I do not own The Hunger Games.
A/N: This is not the last chapter. I worked and worked on this and the last one combined, but they come out to almost 30K. I can't do that. It was too exhausting to write and edit. God bless my betas, Doc and Baronesskika, for putting up with me. The real last chapter is almost in the can, so there will not another hiatus of several months between updates. I tried guys. I'm sorry but I don't have the heart for a 30K chapter.
GNO44: Life After Learning
I slide down the cabinets, hitting the ground hard and skimming the article for more info. All it tells me is that Angus passed away at Cedars Sinai from a massive heart attack after suffering a minor one earlier the same day, and that he is survived by his beloved wife Elizabeth, their children, and grandchildren. The rest of the article talks about the future of his company, stocks, and charitable contributions.
I could care less. My gaze snags on the phrase, he is survived by his beloved wife.
Survived.
Angus is dead.
How is that even possible? The man was more alive than twenty men when I saw him at Finn's wedding and graduation. A thousand impressions hit me at once: his crushing hugs, his brogue, his smile, his need to wear endless plaid, and shameless love of bagpipes and whisky. The way he laughed triumphantly when I got the presentation for Tyrell just right. He and Elizabeth dancing at the first Parents' Weekend. The two of them holding hands like newlyweds at Finn's wedding.
Tears fall and I brush them away without even registering them as I bang my head repeatedly against the cabinets. I swear, I would beat it to a bloody pulp if I could. When did I forget that people can be taken away? That there are no guarantees? I try to blame Angus's larger-than-life personality for the distraction, just like I tried to blame Carys's being a kid. But the truth is, she should have taught me that some relationships are gifts not to be taken lightly. I must have forgotten while I kept telling myself that I was impervious to any and all hurt because no one mattered.
What a crock of fucking shit. How could I take him for granted?
Peeta almost leaving mattered.
Annie in the hospital mattered.
Madge deciding to move away mattered.
Angus mattered.
A cry rips through me at the injustice of it before it hits me with a jolt that I'll never get to tell Angus how happy I am at Wey-Yu. I'll never get to thank him for everything he's done for me. A sudden flash comes to me of his face at Finn's wedding, standing across from me and asking if I loved Brue. Angus and I had never had cause to lie to each other. I valued that in him: that he didn't patronize me like a kid. It was the best part of our friendship. And yet, I lied to him that day, and now I'll never get to take it back and tell him how I really feel. I'm an idiot.
Because now, now there's no one left I love.
I hurt everywhere. This pain inside me, it's not emptiness, not a gaping hole just waiting to be filled up. No. This is pain that swirls around the chasm inside me with the ferocity of a tornado and the relentlessness of a tsunami. This isn't the dull thud of loss, like a bruise on my soul. This is a soul-rending fracture right along the suture scars that remain from the loss of my sister that will never, ever heal. Some wounds don't. I decide hazily that I want a reminder of this one so I can never make the same mistake again. Bile rises in my throat. As I crawl to the bathroom to be sick, I grab a pair of scissors from the Henckels knife block—a graduation gift from my parents that had seemed silly at the time. The cool heft of the shiny blades feel good against my palm. I think I've finally found a use for them.
-o—
"Jo? Jo!" Annie's frantic voice sinks through the fog as I wake slowly. "Finn, Get those scissors away from her and get me some water. Maybe if we splash it on her face—"
I make a noise that sounds like a growl. At least, I think it's me. I'm freezing, I'm so sore that it feels like I've been hit by a freight train, snot and tears weld my eyes shut, and something ticklish brushes my lips and nose and makes me want to sneeze every time I draw breath.
Why am I on the floor?
The minute it all rushes back, fresh tears gather in the corner of my eyes. They loosen the eye-snot and make it possible for me to blink as I sit slowly.
"She's awake! She's awake!" Annie yells to Finn, who must be getting a glass of water in the other room.
"Thank God. You scared us half to death." Finn's back, wearing a scowl I haven't seen from him in a long time. Trailing him are Peeta and Madge. Annie's tears shock me into letting her enfold me in her arms and rock me back and forth like a child. She's warm. Comforting. I lean my head against her shoulder and close my eyes again while she murmurs soothing words that I can't make out.
"She's had a shock," Gale says from behind the rest of the party. "Let's get her something warm to drink. Annie, can you get her up off the floor?"
Annie must nod because I feel her trying to move me. I'm dead weight though, and I don't bother helping her. My eyelids feel so heavy, I just want to lie here and sleep. Forever.
"Here. Let me help." Peeta leans down—I know it's him because he smells like bread—and scoops me up into his arms. Before I know it, I'm on my couch with a blanket over my legs and Annie's sitting next to me, rubbing my hands. I hear noise from my tiny kitchen and register that Peeta's probably banging around in there. Someone—Katniss, I think—hands me a tissue. It's like mopping up the Gulf oil spill with a maxi pad.
I sniff. I just want something to take me away so I can float above it all and feel nothing. I totally get how people can be addicted to painkillers. I'd give my left boob for Madge's mom's stash of Percocet.
Peeta puts a mug of something hot in my hands. I try to push it away, but he literally holds it to my lips until I take a sip. He and Finn exchange looks and Finn takes over. I'm marginally less combative with him, probably because he keeps leaning into my ear and telling me that everyone's here for me and it will be okay. I'm sure, just like last time, he believes it.
"Do you think we should call her work? I don't think she can go into work tomorrow." Annie addresses the group in a worried tone.
I struggle to sit up as something pops into my head that's imperative I share. I sniff hard, trying to find my voice. "I want to go to the funeral." Just that little bit of effort tires me out enough that I don't even protest at all when Finn makes me take another drink of what I now register is chicken broth warming me up from the inside out.
Madge nods before picking up her purse and grabbing her cell. "I'll make some calls and find out what arrangements are being made."
Finn sits on the edge of the couch, clearly interested in a conversation now that I'm talking. "You want to tell us what you were thinking with the scissor stunt?" Finn uses his best "dad voice", but it doesn't rouse me at all. If anything, more tears leak out of my eyes. Finally he runs his hands through his hair, and wraps his arms around me. He rocks with me for a minute or two before he leans his head against mine. His voice is thick when he says, "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again. Do you understand me? You're my family, you and Annie and Sam. We can't lose you. Talk to me, Jo."
"I just…I can't believe he's gone." I raise my eyes up to the ceiling. "How could this happen?" I don't expect an answer, especially not from Finn, who's never lost anyone. Scratch that, he lost his mother, true. But she's still out there. She's not gone forever.
"Sometimes people are taken from us, and there's nothing we can do about it." Katniss crosses to crouch next to me. "And, when they go, they take pieces of us with them."
"What if I need those pieces? There's not enough of me to hold together without them."
Katniss stands and Gale walks to her side. They share a silent, grim look. "We'll help you to fill in the gaps until the edges heal. That's what friends do."
A shudder goes through me. I'm not very good at letting people help. At the same time, I've been pushing people away like a kid who won't share her ball, but it's gotten me nowhere. I still hurt. And I can't help but think that this is my last chance to reach out and really connect. My friends are here now. How much more pushing will it take until they forget about me completely and move on with their lives? I don't want to be the woman who dies alone in her apartment and no one notices until the smell hits the hallway days later.
I want to live. I want to be close to people. These people. Madge, Annie, Katniss—they're all worth it, even if I'm not. They're worth the fight.
