Losing Ruby

Copyright © 2020 Kelsa Dixon

All rights reserved

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[Brody]

I had to step away from it all. It was easy, I just walked through the kitchen buzzing with caterers I hadn't known who arranged, and slipped out the back door. The humidity outside was nearly as thick as the tension inside. But there was a breeze—warm—but circulating and I fell over the railing in defeat.

I stared out at the yard like I'd done more times than I could count in the last five days. A yard that held my childhood. It held years of playing football with our dad and Luca and Noah. Endless days that bled into late nights with the porch spotlights on working on technique with Luca. I could still imagine Chloe running up and down the side of the house fixing the broken lily's Luca would go tumbling through without a backwards glance at the damage his passion for the game had caused. I imagined Ruby and Ella here on this deck, always painting their nails, always talking about someone who did something with someone; someone who liked someone that would've been better with someone else.

Usually I tuned that part out and I stared in awe at my girlfriend as she'd spin the gossip into hopes and dreams and aspirations. Hers were always the same. She had one dream and no one was going to stand in her way. The conviction lit up those honey colored eyes as if they were glowing, alive with a fire.

Ruby's idea rotated weekly, and my heart stuttered to a stop at the thought of what she'd be doing now if she'd been able to choose. If she'd had the time to figure it out.

The door behind me creaked open and I straightened, lifting the glass of bourbon to my lips.

"Brody." The deep, raspy voice had the hair on my neck stand on end. I took a deeper pull of my drink.

I refrained from slamming the glass onto the railing, and slowly turned. I nearly winced at the man's likeness to our father. Aged from decades spent in the sun, training for a game he loved debatably more than his own family. Square shoulders, broad chest, a height that towered over my own six-three frame.

His barreled shaped fingers clung to a glass identical to mine as he set it down on the teak table between us. Pulling out a chair across from me, he took a seat. "It seems we have a matter to discuss."

Chloe. He would want custody, it would be the only reason he'd seek me out. He'd ignore me otherwise, the way he had for the last twenty-five years. I didn't let him see the uneasiness I felt around him and leaned into the banister. "Do we?"

His stare was silent and impenetrably cold. "Do you honestly believe you—" he pointed a lazy finger at me—"are what's best for her?"

No. But staying with this family was and he would rip her away from it. From Luca and Noah. From anything that still felt normal. I said nothing and held his heavy stare.

His lips twisted at the corners and he lifted his drink. I refrained from doing the same.

"Had Luca been given custody, I'd consider letting it go. At least he has a good head on his shoulders." His eyes dropped to the glass still in my hand. "I can't imagine what kind of influence you'd be for her."

He was badgering; it was a mind game—what he had always been best at—and when it didn't work in his favor, he lost interest. He'd move onto the next target, so I wouldn't let it work this time either. "Forgive me if I allow myself a moment to mourn."

He huffed in amusement. "Seems you've never stopped."

I grit my teeth.

"How do you think that will look to Chloe? All the drinking? The late nights she's all alone with no one home? When she has a game, or needs help with her homework. Who will be there? What about her doctor's appointments?"

He paused and still I said nothing.

"Are you ready to play dad?"

The way he said dad, as if he knew the way the word would twist inside of me, completely unrelated to Chloe. My nostrils flared and I wasn't sure if it was from the grief of the man I'd lost, or if it wasn't in rage at an accusation he couldn't possibly be aware of. No one in this house was aware of the baby—my parents hadn't been. It'd stayed between Ella and I; I hadn't found a way to tell them.

He didn't give me a chance to sort it out. He scraped his chair back and slowly stood, a daunting tactic. One that I'd been privy to my entire life and left little impact on me anymore. He was a gutless man with nothing left in his life because of his doing. He had no one to blame but himself. It put a little strength into my backbone. I drew up the image of Chloe, and lifted my chin the way I'd seen her do repeatedly this week.

"When you get tired of juggling her needs, give me a call."

"Don't bother waiting by the phone."

