Beautiful Graves(87)

“You think it’s a bad idea.” I try to keep my voice even.

“No,” he says, sounding out of breath and just as excited as I am. My heart melts into a pool in the pit of my stomach. “It’s a rad-ass idea, and we both know that. I’m about to finish my book, and I have you to thank for that. It’s time I do something for you. Remember when I saved you?”

“Of course I remember.” I perch on my windowsill, overlooking the street. Loki jumps in my lap on cue, always happy to use me as a piece of furniture. I remember that night so well; it’s still painted in my memory in vivid strokes. “You said I owed you one, and you always collect your debt.” I let out an embarrassed chuckle. I have no business remembering things he told me seven years ago. “Well, consider mine paid, now that you’re about to finish your book thanks to my determination. Or neediness, depending on how you look at it.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Your debt was not paid in full.” His voice is low and menacing all of a sudden.

“What do you mean?” I clutch my phone so hard that it’s about to break.

“I saved your ass. You’re not getting out of it by brainstorming with me. I help your muse just as much as you help mine.”

“What else do you want?”

You, I want him to hit back at me. I want you.

“You still need to get on the BART,” he says, in reality. Because he doesn’t want me anymore. He said himself that it’s over.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. All the same, this is the final thing on your to-do list before I consider you debt-free.”

There’s a brief silence, which I use to collect my jumbled thoughts.

“I think I need to find a job and an apartment first,” I say cautiously.

“Nah, that would be out of order.” I can practically envision him waving a dismissive hand at me. “Go to the same station where it happened. Get on that train. Face your demons.”

“Joe,” I say quietly, “you know I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You went to her grave. How is that different?”

“I watched her die there,” I hiss out, feeling my neck crawling with heat. Why is he doing this? It is so unnecessarily cruel. “It was pretty graphic too.”

“You cannot swear off subways. You cannot never go underground again.”

“Says who?” I drawl. “I’ve been doing that for seven years. Most cities don’t even have an underground train system. Why does it matter?”

“It matters because you’re letting fear win. Don’t you see a pattern here? Fear was the reason why you stayed with Dom. Fear was the reason you bailed on me both times. Fear is why you don’t get on a subway.”

“Fear can win. It’s not a competition.”

“Ever,” he says stoically. “You asked me what I wanted for my birthday.”

“Yeah.” I press my forehead against the cool glass of my window, closing my eyes. “I was kind of hoping you’d want . . . socks?”

He lets out a gruff laugh. God, it is horrible to be in love with your dead fiancé’s brother. The absolute worst. It is especially tragic when you know what it feels like to kiss him, to make love to him, to be the center of his world, even if for one night.

“Keep the socks. I want you to get on that train.”

“But Joe, it will be so horrible for me.”

“You’ll survive it. And live to tell the tale.”

We are both quiet for a moment. I’m trying to think of more excuses I could use not to do it.

“I would want pictures when you do it. As proof.” He is getting ahead of himself. I wonder if it’s because he knows I’d cut off my right arm if it means pleasing him.

“Gee, dude. Where’s the trust?”

“At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, along with your old cell?” he suggests cordially. Touché. “We don’t have the best track record.”

I stroke Loki in my lap. “I bailed on you twice. There won’t be a third time.”

I hear him lighting himself a cigarette. “Color me skeptical and extremely fucking exasperated, love.”

Love. Just the word on his tongue makes me shiver. But of course, it is a casual endearment, not a declaration.

Yes, I want to make Joe proud, but it’s not just that. He is right. As long as I’m afraid of the subway, as long as I opt to walk instead of catch a train because I’m too scared to face this memory that I so violently shoved into a drawer in my brain, I cannot be completely free to build a life for myself.

True, I create. I leave the room. I see people. But I still haven’t chosen a path. A direction. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do with my life. If I go back to Salem or stay here. Hell, I’m still paying half the rent for that god-awful pigsty. All because I’m too afraid of making a decision. I didn’t want to slam the door on Salem. But my savings have been dwindling rapidly, and I can’t keep doing that anymore.

“All right. I’ll do it.”

“When?” he shoots out.

“You want specifics?”

“Always.”

“This Wednesday. At noon. It shouldn’t be too crowded,” I hear myself say.