by Brisa Starr
But my stomach fills with bricks at the thought of having to stay here. A couple of months? Fuck. I’d planned on taking off right after the funeral. I never considered sticking around for my mom.
“Maggie, I don’t know if I can. I’ve got work.”
“Don’t give me that crap, Luke. Prescott has the Internet. You know you can do your trades or whatever it is from here. Come on, it’s 2020. I’m sure you’ve heard of Skype and Zoom for doing client meetings over the computer. I don’t care if you use a goddamn carrier pigeon. I need you!” she cries.
“I don’t want to be here, Maggie,” I whisper and hang my head.
“I know you don’t, Luke,” she whispers back. “But you can’t keep going on like this. Jeremy died ten years ago.”
I stand and face the window. I see our backyard and the patio furniture that’s been here since I was in high school. We used to eat out there every night during the summer. Sometimes Jeremy joined us. I remember the spring we both celebrated our 13th birthdays out there...
“Luke,” she says to get my attention. I look back at her. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her eyes are pleading. “When are you going to accept that?”
“Never.” I say and walk out of the kitchen.
5
Luke
I can’t believe what my sister is asking me to do. I go out to the garage for some space. My hands are shaking, and I take a deep breath trying to calm myself. It doesn’t help.
I have to get out of here. I have to do something... sprint or lift heavy weights, or climb boulders. I wince in pain at the thought.
Shit. I can’t. My groin. Ahhhhh! I need to punch something!
I close my eyes and hang my head back. What am I going to do? It’s bad enough that everywhere I turn, I’m hit in the gut with memories of my best friend, Jeremy. His death was my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself.
I can’t do it. I can’t stay here.
I head to my car and get in, revving the engine. I back out of the driveway, and peel out, gunning it as I drive down the street. I see a woman about to cross the street and she jumps back. My foot instantly lets off the gas. Fuck… I’m driving like a dick. Disgusted with myself, I slow down until I get out of the city limits, and my jaw pains from clenching so hard.
White-knuckling the steering wheel, I yell, “Fuuuuuck!”
I drive out to Iron Springs Road, where the traffic is lighter, but the curves offer danger. I crave the numbing relief of speed and risk. Adrenaline has been my best friend for ten years. It’s the only thing that dampens my shame and pain from losing Jeremy. And knowing it was my fault.
It’s easier to run from my pain, so I drive faster, putting distance between me and the memories that are ripping open wounds that never healed.
She’s asking for the impossible. Maggie’s request is never going to happen.
An hour later, I check the clock on the dashboard. My shadows still threaten to consume me, but I have to get back in time for the funeral. Reluctantly, I turn around and head back to Mom’s.
I pull into Mom’s driveway and see my sister standing in the window, watching for me. No doubt she was waiting for me to return, worried how we left things. I don’t want her to feel guilty for bringing up Jeremy, but this is the first time I’ve heard her speak his name in ten years. I go inside, and she’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, tears threatening her eyes.
I wrap her in a big hug, gentle with her watermelon belly, and her unshed tears escape.
“I worried about you,” she whispers, choking her sob.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Tightness clutches my chest like a wolf with a bone. It’s hard to breathe.
“Luke, you can’t just drive off like that. It’s not safe for you, or anyone else.”
I calm down a bit.
She’s right.
I release her from our hug, and I see my mom in the doorway to the kitchen, her brown, wistful eyes shedding tears down her face. She’s a beautiful woman, and I know she misses my dad. I’m making it harder on her. She turns around and walks back into the kitchen. I rub my hand down my face and inwardly berate myself.
I’m losing control... which is exactly what I knew would happen if I came back here. And Maggie wants me to stay? Panic pushes in on all sides, and the room shrinks. But I look at my sister, and she seems so damn tired. I take a deep, pained breath. What am I going to do?
Before I can go down that shitty rabbit hole, she says, “Come on, Luke, you need to change for the funeral. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
I go upstairs and take a shower. When I’m done, I step out and wrap a towel around my waist. I stand in front of the mirror to shave, and I use a hand towel to wipe the fog from the mirror. I glimpse my reflection, and all I see is a mess of self-loathing and fatigue.
