Chapter 26
Julian
“It’s incredible, Jay. Or should I say Julian? I mean, you’re kinda famous.” Taya is standing in the middle of the kickboxing room at Fit and turns to smile at me. “Proud of you.”
“Thank you.” I smile back. My first genuine smile since she showed up, even if it doesn’t reach my eyes.
Seeing her here in my space, in the life I created, being able to show her what I’ve made of myself, hearing her say she’s proud of me, is like the validation I didn’t know I needed.
I don’t have parents showing up to tell me they’re proud of me.
No one from my past is even part of my life now, not that there were many—or any.
She’s pretty much the only person who knew me when I was a kid—a teenager, anyway—and ever made me feel like I mattered.
It feels nice and . . . normal to have someone in my corner who knew me before.
“Hey, Julian. What a nice surprise.” Sylvie’s voice pierces the moment. She’s leaning half her body through the glass door of the kickboxing room. “You teaching a surprise class today?”
“Hey, Sylvie. Nope. Still taking the weekend off. Thanks for coming to the party last night.” I try to sound normal, then turn back to Taya to hopefully end the conversation. No such luck.
“Of course. We wouldn’t have missed it,” she replies with her lip-sticked smile, referring to herself and the rest of my clients that came. “And who’s this? A new member?”
Closing my eyes while still facing Taya, I start to turn to answer when Taya speaks up.
“No, I’m an old friend from high school, just passing through. Wanted to see the place.”
“Oh, how nice, dear. Well, enjoy the tour. Gotta get to my workout.” She wiggles her fingers in goodbye and dips back out the door.
Taya bursts into a tinkling laugh once she’s gone, which makes me laugh.
For a second or two, I forget. I feel the laugh in my chest. Then her face slams into my head. The reminder of what a shit show my life has become overnight. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before I get hit up for questions or demos.”
“Or autographs?” Taya teases.
“Nah, I’m not famous here,” I deadpan.
She rolls her eyes and laughs again.
The sound sends a warm glow to my gut. Taya’s alive and here. I’m insatiably curious about her life. I guess the feeling is mutual.
Once we’re out the front doors of Fit and settled into my Jeep, Taya asks, “Will you tell me about the rest of your life?”
“What do you want to know?” Not in the habit of oversharing, I fall back on my default of answering a question with a question—what my old therapist would call deflection or avoidance, something I guess I learned from my childhood.
I amend it with, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.
” And I mean it. I want to know everything about her too.
That she’s had a life to live the last three years is inexpressible.
It makes my heart hurt but in the best way.
I rub my chest with my palm as I drive one-handed.
“I want to know about it all, especially the girl. But start with where we left off and don’t stop. But . . . can we just drive? Hey, wanna go see Sugar and Cookie?” She turns sideways in her seat. “I bet they miss you.”
I grip the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles going white. She tracks the tension.
“He’s gone, Jay. It would just be us and maybe Mitchell, the caretaker my dad hired a year ago.” She’s looking at me to gauge my reaction.
I nod slowly. I’d probably agree to whatever she wants right now. “Okay.”
“Okay? Really?”
“Yeah, Taya, we can go.” Her name feels foreign in my mouth but familiar.
My grasp on reality feels tenuous. I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s too early to drink—and I don’t drink.
Speaking of drinking, I decide to start there.
“After he caught us . . . found us that night and threatened to have me arrested, I tried calling and texting you. When you didn’t respond, I knew—”
“He took my phone.”
“Yeah.” I nod and resume my death grip on the steering wheel.
I see it in my mind like it’s yesterday, but I haven’t pictured it in years.
“After trying to reach you by phone for almost twenty-four hours, I went back to your house and banged on the door. I had some half-cocked idea I’d just bust in there and take you away.
” One side of my mouth quirks up as I quickly glance over at her in the passenger seat.
The windows are down, and her golden strands drift across her face. Her green eyes look sad.
I turn back to focus out the windshield so I don’t have to see them.
