Unbreaking: The Don't Series, #3

By Jalena Dunphy

Together, Carter and Olivia need to decide if a future together is what they want. If not, they may have to accept that young love can never last.

After their many ups and downs, Olivia and Carter have each been given a second chance to start over without their pasts dictating their futures. Olivia is able to make peace with the truth of what happened to her. Knowing nothing good will come from holding onto her dark past, she finds the forgiveness she needs to move on. With the addition of music into her life, Olivia finds a new, more hopeful reason to survive each day. Soon she's not only surviving, but thriving. With her new friends reminding her she's capable of loving and being loved, the appeal to hide from the world lessens with each passing day.

Carter can't forgive or forget as easily. He knows he still loves Olivia, but being trapped in a dark, cold basement with a gash in his head because of her is hard for him to ignore. When he finally returns home, he discovers everyone has moved on, except him. When Sam, a girl who's seen him broken and afraid, comes for a visit, she tries to convince him that holding onto his past is preventing him from moving toward his future, but she's met with stubborn resistance. If he can't find happiness in the peace Olivia and Emily have found, he may have to face the truth that he will never wake from his nightmare.

Books in The Don't Series

Don't Break Me (Available Now)

After I Broke (Coming May 28, 2019)

Unbreaking (Coming May 28, 2019)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jalena Dunphy
• Release date: May 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781094773773

Jalena Dunphy

Jalena Dunphy is an avid reader, scary movie watcher, and Diet Dr. Pepper drinker. She lives in Western NY and after every winter swears she’s going to move somewhere warmer. But . . . after twenty years, that doesn’t seem too likely. If anyone wants to contact her to chat about the book, or maybe to bond over a shared appreciation of Diet Dr. Pepper, she can be followed at: www.goodreads.com

Book preview

We never know how strong we are until we face our weaknesses.

Chapter One

Olivia

Life is funny.

A few weeks ago, hell, a few hours ago, I’d never have believed I could fly across the country while sitting between two men. For most of the flight, I contemplated asking whether I could switch with the man sitting by the aisle, but I never did. My breath did falter a few times, but I fought the panic simmering below the surface.

I have a long way to go before my heart and mind can accept that a new chapter in my life has begun, but change seems less daunting now—maybe because I know Tristan and my captors are out of my life forever. Maybe it’s because I know Carter is safe, I am safe, we are free to move on. Whatever it is, I’m not going to resist it. I’ve spent a year in a prison without walls, holding me captive with invisible bars. No more.

Oh my god! You’re back! I thought I’d never see you again. My roommate, Sherry, surprises me as she bounds toward me, arms stretched wide.

It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. So much has happened. I’m a changed person. I feel it in everything I do, hear it in everything I say.

I never thought I’d get answers to all of my unasked questions, but I did. I haven’t gotten the justice I deserve—Tristan, Trevor, Billy, and Joey are all still free—but after walking in the dark for a year, I’ll take the ray of light that’s shining through, however small it may be.

I hug her close, taking her breath away. Her arms close tight around me, as if she’s been waiting for this hug since the day we met. It feels good. It feels normal.

I’m on the road to being normal.

I never dared hope this day would come.

I missed you so much, I whisper into her ear. We’re standing in the center of the waiting area at Sky Harbor airport with dozens of people circling around us.

She’s shaking. Not more than me. Her grip doesn’t slacken. 

I scared you. It’s not a question.

She nods. Her face is pressed to mine. I can feel her tears falling onto my cheek.

I’m sorry, Sherry.

Don’t apologize for what isn’t your fault. Her voice is hoarse. Her tears aren’t slowing. I hold her tighter. A throat clearing nearby draws my attention away from Sherry. Over her shoulder I see a tall, lean guy with hair that’s long on his forehead staring at us. His hands are in his pockets.

Sherry?

Yeah.

There’s a guy watching us.

She releases me from her grasp. Wiping her face with the palms of her hands, she grunts, seeing black streaks on her hand. Damn, all my mascara came off. I guess waterproof doesn’t withstand waterworks. Her familiar smile makes me smile, like it always has. She rubs her palms together until the black disappears into her skin.

I totally forgot. Olivia, this is Tame. Tame, this is my bestest friend on the whole goddamn planet, Olivia. She winks at me. My smile stretches. I extend my hand, and he shakes it. I pull away too fast for normal etiquette, but his touch becomes too hot, too real—it’s singeing me with an invisible fire.

