Track 16 Keep Your Head to the Sky #2
“What the hell was that about?” I said aloud as I regained my composure. E had been married for two months at that point. We hadn’t spoken since Memorial Day, which felt like a lifetime ago. Why on earth would he be calling me?
I shook off the unease and decided it must have been a mistake. E had never called me before, so it was clearly out of character and nothing to worry about. Plus, if it were truly important, he could leave a voicemail or call back—
My phone rang again, E’s name in bold on top. My heart fell through my stomach, and I almost lost my balance from the rush of it. Why was he calling me?
I stood there, frozen, holding myself up against the counter, waiting silently for my phone to stop buzzing. But this time, when it finally did, I felt nauseous.
Now, I knew—once could be dismissed as an accident, but twice? Twice confirmed it was intentional.
I ran to the bathroom to rinse my face and calm myself down. I grabbed a fresh towel and patted my face dry, wiping my hands with it as I walked back to the living room. When I got to the couch, there was my phone—lit up, with a voicemail and a text message from E.
I sat down slowly and reached for my phone as if it would burn like acid. I swiped the screen up and stared at the little red box over the message app. I took a shaky breath, closed my eyes tightly, and clicked to open the text messages.
Pick up. It’s E.
That’s all it said. Four little words were enough to shake up my whole life, the one I felt so strong in just moments before. I closed the messages and opened my call log. My finger hovered over his name for 10 seconds…
And then I threw the phone down on the couch and walked out of the apartment.
I walked four blocks to my favorite coffee shop, the one Jake and I visited every Sunday for pastries.
It had a warm farmhouse vibe, with its butcher block countertops and ship-lapped walls.
The cool metal chairs framed a German-schmeared brick wall that was decorated with deep green leafed wreaths and a sign that read Home is where the coffee is.
Elegant wrought iron candelabras draped the ceiling, giving the space just a drizzle of femininity.
A full-length vintage mirror rested at one corner, accompanied by white magnolias.
The air enveloped me as I pushed through the door, fragrant with hazelnut and fresh ground coffee beans.
The sign was right—it really did feel like home.
I ordered a vanilla latte, took a seat at the window bar, and people-watched.
For four hours. I thought about absolutely nothing at all because that was more peaceful than any thought I could muster.
I didn’t want to deal. Didn’t want to invite the chaos back into my life.
I had gotten off the emotional roller coaster, and I wanted to stay off. For good.
Not until the setting sun gave way to dark gray clouds and threatened a storm did I decide to head back. Even then, I thought very little and only stated the facts, over and over, like a mantra that would save my life:
E was married. And he wasn’t married to just anyone—he was married to someone who knew me.
Knew us and all our history. And she’d been jealous of it from the start.
He had no business calling me. It would do me no good to get involved in that mess.
I wouldn’t call back. I wouldn’t answer his text.
I’d just pretend it didn’t happen at all.
And that’s exactly what I planned to do.
But when I walked in the door and grabbed my phone from the couch, it lit up with two more voicemails. And a text.
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew something was wrong. I should have let it be, but as afraid as I was of ruining myself again, I couldn’t leave E alone with whatever he was calling about.
My heart clenched as I opened his next message:
I have to talk to you. Call me back.
I was stricken with fear at what it could mean, at what he could possibly have to talk to me about. A part of me wanted not to care, but the bigger part of me, the one that would win, needed to know. And like curiosity killed the cat, it would also kill me.
I opened my voicemail and saw his messages. There were three. My heart pounded loudly in my ears as I thought of his voice being there at my fingertips. I opened the last voicemail first, and I reluctantly, stupidly, hit play.
“Syd…” he sniffed. “I need you to answer me. I need to talk to you. I need to hear your voice…” His voice was desperate, pained, and stressed. A knot formed in my throat and tears in my eyes at the sound of it. “Please…” he continued, and his voice broke. “I need you…”
He trailed off silently before the message ended, and without thinking, I hit his name and called back.
He answered on the first ring.
“Syd?” His voice was shaky and small. Not strong and deep as I remembered, and for some reason, that broke my heart even more for him.
“I’m here.” I closed my eyes.