“He sent me to boarding school that day. Didn’t give me a choice. Said he’d have you arrested if I didn’t go.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, but it still swirls across her lips and nose.
I swipe my hand down my face and drop it into my lap.
When I blow a heavy sigh out through puffed cheeks, Taya puts her hand on top of mine and squeezes.
Nodding, I say, “I know. I, uh, I kinda lost it after that. Got shit-faced drunk. Stole the alcohol from my parents and drank in one of the empty stalls until I passed out.”
“One of our stalls?” I see her eyes go wide in my periphery and nod.
“He found me there the next morning. That’s when he started threatening me with words like statutory rape.
I left so he wouldn’t call the cops—left my bike there and walked home.
For the rest of that week, I stayed drunk.
At the trailer. If my parents noticed, they didn’t care.
It must’ve been three or four days. When I finally went to get my bike, I went to the front door first. I had some wishful thinking that he’d calmed down and would tell me where you were.
That’s when he told me you weren’t coming home.
That you took a bunch of pills, and it was my fault.
That if I’d never come to work for him, he’d still have a daughter. ” I stop to take some deep breaths.
Taya’s hand covering the back of mine is gripping it so tight that her knuckles are now white.
I look down at her hand and turn mine over in hers. Our fingers intertwine and we both squeeze. I don’t want to tell her the next part—mostly because I don’t want to relive it. I take one more deep breath and begin. The short version.
“I took off on my bike, drunk. I stopped and got more to drink and just kept going. I was going too fast, taking turns, and I think I was . . . trying to die.” I see her swipe her other hand along her cheek.
“I crashed in front of Allie’s house. She helped me.
She gave me a job. I learned everything I know from her.
I owe everything I am to her.” I hope the CliffsNotes version will suffice.
She pulls our joined hands into her lap and covers them with her other. “What an asshole,” she breathes, like she’s shocked.
I laugh because it’s such an understatement for the evil he did to us. “Yeah,” I concur. We pull up to the entry gate of her property. It’s a new entrance with an automatic iron gate, a giant iron B on the arch.
She rummages through her bag and produces a remote, taps it and the gate begins its slow swing to allow us entry.
“That’s new.”
“He installed it right after . . . ” She lets the rest of that sentence hang unspoken. She motions for me to keep driving past the house and around to the barn.
It’s as picturesque as I remember. I stop the Jeep in front of the wooden picnic table on the side of the barn. It’s showing signs of weather and almost ready for another makeover.
She says what I’m thinking. “It’s held up well.”
“M-hm,” I answer absently, lost in time. I open my driver’s door almost in a trance, like I’m being pulled through a portal. I step into the shade of the barn, where the lack of sun drops the temperature.
An older man pushing hay and debris through the far doors stops and turns to greet us.
He’s not as old as I thought. His skin just looks weathered, probably from years of working outdoors.
He props the push broom against the nearest stall and moves toward us.
“Hey, Taya.” He greets her casually as he extends his hand to me.
“Hi, I’m Mitchell.” His handshake is firm, strong.
His eyes kind. He’s wearing a ball cap backwards, straw-colored hair curling around the edges and poking out through the hole on his forehead.
His eyes look like heavily creamed coffee.
As he finishes shaking my hand, his eyes track back to Taya and linger.
Too long. His eyes move over her face. His expression softens as he smiles at her.
It raises the hairs on the back of my neck and sends a surge of . . . jealousy . . . to my gut. Who is this fucking guy? The ranch hand. Like I used to be. I dislike him immediately, despite his welcoming kindness.
“Jay—uh—Julian,” I reply late, awkwardly.
Taya speaks up, “He’s my . . . An old friend . . . from high school.”
“Nice to meet you, Julian.” Mitchell smiles at me, but it fades as he notes my expression.
I can feel the frown between my eyes. I intentionally relax my features and smile back.
“You too, Mitchell.” I make myself say his name and look him squarely in the eye, exactly like I’d address a client or business acquaintance.
He’s not my enemy or my competition, I remind myself. So why am I acting so territorial?