Sherry’s one thing. A stranger is another. But it’s a start.

I don’t question his name. I never do anymore. Sherry has her reasons.

Hi, I say.

Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you. Sherry talks a lot about you.

I panic. What does she say about me?

Don’t worry, doll. I never tell him the good stuff. I know this is her way of saying my secrets are safe, not that she knows the secret I’ve carried since before we became friends. I release the breath I’ve been holding.

Okay, I say, not having anything else to add. How did you know I’d be here? I ask Sherry.

Tristan’s dad called. He gave me your flight info. Her voice is clipped. She wants to say more. I can see it in her fisted hands and clenched jaw.

Did he say anything else? I ask, knowing he must have to make her this upset.

No, she says too fast to be true. She’s lying. My heart aches for what she’s going through.

A familiar part of me is getting angry thinking of all the things Mr. Woods might have said to her. He probably dismissed her, not bothering to answer the myriad of questions I’m confident she asked. I’ve seen the way he treats people, the way he manipulates people into doing what he needs, offering nothing in return.

Hey, why are we standing in the middle of the airport? Let’s get the flock outta here. She tugs at my hand, pulling me away from anger that will go nowhere but backward into a past in which I refuse to dwell any longer. Mr. Woods isn’t here, Tristan isn’t here. This is my chance to move forward, and I intend to do just that.

Hold up, I say, pulling free of her grasp less than five minutes later. I lean forward with my palms against my knees. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long week. I try to regain my breath. I’m kinda tired. There’s no way I can keep up with you.

She stills, her face falls. She wants to ask me what happened, but it’s not in her nature to probe.

I loop my arm into hers. If you promise to slow down, I’ll promise to tell you later what happened.

Are you serious? Heads turn toward her loud voice.

I nod. I’ve kept her on the outside far too long. She deserves answers.

First, I need food.

Well, let’s get some grub in that tub of yours. She pats my flat belly.

Her friend shakes his head, not in surprise but in amusement. He must know her well. Why has she never told me about him?

Why haven’t you told her about your past?

I want to change things. I don’t want to keep secrets from her, or anyone, anymore. I’m tired of being afraid. I’m tired of looking over my shoulders waiting for the man in the trees to pull me back into the darkness. 

We walk, slowly, into the parking garage after taking an elevator to the second floor. The walk wasn’t bad at first, but now, every step I take is heavier and more exhausting than the last. This has been a long day after a week’s worth of sedentary living in the comfort of my ex-boyfriend, Tristan’s bedroom. I was abducted from my current boyfriend, Carter’s hospital room. As it turned out, it was because of Tristan that I was kidnapped to begin with. Tristan messed with my head and my heart. But no more. I’m back in Arizona with my best friend Sherry, which is exactly where I belong.  

We’re almost there, Olivia, Tame says, seeing how tiring this walk is for me. I wasn’t thinking. I should have picked you up at the door. This walk didn’t seem far when Sherry and I parked.

I’m sure it isn’t. I stop near a parked car in the middle of a full row, my heart racing, my breath labored. In the distance, I hear Tame speaking. He stops when he notices I’m feet behind them, then rushes toward me with Sherry on his heel. In front of me, he stoops down to examine me, a calm expression on his face—unlike Sherry, who looks panic-stricken.

Olivia, are you okay? she asks.

I nod once. We all know it’s a lie. I am far from okay. Lightheadedness washes over me. The ground feels unsteady beneath my feet. I stumble backward. My back rests against the bumper of a vacant car. Just as my legs begin to cave, I’m caught in Tame’s arms. He places one arm under my bent knees, the other cradling my back. I lean into his chest. The steady, melodic beat of his heart serenades me with a comforting lullaby. I now understand why the sound of a woman’s womb is so relaxing.

Your heartbeat is beautiful. It’s playing a song for me. Can you hear it? I ask, ignoring my worries that he’ll laugh at my absurdity.

I can’t, he says softly. What does it sound like? We’re walking. Soon he’ll have to put me down. The thought saddens me. This is the most comfortable I’ve felt in weeks.

