Come Break My Heart Again by C.W. Farnsworth

Chapter Eleven

“Well, good morning,” Paige answers.

“Hey,” I respond, mouthing a thank you at the barista as I grab my iced latte and head for the door of the coffee shop. I woke up early and packed immediately, beating May to the front desk to check out. Buying caffeine still feels slightly illicit, even after living on my own for years. It’s a fitting way to end my time in this tiny town I was never meant to visit and will never return to. “How are you?” I add, as I emerge outside. Despite the early hour, it already feels warmer here than it did yesterday.

“Fantastic. I’m on my way to Pilates and hoping the guy in my bed is gone by the time I get home, so I don’t have to break it to him I never want to see him again.”

“You left a strange man alone in your apartment?” I ask as I set the coffee and muffin on the roof of my car to unlock the doors. I’m not really surprised, but I infuse my voice with the scolding tone of a mother.

“Uh, yes?”

“What if he steals something?”

“Then I’ll buy a replacement. This guy is not the type. Trust me. Not a lot going on upstairs. Or downstairs, for that matter. He was pretty to look at, though.”

I laugh as I settle in the driver’s seat and turn on the car so I can start driving. “That’s terrible.”

“Whatever. Not all of us have handsome lawyers panting after us.”

I sober at her mention of William. “There are plenty of great guys out there.”

“Uh-huh, sure. If you say so. Hang on.” There’s some distant talking in the background, and then she returns to the line. “Sorry. Had to tell the driver where to go. So… what’s up?”

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, inhaling deeply. “Do you know where Kennedy Jacobs is living now?”

“Kennedy Jacobs? From high school?” It’s hard to get Paige’s usual light-hearted tone to shift much, but that question definitely did the trick.

I nod, then remember she can’t see me at the moment. “Yes,” I confirm.

Paige’s voice is more serious than I’ve heard it sound in years. “Why?”

“I want—need—to talk to her.” I clear my throat, then take a sip of coffee.

“About?”

“You know what about,” I whisper.

“Is this because William proposed? Some sort of closure? Because—”

“Wait. How do you know William proposed?” I interrupt.

“It’s all over social media. His parents posted a photo of you two. I thought that was why my best friend was calling me. Congrats, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I let that word of gratitude sit for a minute. These aren’t two conversations I wanted to combine. “Do you know where she is?”

Paige sighs, giving me the distinct impression she brought up William on purpose. Also that she may have just come to the same conclusion I unwittingly did yesterday: that Ryder James still has a serious hold on me. Strong enough that mention of the guy I’ve been dating for the past three years and just got engaged to isn’t much of a deterrent. A tighter grip than mere curiosity about an unresolved past. “Yeah,” she finally answers. “Kinsley’s kept in touch with her. I have her address from a card she sent when my dad died last year.”

I’m surprised this is the first I’m hearing about it, but then reconsider. Not many topics are off-limits between Paige and me, but Ryder James has been one of them for the past seven years. Until now.

“Is she still in Massachusetts?”

“Yes.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I’m not sure what I would have done if Kennedy had moved farther away. “Can you send it to me?”

* * *

The town where Kennedy Jacobs is now living is in the center of the state. Meaning I have an hour and a half to contemplate what I’m going to say to her. I haven’t seen or spoken to Kennedy since the night of Homecoming. I’m not sure what I would have said if I had, but I never even had the option to. My parents sent me back to boarding school the very next day. A thoughtful interpretation of the action would be to say they wanted to spare me any unwelcome attention. A realistic read of the situation is they wanted to minimize theirs.

The address Paige gave me belongs to a tiny bungalow on a secluded street. The route my navigation system put me on didn’t take me through any sort of downtown area, so I have no idea how large of a town I’m in. There are a couple of cars parked along the street and a teenage girl walking a golden retriever along the sidewalk, but that’s it for any signs of activity. Scout barks when he sees the other dog, and I shush him before climbing out of the driver’s seat. I walked Scout when I stopped for gas a half hour ago, so I leave him in the car as I lock the doors and glance around.

“Elle? Elle Clarke?”

My gaze flies to the garage tucked up alongside the house. Kennedy Jacobs is rounding the corner, holding a yellow watering can and wearing a shocked expression.

“Hi, Kennedy.” I give her a small wave, trying to rapidly assess the situation. She doesn’t look angry to see me. Just stunned. But I’m wary of what might be waiting under that surprise based on our shared past.

