R. Griffin - Seamless

“I’m not, Dad. I’m so not okay. Jamie’s brains were on my face last night—on my shirt, in my hair—I’m not okay. I just left George, the only man that will ever love me, and I’m not okay. I don’t think I can ever be okay.”

Silence.

“I need this, Dad, please,” she begged. “Cooper and I are headed to the beach now. I just need to know that I can stay there for a few days to cry my eyes out by myself.”

“I don’t know...” he started, “your mom is—”

“Don’t tell Mom where I am. Please,” she pleaded. “Just tell her you talked to me and I’m okay, just taking a moment.” Stella finally looked in the mirror and cringed. Her face was stained red with blood. She’d washed her face a bunch of times, but she guessed she didn’t get all the blood off; she was stained.

“Stella, if I don’t hear from you every single day, I will come and get you. I’m not kidding,” he choked. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“I’m sorry, Dad, I really am, but I’m so tired. I’m so fucking tired of pretending to be okay. I need to fall apart for a while.” Stella was honest; she’d let herself fall apart when Jamie “died,” so maybe she needed to release the pieces of her she’d been holding together for so long in order to heal.

“I can’t say I understand, Stella, but I’ll try,” he conceded. “At least promise to text me every day.”

“I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. Thank you.” She hung up, turned her phone back off, and cried the remaining miles to her sanctuary.

When she pulled into the driveway, her lips almost turned up into a smile. Almost. When she opened her door, Cooper forced his way out her side of the car and ran to the beach. She just stared at the house; she couldn’t decide what to do or if coming here was the best choice after all. She walked to the mailbox and pulled out an envelope with the key. There was a note in it from her dad’s friend.

Please stay as long as you need. Let me know if you need anything else.

She sighed and walked around the house to the beach to sit on the stairs and look out at the water. It was warmer than she expected for December. Cooper was running up and down the shoreline, jumping the waves and barking at the birds. She clapped her hands for him and he came running, clambering up the steps to the back door. She opened it and memories flashed back of her and George. She could swear she felt herself breaking into a million pieces. Why keep putting yourself back together if you’re just going to keep breaking apart?

Cooper ran all around house, smelling every corner, and then followed her to the bedroom she’d shared with George. She climbed on the bed and got into the fetal position, but all of a sudden felt sick and ran into the bathroom where she threw up bile. Stella hoped that her concussion would hurry up and release her from all the vomiting. She hadn’t eaten in a while. Shit. She’d stopped and bought liquor, but no food, and there wasn’t any food at the house. Instead of being smart and going to get food, she climbed back in bed. Cooper put his head on her stomach and they slept.

She woke with a start, hearing steps on the stairs, and jumped out of the bed, her heart racing. Cooper bounded down and thundered to the door, hair raised. Stella’s stomach clenched as the steps got closer.

“I thought you might be here,” Patrick said, pushing the door open. “You okay?”

Stella slumped on the bed in relief. Patrick. She should’ve known he’d find her. “No,” she said very softly, shaking her head.

He walked over and sat next to her. He put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close to him, not saying a word. After a while, he moved her back toward the pillow and they lay in the bed together, her head propped on his chest. Cooper jumped on the bed and laid on her side, getting as close as possible to Stella.

“So what’s the plan?” Patrick asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” she answered honestly. She relaxed into him and let him comfort her.

George sat at the end of the bar with Emanuel and let Owen pour him his fifth Jameson. His slumped shoulders conveyed his lack of sleep and complete weariness. He hadn’t heard one fucking word from Stella. She’d broken up with him via a note and left without another fucking word. She promised she wouldn’t run. She lied. Again.

“She broke her promise,” he muttered, putting his head on the bar.

“What?” Emanuel asked, leaning closer to George.

George sat up quickly, too quickly, and almost fell from his barstool. Emanuel and Owen both grabbed him. “She broke her fucking promise.”

“I’m sorry, Will.” Emanuel shook his head. “Have you heard from her?”