There are no words to describe the tune, no lyrics to repeat. I thrum my fingers against his heart in rhythm to the beats. He starts to hum in time to my taps. The vibration from his throat into his chest adds a layer to the song. I continue tapping the skin over his heart, as if I’m pressing keys on a piano. His voice deepens. The change affects the vibration against my ear. Through the beats and the hums, a song has been created. The sound is indescribable.

Nothing will ever sound more heavenly to my ears than this song. Thank you. My eyes feel heavy.

"Thank you, Olivia. I haven’t had an inspiration for a song in months. I believe you have become my muse." 

His words spread a smile on my face while his song continues to play in my ears. Will you name it after me?

Would you like me to?

I don’t want to answer. I’m ashamed of the pleasure the idea offers.

Olivia? he asks, in a hushed voice. Are you asleep?

No.

Can I take your silence then as a yes? Don’t be embarrassed to say what you want.

Something in his tone and in his smooth, steady stride pulls words from my mouth with ease. I think I’d like it if you named it after me.

He adjusts me in his arms. For a moment, my song is muted. I want to scream for him to press play. I’m settled once more to his chest. The music resumes, calming my soul.

Consider it done. Any requests for a title? His breathing remains steady as we continue walking toward his car. I hope we never find it. I’m not ready for my song to end.

"Aime-toi," I say, without thinking.

Love thyself. I like it.

You speak French?

I do, he says, laughing at my keen observation. As do you.

My cheeks burn. Of course he speaks French. How else could he translate what I said? That was stupid, sorry. I suggested it without thinking. I guess it took me off guard that you understood.

You prefer it in French? he asks, allowing my blunder to go unmentioned.

"I learned French at an early age from my aunt, who lives in Canada. She had a plaque made when she was very young inscribed with Aime-toi. I asked her once why she chose that saying. She explained that loving yourself means knowing yourself. I stifle a yawn. After a year of being lost, I’ve finally been found. Another yawn. Hearing a melody in your heartbeat confirms it."

"I’m honored, ma muse guidante."

Your guiding muse? I like that. It’s beautiful. Thank you—

My eyes close. I drift into a dreamless sleep, cocooned in a lyrical blanket. I’m a caterpillar growing its wings. When I wake, I’ll be a butterfly ready to fly where the wind takes me.

∞∞∞

I feel groggy as my eyes flutter, undecided as to whether they want to open or stay closed.

Are you sure you’ve got her? I hear Sherry ask.

I’m sure. I think my guitar weighs more than her. Do you ever see her eat?

I eat, I mumble. Where are we going? I ask, realizing we’re no longer in the airport parking garage, but I am still in Tame’s arms. How did we get here? My voice is barely more than a whisper. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt this tired.

It’s okay, Olivia. We’re at Tame’s place. It’s quieter here than it would be in our dorm. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.

You promise? I ask, needing to hear her repeat the words.

I swear on Tame’s guitar. I know that doesn’t mean much to you, but I swear if you could see his face right now, you’d understand how much he cares about his guitar, I dare say more than he cares about me. There’s a mix of forced joy and obvious sadness in her voice. Does she believe what she’s saying but hopes it isn’t true?

I snuggle closer to Tame’s warm chest, my song playing as if it never stopped—as if it will never stop. Okay. I’m going to sleep a little while. Don’t leave me.

Small fingers stroke my head and along my exposed cheek. Never, Sherry says. I’ll never leave you again.

The sorrow in her voice tugs at my heart.

Sherry? I hope you don’t feel like you’ve done something wrong. None of this could have been prevented. Tristan made sure of that. Don’t carry the weight of someone else’s guilt. This is on Tristan, not you. I love you and in no way blame you for any of this. I know you tried to find me. I’m lucky to have a friend like you. I know I haven’t made it easy, but you never turned away from me. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for seeing me, for believing I was worthy of being seen . . . I look her briefly in the eye before the pull of sleep weighs down on my eyelids.

Stop, girl, you’re going to make me cry, she says, while choking back a sniffle. I don’t acknowledge her tears. She hates crying in front of people and would hate me if I brought it up.

A loud bang of metal against metal startles me. I raise my head in time to see a large metal door sliding closed across a metal track. I feel my limbs stiffen.

It’s okay, Olivia. This is where I live. It’s a warehouse that I use as a studio for my band, but in the back is an apartment very few people know about. I like my seclusion, he says, with a sadness I know well. I wonder who hurt him and when. I wish I could ask, to somehow make him feel better, but two broken hearts do not make a whole. I’ve only now begun to feel worthy of putting myself back together again. What right do I have to tell someone else how to live or survive?