Kennedy sets the watering can down on the edge of the flowerbed she was clearly preparing to water. It immediately tips, splashing the geraniums with a hefty douse of water, but Kennedy doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. She stumbles down the driveway toward me. I don’t move, simply shifting on the sidewalk. Paige gave me her number along with her address. I could have called, texted, given her some indication I was coming. Now I’m stuck watching her near and wondering what I should do or say. What she’s going to do or say.

She reaches me. Rather than tossing any questions my way—like asking me what the hell I’m doing here—she gives me a hug. I freeze, not expecting it. It takes me a few seconds to raise my arms and squeeze her back.

“Wow, it’s so good to see you, Elle.”

I don’t correct her use of my old nickname or inform her I go by Eleanor now. Or say anything at all.

“Come on in,” Kennedy tells me, gesturing toward the house. I follow her up faded blue front steps, pausing behind her as she opens the front door. She pulls the screen open for me, and I walk inside, glancing around curiously. It’s small, neat, and tidy.

“Take a seat,” Kennedy instructs. “Let me just go wash my hands from the garden. Would you like some tea?”

“Um, sure,” I reply. “Thanks.”

She heads into the kitchen, leaving me to study the living room. There’s not much to scrutinize. The exposed floorboards are shiny; the walls are painted a soothing shade of eggshell. There’s a couple of framed prints on the walls, but they’re otherwise bare. A vase of peonies sits in the exact center of the coffee table, with a few magazines stacked next to it. I pick a gardening one up and page through it until Kennedy reappears, holding two glasses of iced tea.

“Thanks,” I say when she hands me one.

“It’s mint,” she replies. “From my garden.”

I take a sip. “It’s good.” There’s a pause. “Your house is beautiful,” I add.

“Thanks. It was a steal. Real estate’s expensive around here. We renovated most of it ourselves.”

“We?” I catch.

“My husband and me. We’ll be married two years this September.”

“Oh, wow. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Are you seeing anyone?”

A chat about our respective relationship statuses is not the conversation topic I had in mind, but I go along with it. “Uh, yes. I’m engaged, actually.”

“How exciting!”

“Yeah.” I take a gulp of tea. It’s very minty. “It is.”

“Are you getting married soon?”

“Next summer. We both just graduated law school. It makes more sense to get settled in our careers first.”

“Of course. You always were one to think things through,” Kennedy replies, smiling. There’s no bite hidden beneath the words; they’re just matter of fact.

I shift uncomfortably. “You seem… happy.”

Her smile dims a little. “Yeah. I am.”

I stare down at the golden-colored tea for a moment, watching the cubes of ice bob along the surface of it. “I got a call a couple days ago from a nonprofit. They’re… looking into an old case. A… rape case. Ryder’s case.” I hesitate for a few seconds before glancing up.

Kennedy doesn’t look shocked. Or upset. “Until Proven Guilty?”

“Yes,” I reply, surprised.

Kennedy looks away from me, out the window that overlooks her impressive garden. “You can let trauma define you,” Kennedy states. “Or you can define it. It wasn’t until I met Jacob—my husband—that I realized just how much I’d been letting that one night define me. Let it become the thing that defined me. I tried everything I could think of not to let it. But by doing so I let it consume me anyway. How I dressed. Where I went. Who I talked to.”

“I—I can’t even imagine,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry, Kennedy. I never even—I was so wrapped up in…” I let my voice trail off. We both know exactly what—who—I was consumed by.

“We were kids. It’s not something anyone should have to deal with. But we were just kids.”

“Yeah,” I finally reply. “We were.” And it’s defined both of our lives ever since, in different ways.

“I tried to pretend it never happened. Repress everything. It worked for a few years. But then I started having these dreams…” Kennedy shudders. “And it was always a blond guy above me.”

Shock surges through me. “Blond?”

“Yes.” Her smile is sad.

“You’re sure?”

“My therapist had me do this exercise… I was unconscious for part of that night, but before…” Another shudder. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He didn’t do it. The certainty of that races through me, erasing years of doubt and dismay. You only need to glance at the news one morning, one day of the year to know that human beings are capable of horrifying, repulsive actions. We all have the capacity to inflict harm on others. Some of us are more susceptible to it than others. I blanketed Ryder and that night in denial because I knew if I looked closely there would probably be more to the story. It’s a relief and a nightmare to know that actually is the case. Because there wasn’t anything I could have done either way.

“I didn’t want to think about any of it again after it happened. I thought it was over. I never thought they’d convict someone who was innocent. I mean, he pled guilty. I never thought—”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I told the lawyers I’d do anything. Testimony, interview, whatever it takes to get him out.”

