Till It Hurts by Cora Brent
Tori
Now
My fingers want to remember. They roam the keys with a charged energy that longs to be skilled. Once they were skilled, or at least adequate, in their quest to make beautiful noise. I can read the music opened in front of me but the connection between my brain and my fingers has gone unused for too long and I tap out the notes with slow uncertainty.
Mildly frustrated, I press ten keys at once and the piano groans with a hideous sound. Abandoning Beethoven for the moment, I choose an old standby. At least Twinkle Twinkle Little Star never lets me down.
I’m playing the song for the third time when I hear the key in the front door. McClane barks. My smile arrives instantly and probably looks downright goofy.
Jace enters with a large, flat box and sets it down against the wall. “It’s the biggest one that’ll fit without overpowering the room. Bought a wall mount for it and it’s already imbedded with all the most popular streaming services.”
I hold my arms out. “Hug me. Or I won’t look at your new appliance.”
Jace grabs me and my legs wrap around his waist. He feels so good, always.
His hands find my ass. “I like the shorts.”
“I was hot. I cut up a pair of old jeans.”
There’s a low sound in the back of his throat and he shifts.
“Can I show you my appliance now?” he asks. No one on earth has a sexier voice.
“I don’t know.” I nip at his neck. “Can you unbox it yourself?”
“Probably. But unboxing is more fun with a partner.”
I move in order to find his mouth. Jace is still the best kisser in the world. He proves it now with his tongue. Sometimes when he kisses me I forget where I am, especially when it’s like this. He backs me up against the wall and rolls his hips between my legs. His hand pushes under my shirt.
Suddenly he breaks off and gazes down into my eyes. “Are you still tired?”
I skipped the trip to the electronics store because I felt like crap. “No. I stretched out in your bedroom for a little while. I feel better now.”
He’s still examining me and I could swear a troubled shadow skims over his face. I’m not lying when I say that I feel better now. Earlier I felt jittery and a little sick so I took a pill and had a short nap in Jace’s old room. Still, guilt eats at me. Jace has no clue about the pills in my purse. He doesn’t know that I can’t sleep without them, that I’ve tried, that Paul sent me home from work on Wednesday. Paul assumed I was sick when my hands were shaking and I became dizzy and nauseous. I’d gone twenty four hours without taking a pill and the results proved disastrous. For now I’ll just need to keep taking them. Only for now. I’ll figure something out by the time this bottle is finished. Or maybe I can just be better about rationing them in the future. Plenty of people stay on painkillers for years and years with nothing terrible happening.
Jace now runs the back of his hand along my cheek. I try not to flinch when he glides over the scar on my face. He hasn’t pressed me to tell him more but he has asked if the injury hurts and if I still need to be under a doctor’s care.
No, it doesn’t hurt at all. No, I don’t need to see a doctor.
I’m afraid he’s going to ask questions again, but he just gives me a tender smile, kisses my lips and sets me down. He wants to get the TV set up so we can watch a movie tonight. Years ago, Gloria had an ancient cathode-ray tube television and when it died she never replaced it.
Jace really doesn’t need my help with heavy lifting so I take a seat on the couch and admire the way his arm muscles flex as he works to get the set mounted on the wall. He’s so adorable when he frowns with concentration and carefully measures before using his power tools.
These past two weeks have been nothing short of magical.
Since Jace took me on our recreated first date to Giorgio’s we’ve spent every night together. The sex is spectacularly hot but even better than that is the way we are. We laugh and we kiss and we have fun and we enjoy each other. I’ve already fallen for him completely. Or maybe I never truly fell out of love with him in the first place. Jace still has made no decisions about next football season and the clock is ticking. His agent and his coaches call daily and the looming decision weighs on him. Last night as the sun set we sat outside in the small fruit orchard Jace installed on the north side of the yard. I asked him if he’d come to any decisions about his plans.
He gave me a long look and pulled me close.
“I won’t have any plans that don’t include you, Tori.”
Had I not already been seated securely in his lap, I’m sure I would have swooned.
“There.” He stands back to admire his work amid the rubble of packaging materials.
I clap my hands. “If this professional quarterback thing falls through, you could make bank as a handyman.”
He finds this amusing. After all, I’m sure he already has more money than I’ll earn between now and retirement. Yet anyone who spends time with him would never guess this. Jace, despite his media reputation as a sullen brat, is the most down to earth guy I’ve ever met. He loves reading and planting trees and taking his dog for long walks.
I love him. I love him. I love him.
And then I remember.
One huge unresolved issue remains. We have yet to talk about our breakup. As if by mutual silent agreement we have glossed over the most unbearable events of the past. In fact, Jace and I haven’t dealt with the destruction of our relationship at all, although it’s clear to me that what happened continues to reverberate in our lives even now. If I tell him my side, he might despise me. This hopeful new bond between us might be fractured. Still, I know I can’t keep the truth from him forever, not if we’re going to have a real chance at a future together.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
While wrangling my own thoughts, I’d dropped my head to my hand with a sigh. I must look pretty pathetic because Jace crouches in front of me with concern.
