When I Was Theirs

33. Six weeks later - Emmy

33

Six weeks later - Emmy

I t’s getting colder.

The cool air of autumn has shifted into the bitter breeze of winter. I huddle into my coat as I head down the sidewalk, sidestepping a couple holding hands.

I can’t look at them.

My nose burns in the cold air as I hurry. I’m late for work, and Adrian isn’t particularly impressed with me at the moment as it is.

He won’t fire me, though. He was only too glad to take me back after I left to look after Ben. I’m cheap labor, I don’t complain, and I work my ass off.

Anything to keep busy. To not have to think .

The crisp notes of a guitar float through the air, and my throat tightens as I pass by the entrance to the market, my feet speeding up.

Everything is a reminder of him.

But the music doesn’t fade. It gets louder, and my eyes fall on a busker a few feet away from me. He’s sitting on the ground, a hat pulled low over his ears as he plays.

My feet slow.

Jared.

He doesn’t look up as I pause in front of him, his gaze focused on the strings he plays with surprising talent.

Although Ben did mention he was good.

He’s more than good.

I shift out of the way as someone tosses a bill into the open case in front of him, and his head bobs in thanks.

He glances up, then. Jared’s fingers catch on the strings, the notes jarring before he recovers as our eyes meet.

Deep brown eyes.

Ben’s eyes.

So close to them.

The longing hits me in a rush, and I glance away. But I wait, lingering until he finishes his song.

“You’re still here.” I shift on my feet. “I thought you would have gone home.”

His stubble is a little more grown. Darker. His lips twitch up, but it’s not a smile. “That place wasn’t my home. Figured I may as well stick around here for a while. The landlord agreed for me to stay on.”

He’s still in Ben’s apartment.

“How are you?” The quiet question takes me by surprise. His eyes sweep over me, and I flush.

I shrug, keeping my hands in my pockets.

Exhausted. Barely functioning. Losing track of reality.

“You know.”

“Yeah.” His fingers flicker over the strings, releasing a low, mournful note. “I know.”

Swallowing, I dig around for my phone in my coat pocket and glance at the time.

I’m really late now. Adrian is going to lose his shit. “I… I have to go. I’m late for work.”

But I don’t move.

“Where d’you work?” Jared studies me. His breath makes little white clouds in the air between us.

“The Setlist.” My eyes drop to the guitar. “We’re always looking for musicians. The pay isn’t great, but it’s regular.”

He clicks his tongue. “Maybe.”

It doesn’t sound like a maybe. It sounds like a polite refusal.

I take a step. “Well… take care.”

“You too.”

I feel his eyes on me until I’m out of sight.

I’m out of breath and slightly dizzy by the time I duck behind the bar. Carla glances over, but she doesn’t say anything. Her cheeks are pale.

“You okay?” I pause. “Carla? Is it Katie?”

She ducks her head. “I can’t talk about it, Em. Don’t ask me, okay?”

A stab of emotion slips through the numbness in my chest. Something close to fear. “Okay.”

I pack my own emotions away. Shove them down into the box and take the brunt of the work. Carla is a ghost around me, no sign of her usual cheer to be seen. She stumbles through the first half of our shift.

“We're not doing the trial,” she says suddenly, when we’re restocking the fridges. "We can't."

My hand slips on a glass bottle, and I catch it before it hits the floor.

“God, Carla.” I turn to face her. “I’m so sorry.”

She tilts her shoulders. “The costs are killing us. John can’t work any more hours than he already is. We tried, but we never had a hope in hell. They’re going to try another course of chemo, see if it does anything.”

She sniffs. “It might work this time.”

“Another course sounds positive.” I try to sound encouraging. “She’s strong, Carla.”

She exhales, before she changes the subject. “You ever hear from that guy? Ben?”

Her question settles like a noose around my neck, tightening. Stealing my oxygen. Slowly, I shake my head. “He… he had to leave.”

“Shame.” She offers me the shadow of a smile. “He looked like a keeper to me.”

“Yeah.” I try to keep my hands steady as I add another line of beer to the shelf. Staring into the cold space, I blink away the mist that covers my eyes. “I think he would have been.”