“You were the one who contacted Until Proven Guilty,” I realize.

Kennedy nods. “They said they thought there was a chance. But it’s been almost a year.”

I nod. “Appeals can take a long time. Have they told you anything?”

“Not in months. But they reached out to you, didn’t they? That’s a good sign, right?”

“Maybe.” I try to recall my call with Lily Sampson to gauge the tone of it. Unsuccessfully. Everything after she said Ryder’s name is a blur. I can’t recall anything she said, much less the emotion behind it.

“Do—do you know who it was?” I ask quietly. Because if it wasn’t the guy convicted of the crime, it’s one who got off with it scot-free.

Kennedy swallows a couple of times. “I’m pretty sure it was Liam.”

“Liam Hathaway?” I’m stunned.

She nods rapidly three times. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. I remember talking to him earlier, drinking with him. He told the police he walked in on Ryder… on me. It must have been the opposite.”

Those details are news to me, but I keep that to myself. “That doesn’t make sense, though. Why would Ryder go along with that? Protect Liam?”

Kennedy shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“Did you tell the lawyers?”

“Yes. There’s… not much to go on. Even if there was, he’s been living overseas for the past few years. They said that complicates things more.”

The front door opens. “Kennedy?” A man’s voice calls out.

“Living room,” she calls back.

A tall, broad-shouldered man enters the room. “Oh. I didn’t realize we had company.”

“Hi.” I smile. “I’m Ele—Elle.”

“Elle and I went to high school together,” Kennedy supplies.

“Nice to meet you, Elle. I’m Jacob.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” I reply. “You have a beautiful home. Kennedy said you’ve done most of the renovations yourselves?”

The man beams at the mention of his construction prowess. “Yup. Just the guest bath left and then it will be finished.”

“Impressive,” I compliment.

“Eh, it’s mostly been trial and error,” Jacob replies. “But the house is still standing, so…” He gives a what-are-you-going-to-do shrug. I smile. “Hey, Ken, I was talking to Sophia at work, and she said they’d like to take a look at the terrace house after all. I said I thought you’d be free after lunch, but—” he glances at me “—I can ask her if…”

“I’ve got to get going anyway.” I polish off the rest of my tea and stand.

“You don’t need to go,” Kennedy protests.

“I have to get back to the city,” I reply. “Really. Don’t rearrange any plans on my account.”

“Okay. Well, let me walk you out, at least.”

“Sure,” I respond. “Bye, Jacob.”

“Bye, Elle,” he calls back.

I follow Kennedy to the front door and back outside. We’re both silent as we cross her front lawn and reach my car. Scout starts barking as soon as he sees me, and I shush him.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Kennedy. Your life here—well it seems pretty great.” I smile as I fiddle with my keys, and she returns it.

“Are you happy, Elle?”

“Yeah. My life is… well, I don’t have anything to complain about. I never have, I guess.” I let out a dry laugh. “I just—well—that phone call was kind of a curveball.”

“Have you talked to Ryder?”

“No. Not since that night.”

Kennedy gives me a sad smile. “When did you get engaged?”

“Three days ago,” I admit.

“So… crappy timing?”

I give her a wry smile. “The crappiest,” I acknowledge. “It’s been seven years. It’s stupid. It shouldn’t matter if he’s guilty or innocent.” I shoot her a horrified look, realizing what I’ve just inadvertently implied. “I mean, of course it matters. I want whoever hurt you to pay for what he did. Whoever he is. But if Ryder didn’t do it… well, it turns out that still matters to me.”

Kennedy nods slowly. “You’re still in love with him.”

“No.” My tone is emphatic. “I never—I wasn’t…” I take a deep breath. “It’s just—there was never any resolution between us. He was just… gone. I left. No closure.” I shake my head, trying to clear the heaviness lingering in the air. “Forget it.” I step forward and give her a hug. “It was really great to see you.”

“You, too,” Kennedy replies as I open the door and climb into the driver’s seat.

“I’ll send you a wedding invitation.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Kennedy smirks. “I’ll come. If there’s a wedding.”

“What do you mean, if?”

The girl who used to copy my every motion and outfit is entirely absent as Kennedy raises both of her eyebrows in a clear challenge. “I mean I’ve been the third person in a Ryder and Elle love triangle, and it doesn’t end very well for the person not named Ryder or Elle.”

I scoff. “I’ve moved on.”

“Just don’t run into something else because you’re running from him,” Kennedy advises. “It will catch up to you. Feelings always catch up to you.”