She tilts her head back toward me. “That was on the list,” she says.
“Your mom’s list?”
“Yeah. ‘Does he inspire you?’ is one of the questions.”
“Do I inspire you?”
“Every single day,” she whispers.
I kiss her forehead. “Well, like I said, you inspired me, too. I knew I already loved you long before then, but that night at dinner something just clicked inside me. It’s like every time we were together, all was right with the world. I had assumed, just like your mom did, that staying apart would help you focus on her, but we were both wrong. I knew that the only way either of us could have been truly happy is if we were together. I wanted you to wait for me. I wanted you to wait for me so bad, but I didn’t know how to tell you without crossing some sort of boundary.
“The next night at the slam when I saw you walk in, I couldn’t stop myself from performing that piece so you would hear it. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted you to know how much I thought about you. How much I really did love you.”
She rolls over and scowls at me. “What do you mean when you saw me walk in? You said you didn’t know I was there until you saw me leaving.”
I shrug. “I lied.”
the lake
AS SOON AS I step up to the microphone, I see her. She walks through the doors and heads straight for a booth, never once looking up at the stage. My heart rate speeds up and beads of sweat form on my forehead, so I wipe them away with the palm of my hand. I’m not sure if it’s from the heat of the spotlight or the onslaught of nerves that have just overcome me seeing her walk through the door. I can’t perform this poem now. Not with her here. Why is she here? She said she wasn’t coming tonight.
I take a step away from the microphone to gather my thoughts. Should I do it anyway? If I do it, she’ll know exactly how I feel about her. That could be good. Maybe if I go ahead and do it I could gauge her reaction and know if asking her to wait for me is the right thing to do. I want her to wait for me. I want her to wait for me so bad. I don’t want to think about her ever allowing anyone besides me to love her. She needs to know how I feel about her before I’m too late.
I shake the tension out of my shoulders. I step up to the microphone, brush away my doubt, and say the words that will strip away everything but the truth.
I used to love the ocean.
Everything about her.
Her coral reefs, her whitecaps, her roaring waves, the
rocks they lap, her pirate legends and mermaid tails,
Treasures lost and treasures held . . .
And ALL
Of her fish
In the sea.
Yes, I used to love the ocean,
Everything about her.
The way she would sing me to sleep as I lay in my bed
then wake me with a force
That I soon came to dread.
Her fables, her lies, her misleading eyes,
I’d drain her dry
If I cared enough to.
I used to love the ocean,
Everything about her.
Her coral reefs, her whitecaps, her roaring waves, the
rocks they lap, her pirate legends and mermaid tails,
treasures lost and treasures held.
And ALL
Of her fish
In the sea.
Well, if you’ve ever tried navigating your sailboat
through her stormy seas, you would realize that
her whitecaps are your enemies. If you’ve ever tried
swimming ashore when your leg gets a cramp and
you just had a huge meal of In-n-Out burgers that’s
weighing you down, and her roaring waves are
knocking the wind out of you, filling your lungs with
water as you flail your arms, trying to get someone’s
attention, but your friends
just
wave
back at you?
And if you’ve ever grown up with dreams in your head
about life, and how one of these days you would pirate
your own ship and have your own crew and that all of
the mermaids
would love
only
you?
Well, you would realize . . .
Like I eventually realized . . .
That all the good things about her?
All the beautiful?
It’s not real.
It’s fake.
So you keep your ocean,
I’ll take the Lake.
I CLOSE MY eyes and exhale, not sure what to do next. Do I walk to the booth where she’s sitting? Do I wait and let her come find me? I slowly back away from the microphone and walk toward the side stairs, taking them one by one, afraid of what, if anything, might happen next. I know I need to see her.
When I reach the back of the room, she isn’t in the booth anymore. I walk toward the front of the club, toward the stage, in case she came to find me up here. She’s nowhere. After looking around for several minutes, I see Eddie and Gavin sliding into the booth Lake was seated in just moments ago.
What are they doing here? Lake said none of them were coming. Thank God they’re late, I wouldn’t have wanted Gavin to hear that piece. I walk over to them and attempt to appear casual, but my entire body is nervous and tense.
“Hey, Will,” Gavin says. “You want to sit with us?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. Have you guys . . .” I pause, not really wanting Gavin to give me one of his looks again when he finds out I’m looking for Lake. “Have you guys seen Layken?” Gavin leans back in the booth and cocks an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Eddie says with a grin on her face. “She said she was leaving. She was headed toward the back parking lot of the club, but I just found her purse right here,” she says, holding up a purse. “She’ll be back as soon as she realizes she doesn’t have it.”