Peeta interrupts. "I've got to head to the store for essentials. I'm not sure what Jo's been living on, but I swear I just saw a roach in the kitchen with a 'Will work for food' sign."
It dawns on me that he and Katniss should probably be at 451. Hell, Annie and Finn probably came from there too. But when I start to protest in a panic, Peeta shoots me a dirty look and holds up a hand. "Don't even think of arguing. We're staying. I'll be back shortly."
Madge coaxes me into some warm jammies and helps me take off what's left of my make-up while Annie straightens up the bathroom and puts my work clothes away. Pretty soon I've got my knees tucked under me on the couch while Gale finds a video for us to watch. While Ghostbusters plays in the background, Annie rubs my back. Before you know it, I'm asleep.
I'm awakened by the sound of the door closing. It's dark in the living room, only a little ambient light seeping into the room from the kitchen. Someone's in there unpacking bags. From the heavy footfalls, I have to assume it's Peeta, and that his return woke me. But it's the quiet conversation I hear on the other end of the couch that keeps me awake.
"I'm really worried. I've never seen her like this." Katniss's voice is low.
"Catnip, she'll get over it. It will be hard, but what you said is right on target. We'll be here for her."
"You guys are leaving soon. And Jo's never been one to really trust other people to lend a hand. She doesn't like to rely on anyone for help."
"Yeah, well, neither did you, but I wore you down eventually." I can almost hear Katniss scowl in response. Gale must too, because he sighs. "Look. We're all going to do everything we can to get her on the right track. It will be okay. Jo' strong as hell and twice as stubborn. She'll see her way clear of this."
"I hope so, Gale. I really do. It's scaring me. Finn too. I don't think she ever got over her sister. This might be too much for her to handle."
I don't hear Gale's response because the tears start flowing the second Katniss mentions Carys. Some sort of pathetic mewl comes out of my mouth, but Finn's there immediately with a blanket and a hug. Peeta follows that with a bowl of something he calls "Jewish penicillin"—a soup so laden with vegetables, chunks of chicken, and matzo balls that the clear broth clouds up immediately upon dipping a spoon into it. I wonder if he sprinkled some sort of magic dust on it as well because, by the time I finish my bowl, I feel human. Almost.
Despite my protests, the crew doesn't let me stay alone. Gale and Madge are, surprisingly, the two that shoo Annie, Finn, Katniss, and Peeta out the door. Gale queues up Stripes—who knew he was a Bill Murray fan?—and Madge dishes us all some of Peeta's natilla custard. The creamy, velvety goodness sticks to my ribs and settles my stomach. Before long, I'm nodding off again on Madge's shoulder with a full belly and an aching heart.
-o—
"Get up. Jo, Get up." Gale shakes my shoulder as I look around groggily. I'm not sure why he's there, or why Madge is in my kitchen, dishing out bowls of oatmeal for all three of us. It doesn't take long for it all to rush back: the presentation, Angus, everyone coming over, Madge making a bajillion phone calls, and Gale and Madge spending the night.
I shrug his hand off my shoulder. "I'm up."
"Good. Get dressed. We're going out."
"Are you always this bossy?" I grumble. There's no heat to it, though. Gale just settles his cool gray gaze on me until I scurry into my bedroom and grab jeans and a shirt. I don't bother with a shower, but I can't skip teeth and a good face scrub to hide the tracks of my tears. The whole time I'm in the bathroom, I studiously avoid the mirror and the evidence of what I've done. I'm just not that brave. Besides, Gale's the Northeast's version of a redneck. Seriously, the guy's trying to single-handedly bring 90's grunge back, so he always has a baseball cap handy. I figure I can borrow it and avoid any sort of embarrassment from the Britney Spears haircut I gave myself last night.
Which is why I hop in the car and grab his hat from the back seat without even asking. Gale doesn't say a word, but waits patiently for me to plop it backwards on my head and fasten my seatbelt. He's still quiet as we make our way to a part of L.A. I've never seen before. Tension mounts as the silence lingers.
"Where are we going?" I finally ask. I don't recognize a single landmark and I'm starting to get edgy. Gale's never been a big fan of mine, and maybe he got ideas from my sudden lack of will to live. I'm not sure what bothers me more: the fact that I might die by Gale's hand, or the fact that he'd probably make sure it hurt. Then I remember his conversation with Katniss. For sure the guy doesn't want to hurt me. But he's not above a Hallmark Family Moment. "Is this the cue for some stirring Nickelback soundtrack to play in the background as you tell me a story from your childhood?"
Gale doesn't even flinch. "You know, Jo, we all get that you hide behind your sarcasm. Just be quiet and enjoy the scenery. We'll be there soon."
Where? I want to ask again, but Gale's scowl discourages me. Instead, I face forward and read aloud every single marquee on every single store. Not because it's annoying or anything, no. Because it's educational. The tapping of Gale's hand on the steering wheel is just an added bonus.
Gale sighs in relief as we pull into a parking lot and he cuts the engine. "Are you done?"
"We're at a gun shop?"
"Ding! Ding! The girl can read." He takes a slow, deep breath, like he's trying to gather his thoughts. Or hold onto his temper. Or both. "When my dad died—"
"Here it comes." I roll my eyes.
"Shut. Up. Just shut up and listen for once in your life." He takes another breath, leans his hands on the top of the steering wheel and starts again. "After Dad died, I got a little lost. I was fourteen and pretty angry with the world. Mom was pregnant with Posy, so she couldn't help, and Vick and Rory were younger. I couldn't really lean on them. I felt totally alone until an uncle took me to a shooting range. Shooting takes discipline. Focus. It brought me outside myself and gave me an outlet for all of my destructive energy. He took me every weekend for six months. And now," he glances my way, "I'm taking you. So you're going to get your butt out of this car without any smart-ass comments. We're going to go in there, and you're going to learn how to do this without giving me any more gray hairs than Vick, Rory, or Posy already have. Understood?"
I gape at him while he finishes his little speech. I've never been nice to Gale, not even when we fucked. He owes me nothing. Which is why, instead of the quip I know he expects, I croak, "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're family, Jo." He looks askance in my direction. "Don't you get it? We all think so. You're the sister who calls us on our shit, keeps us in line, and is so fucking annoying that, most of the time, we just want to give you a wet willy or mess up your hair or something. But we need you. And you need us." He opens his door. "Now, are you coming or do I have to carry you?"
I scramble after him. But the whole time Gale's procuring guns and ammo, I think about what he said and how my first reaction is to negate it. I don't want to be that girl. I'm alone. My friends and I have been drifting further and further apart all year. But then I think about how much all of them mean to me, and how I've already lost one family – Charles's surprising adulthood comes to mind— and I realize I can't lose another because I'm too stubborn and stupid to hang on. To change. I've been holding on to the wrong things for past four years. I've been so busy trying to remember my sister and the pain of losing her so that I can save myself from having to go through it again, that I've forgotten to live and enjoy the people I care about.
"Get out of your head," Gale insists for the fourth time as he comes up behind me and shows me the stance he wants me to take. "You're thinking too much."
I have no idea what he's trying to get me to do. How does someone shut off their brain? "Well, Brainless, maybe that's easy for you to do since there's nothing between your ears."