“Oh my God. Thank you. Thank you so much—”
“E, is everything okay? I can’t really talk, but I just need to know—”
“No. Everything’s not okay. Everything is fucked up, and I don’t know what the hell to do!”
He sounded worse than I feared. I took a deep, quivering breath. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I heard him breathe deeply into the phone. “I need to see you.”
“E…”
“I need to see you, Syd.”
I shook my head, though he couldn’t see me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“Please. Please, Sydney. I’ll never bother you again, I swear.”
A million warnings went off in my head, every single one of them telling me not to go down that road again. To abort before I even began the mission. But I ignored them all. Because I couldn’t say no. I never could.
“Okay.”
His relief was audible. “Are you free now?”
“Now?” I was confused. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Austin.”
I swallowed hard, panic suddenly climbing up my spine. “You flew to Austin?”
“I called you before my flight, but you didn’t pick up—”
“So you came anyway?” It sounded so crazy to hop on a flight after months of not speaking, not even a call.
“I told you,” He paused. “I need to see you.”
I should have known then that something had gone terribly wrong.
I should have known from his irrational behavior that something was off.
But that reckless part of me that was still young and dumb—the one I thought had died a long time ago—chose to look away.
It chose to keep moving forward, knowing I shouldn’t go down the road I’d been lost on before.
“Okay,” I said. “I can meet you at a bar. Or a restaurant. Or—”
“No. Somewhere else.”
I looked through the floor to ceiling windows. “It’s pouring outside. It has to be inside.”
“I could meet you at school. At your dorm—”
“I’m… not there.”
“Wherever! I can meet you wherever you are. Just,” he exhaled in frustration. “Where are you?”
I hesitated. “I’m at Jake’s.”
I couldn’t say home. It didn’t feel right to tell him I lived there. Not with his disheveled state. He was vulnerable, for whatever reason. This wasn’t the time—or at least, that’s what I told myself.
“Okay. Send me the address. I’ll be there soon.”
“E,” I pleaded, but the call had ended.
Even though I knew it was wrong, even though my conscience warned me this won’t end well, I sent E Jake’s address, and I waited. Like a lamb being led to the slaughter, I followed my heart blindly and awaited ruin.
E’s frantic bangs pounded on the door fifteen minutes later, and I braced myself for impact as I opened it. I didn’t know what I expected to see, or how I would feel about it, but whatever I could have imagined, this was worse.
E looked good. Devastatingly good. Like a walking sex god, and every part of me craved him on sight.
His hair was longer and fell into his eyes, dripping from the rain, and it made him even sexier.
His jaw was squared, and his cheeks hollowed.
His brown eyes looked like burnt caramel against the deepest black of his soaked hoodie.
I swallowed hard as I took him in, searching for the air I’d lost.
In one swift move, he stepped inside, wrapped me in his arms, and took in a deep breath. I inhaled deeply, drowning myself in his scent—cedar and rain, and a laundry soap I had always loved but never found.
He embraced me tightly for endless minutes, and I held him close, never wanting to let go. But I forced myself to. Because he wasn’t mine to hold. Nor was I his.
I stepped back from him.
“Hi,” I said with a small smile. I tried to hide the way the sight of him, the feel of him had warmed me from the inside out.
“Hey.” He smiled back, but it wasn’t the one I remembered. It was pained, tormented, and lost. Confused and overwhelmed. Like a man who had seen his own death.
I looked down at his soaked sweatshirt, which had just soaked me too. “Want something to change into?” The minute I said it, I felt uneasy. “Or I could throw your stuff in the dryer?”
He gave me that crooked grin. “Trying to get me out of my clothes already?”
I nudged him in the chest. “Ha-ha. Now you can freeze.”
I turned and grabbed two mugs, deciding to make coffee. It was late. Too late for caffeine, but something told me we’d be up for a while.
The apartment was open concept, but E studied each space independently.
He walked around the kitchen, then the living room, and the dining area.
He looked over the rooms, silently assessing each corner, touching things as if to check if they were real.
A pillow. The curtains. A coaster still wet with the condensation of a previous drink.
His eyes surveyed everything slowly, intentionally, like he was looking for something he knew he’d find.
When he finally came to the CD tower, he squatted and pointed to one in the middle.
“There it is,” he said with that crooked grin.
“What?”