I can’t stand to look at myself, so I leave my face unshaven. I comb my hair and get dressed. I don’t remember the last time I wore a tie — in L.A., the only people who wear ties haven’t made their millions yet. I put on a green one with a tight, half-Windsor knot, and then my navy blue suit jacket. I go downstairs to where Mom and Maggie are waiting for me.
If I have to shake anyone else’s hand in condolences, I’ll pull my hair out. I hate this place... funeral parlors are the ultimate cheap façade, using flowers and silk drapes to cover over the fact that they deal with corpses. At least the funeral was nice, and I appreciate everyone coming, but I want to get the fuck out of here. There are too many people from the past, and it’s taking my mind back there. I’m not ready for this. I’ll never be ready.
A nasty combination of grief, guilt, and mourning swirls in my gut, and I feel myself getting warm under my collar. I run my fingers under it to ease my shallow breathing, but it gets worse, and a sense of dread hammers me. I’m suffocating… the last time I was here was for Jeremy’s funeral, and my gut is charred from the silent thoughts of that fateful night that put him in the ground at the age of 22.
And I’m fucking famished.
I look down at the ugly carpeted floor, trying to relax. I take a deep, controlled breath, but it makes me nauseous. I try again, and that’s when my sister clears her throat to get my attention. She sees my sour face and gives me a look, admonishing my selfish scowl. She doesn’t understand.
I lean over to my mom standing next to me and whisper in her ear, “Mom, I really can’t stay here much longer.” She turns to face me, pleading in her eyes, “Luke, please. I need you. Don’t go just yet.”
Shit.
I know she’s right. I’m a selfish bastard sometimes. Well, often, and guilt washes over me because of that, too. Add it to the fucking list of my faults. I try to distract myself, so I look around, but the dull, gray walls of the mortuary and the somber faces everywhere are acid on my mood. Couldn’t they at least decorate the place in more cheerful colors?
Desperate for relief, I focus my gaze on the window. A memory hits me, and I close my eyes. A memory of Jeremy and me. A pleasant one. My breathing slows, and the tightness in my neck relaxes as I remember when Jeremy and I used to skateboard in the parking lot here. Goofing off and always laughing. The memory shines a brief, but bright, flash of color in my thoughts.
I close my eyes and try desperately to burn it into my brain. I remember how we loved coming here when we were twelve. My mind buoys upward, and I open my eyes. The place was great because the parking lot was always empty, unless there was a funeral. We’d mess around on skateboards, daring each other to do stupid stunts. A smile hits my mouth and my eyes wet. I close them to blink back the tears, and I draw in a settling breath.
I’m surprised that memory came to the surface. A gratifying one, for once. Why? How? But I don’t have time to unpack it because I look over and see her.
Ash.
She came.
I’m surprised she’s here. She said nothing at therapy. But then again, she knew my parents; it makes sense she’d come. That must be her father. What was his name again?
&n
bsp; She floats over to me, and I’m reminded of the time I spent in her office today. She’s beautiful. Stunning, actually. I almost laugh… I can’t believe this is the same girl I knew ten years ago. She’s wearing a pale pink sleeveless dress, and its softness melts over her luscious body. In all the right places. I blink rapidly now that I can see her shape more clearly, out of her work scrubs.
She has gorgeous, lithe legs, perfectly proportioned breasts, and sexy, sculpted arms and shoulders. You can tell she works out. Enough to show she takes her fitness and health seriously, but not so much that I’ll check for rogue hairs on her chin. She’s pure feminine strength. Like a supple and sexy leopardess.
She walks up to me and extends her hand. “Hi,” she says, her smile soft, like flower petals. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Luke.”
I shake her hand and grasp it longer than necessary. Clutching it. Holding her. I have to, it’s like she’s a lifeline for me, an angel, and I seek her comforting, golden energy. Like I felt earlier in the clinic, I’m momentarily relieved of my blackness.