He shakes his head. "I swear to God, if Posy is anything like you, I will stab myself in the eye. Put the safety on and put your arms at your side. Now, close your eyes and clear your brain. Don't think about a thing. Just visualize the target. Forget how weird the gun feels in your hand, and how you want to hit a bullseye. This isn't a competition. Just relax and breathe for a second and visualize the target."
"Are you done, Dr. Phil?"
He narrows his eyes. "Maybe I should have let Madge go with her idea and take you shopping."
That shuts me up for a minute. Enough time for him to go back to his lane, pick up his gun, and take a shot. I watch him for a minute, mostly to go over what he's shown me already: stance, breathing, and aim. I try to visualize the target, without much luck. Finally, I take a couple of deep breaths, shake out my shoulders, prep for the blast of the recoil, and give it a shot.
Get it?
I miss. Again. It takes a few more tries laden with colorful swearing before I get what Gale's trying to talk me through. The trick is all in the breathing. Once I master that, the world falls away and all that exists is me, my arm, the target, and a few bullets. I'm still fractured, my edges still jagged, but they are razor-honed to a lethal edge, pointed in a single direction. I'm so far in the zone that I don't even hear Gale calling my name.
"Jo! You doing ok?" He's watching me with a concerned scowl.
And it hits me all at once—Gale's been where I am. He can lead me out of this, if anyone can.
I can clearly see the fork in the road in front of me. One direction follows Gale out to the light and to my friends and family. The other path draws me further into the nightmare of holding onto Carys and Angus. Alone. Maybe forever.
Just like that, I grin. I'm going to be sore tomorrow from the jolt of the recoil, but it's not a lie when I tell him, "I'm good."
-o—
"So then what happened?" Madge asks. She and the rest of the gang are hanging out at my apartment when we get back. Peeta's made jalapeño cheese buns to go with the soup from last night. The entire apartment smells like a bakery. Like home. Just biting into one of those buns sets off a mariachi band in my mouth.
Gale pauses his own reverent chewing. "Jo almost shot me." At my glare, he appends, "Ok, maybe it wasn't that close. But she did almost swing her firing arm toward me when she realized I was talking to her." He shrugs. "I grabbed us each another box of ammo, and then we quit for the day. I even sprang for coffee afterward."
I mumble something about how Gale is so tight-fisted that a five dollar Frappuccino is a big deal. I stop myself, though, when I remember that he got rid of my target evidence without my even needing to ask. And how, when we were sitting and sipping our drinks, he didn't laugh when I almost cried when I told him thank you. He just grabbed the back of my neck like a wolf with his cub and let me punch him in the arm, thus ending our tender moment and getting us back to our normal relationship.
It felt good.
So when he tells everyone that I almost shot him, I let him rib me about my inexperience. I even say that I'll buy the next time if he'll put on his big boy pants and stop whining about how I might hurt him. The whole time, though, my eyes are just a little shiny. And, when I make an excuse and go into my bedroom, everyone lets me go.
Madge and Katniss follow me after a bit. Neither is surprised at my tear-streaked cheeks, or the fact that I'm hugging my pillow to my mouth to stifle the sobs from everyone in the next room. Madge sits on the bed and rubs my back.
"I thought we could help you pick out an outfit for the funeral." She says the words quietly, but they lance right through me anyway. As my face crumples and another sob escapes, she says, "We won't think any less of you if you don't go, you know."
I shake my head. I can't put into words why I have to go, but I do. I know it will be painful for me and probably a mob scene. I also know that neither Brue nor Elizabeth will even see me in the crush. But I have to pay my respects to Angus. I'll know that I was there. And I won't be able to live with myself if I don't go.
Katniss puts a hand on my arm. "Peeta is going with you. You won't be alone."
I nod past the lump in my throat. Having him there will be a huge help: I'm already familiar with his cries in the middle of the night, so why not share mine with him to even it up? I'm sure he even believes the bullshit line that pain shared is pain halved.
Madge sniffs like she's not impervious to the emotion flying around the room. "Let's pick you out something to wear, shall we?" Crossing to my closet, she rifles through my limited supply of dress clothes. "Black skirt, I think. Black and white is tasteful. Do you have anything that isn't just a plain white blouse? I don't want you looking like a waiter." She drones on about how she can probably spruce it up with a scarf or some chunky jewelry.
Neither Katniss nor I are really listening. She leans toward me and whispers, "I found some stuff of yours while I was unpacking and brought it over. Do you want to go through it?"
I nod. Anything to get my mind off Madge's Queer Eye for the Straight Guy funeral episode. Katniss scoots off the bed and high-tails it out of the room.
Madge catches on and sighs. "You guys are not riveted by my tremendous fashion sense, are you?"
"Not really. Do I look like a scarf girl to you? Besides, I know what I'm wearing already."
"You do?" She sighs again and flops on the bed. "That was, like, my one job. Will you at least let me take care of your hair?"
My hair. Fuck. I lift a hand self-consciously to the chopped off ends that I haven't thought about…well…since I hacked at them in the bathroom. I can't very well go to the funeral looking like some sort of demented scarecrow. "What did you have in mind?"
Madge flashes a grin, relieved that something she's been planning is useful. "Cinna's friend Tigris owns a salon. I called and explained a bit of what's been going on and she seemed happy to give us an appointment." She pauses before she adds, "Okay, maybe happy isn't the right word. She said she was up for the challenge."
"Thanks," I say sincerely as Katniss comes back into the room carrying a shoe box. She passes it to me, tugging on her braid with her other hand.
I pop open the box before I can second guess myself. I can see immediately why she would be nervous: there's a few photos inside of my family, and a well-worn 'SC Water Polo t-shirt that belonged to Brue. I had loaned it to her one night to sleep in and promptly forgotten about it. Pulling it from the box, I hold the shirt to my nose and breathe deeply, hoping it still smells like him. It doesn't. But I rub my cheek against its softness anyway.
"Jo?" Katniss's voice pulls me back from a thousand and one happy memories. "Are you okay?"
I give them both a watery smile. "I think I will be."
-o—
I'm a wreck the day of the funeral which is why I let Peeta drive. My hands won't stop shaking. Even though I'm not crying, I feel like my insides are going to fly apart at the slightest provocation. I can't even imagine trying to hold it together while I do something crazy, like parallel park for the service. Peeta's subdued all the way to the church, where parking is just as insane as I thought it would be. I can't help but stop when I note the bagpipers in formal dress lining the steps leading to the door of the church.
Peeta takes my elbow to steady me. "We don't have to go in."
"Do you regret the phone call with your dad? The one where you lost it?"
He frowns at the change of topic. "No. I think it helped me, ultimately."
"Exactly. I have to get through this. The pipers startled me, that's all. I'll be okay in a minute." We've come this far. I may dread that last three hundred feet, but I know it won't kill me to travel that distance and spend the next hour remembering a man who meant so much to me. Today is my tribute to him. I smooth my black skirt into place and tuck my baby-pink blouse more securely into the waistband just to have something to do with my hands. Taking a deep breath I say, "Let's go."
It comes out like a vow.
Peeta is steady as a rock. He holds my hand as first Elizabeth, then Brue and a fleet of pall bearers—all in kilts—enter the church carrying a dark wooden casket festooned with a gigantic spray of daisies and heather. Meadow flowers, I note. Angus would be pleased to be remembered with them instead of something fussier. By the time everyone is seated, I feel almost able to handle the service. Almost.