“C’mon. Let’s go see your girlfriend. I’m sure she missed you.”
My heart drops into my shoes. Ever’s face swims before me like a mirage. I know Taya means her horse. I refocus my brain on the now, my eyes on the familiar stall, and move my feet toward it.
“Jay used to work here in high school,” Taya calls back to Mitchell as we move through the barn.
“Yeah? And which one is your girlfriend? Wait. Lemme guess. Sugar.” His words are met with Taya’s affirming giggle. “She’s such a flirt.”
“She’s such a flirt.” Taya and Mitchell say it at the same time. Then laugh together at their timing.
I feel out of place. Like a third wheel. I rub the spot on my chest as I move to Sugar’s stall.
“Here, try these.”
I turn at the sound of Mitchell’s voice behind me as he pulls a couple carrots from his back pocket.
I take them and nod a thanks, not trusting my voice.
I don’t know if Taya and Mitchell are a thing, but I know that look.
The one on his face. Because I used to have it too.
I place my hand on the top of the stall.
Sugar pauses her grazing and eyes me. Trotting over to the gate, she whinnies and tosses her head. She nuzzles my hand. Then she drops her head over the top of the gate, trying to nudge me.
I offer her a carrot and rub her soft nose. “Hi, pretty girl. You remember me?” She tosses her head at me again as if to say yes.
Behind me, Taya and Mitchell softly laugh.
“I think it’s safe to say she does.” Taya steps next to me and scratches behind the ears. “Right, Sugar? We didn’t forget.”
She says “we” not “you” and it makes my heart bleed, my eyes sting.
I turn and stalk out of the barn and around the corner to the old picnic table.
My picnic table. I sit on the surface and prop my feet on the attached bench, resting my arms on my thighs.
Staring across the rolling hills of their pasture, I take a few deep breaths, but I can’t stop the pressure behind my eyes.
I press my thumb and forefinger to them to try.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I once again attempt to wrap my brain around this reality.
The one that doesn’t feel real but is right here in front of me.
Then I feel her hand on my shoulder, her hips sliding next to mine on the table, her body heat. “Hey. You okay?” She leans toward me, her hair swinging forward, brushing against my arm.
“No, Taya. I’m not,” I add pointedly. “Are you?” I drop my hand and turn my head to look at her.
We’re so close I can count the freckles on her nose.
My body reacts to her on its own. My pulse speeds up, her pull undeniable, but it’s not me, Julian.
It’s me, Jayce. Eighteen-year-old Jayce Keller.
Young and in love. It’s like I’ve found a time machine or fallen through some portal to the past. Being this close to her, in this place, fucks with my head. I lift my hand to her face.
Her eyes close and she exhales through barely parted lips. Her breath kisses my lips.
“Jay.” She says it like a plea. “We can’t. You love her. I saw how much.”
“I loved you too. I think I still do.” A tear slips down my face.
She traces it with her finger, then cups my cheek in her hand. “Not like you love her. Maybe you love the memory of us.” She drops her forehead to mine. “We didn’t deserve this, Jay. But we aren’t those kids anymore.”
I close my eyes and, in the middle of my exhale, feel her lips touch the corner of mine. I reach my other hand up to cradle her face. Her cheek is damp like mine. I want to kiss her back. But it’s not me now, it’s time machine me.
Mitchell clears his throat behind us, breaking the spell. We don’t spring apart like we’re caught. We just separate. As Taya said, we’re not those kids anymore.
“Hey, Mitch.” Taya turns her head toward him and rests her chin on her shoulder.
“I saddled them up like you asked. I’m going to head out now if that’s all.”
“Thanks.” She turns her face back to me, one eyebrow lifted, and says, “You remember how to ride?”
Yeah, thanks, Mitch. Man to man, your timing couldn’t have been better.
What the fuck are you doing, Julian? Lock it the fuck up.
I rub the spot on my chest as I try to mirror her grin.
“I think so. Not sure joggers and gym shoes are the right fit for it, though.” Still, I hop off the table and follow her into the barn.