He held my gaze. Then it slipped to the drink in my hand once more. As he trailed it up again his eyes lingered on the open collar of my shirt, on the tattoos that were visible at the base of my neck. The scrutiny never made its way back to my face, a backhanded dismissal. His lips twisted again and his chest bounced with an quietly amused laugh. He turned, and it wasn't until he was back inside, the door securely latched behind him that I sagged backwards into the railing. My heart ached at all that he'd insinuated.

As I lifted my drink, I glanced down and caught the edge of a tattoo peeking from behind the undone buttons of my shirt. The edge of a wing; tips of feathers. A set of them spread across the top of my chest connecting at the edge of my sternum. I'd had them for two years now; for the baby.

Everyone assumed it was yet another piece for Ruby—no one even cared to question it. Rightly so, the years had passed and I'd never stopped trying to find a way to seal in the wound that her death had left. None of it worked, it only offered a night of reprieve, lost in the longing sting of the needle.

No one had asked about this one, because no one had cared to know enough about the rest of my life. It was that bed I'd made that I couldn't seem to get comfortable in. It'd never been comfortable, always lonely. And cold. I didn't know how to find my way back though. I was chained there, in a room far from the outside world. The memories and the things I'd done barring me in.

I flexed my fist and stared at my knuckles. I'd done it all to myself. The isolation. The hatred. I was an outcast among my own family. The tips of my fingers bit into the flesh of my palm. I was the reason for all of it; for all of their pain, not just my own. For Ella's; and for losing her. The skin nipped across my joints, taunting me.

I drew back my fist and, drilling a hard stare into my target, I sent it sailing into the wooden column beside me. The rough texture easily ate the grief, so I did it again. This time the red stain battered into the wood was like a summon and, provoked, my hand connected with its mark once more. And then again, and again, until I was out of breath.

I barely noticed the throbbing in my hand as I stared down at what I'd done—what it meant. How quickly—how easily—I lost control.

But still, I stood there, staring at the maimed column, allowing the searing sensation to coax a hazy blanket through my system. It dulled out all the other aches and pains and griefs before enough time had passed and I let the magnitude of what I'd done weigh in. I'd have to explain it to Chloe. The level of disgust that would waft from Luca I could smell from here, let alone the crude, useless remarks Noah would have at the ready.

Back down the rabbit hole I'd plunge.

I sighed.

Back in the kitchen, I maneuvered around the catering staff and was able to quickly fill a dish towel with ice. Twisting it around in a knot, I took up space in a small corner of the kitchen, out of the way of the humming activity. Plates going out full, coming back empty. I wasn't sure how there was anyone out there who could stomach it.

I was eyeing the tall bottles of amber colored liquors across the room, wondering how many more glasses it would take to make this all a distant memory when I heard her voice. It wafted in from the hall. My head whirled to the doorway as she appeared in it.

Every bit of strength within my body left it. Evaporated. And I nearly slid to the floor in relief. She had come.

"Ella," I breathed her name. I studied every inch of her face, my eyes traveling down the slope of her neck, to her dress, and even through the dark material I could make out every one of her curves. Instantly, I found myself replaying all the nights I spent worshiping them. I cleared my throat to rid my mind of the thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

Her brows furrowed and her head angled in disappointment. "What am I doing here?" Her voice was a strained whisper. A tear slipped out and her voice was in pieces when she spoke again. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

But then her eyes dropped my hand and it must've been the permission she needed. In an instant, she was standing before me, taking my hands in hers.

"You came."

She pressed her lips together, but refused to look at me. "Of course I came." Her tone was hurt, as if I'd expected less. But what was I to expect? It'd been years, and not so much as a single phone call—a text—between us.

"For them." It came out before I could think better of it.

"For you." The sudden clipped edge to her tone told me I'd been insensitive.

I tossed the ice onto the counter and tipped her chin up, her honey stained gaze finally meeting mine. I brushed my thumb over her chin and savored that stare. "Thank you."

She flinched under my soft touch, and my hand moved to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"What happened?" She slid her eyes toward my hand, and it gave her an opportunity to step back. My hand fell away.