There's a lot of pomp and circumstance: a few readings and songs and a eulogy that's actually pretty tepid, considering Angus and his big personality. That is, until the slim black wraith that is Elizabeth takes the lectern. The crowd goes silent in anticipation as she clears her throat. "Thank you all for coming. I know Angus would love to see you all." Her eyes drift heavenward for a moment, like she expects an acknowledgement from above. When nothing comes, she begins again, "Most of you are here because you either loved Angus or hated him. He was that sort of man: one who inspired loyalty and devotion, or quite the opposite. He was determined. Stubborn. Often unable to let go of a problem until it was resolved to his liking. Most of you know this about him. But, perhaps you don't know how angry he was as a young man. His drive was something darker when I first met him. I distinctly recall the first time I told him he would make a good partner, a good husband. He laughed at me. He could not grasp how that could be possible, or how I could be so wrong where he was concerned. It took me time to wear him down so he could see that I had enough people around me who agreed with me at every turn. I needed someone who valued honesty. I needed him.
"My older brother tried to scare Angus off the first Christmas we were together. He explained that we're all named for philosophers, fully thinking that my middle name would make Angus look at me like the prissy young thing I was. That backfired, didn't it, Seneca?" She smiles indulgently at a dark haired gentleman in the front row. "Angus told me once that I deserved the middle name Plutarch because I was a good judge of character. He took it as a compliment when I said he was a good man with strong convictions that would serve him well. Someone worth marrying. So what if, after, it took another five years for my family to warm to his particular way of saying exactly what was on his mind?"
We all chuckle.
"Angus taught me the secret to a happy marriage—a happy life, really—is to fight. Not all the time, and not over stupid things. But the stuff that matters to you is worth fighting for and deserves a place in your marriage. You won't win every battle. Winning's not the point. Demand space for yourself, and for the things and people that matter to you. Hold fast to them." She holds a fist against her heart. She takes a breath and looks toward the coffin. I can see that her eyes are damp even from where we sit near the back of the church. "My love, you were magnificent. I will miss that—your passion—most of all. But you gifted me with a wonderful family to enjoy and take care of until it's time for me to join you." She blows him a kiss. Peeta hands me a tissue as we all watch Elizabeth join Angus's coffin. She touches it for a moment, as if she's reaching for his hand, then withdraws to allow the pallbearers room.
I'm okay. Numb, mostly. I barely even need to wipe my eyes.
Until the pallbearers lift the coffin and a lone bagpiper begins "Amazing Grace". By the time Brue and the coffin are even with our pew, I'm crying and shaking badly as I flash back to another, smaller, coffin. Peeta puts his arm around my shoulders. He keeps me tucked against him until the church has emptied and we're the only two left.
"I don't think we should do the graveside service." He rubs my shoulder.
I sob harder, unable to answer. Finally he sits us both down on the pew and lets me cry myself out all over his shirt. When I'm hiccupping wetly, he hands me another of his endless supply of tissues.
"Are you hungry?"
The question makes me laugh, a surprising sound in the vacant space. Even more surprising than the burst of sound is my answer. "Yeah. I think I am."
He stands and pulls me to my feet. "Good. How about we go to Roscoe's for some chicken and waffles?"
I hug him. It's the only thing to do with a friend who knows what you need before you know it yourself.
-o—
Gale and Madge leave. I hug Madge at the goodbye dinner Peeta and Katniss throw for them, mumbling something that I hope sounds like a thank you while I struggle to keep the tears at bay. I think I promise to send her a new bullwhip or something, too. But when Gale pulls me into a bear hug, I can't stop myself from bursting into tears. He rocks me as Finn and Katniss gape, probably at the idea that Gale moving would have me anything but ecstatic. Peeta, Annie, and Madge know better, though. They know that Gale's been a fixture at my place on weekends and that he sometimes drops by during the week as well to take me shooting or for coffee, or just to see how I'm doing.
I owe him.
And I don't even hate it. How fucking twisted is that?
I break apart from him with a wet laugh. "Let me know when I can start writing to Posy and sharing all of my secrets."
"Hell will freeze over first." He cups the back of my neck and brings me closer so he can whisper, "You got this."
I nod solemnly. "Piece of cake."
I run a 5K then a half marathon to benefit different causes, half-forcing the geeks at work to help me fundraise. I think one of them must hack something, either that or he posted a nude selfie a day on Tumblr, because I raise over five grand for the half marathon. Running doesn't stop my brain the way shooting does, but it gives me a sense of accomplishment. I'm not running to escape something anymore. I'm running for something. I save the medals and the bibs, and hang them in my room next to the framed pictures that Katniss gave back to me before the funeral.
Wallowing in grief isn't something I allow myself. Work keeps me busy with project Prometheus. And, when I feel myself getting maudlin, I hit the range to clear my mind and stay sharp. I get in touch with Dr. Aurelius for a private therapy referral when it gets particularly bad. I'm thrilled to find out that he can take my insurance and we resume biweekly sessions. This time, there's no bullshit. No undermining his instructions. I do what he and I talk about during our visits and it seems to help me maintain control.
I visit the cemetery once a month. Sometimes I bring Scotch. Sometimes I write little notes and leave them. Most of the time, I bring some daisies and a single pink rose for Carys, and tell Angus all about what's going on in my life while I tidy up his grave. He and my sister are somehow linked in my mind. I imagine the two of them walking, hand in hand, as she shows him the ropes around heaven. In return, I can just see the Lion playing catch, or dress-up, or building forts with her. It's a nice scene that seems to keep the nightmares at bay.
I'm not the only one to visit: there's always a little scrap of plaid, a Hot Wheels dump truck, a cigar, or some other treasure lying about. Once, there was even a bagpiper playing something when I arrived and I had to wait my turn. I like the idea that Angus is popular and still involved in people's lives. In so many ways it feels like he's not gone. It's even more comforting to know that we're all holding on in our own way, even as we move forward with new routines. It feels good. Hopeful. Right.
An invitation to the MacLeod Christmas celebration comes in the mail. I have no idea how Elizabeth would have gotten my new address. That is, until I think of Annie or Peeta or Haymitch and my network of weirdly connected friends. I swear that Kevin Bacon is probably hiding in there somewhere. I finger the thickness of the envelope and consider the holidays. It's the first time, ever, that I feel like I'm the one who needs to make plans. And, even though I'd love to see Elizabeth, I can't help but feel that Angus's party isn't where the old man would want me to be.
One nervous phone call later and I check off the "will not attend" box.
Early December hits with a little bit of rain, so I take advantage of the first sunny Sunday to visit Angus. Darkness falls early, even in L.A., so I decide to go early in the day—bringing my breakfast and reading a little before running and heading to Peeta's. I'm halfway through my Stan's Doughnuts blueberry crisp, telling Angus all about how the nerds at work managed to get Rory Hawthorne's address at UConn for me, when someone clears their throat and I almost drop my doughnut.
Almost.
"Got another one of those?" Brue asks quietly, respectful of the fact that we're in a cemetery.
"If it isn't Tom Jones. And like I'd share even if I did." I call myself ten times a fool when I hold out a napkin and half the doughnut. I shrug and explain, "You can finish this one because there is no way I'm sharing the custard-filled in the bag."
