That gets him moving. I wait behind him with itchy feet as he fumbles with his giant key ring, his hands shaking. He’s bothered by this. Of course he is.
When he opens the door, I shove past him, not even considering what I’m rushing in to see. It’s dim and tidy inside. Sparse, even. I wouldn’t know someone lived there had it not been for a laptop sitting on the desk, Trent’s navy sweater hanging over the back of the couch, and the smell of his cologne lingering in the air.
Tanner moves past me, and does a quick sweep of the bedrooms and bathroom. He even opens the closet door. When he comes back to face me, it’s with a glower. “Why exactly did you tell me Trent was dead?”
I swallow, averting my gaze. “Oops.”
“Okay, get out of here.” He ushers me toward the door none to gently with a hand on my shoulder. I hear him as he lumbers away, grumbling something about drugs and hormones.
***
Day Thirteen.
Kick. Punch. Spin. Kick.
The bag takes my punishment without complaint. I slam and pound against it, all my anger and anxiety coming to a head. Trent has another life. That has to be it. A tanned, blonde, unbroken woman. They probably have two perfect little kids together who say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and haven’t learned to swear like sailors because of their mother’s incessant profanity. He must have run away to Miami and had a quarter-life crisis affair. I am nothing but someone’s quarter-life crisis and I fell for it like a mindless sap.
Kick Pivot. Spin. Kick.
This feels good.
I feel like I’m gaining control again.
Later, at Storm’s house, I sit on the couch and watch an episode of Sponge Bob with Mia. Lying next to me on the cushion is a dark-haired Ken doll. It kind of reminds me of Trent. I give serious consideration to stealing it, painting ‘Trent’ over its chest, and taking a lighter to where its man parts should be.
***
Day Seventeen.
“Was he real?” I mumble, staring at the phone in my hand. I didn’t buy this for myself, did I?
“What?” Livie asks, looking up at me in surprise.
“Trent, was he real? I mean, I could understand if he wasn’t real. Who could be that beautiful and sweet and perfect and want someone as fucked up as me?”
There’s a long pause and when I look over at Livie, she’s staring at me like I swallowed a bag of broken glass. I can tell she’s worried about me. Storm’s worried about me too. I think even Nate is worried.
***
Day Twenty.
Kick. Punch. Punch. Kick.
I’m raging against the bag.
Trent used me. To what sick end, I can’t decide. He obviously has a twisted fetish. He found a damaged woman and targeted her weakness with his dimples and his charm. He broke through my shell, wormed his way in to melt the ice over my heart. Then he abandoned me after uncovering just how fucked up I really am. But not before getting laid, of course.
And I let him in. It’s my fault! I’m the idiot.
I pound away on the twenty pound bag of sand. I love the sand. It absorbs all my emotions without disapproval and lets me use it without expectation.
“Angry about something?”
I whip around to find Ben standing behind me with his arms folded over his chest and a knowing smirk on his face. I turn back and execute a perfect kick. “Not at all.”
Ben walks around to catch the bag. He gestures as if to tell me to continue while he holds. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
I hoof the bag extra hard, and in a way I know Ben isn’t expecting. I hope it hits him square in the balls, just for bringing up Trent. It doesn’t, but it does earn a grunt. “What boyfriend?”
“The one who’s always at the bar.”
“Have you seen him at the bar lately?” Punch.
There’s a long pause. “No, suppose I haven’t.”
“Well, then, Lawyer Boy, what would you deduce from that? Or are you not able to? You’re not going to make a very good lawyer if that’s the case.”
Another kick to the bag. Another grunt from Ben.
“So you’re unattached again?”
“I’ve always been unattached.”
“Right. Well, then, how about we go out tonight?”
“I’m working.”
“So am I. Let’s grab an early dinner and head over together.”
“Sure, fine. Whatever,” I say without thinking. I don’t want to think.
Ben’s brow arches. “Seriously?”
I stop kicking now and wipe the layer of sweat from my brow with my forearm. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
“Well, yeah, but I was expecting a ‘drop dead’ answer instead.”
“I’m good for that too.”
“No, no!” Ben quickly answers, backing away from me. “I’ll come get you at six?”
“Fine,” I say, flying through the air with a perfect round house.
***
“What did I agree to?” I ask myself as I stand under the hot water, staring up at the showerhead, imagining another red serpent there to scare the daylights out of me. If I screamed loud enough, would Trent magically appear? Would he break down the door again? I wouldn’t let him leave this time. Not a chance.
I run into Livie in the kitchen. We’ve hardly talked since our fight. “I’m sorry, Livie,” is all I say.
She ropes her arm around my waist. “He’s a jerk, Kacey.”
“A stupid jerk,” I mumble.
“A big stupid jerk,” she answers. It’s a game we used to play when we were little. It drove our parents batty.
“A big stupid smelly jerk.”
“A big stupid smelly jerk with hemorrhoids.”
I slap my forehead. “Oh! And she pulls out the ’roids for the win!”
Livie giggles. “Where are you going?”
I slide out from her grip to put my shoes on. “Out.”
“Like on a date?” Livie’s face lights up.
I hold my hand up to stall her excitement. “Ben’s a meathead from work. We’re grabbing a bite and then he’s driving me to work and I’ll smash his nuts if he tries anything.”
There’s a knock on the door. “One meathead, coming right up!” I joke as I throw open the door, expecting to find Ben’s giant frame and obnoxious grin filling the doorway.
I stumble back two steps as the air is knocked out of my lungs.
It’s Trent.
Chapter Fifteen
“Hey,” he offers, sliding his aviator glasses off to show me those beautiful two-toned blue eyes that I could lose myself in.
I stare into those eyes, feeling the blood drain from my body as I watch the full gamut of emotions play across his face—relief, guilt, grief, bitterness, and then guilt again. I’m sure there’s an array of reactions showing on my own face but I couldn’t identify any one of them right now. And so I simply stand there, mouth agape, having lost all ability to speak.
Livie hasn’t though. Far from it. “You! Stay away from her!” She shrieks, charging forward. Her movement breaks my trance, and I just manage to grab her before she rakes ten layers of Trent’s skin off with flailing claws.
“Give us a minute, Livie,” I manage to say with complete calm. Inside, a torrent of sensations threaten to sweep me off my feet. The door beside me sways and I fight harder to pull air into my lungs as my heart speeds up. Trent is back. It’s as much a punch to the gut as a swell inside my chest. Like a bad addiction, I know it’s wrong, but, damn, does it leave me satisfied.
Livie turns and stomps toward her room but not before throwing one last icy glare Trent’s way. “Hemorrhoids! Remember that, Kacey!”
Her sudden outburst and the seriousness of her attitude ruptures my panic attack like a needle to a balloon, and I find myself chuckling. God, I love that girl.