∞∞∞

I wake in an unfamiliar bed, wrapped in soft white sheets, lying on a pillow that smells of something sweet and a little spicy. An aroma of lemon mingled with something like patchouli continues to invade my senses. I draw in a breath, enjoying the strange but heady combination. It’s like a summer day in the middle of a forest as the months wane and autumn approaches.

I’ve never smelled anything more calming.

My arms and toes point as high and as low as they can go. I’m twisting from one direction to the other. My pain has finally lessened. I hear a throat clear. I sit upright, embarrassed.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, Tame says. His eyes don’t divert from mine. He doesn’t shy away from me like most others do.

I pull a fistful of sheets to my chest. I have nothing to hide, I’m fully dressed, but it seems like the right thing to do.

I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t hear you coming. Do you want me to leave? I ask to be polite, silently begging him to say I can stay.

His gaze intensifies as he studies me. In return, I study him. A look I haven’t seen before fights to be contained behind his honey brown eyes. It’s not the same as the one I see when I look at my own reflection. There’s so much pain, so much sorrow.

I wish I could take away your pain.

What? His brow creases, his eyes narrow. He combs strands of fallen hair off his forehead with his long fingers.

What? I ask, not understanding what he’s talking about.

Why would you say that?

I think for a moment. Do you mean about me leaving? I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me. That’s why I said I’ll leave if you want me to. His expression says that’s not what he’s talking about.

His shoulders sag. He shakes his head, causing his hair to fall back down across his forehead, covering his brows and clinging to some of his eyelashes. You said you wish you could take away my pain. Why would you say that?

I said that out loud? I feel lightheaded. I am so sorry. I never meant for you to hear that. Pretend I never said it, okay? I’m damaged, what would I know about taking away someone else’s pain? Not that you have any pain to take away. But even if you did, I’m not saying I can fix you, not that you need to be fixed. Ugh. I slap my forehead. I’m sorry. I’m making a complete ass out of myself, aren’t I?

His strides are long and assured as he walks towards me. There’s a beauty to him. A calmness radiates off him that is somehow able to satiate my worst fears. In his presence, it’s as if there is no world outside these four walls, no pain or shame, no past to run from or future to dread.

He points to a bare spot on the bed, silently asking whether he can sit beside me. I nod before shuffling toward the wall the queen size bed is pushed up against.

He sits inches from me, unafraid of getting too close. Unlike every other person I’ve met this past year, he doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile, ready to break with one soft breath. It brings an exciting kind of fear—one filled with promise that I’m not so far gone it’ll be impossible to return.

I thought I never wanted to fight against my past, to never bother hoping for a future I didn’t have to fear. I’m beginning to wonder whether that makes any sense. I was happy once. Why can’t I be again?

An unbidden breath drags in the scent I woke to. It’s him.

You smell nice, like lemons and patchouli, I say without thinking.

A laugh escapes his mouth. Damn, Sherry. He shakes his head as if in response to a private joke. She insisted I shake up my ‘manly routine,’ as she puts it, he says with air quotes. She bought me a shampoo that smells like lemons to make me more approachable and a cologne that smells like a lumberjack to make me just the right amount of manly.

That sounds like Sherry all right. Well, I don’t know what you smelled like before, but she did set you up with a nice combo now. I shrug my shoulders, momentarily unhindered by the quiet, unassuming girl that’s been impersonating me for a year.

Thanks. For a brief moment, his smile lights his eyes. Can I ask you something? His smile disappears, and the light dims to a faint glow.

Sure, I say, curious what he might say to me, a girl he’s held more in his arms than he’s spoken to in conversation.

If you could go back in time, change what it was that hurt you, knowing that in changing it you’d have to give up everything you’d gained in the time between then and now, would you do it?

I stare at him, wondering whether this is a joke or a way to probe into my past. In his eyes I see it, an understanding only offered by someone who knows pain beyond bad breakups, parental divorces, or a failing grade in college. Someone who knows what it’s like to wish for the pain to end while always secretly hoping that your current breath isn’t your last. It’s a look you pray you never see in a fellow human being.

I turn away, unsure how to answer. Instead of retracting his question like most would do when an awkward silence falls on a conversation, he allows me time to think.