He takes the treat slowly and settles himself on the grass. I try not to stare. It's only been a few months since I saw him at the funeral, and graduation was only a few before that. It's not like he's had time to change that much. Same dark, curly hair that's just a bit too tousled. Same lean body encased in jeans. Sure, the hair's longer, the beard scruffier than he's ever worn it. I drink him in, anyway, changes or no.
He's the one to break the silence. "You come here often?"
I laugh at the absurdity of something that sounds like a pick up line. He joins in after a second and it feels so good—so natural—just to laugh with him that the months and the hurt almost drop away entirely.
"I meant—"
"I know what you meant." I stop him before he can wreck it. "I'm here once a month or so. Have to keep the old man informed."
He wipes his hands and leans back. "I know what you mean: I come here and talk to him a lot about music, my tour…whatever. It's still hard for me to believe he's gone."
I nod, ignoring the fact that his voice sounds thick with grief. What is there to say? Angus is gone and it blows. It blows huge chunks. There are so many more people who deserve to be gone from this earth than him. But neither Brue nor I make the rules for who gets to live or die, as much I might wish for that to be true.
"I know you and my grandda were close. Thanks for coming to the funeral. It meant a lot to Grandma…and to me."
I'm stunned that he even knows I was there. "It was a busy day. I'm surprised you knew Peeta and I were there."
"You're hard to miss. I like the hair, by the way."
"Thanks." I touch the short ends self-consciously. I might tell everyone that keeping it short is about easy-care, but I've confessed to Dr. A. that my short hair is my version of a hair shirt or the red badge of courage. It's a reminder of all I've loved and lost. All I've survived. I know I'm luckier than most to live so long without any scars. My hair is the way I make up for it. "How's Gl—Clarissa? I figured you two would have made an announcement by now."
It's Brue's turn to look startled. "Clarissa and I? God, no. Just…no." He runs his fingers through his hair. "It was momentary insanity on my part."
Fiddling with the doughnut bag, I try to hide my smile. Silence stretches between us.
"How's Cato? I saw you two at Annie and Finn's wedding."
I close my eyes for a second against the idea of Brue witnessing my ultimate relationship low-point. That is, if you can call a quickie in the back of my Honda a "relationship".
Brue mistakes my silence for pain. "Oh, Jo. I'm sorry."
I can't take another second of him actually thinking Cato and I could be together. When I burst out laughing, he looks confused. "You can't possibly think that Cato and I…dated?" I gasp, still laughing at his expression. "I'd hope you'd know me better than that and maybe give me a little benefit of the doubt. What did you call it? Momentary insanity? That's a good term for it."
He smiles. I smile back.
"How's the tour?" I ask, genuinely curious. I can't imagine Brue living out of a tour bus or a suitcase.
"We haven't really started travelling yet, just playing gigs in California. It's…okay. All the craziness isn't really my scene. If I had to choose, I'd rather be hanging out here, playing at 451. Dad's pretty insistent, though, that an album means touring."
I have to I bite back a comment about how chicks throwing their panties on stage must be exhausting. "What about posting some performances on social media? Couldn't you use that as a way to connect with fans? It worked for Macklemore, Shawn Mendes, and Colbie Caillat." I leave out that I would bookmark the hell out of his YouTube channel.
Brue frowns. "I've been telling him the same thing, but he's pretty adamant about it. You know how our parents are totally resistant to technology. He's lucky he has an assistant to handle email, and a marketing guy for Twitter, or he'd be totally off-the-grid."
I laugh as I think of my dad with his reel-to-reel player. Yeah, tech isn't exactly his strong suit.
"Gran tells me you're not coming to the Christmas Party? She'd really love to see you."
"I won't be in town." I'd love to see Elizabeth, too, but some things are more important. "I'm going home."
Brue looks both confused and relieved. "Home? You mean Orange County?"
I nod. "I think it's time that I spend a little time with the boys before they're not boys anymore. Angus would have approved, don't you think?"
"Oh, absolutely." Brue pauses for a minute, like he wants to add something. Finally, he admits as he rises to his feet and brushes dirt off his jeans, "I'm glad you're not skipping the party because of me."
I should probably be irked by his ego, but I'm not. I don't know if I would have had the guts to go even if I weren't heading to the O.C. "Nope. You're off the hook. Are you heading out?"
"Yeah. I've got to get back to the studio. I'm glad I ran into you out here. Maybe I'll see you around?"
"I'd like that."
He grins and waves as he makes his way back to his car.
I smile like I'm in a Taylor Swift's song. And when I listen to Brue's album later that night, I don't even feel like a total creeper.
Christmas comes and goes in a flurry of activity. I spend quality time with Mom, Dad and each of the boys, relishing every single dance on the kitchen floor we didn't have before. Mom and I even go for a full day of beauty on my dime. It's so good to see them, even if I feel like I don't quite belong. But I fight to make sure that I have no regrets when the trip ends and I head back to my normal routine in L.A.
As for Brue, I think of him at the oddest times. I listen to him sing while I do everything from shower to run. Which is why, a week after New Year's, I hit the internet when I can't sleep, hoping for a new version or a bootleg or something different in the Brue category. It only takes a few keystrokes to find a new video of him, performing in what look like a hotel room. From the looks of his unkempt hair and how tired he looks, it's late when he recorded it. Probably almost as late as it is for me. I take it as an omen that I'm meant to watch it.
I hit play.
Brue crosses in front of the camera a couple of times before settling on a chair with a guitar. Did I know he played guitar as well as piano? I shove that thought aside as he smiles disarmingly, almost shyly, and strums his fingers across the strings. I want to eat him up. He looks comfortably weary, and his voice is a little raspy when he speaks, like maybe he's performed recently. "Hi, there and Happy New Year! Welcome to my first unauthorized and unplugged video. A couple of months ago, a friend of mine suggested that I make some of these to connect with my fans. And, even though my dad will freak out when he sees this, I decided to take her suggestion." He looks down at the strings. "The truth is that I miss her. I've been thinking a lot about her lately and I can't seem to get her out of my head. So…this song is for her." He smirks for a second. "I'm sure she's expecting Otis Redding or Bill Withers, but I picked something that reminds me of the two of us ad how we are when we're together. I hope you like it."
What follows is an acoustic version of Howie Day's "Collide". Even if I didn't know the words, I'd tear up just from how beautiful Brue looks. Hi voice is smooth and quiet as it washes over me. I let it take me back to a million happy memories of us running together, laughing over some dumb thing Finn did, studying late at night at the frat, and just hanging out. I miss him more in that moment than I have at any other time since our break up. Tears well in my eyes when he finishes, looks at the camera, and says, "Happy New Year, Jo."
I bookmark the video and sit for a long time, staring at the comments screen. Finally, at a loss for what to write, I close the browser and head to bed.
-o—
"Madge! You guys are back!" I grab her around the shoulders and spin her around, not quite believing that she's standing in front of me. It's a beautiful night in early June, and we're standing outside Moose McGillacuddy's, a bar on the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade to celebrate the end of Madge and Gale's first year back east. It's also a belated birthday night out for Katniss. Annie's probably celebrating not having killed Finn this year. And me? I'm celebrating just being alive, healthy, and celibate. I haven't had sex with someone since Halloween and I feel pretty good about it.
It's so weird, right?
