No Tomorrow: An Angsty Love Story
No Tomorrow: Chapter 18

I lock my office and wave goodbye to the co-workers who are working late. Digging out my keys as I exit the building and head toward my car, I run a mental list of everything I need to do on the way home. Put gas in my car. Stop at the grocery store for milk and bread. Pick up Lyric at my Mom’s house, and ignore her when she points out that Courtney is on a date on a Friday night and I’m not.

My heart jumps into my throat when I throw my messenger bag and my purse onto the passenger seat. I pull my door closed and lock it. Taking a deep breath, I finally reach for the white piece of paper that’s folded and sticking out of my cup holder.

I look out the windshield. Then the side windows. I glance in the rearview mirror, searching frantically for him.

No one is in the parking lot except for me.

An ache grows in my chest as I look down at the note in my trembling hand. I rub my thumb along the familiar texture of the paper. My teeth dig into my quivering lower lip as my heart and my brain battle.

My brain says tear the note up into tiny pieces and throw it away. Forget him and his ever-frustrating elusiveness. I have no room in my life for games. Besides, nothing written in this note can change anything. It will only rip open barely healed wounds and infect them all over again.

My heart says open it. Open it right now. Don’t wait another second! I’ve been hoping and waiting for this for years. A sign. An explanation. A something. Maybe the words inside could change everything.

The heart always wins.

I slowly unfold the note, and I swear I can smell his scent on the paper. Smokey, minty, Bluesy.

Piper,

I’ve walked a million steps and none of them have taken me from you. I’ve written thousands of words and none of them capture you. I’m haunted by you, driven by you, madly in love and lust with you. I want to be good for you. I want to give you everything. Someday I will. Please believe that. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m trying to be better. Things are getting better. I’m so tired of the bad. I’m trying. Every day I’m fighting the voices and the words. I miss you. I miss Acorn. You don’t know how much. Don’t forget me, baby. Hate me if you have to, but don’t stop loving me. I want you to be happy. I want it to be me so fucking bad.

I’m sorry this is a mess. I’m sorry I’m a mess.

I love you like no tomorrow. Always.

Blue

My hand shakes uncontrollably by the time I reach the last word. I read it again.

And again.

I read it over and over until I can hear his raspy voice say the words, and they cut like a knife, slicing through the center of my chest, tearing out my heart and soul. He was here—when? Hours ago? Minutes ago? Did he watch me go into the office this morning? Is he watching me now? Once again, I stare out the windshield into the parking lot, then turn to look out the side windows, then the rearview mirror.

He’s not here. I’m still alone.

Sniffling and choking on the emotions wrenching up inside me, I fold the note and shove it into my purse.

Why would he come back here and not want to see me? I can’t even comprehend it. I’d do anything to see him, to feel his arms and the warmth of his body around me again. If he loves me, why would he hide from me? After all this time, why wouldn’t he want to see me face to face?

I wipe away the tears tracking down my cheeks and throw the car into drive. Maybe it’s not too late—he could still be here, walking around nearby.

Five o’clock commuter traffic doesn’t let me get very far, though, and I bang my hand against the steering wheel in frustration when I have to sit at the traffic light at the intersection near my office through three intervals. I scour the surrounding sidewalks, searching for his hair blowing in the wind, his backpack and guitar slung over his shoulder. The baby seat in the back seat catches my eye in the rearview mirror and my heart skips a beat. Did he see it when he put the note in my car? Did it scare him away? Oh, God. What if he thinks I had a baby with someone else? Now, more than ever, I have to replace him and tell him about Lyric before he disappears again.

When the traffic lets up, I drive up and down the main street, past the park and all the places Blue used to play, but I don’t see him anywhere. I know I should give up on this craziness—run my errands, pick up my little girl, and go home. But I don’t. Like a magnet I’m pulled to the only other place I think Blue might be.

The house with the shed.

Years ago I made a promise to myself to never come back here and torture myself with the memories and the questions that haunt this place. I almost broke that promise several times over the years when I was missing Blue so damn much I wanted to do anything to feel close to him again. Every time I fought the urge and forced myself to stay home, playing the music box and staring at the flameless candle he gave me.

“I thought maybe you could take one home with you and put it by your bed. So you know I’m thinking about you.”

That little flickering light left a lot to be desired.

I’ve been strong. I stopped searching for him, and I stayed away from our special places. But tonight is different, because he might actually be here.

I’m not surprised to see the old house hasn’t changed at all; still a lonely reflection of what I’m sure it once was when people lived there. I check out the shed first, and I’m disappointed to see it’s still empty. I have to question my own morals that I actually want to see the man I love sleeping in this old musty building. Next I check the porch, nearly jumping out of my skin when the wind slams the screen door shut behind me with a bang. If Blue is here, he definitely heard that. Disappointment grows when I see everything is exactly the same—the pile of notebooks, the tarp in the corner, completely untouched. Just to ease my mind, I try the door to the kitchen, and it’s still locked.

I don’t bother calling out his name as I’ve done in the past because I know if he’s here somewhere, he had to have heard that door slam, and if he did, then he’s purposely avoiding me. I can understand him not wanting to confront me in the parking lot of my office, but I’m here now, on his playing ground, and if he doesn’t care about me enough to come out of the shadows, then there’s nothing more I can do. I don’t want to play games. I’m a mother now, I have a corner office with windows, and I’ve worked hard to get my life together after he shredded my heart like a raptor. I can’t—I refuse—to let myself crumble again.

I high-tail out of there, race through the grocery store, then go to my parents’ house to pick up Lyric, which I should have done in the first place rather than hunting around for Blue. When my mother gets on me about how late I am, and how I should have called her, I don’t have the energy to argue with her, tell her the truth, or make up excuses. I dole out the best apology I can, pack up my daughter and her tribe of stuffed toys, and drive home.

Lyric falls asleep in the car, and the absence of her usual chatter gives me the chance to re-compose myself. Unfortunately, the moment we step inside the house, the sight of Acorn wagging his tail and greeting us with Penguin in his mouth dredges up my heartache all over again.

Sometimes, I do hate Blue, but I still can’t stop loving him.