A couple of months ago, I begin, looking into his eyes, I’d answer with an absolute yes. Most of this year I’ve wished for nothing but to rewind time, erase everything as if none of it ever happened.

But now?

If this year hadn’t happened, I’d have missed out on too much to justify erasing it all. I would never have moved to Arizona. I’d never have met Sherry...or you. I smile. But most importantly, I’d never have fallen in love, like full-on, head-over-heels, fallen in love. I would have missed it all. So, no, I wouldn’t erase my past. It helped shape who I am, and while I am a shattered mess right now, I know there’s hope for me to be more than this someday. That is worth the pain.

His gaze drifts a thousand miles away, somewhere past the barren field outside the wall of windows on my right, beyond the setting sun, into a place only he can travel. I wish I could take away his pain, like Sherry and Carter helped take away mine. It’s strange that Sherry hasn’t done anything to help him—unless he hasn’t been open with her about who or what hurt him so badly.

He nods his head once. I wait for more, but it doesn’t come. He stands, walks toward the corner of his bedroom, which is as big as some apartments I’ve been in. It’s peppered with a variety of throw rugs on concrete floors, creating a bohemian flare. He walks toward a bench running the length of the windows piled with Rolling Stone magazines, notebooks, pencils, and sheet music. Taking a guitar off its stand, he walks back toward me, past concrete walls pinned with posters of bands, some I’ve heard of most I haven’t.

With a strained smile, he says, Thanks for listening. I came in for this, he raises his guitar in his hand, but now that you’re awake, I’m sure you and Sherry have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll send her in. Our conversation is over. I don’t know if I helped, hurt, or did absolutely nothing for him.

A ray of evening sunlight shines through a patch on one of many shawls in varying colors draped over a long pipe serving as a curtain rod. It bathes the white bed sheets in an orange so deep it looks as if they might ignite in flames before my eyes.

I rise, leaving the fiery sheets behind, to stand in front of him, halting his steps. Placing my hand against his heart, I force him to stop. "I know we don’t know each other, but if you ever want to talk to someone, without obligation to share all your darkest secrets or worry about judgment, I’m here. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in a world of happy always trying, more often failing at pretending you fit into that world. It’s a weight few can understand, and I’m thankful for that. No one deserves to feel this way, but it makes it lonely when you want to connect with someone without having to pretend sadness isn’t a constant barrier to your own happiness.

Give me your phone, I say, with my hand out and palm up.

He pulls it from the back pocket of his ripped blue jeans, placing it in my hand without question. I punch in my number. I don’t know where my phone is at the moment, but when I do, I’ll let you know. I hand him back his phone.

Sherry has it, he says, while tucking his phone back into his pocket.

I don’t question how she ended up with it, or what else of mine she might have. Good, now there’s no excuse for you not to text or call me when you need to talk, or not talk, whichever. Text me so I’ll have your number, okay? Oh, and can you tell me your real name? I think Tame should stay between you and Sherry.

It’s Tim. This isn’t necessary though. I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me. I’m sorry if I scared you with that question. Sometimes I speak without thinking.

Sometimes the things we say when we aren’t thinking are the ones we should listen the hardest to. You’ve helped me more than you know. Let me offer the same in return, even if it’s just appeasing me by taking my number. I stare up into his eyes. Finally, he nods once.

Do you want me to send Sherry in or take you to her?

I’ll come with you, if that’s cool?

He ushers me toward the bedroom door. Sherry’s going to pop my eardrums when she sees you. The corner of his mouth rises affectionately.

She does have an impressive set of lungs on her, I agree.

We step into a kitchenette-style kitchen with all the basics—a microwave, an apartment-sized refrigerator, and stove. Floating wood shelves hold matching plates and bowls, and on the counter by the sink is a carousel of silverware and napkins.  Through another door, I hear a voice singing a song I think I’ve heard before.

Follow me, he says.

I walk behind him as we cross over the kitchen threshold, down a long corridor that opens into a room filled with crates and miscellaneous items that seem so tiny in comparison to the size of the space. We continue, the voice growing louder, the cadence sweeter. Whoever is singing has an amazing voice. I hope Sherry is hearing this.  