She doesn’t pull away either, and that gives me an extra boost of peace, like reloading my health in a video game. But before it gets weird, I let her hand go. There are other people around. Namely, her dad.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, and I mean it. Her smile widens, and so does my heart. Her gorgeous hazel eyes go from dark green on the perimeter, to light green, to yellow, to brown on the inner part. I study all the colors, and I’m mesmerized.
Then, a subtle shakiness enters my chest because I feel a strange mix of calm and — dare I say — excitement? Feelings so long forgotten that they’re foreign to me, and I’m scared to be reacquainted with them because I don’t deserve them. I swallow them down and force a bigger smile.
“Luke,” Ash says, “I don’t know if you remember my dad, Carleton Markson.”
“Of course,” I say and nod. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Markson.”
“Dad,” Ash says, looking at her father. “Do you remember me telling you about Luke’s dad passing away?”
That’s an odd thing for her to say. Her dad must be having problems remembering things. Carleton puts his hand out to shake mine. “Of course,” he says to Ash and then turns to me. “Luke, I’m sorry about your dad. He was an exceptional man.”
“Thank you, sir,” I reply.
Ash must see my discomfort, or she’s just mindful of the fact that we’re at a funeral, and she changes the subject. “How is your groin?” she asks.
“Better. The ice helps, but since I’m eager to get going on my recovery, I scheduled my next appointment in two days, instead of three.”
I could swear I see her eyes twinkle at this, and I’m pleased. “Great,” she says. “Then, I’ll see you soon.”
She notices other people waiting in line to offer their condolences, and she says her goodbye. When she turns to leave, I get a magnificent view of her ass in that dress.
Damn. She’s beautiful. Too bad I’m not sticking around for long. And ever if I were, she’s my therapist… a classic look but don’t touch situation.
I think.
6
Ash
Katy Perry’s music screams from my phone, and I jolt straight up in bed. My heart races. Whoo! Time to get up. I had set my alarm extra early so I could get my run in and still have extra time to get ready. Luke is coming back for his next physical therapy appointment. And although I am a complete professional, I want to look my best. That’s being professional, right?
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and stretch my arms toward the ceiling. I slept in my running shorts to save a step. I bend over and grab my socks and running shoes next to my bed. Once my sports bra is on, I grab my smartwatch and ear buds and head down to the kitchen.
The sun is barely up, so it’s still too dark in the kitchen to see where I’m going. With my recent track record of clumsiness, I turn on the light to see better. I walk over to the sink and, bending over, I put my head under the faucet to swallow a few glugs of water. I stand back up, water dripping from my chin. I dry my mouth with the back of my arm. I’m ready!
Eager to start my day with a fresh mindset, I head outside and start my run. I settle into my normal tempo, and that’s when my mind wanders. To Luke. It was sad seeing him at his dad’s funeral, and I wanted to give him a big hug. Strictly to comfort him.
Don’t go there, Ash.
I don’t know how it’s possible for him to look so good. He’s got this haunted look, but he’s still so damn hot. Or, hell, maybe he looks so hot because of the haunted look. Either way, when I saw him at the funeral in his navy suit with that lime-green tie, like a sexy Brooks Brothers model, I was afraid I might drool right on the spot. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to take his tie off. With my teeth. Then, I’d unbutton his shirt and run my hands all over his chest.
Ash! Stop it!
I need to shake my head of these thoughts. It’s unprofessional. Pep talk time. I, Ash, commit to no more sexy thoughts about Luke. At least, not while he’s my patient. If all goes well, that’ll only be a matter of a couple weeks at the most. By then, he’ll have left, or I can dream from afar, like when I was a teen. Besides, he’d never be interested in me that way. What could he possibly see in me?
As I finish my run, I wind back around to my street and go inside my house. I grab a tall glass of ice water and jog upstairs to get ready. And by “getting ready,” I mean the works. I’m talking washing hair, blow-drying it, and hot rollers for big, loose curls. My usual no-nonsense ponytail is on vacation today. I laugh. My co-workers will think I have a hot date later.