She left? I immediately turn and head toward the door without saying another word to either of them. If she stayed for the whole poem and just up and left, I must have pissed her off. Why did I not switch poems? Why didn’t I think about how it would make her feel? I swing the door open and immediately round the corner toward the back parking lot. Frantic to catch her before she drives away, I find myself switching from a brisk walk, to a jog, then to a desperate sprint. I spot her Jeep, but she isn’t inside it. I spin around searching for her, but I don’t see her. I turn to walk back and check the club again and I hear her voice, coupled with someone else’s. It sounds like a guy. My fists immediately clench, worried for her safety. I don’t like the thought of her being out here alone with someone else, so I follow the sound of the voices until I see her.
Until I see them.
She’s backed up against Javi’s truck, her hands on his chest, his hands on her cheeks. Seeing his lips meshed with hers pulls a reaction from deep within me that I didn’t even know I was capable of. The only thing running through my head at this point is how the hell to get this asshole off her. Of all the guys she could choose to help her move on from me, it sure as hell isn’t going to be Javi.
Before I can even contemplate a more sane decision, my hands have hold of his shirt and I’m pulling him away from her. When he trips and falls onto his back, I drop my knee onto his chest and punch him. As soon as my fist meets his jaw, I realize it took all of three seconds to throw away every single thing I’ve worked for. There is no way I’m getting out of this predicament with a job.
My split-second realization is enough distraction to allow Javi to regain his footing and deliver a punch right to my eye, sending me back to the ground before I can react. I press my hand against my eye and the feel warm blood seeping through my fingers. I hear Lake yelling for him to stop. Or she’s yelling for me to stop. Or maybe both of us. I stand up and open my eyes just as Lake jumps in front of Javi. She’s hurled forward when Javi hits her in the back with a blow that was obviously intended for me. She gasps and falls against me.
“Lake!” I yell, rolling her onto her back. As soon as I confirm she’s conscious, I’m consumed by rage.
Vengeance.
Hatred.
I want to kill this asshole. I grab the door handle of the car nearest me and pull myself up. Javi is making his way toward Lake, apologizing. I don’t give him time to make amends. I hit him with every ounce of force behind my fist and watch as he falls to the ground. I kneel and hit him again, this time for Lake. As soon as I pull my fist back to hit him again, Gavin jerks me off him, sending us both backward. Gavin has hold of both my arms from behind and is yelling for me to calm down. I yank my arms away from him and stand up, intent on getting Lake out of here, away from Javi. She’s probably beyond pissed at me right now, but the feeling is pretty damn mutual.
She’s sitting up, clutching her chest, attempting to take a breath. As much as I want to yell at her, I’m immediately overcome by worry when I realize she’s hurting. I just want to get her away from everyone. I take her hand and pull her up, then wrap my arm around her waist to help her walk.
“I’m taking you home.”
When we reach my car, I help her inside and shut her door, then walk around to my side of the car. Before I get in, I take several deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down. I can’t imagine what possessed her to allow him to kiss her after seeing me practically confess my love for her on stage. Does she not even give a shit anymore? I close my eyes and inhale through my nose, then open the door and climb in.
I pull out of the parking lot, unable to form a thought, much less a coherent sentence. My hands are shaking, my heart is about to beat out of my chest, I probably need stitches, and my career is now in jeopardy . . . but the only thing I can think about is the fact that she kissed him.
She kissed him.
The thought consumes me the entire drive. She hasn’t said a single thing, so she has to be feeling pretty guilty right now. As soon as I feel the urge to turn to her and tell her exactly what I think of her actions tonight, I choose to get out of the car, instead. It’s better for both of us if I get a breather. I can’t keep this all in anymore. I pull the car over to the side of the road and punch the steering wheel. I can see her flinch out of the corner of my eye, but she says nothing. I swing the car door open and quickly get out before I say something I’ll regret. I start walking in an attempt to clear my head. It doesn’t help. When I’m at least fifty yards away from the car, I bend down and pick up a handful of gravel, then throw it at nothing.
“Shit!” I yell. “Shit, shit, shit!” I’m not sure at this point what or why or who I’m even mad at. Lake is in no way tied to me. She can date whoever she wants. She can kiss whoever she wants. The fact that I overreacted isn’t her fault at all. I should never have performed that poem. I freaked her out. We were finally in a good spot and I went and screwed it all up.
Again.
I tilt my head up to the sky and close my eyes, allowing the cold flakes of snow to fall on my face. I can feel the tightness and pressure increasing near my eye. It hurts like hell. I hope Javi is hurting worse than I am.
Asshole.
I throw another rock, then walk back toward the car. We drive home with so much that needs to be said, but not a single word spoken.
WHEN WE GET to my house, I help her onto the couch, then walk to my kitchen and grab an ice pack out of the freezer. The tension between us has never been thicker, but I can’t bring myself to talk to her about it. I don’t want to know why she ran after I performed. I don’t want to know why she ran to Javi of all people. I sure as hell don’t want to know why she kissed him.
