The air is thick and stagnant, a typical humid August day, so even though the blazing sun is sinking behind the hills by the lake, I’m sweating like a pig. I waited all day and when Leah didn’t come back to tell me how Rose was, and Rose still wasn’t answering her phone, I hopped in Claudette, ignoring everyone’s advice, and drove to Jordan’s house. I park on the side of the road and decide to walk up the long, narrow driveway. I’m worried that if she hears Claudette she’ll lock herself away in the house and refuse to see me.
Both Jessie’s and Jordan’s cars are in the driveway. I can only assume the two of them know and I’m a little shocked, and maybe hurt, that Jordan hasn’t tried to call me. He’s my best friend—he should be checking on me.
My heart starts hammering erracticly in my chest as I get closer to the house. I haven’t really thought this through. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her, I just know I have to say something. I have to see her. Maybe if she looks at me and sees the anguish on my face she’ll forgive me. I know, even as I think it, that it’s a ridiculous hope—and a selfish one. I don’t think I could forgive her something like this.
As I walk by the barn I hear voices through the open door. Jordan’s, and then I hear Rose. She says, “I like it.” It’s soft and weak but it’s definitely Rose. I turn and follow the sound.
The first floor of the barn is completely redone. It’s got polished concrete floors and the newly drywalled walls are painted a soft gray color. One is covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. There are a few enormous boxes of brand-new gym equipment in the corner and a freshly unpacked treadmill next to a pile of free weights. I hear Jordan’s voice again and realize they’re upstairs, so I climb the circular staircase in the back corner of the room to the two-bedroom guest suite Jordan is building up there for Callie and Rose.
The staircase ends in a small foyer area. Right in front of me is the front door to the guest suite. It’s wide open so I enter. The living room, which opens into the kitchen, is mostly finished, with warm oak floors and a rich blue-gray color on the walls. There’s no furniture yet, which is why their voices are echoing so loudly as they stand in the kitchen discussing the newly finished work.
They didn’t hear me come in, so after taking a second to sweep my eyes over her lithe body, which somehow looks smaller than normal, I clear my throat.
“Rose.” My voice is scratchy and hoarse and doesn’t sound at all like me but she must recognize it because she bristles, her whole body becoming as stiff as stone. “Rose. Please talk to me. Please.”
“Luc.” Jordan’s voice is stern and hard like a disappointed father. I ignore him and walk farther into the room, coming around to stand between her and the kitchen island.
Her face is tilted downward, glued to the hardwood. I’m standing close enough that she can see the tips of my Converse but she doesn’t look up and as much as I want to, I don’t dare touch her. I can’t really see her face, just the top of her head.
“Rosie. I don’t know what happened. I swear to God. I went to bed alone. I phoned you. You got the message, right? I was alone.” I’m having trouble finishing my words. They all kind of drop off, like when someone talks right after choking on water.
“Luc, leave her alone.” Jordan’s voice is stern. “You should go.”
Jordan’s eyes are hard and he’s frowning at me. I deserve this, I know, but it still hurts. Everything fucking hurts. Before I can beg Jordan to just give me a minute alone with her, Rose looks up. Her face is blotchy, her eyelids puffy and her eyes bloodshot. She stares right at me—right into my eyes—like she’s looking for something. She looks so completely and utterly broken it makes the impossible ache in my chest even more unbearable.
Out of instinct, I reach out to cup her cheek tenderly, but she gets this sick-to-her-stomach look on her face and abruptly slaps my hand away so fast and so hard that the smack echoes through the barn.
“Did you fuck her?” she whispers raggedly.
“I don’t think so.”
She blinks; a moment of stunned confusion passes over her features replacing the despair for a brief second. I know it’s the most pitiful answer I could give, but it’s also the truth. I swore I would never lie to her—and even though saying “absolutely not” might make this all go away—I can’t start now.
“I don’t remember sleeping with her,” I clarify quickly. “And I know I didn’t want to sleep with her. I don’t want to sleep with anyone but you. I swear to God, Fleur. It’s only you. You’re all I want.”
“But you don’t…” She swallows and shakes her head. And then she shoves me. I stumble, my back hitting the kitchen island. “How the fuck do you not know?!”
“I passed out!” I counter, my voice rising. “I woke up and I was wearing… nothing. But I don’t remember doing anything. I swear to God, Rose, I would never intentionally…”
“Oh, so it’s okay if you accidentally stuck your dick in someone else?” she yells, and tears stream down her cheeks. “As long as you didn’t intentionally break my fucking heart, Luc, you think I should forgive you?”
“I… I don’t think I slept with her. I really don’t.”
“Oh, you slept with her,” she corrects, folding her arms across her chest. “You slept naked with her, but you don’t think you fucked her. That makes sense to you?”
Jordan is suddenly between us. “Look, you two. Maybe you both need a time-out. Take some time apart to think about this whole mess.”
“Or is it just that we’re not in a real relationship. I’m a dirty little secret, after all,” she says, her voice cracking.
“It is a real relationship, Rose,” I argue back.
“You don’t even know what that is!” she yells as she wipes her tears with the back of her hand and stares at me harshly. I have never seen anyone look so disappointed and devastated in my entire life. “Just go. Get out of here.”
When it becomes clear I won’t do what she asked, she storms down the staircase and out of the barn. I walk over to the window in the living room and watch her as she runs up the porch steps and into the house.
I turn back to Jordan. The cold, unfriendly look he’s been wearing since I walked in has morphed into something softer—something with more sympathy. I run my hands through my hair and sit on the window bench.
“I have to be able to fix this,” I whisper.
“I wish you could, Luc,” Jordan says quietly. “But this is… the worst possible thing you could have done.”
“But you and Jessie… you fucked up with her and she took you back. You two worked it out,” I argue back, trying to find some sliver of hope to hold onto.
“Jessie and I were teenagers. We didn’t know any better. This is different,” Jordan replies and sighs. “And Rose isn’t Jessie.”
I hold my head in my hands and try to take deep, even breaths, but it hurts my chest. I have never felt worse in my entire life. Not when my parents divorced, not when I had to deal with my mom’s alcoholism, never.
“I think right now the best thing you can do is give her a little space,” he tells me and squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted on how she’s doing, I promise, but just stay away for a couple days, okay?”
I nod because if I say anything my voice will crack and I might very possibly break down. I take my keys and leave the barn. As I climb into Claudette and her engine roars to life, I decide that even if I can’t see her for a while, I’m not going to stop looking for a way to fix this.