We walk through open metal doors. There’s a sofa, drum set, a record player, some albums, and a couple of stools. Sitting on one of them is Sherry. Her eyes are closed, her thoughts lost to the music she’s creating. Her voice resonates against the concrete walls and tall ceilings without assistance from a microphone.

She glances up, caught off guard at the two spectators watching her. A smile lights up her face. How’s a girl get to be so lucky to have her two favorite people stand side-by-side? She hops off the stool and comes bounding toward us. With both arms spread wide, she manages to grab most of me, barely covering Tim’s stomach.

I pinch her side.

Ow. What was that for? she asks, rubbing away the pain.

Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?

She tosses a look over her shoulder towards the stool she’d just been sitting on. "Oh, that? It’s not a big deal, just something I mess around with from time to time. Now Tame, he’s the real talent here. He plays guitar, drums, and sings. A deathly combination." She fans her face, acting as if she’s going to faint.

Smiling, he shakes his head. I don’t know why I keep you around.

Because I’m awesome and you love me.

I laugh, thinking this is Sherry being Sherry. But caught on both their faces are looks of panic. Tim’s face turns cold. Sherry’s, contrite.

Anyway. Sherry bounces back, but not before I see fleeting pain in Tim’s eyes.

I stand, silently, near the open door, wondering what was said to cause this tension and whether I should stay or leave because of it.

How about I get you something to eat? she asks, not waiting for me to answer before dragging me back toward the kitchen by my wrist.

As we’re walking away, Tim begins playing his guitar. Soon follows his voice, singing the same lyrics as Sherry’s. His deep voice changes the tone of the song. Where Sherry made it sultry, Tim makes it soulful.

Do you ever do duets? I ask. I bet you two would be amazing together.

Yeah. Well, we did. We do. I don’t know. It’s complicated. I see her shoulders tighten as I follow her to the kitchen.

I know I have no right to pry, but this makes no sense. How can two people be so close yet so far apart?

Sherry?

What’s up? she answers, while looking in the fridge for something to eat.

Can I ask you a question?

With a pizza carton in her hand, she closes the fridge door with her hip, dropping the box onto the counter.

About me and Tame?

Yeah. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, and believe me I know I have no right prying, I’m just—

You’re fine, she interrupts. I think I know what you’re about to ask but go ahead. She opens the pizza box, grabs a slice, then jumps up onto the counter. With her legs dangling over the edge, she takes a large bite of cold pizza. My stomach growls as I watch her take another bite.

I grab a slice for myself before moving the pizza box over to the top of the stove. I hop up on the counter so nothing is between Sherry and me but the sink.

Oh my god, this is freaking amazing, I say between mouthfuls. I’ve never liked cold pizza before but I think I may eat it like this from now on. I’m onto my second slice before she’s halfway done with her first. I’m sorry I’m pigging out, but I don’t remember the last time I ate. Even on the plane I was so nervous and exhausted I refused the snacks and peanuts.

You refused the snacks? Her hand flies to her heart. What kind of witchery possesses you?

I laugh around yet another mouthful. I can imagine Tristan’s disdain if he could see me acting this way. He’d be appalled. For that reason, I grab another slice.

I’m all for you stuffing your face with delish pizza, but you’re going to make yourself sick if you keep eating like that, she says, finishing her first slice.  

You’re right. Afraid I won’t be able to slow down, I set the half-eaten slice on top of the pizza box. Thanks for having my back.

I think you mean stomach. She smiles and kicks her shoe against mine.

True. Well, my stomach thanks you then. I nudge her knee with hand.

So, what do you want to know?

I contemplate ways of asking her about her and Tim’s relationship. I question whether I should ask her. I don’t want to intrude.

You’re killing me.

I’m startled. What?

Stop overthinking, just ask. I’m not trying to keep secrets if you want to know something, I’ll tell you.

Okay, I say, feeling less uncomfortable. Sherry is my friend. This is what friends do—talk about life and especially boys. Back when I had friends, we talked about everything and anything, then repeated the next time we were together.

What happened between you and Tim?

Her laugh surprises me. Tim, huh? Sometimes I forget that’s even his name. He’s been Tame to me since the sixth grade. That’s what he’ll always be.

I feel weird calling him that, sorry. It seems like something shared between the two of you, not with me.

"Whatever makes you comfortable, sweet cheeks. That’s who he is to me and how I introduce him. That doesn’t mean everyone has to call him that. Carter