The blonde, gorgeous in a red dress with a plunging back, swats me with her purse. "Of course we're back. We're here the whole summer. Did you really think we could stay away? L.A. is where my girls are." She gives me a saucy wink.
I laugh. It's partly the bubble of happiness I feel just from seeing her again, but it's also partly relief that I was wrong about Madge and Gale choosing his family over us.
"They're staying at 451 in the extra loft. If you came by more, or had met us there like we agreed, you'd have seen Madge and Gale already." Katniss raises a brow, trying to get a reaction out of me. Her tapping foot draws attention to her adorable half boots and her arms cross in front of her.
Her pissiness doesn't work. Tonight's already too much fun for little-Miss-Scowly-face to get a rise. "I've been busy with work. Besides, I come by a couple of times a week!"
"Can we fight about this later? My feet hurt in these shoes." Annie gestures to the stilettos she's paired with a sparkly, silver sequined mini dress. She looks adorable, and completely unrecognizable as the mother of an active sea urchin under five. Just looking at those heels, though, makes my feet hurt on her behalf.
"You get that we're dancing tonight, Annie, right? What made you decide to wear torture devices on your feet?"
Annie smiles slyly. "Finn really likes them."
I fake-gag. "Let me get this straight: you're willing to be a boat anchor for our table just because those shoes are maybe going to get you laid later with the exact same guy you've been banging for the last four years? You get that's not healthy, right? Let's grab beers."
I motion everyone over to the bar, where Katniss does this cool whistle that immediately gets the attention of the bartender. She may piss me off sometimes, but she definitely has her uses. We order, then fight our way through the Thursday night throng to a table.
Annie doesn't let my earlier jab go. "Did you just try to tell me my marriage bed isn't healthy? You? The girl who had sex with Cato?"
I grimace at her direct hit. "Why do you guys have to keep bringing that up? It's not like I took him home or anything. We had sex one time. That barely even counts. It was like trial sex. I tried him and then I sent him back."
Madge smiles over the lip of her Arena Brewing bottle. Honestly, you'd think we'd branch out when we're not at 451, but we're all pretty monogamous to Peeta's beers. We're drinking If You're Hoppy and You Know It… tonight. "And why, exactly, did you throw Cato back in the water? I'm curious what you wrote on his customer service survey besides the fact that he's a still a douche after four years?"
Katniss doesn't even let me open my mouth. "Size. I'll bet he's too small."
"We don't all need elephant-dicks like Peeta's." I shudder. "Bigger isn't better."
"It is if he knows how to use it." Katniss, Annie, and Madge clink bottles. I'm so fucking envious of how satisfied they all look.
Madge looks my way again. "So, what exactly was his problem if he passed the 'you must be this tall to ride this ride' test?"
I grimace because I know I'm not getting out of answering this question. Frankly, I'm stunned that it's taken them a year to corner me over the stunning show of bad judgment I showed at Finn and Annie's wedding. I keep my answer succinct. "Cockhammer."
"I'm sorry. What?" Annie leans across the table like she didn't hear. "What's a cockhammer?"
"It's when a guy only moves his hips in one plane with really quick, short thrusts. Like his hips are a jackhammer."
"And that's bad?"
I level a stare in her direction. "Annie, why do you think we put up with guys writing their names when they pee while camping? Hip action. Hips move side to side, in and out, and all manner of around and around."
Madge nods sagely. "Hip action is pretty important. Gale can do this thing—"
I cut her off with a raised hand. "We don't need to know about Hawthorne's hungry, hungry hard-on."
Annie's eyes light up. "Oh! I get it! Like when Finn—"
I point at her. "That goes double for you. Finn's fantastic friction needs to stay under the covers. Besides, your judgment is questionable just for having sex with a ginger." For good measure, I look at Katniss. "And don't you think about sharing next. The last thing we all need to hear about is Mellark's monstrous member, or his magnificent moves." I don't mention it to Katniss but I give the guy a lot of credit for those moves. It's not like he learned them from watching his witch-of-a-mother with his dad.
Katniss finishes a swig of her beer before she points the mouth of the bottle in my direction. "And here I thought I was the pure one. When did you turn into such a prude?"
I gape. "Prude? Me? That's rich. This is coming from a woman who, once upon a time, thought deep throat was the name of a cold and flu remedy."
Katniss glares. "Don't get snippy with me. Just because your last relationship required a power outlet—"
"That's not true. My last relationship was a one-night stand, which is still a relationship. To quote John Green, there are infinite numbers between zero and one and some infinities are bigger than other infinities. I give them forever within a limited number of hours."
"Ladies!" Madge holds a hand in the air between us. "I didn't come three thousand miles to listen to you two bicker." She turns to me with a grin. "And that, Jo, is the strangest bit of logic I've ever heard. God, I've missed you. Let's get another round."
Several rounds later, Annie's hanging out at our table where we join her between breathless bouts of dancing. Madge rounds on me with a flushed face and slurs, "I have a question. Are you saying that you never miss waking up next to someone? Rubbing your feet up against their legs, feeling their hands stroke your back?"
Annie's eyes glow bright, probably from the beers she's unaccustomed to drinking. "Or cuddling with them right before falling to sleep?"
"Or someone tucking you in when they have to get up first so that you can get five or ten more minutes?" Katniss adds.
They all suck. Really. Because, yeah, here's a news flash: I do miss those things. But I've only had them with one guy. All thing considered, I'd rather hold out and wait for the right guy again than to waste all that time and effort dressing up and pretending to be someone I'm not with some a guy who'll barely take the time to get to know me. Let's face it: guys in their twenties who ask me out want to get laid, not have a relationship. I'd rather settle for my Hitachi over that right now. Now, I'm not saying that a hot cowboy with a set of custom spurs, rope, and a riding crop wouldn't lure me into doing things that only Madge would appreciate. Just that I don't feel like it's worth my energy right now. My friends expect a certain level of interest from me, though, and I'm happy to provide my own unique perspective. "Sure, Brian running his hands up and down my back was nice. But you know what's nicer? No sleeping in the wet spot, or cleaning my sheets afterward. No one leaves my toilet seat up. I get the remote all to myself and no one fucks with my TiVo or looks at my browser history."
Madge nods begrudgingly. I'm sure she's learned this past year exactly how much of a pain in the ass having an Alpha guy in your personal living space can be. "You do have a point on the TiVo."
"Damn straight I do." We raise our bottles and clink them before we finish the round, clapping twice after our bottles hit the table. Why? Because the name of the beer is If You're Hoppy and You Know It… for a reason. And I am: surrounded by my friends, I feel great.
Katniss levels me with a shrewd glance. "I call bullshit. I don't think you're getting laid at all. I think your last one-night stand was Cato. And, furthermore, I'm going on-record as saying that you're hung up on Brue. Don't think I don't know what's on your phone playlists. You've got one that's just his new album and I happen to know it's queued up a lot."
My mouth drops open, but I recover from my surprise quickly. She may have shot an arrow with accuracy this time, but I'm not above shooting back. "That's a pretty ballsy statement, Ms. Everdeen. Are you sure you're not projecting your commitment-phobia? How many times has Peeta proposed since New Year's?"
I know I've hit a nerve when she scowls. "Fuck you, Jo. I'm gonna love it when Gale wipes the floor with you."