While the curlers set in my hair, I apply my makeup: chocolate-brown eyeliner, black mascara, peach blush, and peachy lip gloss. Make that two coats of mascara. I take out the curlers, and while they cool, I put on my navy scrubs and small silver hoop earrings. I finger comb my hair, spritz some hairspray in it, and give the girl in the mirror a final nod of approval.
I walk downstairs, and I set out my dad’s breakfast with his vitamins for the day. I suck down a cup of coffee before hopping into Cherry Berry and driving to work. I swing by Sally’s Café for my usual iced tea, and she whistles as she hands me my drink. “Got a hot date?”
Heh.
“Nothing, just felt like curling my hair.”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” she drawls. “Well, anyway, Kurt paid in advance for your week’s tea. What’d the boy do now?”
“Ha, nothing.” I laugh and grab my tea. “I just did him a favor, but I made him pay for it.”
“Good for you! Hey, I finished that paranormal romance book. It was spooky… and damn spicy! Who knew werewolves could be so hot!?” She snorts. “It’s in my car if you want to borrow it.”
“Cool — I’ll get it later.” I grab a napkin to absorb the sweat that’s already forming on my cup of iced tea. “By the way, the xylitol cheesecake was a big hit. We both loved it!”
“That’s great to hear!” She victoriously punches her fist into the air. “I’ll make that a regular item on the menu then.”
“Yes! That would make my life a lot easier,” I laugh. “I imagine I’d get a piece every day with my tea,” I tease.
I leave the café and hold the door open for a group of cackling old ladies coming in.
The yellow butterflies in my stomach awaken.
Time to go see Luke.
I walk into the clinic, and I’m surprised to see Luke already waiting there, and my breath halts. I look down at my watch, to check if I’m late.
I trip on the leg of one of the waiting room chairs. Oof! I skip forward a step, and the rubber on my shoe squeaks on the tile. I catch myself in the nick of time, recovering like the pro I am at this, now. The noise of the chair scraping on the tile floor made him look up. “I’m OK! My tea’s OK!” I yell out as my tea sloshes in the cup, and the lid saves me from wearing it.
He raises a single eyebrow at me. A small smile curls on his lips, and my joints want to
give out as they turn to Jell-O. I try to laugh it off, but the embarrassment shudders through me like a horse shaking off flies.
Real smooth, Ash.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, Luke,” I mutter, and cross the room to get out of there as fast as I can. Once I’m on the other side of the door, I collapse against it. I take a deep breath and a long swallow from my tea. I would bang the back of my head on the door, but he’d hear that on the other side and wonder what the hell I’m doing.
I don’t know what it is about that man, but I’ve got two left feet when I’m around him. My pulse races like it’s going for the Blue Ribbon, and I can’t think a coherent thought. I’m a mess, and I need to get my act together. I head to my office and set my tea on my desk, already half empty from sucking it down a moment ago. I stand up straight, and with my chin held high, I grab Luke’s chart.
I am a professional.
I am a smart and competent woman.
I head to the waiting room for my over-the-top sexy patient. I open the door, and to minimize any other catastrophic trips, I make him come to me. “Luke? I’m ready for you now.” Oh god, that sounded seductive. I swallow and put on a forced, tight smile.
I am a professional.
Right?
He stands up and walks toward me, and my legs might give out with the way he’s looking at me as he crosses the space between us. He carries himself with a commanding air of confidence, and dammit, I want him to command me! His beefy shoulders strain against the fabric of his black T-shirt.
He scans me, and his green eyes are alight with something... is it desire? Mischief? Amusement? I can’t tell because I suck at this. Boys. Men, I mean. I squint my eyes at him, trying to figure him out. Now, I might be mistaken, or maybe wishing too hard, but my other clients never look at me like that. I lick my dry lips, and he stops in front of me, waiting for me to take him to the back.