today I wondered what she was doing. I had the bike out three times to go for a ride in the direction of Carolinda Estates. Three times I talked myself out of it. The fourth time I was strapping on my helmet when Brad showed up and saved me from myself.

I unmuted the game. They were still in the timeout after the ref’s call. The Kings’ announcers were discussing the latest rumors about the team moving to Seattle.

“A pox on them,” Brad said. “If they were going anywhere else I’d say hasta la good riddance, but the Kings can’t go fucking up my home town.”

“We liked them when we were kids and they had Jason Williams and Chris Webber,” I reminded him. “They could never replace the Sonics though.”

I wondered if Nora liked NBA basketball. I had a feeling the crowds would annoy her, but we could watch a home game from BlueMagick’s skybox. I could tell her I won some random contest at work to get access to the box.

“You had to bring up the Sonics.” Brad pushed his glasses up and took his phone from the pocket of his fresh pressed cotton shirt. The dude dressed like an accountant even on weekends. “Siri, remind me never to give my heart to anything. It only ends up getting stomped on.” He put the phone down on the coffee table and grabbed another beer.

“Sorry about Lisa, dude,” I said. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, well,” he said. “Apparently my Brad-fu has picked up a virus. I was sure she’d choose me over Fabulous Frank.” He pointed his beer at me. “And I’m still positive you and her friend Nora are undiscovered soul mates. You’re both so broody.”

“I’m the opposite of broody,” I said. “I’m stoic.” I ignored his look of skepticism. “Actually, I ended up spending the night.” I couldn’t tell him what I’d learned about MolyMo without admitting I’d stayed at Nora’s place Friday.

“Alrighty then, the plot thickens.” He muted the TV again as it went to the Mavs’ halftime show. “Did you learn anything?”

“I overheard Nora and Lisa talking about Heron, but you’re going to hate this.” I grinned. “They think he funded the internships.”

“Aw, stop it, man. That’s cold!”

I laughed, relieved. Brad might have a broken heart, but he wasn’t going to let it kill him.

“Did you hear anything useful?” he said.

“Nothing specific, but MolyMo’s sniffing around the dig,” I said. “It could be as simple as wanting someone to bring out samples.”

“Someone,” Brad said. “Meaning Nora.”

“At least we know Barton’s an equal opportunity denier,” I said. “He isn’t letting anyone come onto the dig and test.”

I reached for the remote, but Brad stopped me. “Come on, what else?” he said. “How was Nora? Did the earth move? Did she put Nicole out of the fuck buddy business?”

“Don’t be crude.”

“Ah-ha.” He tapped his forehead. “That good, huh? The old Brad-fu isn’t completely kaput.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened. You tell me you spent the night with that hot girl and nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

He shook his head. “Hm. So she doesn’t fall into the Nicole category. This gives my soul mate theory more weight. Could it be fragile little Nora has indeed found a way into your heart, that lonely organ unoccupied since Holly moved out and took all the furniture?”

“Holly.” The word turned to chalk in my mouth. Neither of us had said the name in years, and now twice in three seconds.

“J.D.,” Brad said. “Nora is no Holly.”

“True.” Three times in six seconds. “I’ll be back.”

I went to get more beers for the ice tub. Hearing Holly’s name was irritating, but it wasn’t just that. I’d been restless since yesterday. After Nora’s place, this place felt sterile. It was over four thousand square feet of perfection, all tile and hardwood floors and Persian carpets. Thanks to Mom and Scarlett, art occupied most of the walls. But something was missing. I wasn’t at home in my own house.

I was suddenly homesick for the island. I never lived there, but from the start my mom had kept a room for me. It was the one place I could forget about the world and be myself. No expectations. No obligations.

I took the second six-pack of Pale Ale out of the refrigerator and opened a bottle. The appliances in my kitchen would turn a celebrity chef green. The windows looked out on a greenbelt. I’d bought the house for that view. I would have preferred a place looking over Folsom Lake, but I wanted to be close enough to ride my bike to work.

Holly.
Brad had to go and say her name. I downed half the beer, but the cold liquid didn’t do a thing for me. It flowed right past the knot of resentment in my chest. Shit, I thought that was long dead and buried.

Buried, maybe. Dead, not so much.

Pretty Holly, the girl I loved with all my heart my senior year of high school.
So
out of my league. A scornful laugh escaped me. The cheerleader and the geek, back in the day when no one saw the upside to geekdom. She wasn’t the most popular cheerleader—the cliché didn’t go that far—but she was the one I liked best.

Holly always smiled at me in the hall, even though the other girls in her mob were watching. When I sold the app that spring, I asked her to the prom and she dropped her football player boyfriend to go with me.

I was, trite as it sounds, the king of the world.

Instead of the usual SkyCity prom dinner at the top of the Space Needle, I hired a private jet to fly us to San Francisco to eat and then back to Seattle for the dance. Holly was so sweet and wide-eyed about it. I loved how jealous it made her girlfriends.

I lost my cherry to her that night, in the back of the limo. Now that
was
a cliché. I was nervous and eager—and she was relaxed and eager. Far more competent at the business than she should have been. I didn’t think about what that meant until months later. She lifted her prom dress and let her knees fall apart. She wasn’t wearing panties.

Within a week we were engaged.

Holly picked out a massive rock for her engagement ring. It dwarfed her delicate hand, but she managed to lift it well enough to wave in front of her girlfriends as often as possible. It cracked me up.

I’d already bought the house on the island for Mom and Scarlett, and when I brought Holly out to tell them the news, Scarlett raged.
You’re too young
. She never liked Holly, not even from before the money when I pointed her out among the cheerleaders once at a basketball game.

But Mom said why not let love have its way. Jaxom can afford it, she said. Some of the best marriages started out young, she said. Not hers, but many did.

There was only one bug in the bouillabaisse, and that was Brad. Before the money, he’d found Holly slightly irritating. After the money, he hated her. She took up my time, time he and I used to spend brainstorming plans for BlueMagick, the tech company we’d dreamed of starting since grade school.