"He better not come at me while I'm wearing this top: it cost more than my rent." Motioning to my multi-color Hermes halter, I pause to peel the label off a beer bottle. I'm such a pro that it comes off in one sheet. "You're still holding a grudge, huh?"
"My little sister, my innocent little sister, had a pregnancy scare because of you."
I scoff. "Come on, Brainless. How was I supposed to know that finding Rory's school address and shipping him a copy of the Mellark bible would lead to him and Prim going at it like bunnies and becoming a victim of a condom quality incident? How do you know he wasn't already putting thorns on her primrose before it got there? She wasn't going to be a virgin forever."
"She's eighteen. And she's my baby sister, Jo. Surely you can understand how I might be pissed?"
I ignore the twinge of guilt I feel over the fact that Prim's not that much older than Carys would have been. And, if someone had tried to knock up my baby sister, I would have knocked out his teeth. But Rory's a great guy and he and Prim aren't exactly a surprise. And there's no use crying over spilt…well…you get the idea. "Need I remind you what you were doing at eighteen? Besides, it's tradition. Peeta got his copy during our freshman year. The whole thing was a teachable moment. Which, I might add, Gale handled better than you did. At least he didn't totally freak out. Besides, Sam didn't totally wreck life for Annie. I'm sure the world would be happy to welcome another Hawthorne." I give an exaggerated shudder before hopping off the barstool and gathering the empties. "I'm gonna get another round by way of checking out the other side of the club. I swear, I think I saw R. Kelly." I waggle my eyebrows.
"Isn't he too old for you?" Annie asks while chewing her bottom lip. It's like she knows that I'm going to ask for him to autograph my underwear since I don't have any paper handy.
"You're kidding, right? If anything, I'm too old for him. Anyone want to come with?" I toss the question over my shoulder while I warm up my swagger.
-o—
"I missed you!" Annie squeals, before Finn grabs her around the waist and lays a huge kiss on her. She giggles, a testament to how drunk she really is. I'm suddenly glad that Madge, Annie, and Katniss had a driver waiting for them, even if I cracked Driving Miss Daisy jokes for most of the night. Peeta and Gale spill into the great room from the deck and Peeta grabs Katniss in a messy lip-lock.
"Get a room, you two!" I snort.
"We have one right down the hall." Finn raises his head from Annie's and winks. "Too bad you guys crashing here tonight at Casa Odesta is going to wreck my good time."
"Casa Odesta?" Madge asks, pushing her small travel bag up against the wall and out of the way.
Finn grins. It's the same wide smile he used recently on the cover of G.Q. "That's our Hollywood name."
I drop my small overnight bag just inside the door next to Madge's. "You're not going to make us go to another wedding just so you can claim this new name, are you? I don't think I could live through a third one, let alone find another dress."
He shrugs, one well-defined shoulder rippling beneath his Under Armour t-shirt. "Why not? We did get some amazing gifts at the last one." He holds his palms out, gesturing at the great room of the house Finn's dad and the Crestas bought for Annie and Finn after their second wedding last year. It's right on the beach in the Pacific Palisades and, although it's on the smaller side, it's conveniently located next to another larger home of the Crestas. Annie's mentioned a few times that her super-hot uncle stays there whenever he's in town. She'd told us at the bar that he and her grandmother are there now on holiday and keeping Sam overnight. Part of me is touched that Annie and Finn have given up couples-time to party with the rest of us. Another part of me justifies that they can see each other any time because…hey…married.
"Jo!" Gale grabs me in a headlock and gives me a noogie. Hard. As he turns away, I can't help but ask, "Did you give your brother a high-five yet for having better game than you do?" He laughs, which earns him a squinty-eyed glare from Katniss, who's still kissing Peeta. "Wait until you see what I got Posy for her birthday."
He kisses Madge chastely on the lips, then crosses back to me. Taking my arm, he pulls me aside and whispers, "If you don't stop talking about the Prim and Rory incident, I'm not taking you to that doughnuts and Chinese food place you love so much while I'm here. Besides, Katniss is ready to fillet us both. And there is no way on God's green earth that I'm letting any of my siblings open another Jo Mason care package."
"Katniss'll get over it, eventually. Did I tell you that my dad mixed her a CD for her birthday? He doesn't even do that for me." I roll my eyes and try to act wounded, even though I think it's adorable that my dad remembers Katniss's music appreciation from when she used to come to the O.C. "I'm sure she'll forget all about Prim while she listens to some golden oldies. Doesn't bad music kill brain cells?"
As if on cue, Finn's sound system belts out Paul Simon and an unexpected arrival crosses from the outside darkness into the light. I gape, totally speechless, as Brue hugs Annie, Katniss, and Madge. When he gets to me, he shoves his hands in his front pockets as if he can't quite decide what to do with them. "Hi, Jo."
I swallow. "MacLeod."
"Is me being here okay? I wasn't sure if your 'See you around' was rhetorical or not, so I decided to play the odds. Finn called to let me know that Madge and Gale were back in town and swore it wouldn't be a problem—"
"It's not." I can't help but give him a once-over. Life on the road has been good to him. He's filled out. Stronger thighs and tight buns fill out jeans that used to hang on rangy hips. I think I see chest hair peeking out from his waffle-weave Henley. Being this close to him suddenly seems like a terrible idea and I look around for a friend who can distract me, but they've all bailed for the fire pit on the deck.
Traitors.
"You look great. Pink's a great color on you. I don't remember you wearing it much, except maybe freshman year. And your hair—you kept it short? I thought you might grow it out over the winter. "
I lift a hand to my head. "Yeah. It's easier. Although sometimes I miss my ponytail. And you know what they say about pink this year—it's the new red. Even Effie says so." My chuckle sounds forced, even to my own ears and I pause before filling the awkward silence. "Touring seems to agree with you."
He flushes at the compliment. "Thanks. In some ways it's a great experience. Lots of new cities, amazing food, great music…I'm babbling." He is. It's so unlike him that I can't stop smiling at him. He steps closer which makes my heart barrel roll.
I blurt, "You've filled out."
"You think so?" He looks down at his chest and misses the small step I take toward him. We're close enough to touch, which he notices the second his eyes focus on something other than his own shirt. "I worked out while we were traveling. I didn't get to swim much, though." His voice is soft, wistful.
Keeping track of the conversation becomes tough as my hand moves with a mind of its own to rest on his arm. The soft cotton of his shirt hugs the tight muscles of his forearms and I can feel them bunch under my fingertips. "That's too bad."
I'm never sure who begins swaying to the music, or if our dancing starts before or after Brue's hands slide up my arms. All I know is that we're moving in time to the music while he gathers me closer. And I let him. I tuck right into his embrace as if against his heart is the most natural place in the world for me to be.
"What's up with you and Gale?" he murmurs against my forehead. "It's weird seeing you guys be civil."
I tense at the question, remembering his misunderstanding about Finn from years ago. He must anticipate my reaction, though, because his hands rub comforting circles against my back. That doesn't stop me from snapping out, "We're friends."
"I know. But I was really looking forward to a few 'kitten' jokes. I've missed your sarcasm. You wouldn't believe how sycophantic everyone was on tour." He chuckles softly.
I can't resist ribbing him. "Ah, poor Brue. All those girls chucking their panties on stage must be such a drag."
"You have no idea. But not a single girl was smart enough to put her phone number on them."
