Unbreak My Heart(3)

Just like that, I feel so much more than I felt when I hit the car—a flicker in my chest, a rushing of my blood, like there’s something I want.

Or really, someone.

My thumb hovers over a folder on my phone, then I open it, clicking to a picture from three years ago. A shot of Holland, her blonde hair whipping against her face as we walked along the ocean one morning. She looked so gorgeous I had to take it and keep it.

I can’t throw out a picture like this.

Trouble is, I can’t seem to stop looking at it either.





2





Andrew



The next night, Jeremy is shooting aliens on the TV screen, Ethan is trying to convince Piper that an earthquake of 9.0 magnitude will hit Los Angeles in the next 365 days, and some of the women from my law school are destroying some of the guys in pool volleyball. The dudes are in the deep end on the other side of the net, getting clobbered by the bikini-clad athletes.

I’m waiting for a delivery.

I check my phone.

Trina’s text says she’ll be here soon.

Even her text message looks reluctant, but that’s okay. She said yes when I called in the favor last night.

I tap a reply: You’re a good woman for doing this.

As I wait, I turn up the volume on the sound system because Retractable Eyes is up next on the playlist, and this band is awesome. But before the opening chords sound, I hear the beginning of “New York, New York.”

On. The. Piano.

I turn to the living room, and the aliens must have extinguished Jeremy because now he’s leaning over the piano and thinking he’s Frank Sinatra.

“Dude, don’t touch that.” I walk over and stand next to the keys.

“Just let me play this one song.”

I shake my head. He knows this is my one rule. “Don’t.”

He pounds out more notes, and he’s about to hit the chorus, and I’m not okay with this on so many levels because this is my brother’s piano. He fancied himself a regular John Legend.

“I’ve got game when it comes to the ivories,” Ian would say, then launch into “All of Me.” I swear the dude got laid to that song more than the singer did.

Well, maybe. Legend can pull.

“Jer. Off.”

Something in my voice stops him, so he backs away and holds up his hands. “Sorry, bud.”

“Go play air guitar if you want to play something,” I say, easing up a bit on my friend.

He laughs then stares longingly at the keys. “I wish you’d let me take this off your hands. You know you’re never going to use it.”

“It’s not about using it.”

“Exactly. So let me help you. There’s so much you need to get rid of.” He flaps his arms, gesturing to the whole damn house.

Mine.

This house I grew up in is all mine.

The home that our parents owned outright, that became ours years ago, is suddenly mine, courtesy of a heart that no longer beats and a sister who didn’t want a thing. Everything under this roof is mine, and all of it weighs ten thousand tons.

Like Ian’s clothes. His law school tomes. His desk. Yes, even his piano. And, of course, his baseball cards. “Someday this fortune will be yours,” he’d joke while flipping through cards—some worth something, some worth nothing, but all worth everything to a fanatic like him. I couldn’t look at those boxes, so I shoved them into the hall closet the other day.

“Yeah, I know I need to get rid of everything. Maybe next time you want me to interact with people, you should convince me to have a personal-effects party. We could gather around the boxes, sort through them all, and pick and choose the keepers and what goes to Goodwill,” I say drily. “You want the signed Clayton Kershaw jersey, or should we see if Ethan calls dibs?”

Jeremy sighs. “Shit, man. Sorry.” He gestures to the pool, where nearly everyone has gathered. “I thought it would be helpful.”

Jeremy wanted to throw this party. He said it was what I needed. “Gotta keep things normal, man. Keep going. Keep talking. Hang out with people. Let us be there for you.” I agreed because I should be studying for the Bar, and anything’s better than that.

I clap his back. “It’s fine. You can have the jersey.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You keep it.”

“I mean it. I’ll track it down for you.” I nod to the pool. “Now go. Have some fucking fun.”

“You’re not pissed off?”

I laugh, but it’s mirthless. “I wish I were pissed off.”

Pissed off at least would feel like something.

Jeremy heads to the pool, and I survey the scene in my yard, trying, trying so hard for a contact high as I watch my friend jump into the pool and smack a volleyball at a girl in a yellow bikini.

I love pool volleyball. I should be out there.

“You could join them.” I turn around to see Trina has arrived.

“The woman of the hour.” I hold out my arms and flash her a big, practiced grin.

She shakes her head. “Andrew.”

“C’mon. You love me. That’s why you’re here.”

She rolls her brown eyes. “You’re not making this any easier.” She tips her chin to the party. “That’s what you should be doing.”