“No.” He slammed the glass down after he guzzled its contents. Stella’s whereabouts were media fodder and reporters yelled at him every time he left his house. George got up and walked to the office. He needed a minute.

He slammed the door and gazed around the room. He could clearly see his first kiss with Stella. He’d pushed her against the wall and attacked her like he was a fifteen-year-old boy. What do I do now? How could this be happening to me again? He paced the length of the small office, trying to figure out his next step. Could he let her go? Should he let her go? They’d been doing well, or at least they’d been making a go of it, until this. They were going to get married. She said yes.

It always lead back to fucking Jamie. George was glad Jamie was dead, but pissed that he was still hurting her from the grave. A knock sounded on the door.

“What?” he barked.

“Will?” The door opened hesitantly and Hazel peered around the side.

He sighed. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking great. A big bundle of fucking awesome,” he answered sarcastically.

Hazel stepped tentatively into the office and shut the door. George stalked over to the desk and sat on the edge.

“What can I do for you? You know Owen runs everything now. I’m just up here…drinking.”

“I saw on the news she’s gone,” Hazel started.

He blinked.

“She left you? After everything, she just left?”

“Yep,” George admitted. “It appears she just left.”

Hazel walked toward him, closing the gap between them. She had her red hair up in a messy bun and a V-neck Finnegan’s shirt on, the neckline dipped low enough to bring in good tips behind the bar. George gazed past her, wondering why she’d closed the door.

“You know, I could help you get over her. No strings attached.” She licked her lips, watching his eyes follow her tongue across her lower lip. “It worked before.” She kept moving until her body was between his legs, pressing into him.

George looked at her and nodded. Maybe he should just do it; it would help him get over Stella and he did love redheads… But he saw the look in her eyes and knew it wouldn’t just be strings attached, it would be super glue. Hazel leaned in and took his lower lip in her mouth gently. George stood up quickly, putting much-needed space between them.

“Bad idea,” he said, walking past her and out the door, through the bar and out into the night.

They’d been at the house for two days, side-stepping anything related to Jamie and what happened. Stella had been throwing up constantly and Patrick was afraid to press her. She’d actually gotten in the water while Patrick was gone buying food—whatever the air temperature, the water was fucking freezing, even colder than she expected, and she had to pull Patrick’s hoodie on over her bathing suit and sit under a blanket until she’d warmed up.

Stella plodded back to the house and sat on the kitchen counter, watching as Patrick pulled food out of bags and set them out for her inspection. Her stomach had been in knots since Jamie; she’d hardly eaten anything. Patrick left an hour ago to get takeout and came back with chicken fingers and fries from one restaurant, pizza from another, and a salad from a third.

“Patrick,” she said, kicking him with her bare foot, “you didn’t have to stop at three different places.”

Cooper sat at Stella’s feet waiting for a bite of whatever they didn’t eat.

“I just didn’t know what you wanted.” He shrugged and pulled paper plates out.

“So I got a text from Millie,” Stella said hesitantly. “I thought things were going so well with you guys. I definitely didn’t see that one coming.”

“Yeah, me either.” Patrick stuffed a fry in his mouth. “She was right, though. She can do better.”

“Patrick,” Stella put her hand on her best friend’s shoulder, “you are better. Why would you think she could do better than you?” Stella turned her nose up at the salad and pizza, opting for the fries, which she poured onto her plate. “Mmm…these are good. Thanks.”

Patrick pulled out his iPad to check his emails, then turned on music. “What did the message from Millie say?” he asked, not looking at Stella.

“That she moved out.” Stella popped another fry in her mouth, then threw one at Cooper, who caught it with ease. “What’s going on?” She examined Patrick’s smooth features, his eyes betraying his cool façade. Stella knew he was hurting. “I know you’re so used to protecting me, but let me help,” she cajoled, “please.”

Patrick shook his head, put a piece of pizza on his plate, and walked over to the couch, turning on the TV. Stella looked at him, then his iPad, still playing music, and eased down from the counter. Her head was still killing her. She didn’t know which was worse, her head or her stomach.