I eyed it long enough to come up with something vague and plausible. Something other than the wings that spanned beneath my collarbones. The reason there was space and time wedged between us now. "They gave me custody—our grandfather doesn't agree with their decision."

The pity in her eyes nearly had my blood boil when I should've appreciated the form of sympathy. Especially for a man who had disapproved of me the moment those two lines appeared and I threatened to unravel everything my father had worked so hard for—for all of the hard work, all the obstacles my grandfather had overcome to give those opportunities to my father.

But then her shoulders relaxed and her lashes looked weighted as they slowly swept her cheeks. "I'm sorry." When she looked back at me again, I saw her own grief, and the understanding, and I wondered if maybe, this could be one of those bridges back. "I'm sorry for all of it. For your parents—that I wasn't here sooner."

I cupped her face and used it as an anchor to pull myself to her. This time she didn't push me away and when her lashes shut, tears seeped from them. I brushed them away with my thumbs.

I placed my forehead to hers'. "Ella." I breathed in her name and she gripped my wrists. I nudged her nose, and dared to say, "Ro," on a whisper.

Her grip tightened. Her head swayed side to side, but she didn't move. I could feel her breath against my lips. The smell of jasmine swirled around us and it was comforting. My fingers knotted into that scent, her hair like silk against my callused hands. I tipped her head back and when she still didn't back away, I kissed her.

She kissed me back. Her lips moved with mine like it'd only been yesterday since I'd last kissed her. Like we were seventeen and standing in this kitchen, the adrenaline pumping through me now like it had then at the prospect of anyone—mom, dad, Ruby—walking into the room at any minute.

I took another step, closing the gap between us, and as my tongue pressed against hers, her hands slipped to my elbows. And then she pushed away. She stepped back and broke the kiss. Instantly, her eyes found mine and all I saw was the pain of our past staring back. "I can't do this, Brody."

I reached for her. "Ella—"

"No. I can't do this again—this dance." Her brows furrowed. "I can't be your escape from reality again."

The accusation was like a stab to the heart. "That's never what you were."

She folded her arms and watched from the window as the light pushed through the clouds, fracturing between the trees.

"That's not what you were—you know that, Ella." I tried again to reach for her, but her head whipped toward me, and the narrowed look had me stop.

She wet her lips and pressed them together before she whispered, "I still love you—I am still in love with you. I can't be anything less for you again."

Why the words, I love you, too, failed me I wasn't sure. And I didn't have time to contemplate them before a guy in a well fit, charcoal colored suit swooped in. He was suddenly standing beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist as he leaned into her. His lips pressed against her ear as he told her that her parents were ready to go.

She nodded, but didn't make a move to step away from him the way she had me. He gave me a hard look, then slipped away. He made sure I saw the way his hand lingered on her hip and around her lower back.

When I felt her gaze back on me, I was the one to look away. "I didn't know. I wouldn't have kissed you."

"It's not what you think." She seemed tired the way she said it. Not the least bit defensive; for him; for me. For herself even.

My eyes roamed the whiskey bottles landing on the bourbon. I would've even considered vodka at this point just to not think of her and those swirling amber iris'. "Was the I still love you a gentle form of rejection? Because I don't need it."

Her body went slack. "It wasn't."

I nodded. I reset my attention on the bourbon I was now craving. Just as I'd craved it on nights similar to this where I said goodbye and shoved her out my front door, directly into all those hopes and dreams that were no longer here with me.

Only this time it almost felt like she was the one shoving me out.

My fingers curled around the neck of a bottle nearly full and it slung against my leg as I dragged it off the counter. At the door I paused. She was still standing in the middle of the kitchen. I could barely manage a glance back at her without dropping to my knees at her feet, begging her to stay. "I miss you...every damn day, Ella." The words caught in my throat. Her arms curled around herself, a set of fingers wrapped around her neck and her face tipped to the side as a set of tears rushed down her cheeks. I couldn't stand to look at them, just as I couldn't all those years ago. But this time I wasn't the one pushing her away. The image of another man beside her, his hands where mine had been—I looked away, and slipped out the door. "If you ever cared to wonder." 

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• losing ruby •

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