"Well, not everyone's that creative. Although even I've been off my game lately." I look up at him from under my lashes before I admit, "I couldn't think of a single quip to leave on your YouTube video."
It's his turn to stiffen and step away. "You watched it? Jo, I—"
The screen door slams open. "Are you two coming, or what? Peeta says we can't have s'mores until everyone is outside." Katniss glares from me to Brue and back again before turning and shouting to the crew outside, "I do not care that they are having a moment! I want chocolate."
Brue seems torn between our friends and whatever he was going to say. Finally, he nods. "We should go."
"Yeah." I let him lead me out the door, shooting a death-glance toward Everdeen when I pass her. She gloats.
The rest of the night is a blur of the fire pit, soft music, laughter, and way, way, way too much chocolate. Who knew that was even possible? Peeta had the guys put out all sorts of stuff so we could make designer s'mores. There's graham crackers in plain and cinnamon and giant marshmallows to start. Peeta's nothing but an overachiever, though, and he's also thought to bring peanut butter cups, Heath and Chunky Bars, Mexican chocolate, Nutella, bananas, Ghirardelli squares in caramel, dark, milk, and cherry…you name it. The absolute winner for the night, though, is the Vosges Smoke & Stout Caramel bar, paired with plain grahams and a marshmallow toasted to a deep, nutty brown. Biting into it is pure heaven.
Peeta only brought two of those bars because they cost the earth. Finn and I end up wrestling over them. "Don't mess up the blouse, Brainless."
"Or what?" He wraps his arm around my neck for a head lock while holding the chocolate bar above my head in his other hand.
I easily side step his move, returning the head lock attempt and making a grab for chocolate perfection. "Or I'll leak to a tabloids that you use Sun-In."
He shoots a pained look at Annie, who has the sense to look sheepish.
Gale saunters over while Finn and I are distracted and grabs the bar. Damn his freakish height. With a chuckle and a bow, he says, "And that, my friends, is how it's done. You see something you want, you just grab it."
I punch his arm. "Fuck you, Gale."
He winks. "To the victor goes the spoils." Crossing over to Madge, he carefully breaks off a piece of chocolate for himself and hands her the rest.
"You are so whipped, man." Finn grumbles. "Might as well strip you to the waist and put you in the center of town while she does it."
"He'd probably like that." I flop back onto the chaise.
Gale just grins and licks caramel-stout goo off his fingers. "Like you wouldn't have shared with Annie?"
Finn disagrees, which prompts Annie to smear toasted marshmallow all over his face. Katniss throws a couple at his head in solidarity and it quickly devolves into a food fight. I'm glad we're outside as bits of graham cracker, chocolate, and marshmallows fly everywhere. Even Peeta's in the spirit, although I don't know what sort of damage he expects from nonpareils. Maybe scratch a cornea?
While I watch from the sidelines, Finn entreats, "Jo! Help?"
"No can do, Finn. Can't get this blouse dirty. Besides, I'm with Annie on this one."
"Our friendship is worth less than a shirt?" Gale, Mr. Loyalty himself, comes to Finn's rescue. Evidently, four against one aren't odds he likes.
I chastise in my best Effie imitation, "Couture, guys. Couture."
"Sisters before misters," Madge agrees, throwing her arm around my shoulder. I almost miss the open jar of Mrs. Richardson's Butterscotch Caramel she holds in her other hand. She must have snuck into the kitchen and gotten it from Finn's stash of ice cream toppings when none of us were looking. Not a word needs to be said for me to understand that she'll need to get closer to Finn to make it count.
So I huff loudly. "All-right, Finn. Since you have been such an amazing friend over the years, I suppose I can switch sides. Just for tonight." Gingerly, I pick ammo from the deck and chuck it vaguely in Annie's direction. Nothing hits her, of course. Katniss glares at me like I'm a huge traitor, though, while Madge slinks, mostly forgotten, toward Finn and Gale behind enemy lines.
When she's close enough that she's assured victory, she reaches into the bottle with her bare hand and smears some of the mess through Finn's hair and over his face. She turns to Gale and repeats the act before he can react, this time making sure she liberally coats his neck and down the front of his shirt. He squeals like he's reenacting a scene from Deliverance.
I shudder with a post-traumatic stress flashback of Brian and the Hershey's syrup freshman year. I hope Finn has a super-duper washer and the most amazing shower water pressure on the planet, or he'll smell like caramel for a month. I would know. As it is, Gale's shirt may be a goner.
So we take the party inside where Peeta prudently makes warm tea for all of us. I change into sweats and a t-shirt while everyone else hoses off, then opt for a glass of red wine paired with a slab of Peeta's homemade shortbread.
I've just bitten into the reassuringly crunchy yet somehow still velvety slice of heaven when Brue clears his throat. "Nice shirt."
I wash a bit down my throat with the mellow Merlot I've been drinking since we got here, then touch the soft cotton. I don't think I'm mistaking the question in his eyes, but I'm still trying to play it cool. "This old thing? It belonged to some guy in college."
"Some guy, huh? You're lucky he didn't keep it, if you find him so unmemorable."
"Oh, he has lots of them. I don't think he'll miss it." I let my eyes wander over his muscular arms, strong shoulders, down the natural "v" of his waist to his hips. "Besides, I don't think it would fit anymore. He's gotten a little fat."
One eyebrow shoots up. "Fat? I don't think so." His eyes roam over me in kind and my pulse kicks at all the places his gaze lingers. "It probably does look better on you, though."
I blush before I even register his words and my mouth goes dry at the risk I'm about to take. "Thanks. I've missed you." Then, because I've already practically put my foot in my mouth, I go all-in. "It's so good to see you. I thought, with you being on tour, that would be the end of it and I'd never see you again."
I expect a laugh, but I should know that Brue was always the serious one. He shakes his head. "I'd never let that be the end of us. You're too important for me to let slip away like that."
My eyes fall to my glass, where I trace a droplet around the rim with a finger. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."
"I'd rather have the memories and the scars that go with them than neither. You make it sound like I didn't have a part in our relationship at all. I made choices, Jo. I knew what I was getting into—what a little hell-fire you were."
"Were?"
"Are." He grins. "Your particular brand of crazy was what made you irresistible. It would be shame if you've changed so much."
I frown. "I'm trying to be more accepting and have more heart. Less need for control. It's a struggle."
"Not that my opinion matters but I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You're perfect just the way you are." He looks toward the window where the black ocean gives way to the green and white froth of the breaking waves. "I was thinking of inviting everyone out on my boat for the fourth. Maybe we could head to Catalina, do some snorkeling or diving, fish, whatever. Would you come?" His gaze swings back to me.
I swallow hard. If I'm not mistaking it, there's more to his offer than just a friendly camping trip. Do I want that? Do I want Brue back? It seems like a question with an obvious answer, but I'm still cautious. "You know I still hate to swim, right? So how would that work?"
He shrugs. "You stay on deck while I'm in the water. We'll make it work."
"Like The Little Mermaid?" When he nods, I can't help recalling his stricken face in the storage room after the last time we had sex. "You know that she dies in every version but Disney's."
"Like I said, Jo, I know the risks. Just…come. Please?"
I'm sure I'll call myself eighty different kinds of idiot later. But right now, with that imploring look on his face and a dark curl flopping over his forehead, I get why love is so weird. "Ok."
