Ten Tiny Breaths
Page 32

They’re all fairly innocuous, “Hi, how are you?” and “I miss you,” and “Bagged any guys at the gym, lately?” messages. Several times, I catch myself typing something a little more provocative only to delete it before hitting ‘send.’ Something tells me it’s too soon for sexts, especially given we haven’t gotten past first base.
God, I can’t wait until we get past first base.
***
Trent comes back today. That’s the first thought that comes to my mind when I wake up on Friday. Not carnage, not blood, not the miserable scraps left of my life. For once, the first thought that comes to my mind is the future and what it may bring.
For such a perfect wake up, the day sure ends like shit.
I have no idea what time Trent’s arriving into Miami. I’ve sent a few messages to him to find out, but I haven’t heard back. It’s making me incredibly anxious. Awful visuals of planes crashing plague my thoughts all day and into my shift at Penny’s.
So when Nate tugs me from the bar and into the back office where Cain holds a phone up for me, my stomach plummets to the ground. “It’s urgent,” is all he says, his brows pulled together tightly. I stand and stare at Cain and the black receiver for a long moment, unable to bring myself to face it. It isn't until I hear a child’s cry on the other end that I snap out of my daze and grab it from his hands. “Hello?” My voice wobbles.
“Kacey! I tried your cell but you didn’t answer!” I can barely understand Livie between her sobs and Mia’s wails. “Please come home! Some crazy man is trying to break down the door! He’s screaming Mia’s name! I think he’s on drugs. I called the police!” That’s all I get out of her. That’s all I need. “Lock yourselves in the bathroom. I’m coming Livie. Stay there!” I hang up the phone. My words tumble out in short, clipped fragments and they don’t sound like me. To Cain I say, “There’s an emergency. It’s Mia. Storm’s Mia. And my sister.”
Cain is already grabbing his car keys and a jacket. “Nate—get Storm off the stage. Now. And have Georgia and Lily cover the bar.” He hooks his arm around me, pulling me gently. “Let’s get to the bottom of this, okay, Kacey?”
I feel like someone’s kicked me in the gut. My head bobs up and down, all the while an internal torrent of screams and wails assault my senses. Storm and I are in Cain’s Navigator and on the freeway in under thirty seconds. Nate’s hulking body fills up the passenger seat. Storm, in nothing but her silver bikini from her acrobat act, drills me with the same questions over and over again and all I can do is shake my head. Breathe, I hear my mother’s voice say. Ten tiny breaths. Over and over again. It doesn’t help. It never f**king helps, dammit! I’m shaking all over as I sink further and further into the dark abyss where I go when people I care about die. I can’t seem to get out of it. I’m drowning under the weight of it.
I can’t bear to lose Livie. Or Mia.
Finally Storm stops asking me questions. She instead grabs hold of my hand and holds it to her chest. And I let her, finding solace in her racing heart beat. It tells me that I’m not alone in this.
A circus of police and ambulance lights greet us when we arrive at the apartment. The four of us run past the opened gate, past an anxious Tanner who’s talking to a police officer, past the wrangle of curious neighbors, all the way to Storm’s apartment to find the door half-hanging off its hinges, split in two by someone’s fist or head or both. Three police officers hover over a hunched male form. I can’t see his face. All I see are tattoos and hand cuffs.
“I live here,” Storm announces as she breezes past them and through the door, not batting an eye at the guy. I follow her steps to find a puffy-eyed Livie sitting on the couch with a form curled up on her lap, sucking her thumb and choking on ragged sobs, well past the point of hysterical crying. An officer stands over them, reviewing notes. The table lamp that sits next to the door is in pieces and Storm’s giant stainless steel frying pan rests on the ground beside Livie.
Storm is on her knees in front of Mia in a second. “Oh, baby girl!”
“Mama!” Two scrawny arms fly out to wrap around Storm’s neck. Storm scoops Mia up and into her arms and begins to sway. Tears run down her cheeks as she hums a song.
“She’s unharmed,” the police officer assures us, his words releasing the lungs worth of air I’ve been holding. I rush to Livie, throwing my arms around her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. It was so scary!” she cries.
Her words hardly register. I’m too busy fumbling with her arms and legs, grabbing her chin, rotating her head this way and that, checking for wounds.
Livie laughs, grabbing hold of my hands and holding them together in hers. “I’m fine. I got him good.”
“What …. what do you mean, ‘you got him good?’” I give my head a shake.
Livie shrugs. “He got his head through the door so I slammed Storm’s gargantuan frying pan over it. That slowed him down.”
What? I look at the pan lying on the floor. I look at my dainty fifteen year old sister. I look at the pan again. And then, whether in relief, in fear, in madness—likely all three—I burst out laughing. Suddenly we’re both doubled over, falling against each other as we laugh and snort hysterically. I clutch my middle in pain, the muscles tested in a way they haven’t been for too long.
“Who’s the crazy in handcuffs?” I whisper between fits.
Livie’s laughter cuts short, her eyes widening expressively. “Mia’s dad.”
I gasp as I glance back at the busted door and then over at Mia and Storm, my imagination running wild. He wanted to get to his daughter. “What was he doing here?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice, all urge to laugh evaporating. Dread ripples through me like an aftershock, permanently detaching the unstable plates I’ve balanced myself on all these years. Just the thought of something bad happening to Mia sends me reeling. Or Storm, for that matter.
Because I love them.
Mia’s not just that gap-toothed kid who Livie babysits. Storm’s not just my stripper neighbor who got me a job. As hard as I’ve tried to keep everyone at arm’s length, just like Trent, those two have found a way in. A different way, but one that has inevitably led to a place in a heart I thought long since frozen and incapable of feeling.
Livie wraps her arms around her body as she watches Mia and Storm and I see fear envelop her thoughts. “I’m just so glad Trent came when he did.”
Another gasp. “Trent?” I jump to my feet and spin around, my heart leaping into my throat as I scan the apartment. “Where? Where is he?”
“Here.” I turn to find him passing through the entry way. I’m on my feet and colliding into him in seconds. His arms tighten around me instantly, protecting me with their strength. He buries his face into my hair and we stay like that for a long time before he pulls back to rest his forehead against mine. My hands slip around his sides to his back, my fingers crawling up to dig into his shoulder blades and yank him back close to me. His muscles tense beneath me. All the fear and nerves and terror of the day is suddenly morphing into some animalistic need. I need to hold him. I need Trent. We stay like that, as I press my nose against his chest, inhaling the wonderful mix of woodsy and ocean scents.