He’s so beautiful and worried and sweet. The weight of my long ago dishonesty is a heavy betrayal. No matter how screwed up I was as a confused teenager, I had no right to do what I did. Is it my fault he stopped writing? Am I the reason why he turned a cold shoulder to the world?
“Nothing’s wrong at all. What should we have for dinner?”
Jace is in the mood to cook. He’s found Gloria’s old recipe tin filled with colorful index cards in her spidery handwriting. Among the cards are traditional Polish recipes that she learned to make for her beloved husband when he felt nostalgic for his homeland. It’s been many years since either of us helped Gloria make pierogis, tasty little dumplings that can be filled with either sweet or savory ingredients and then fried or boiled. After much consideration of the ingredients on hand, we prepare one batch with blueberries and the other with potatoes and fried onions.
We have a great time with the preparation, although we are guilty of turning Gloria’s kitchen into a complete disaster area. McClane waits patiently for a sampling of the finished product.
“Looks like they get the canine stamp of approval,” I declare when the dog licks his chops and offers his paw as a plea for more.
Jace elbows the fridge closed. “Not sure that’s an endorsement. Yesterday he found a wedge of cat shit on the sidewalk and gobbled it up like chocolate.”
I don’t know whether to giggle or gag. “Oh, McClane, you didn’t.”
The dog cocks his head with innocence. One ear flops adorably to the side.
Jace sets the table and lights a candle in the middle. I love how he thinks of such small, sweet touches.
“Did he ever text you back?” Jace asks as we sit down.
He means Colt. Three days ago, I bit the bullet and sent my brother a casual ‘Hey, what’s up?’ sort of message. Colt hates texting and phones and most forms of human contact. I wanted to tell him that I’m in Arcana. I also planned to mention that I’m here with Jace. I thought maybe, just maybe, Colt might be willing to visit. Or at least talk. If Jace and I can reconnect after all this time then perhaps there’s hope we can have Colt back too.
“Not yet but he’s probably not within cell phone range.”
I’m making excuses for him. Colt has not responded at all. I can’t pretend not to be hurt.
Jace, not fooled, raises an eyebrow. “He’s in Wyoming these days, right?”
I take a sip from my water glass. “When I heard from him just before the holidays, he was starting a job with a company that specializes in sustainable technology. They build custom homesteads at the base of the Tetons. You know, these blueberry pierogis are so good. Maybe we could try something more tart next time. I remember Gloria using cherries.”
Jace shoots a look of sympathy across the table and allows me to switch the subject away from my brother. “She used blackberries too.”
“I’ll pick some up next time I’m at the grocery store. What movie do you want to watch tonight? How about Die Hard in honor of McClane?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t watch Die Hard. It’s not even Christmas.”
I kick him lightly under the table. “What do you think Gloria would say if she could see us now?”
He glances around at the mess. “I think she’d say what the hell have you kids done to my kitchen.”
While we’re cleaning up, Jace mentions Gloria’s room. He thinks it’s time we started boxing up what we want to keep and donating what we don’t so the master bedroom can be of some use. I know he’s right. I’m just not looking forward to such a heavyhearted task.
We end up watching a movie about aliens that land in the Pacific Northwest and look like sharks with feet.
“So awful I couldn’t look away,” Jace declares as the credits roll.
I elbow him. “You could write something a thousand times better.”
The only thing that Jace has said about his writing is that he threw it all away years ago and hasn’t felt compelled to pick it up again. I hope I’m not stomping on a sore point. He had talent. And he loved to write.
Luckily, Jace doesn’t get annoyed by the remark. He yawns and asks if I’m ready to turn in. Silly question. I’m always ready to climb into bed with him. Tonight he’s in a gentle mood and we make love slowly, savoring every touch and kiss. He double checks both doors when I ask him to and confirms that the security cameras are operational. I’m so happy to feel sleep come for me while I’m lying in his arms.
I should have known it wouldn’t last.
Just after three a.m. I wake up sweaty and panicked. Jace is still asleep and so is the dog. My heart hammers as I listen for a noise, for the sound of someone trying to get through the door, for some confirmation that I was yanked awake because my ears picked up something alarming. Minute after minute and there’s nothing but Jace’s steady breathing and the whir of the overhead ceiling fan.
Whatever jolted me awake didn’t come from outside. It came from me.
I feel unwell. Sickly. I feel the way I did when I woke up in a hospital bed. Fearfully, I touch my face to verify it’s not cracked into pieces.
This shouldn’t be so hard, just falling asleep again. My fists clench and my eyes fill with tears but none of that matters. I’m still slipping away from Jace and crawling around on the dark floor to locate my purse. I swallow a pill with a mouthful of flat soda from the half empty bottle that’s been sitting in there since yesterday’s lunch.
I know I’ll feel better soon. Yet as I sneak back into bed beside Jace’s warm body, my throat is thick and my tears fall freely.
Sometimes at odd moments it catches up to me.
All of it.