Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  “But I thought she died in an accident. I had no idea she was murdered.”

  Not many people do. “It happened out of state. Gran thought it would be easier for me if we didn’t share the details.” I can’t say she made the wrong decision. I consider telling Scarlett the truth—that Mom didn’t die that autumn, but had died that last summer while we were still friends, but that would bring on questions I don’t think I can answer.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says.

  “You do that a lot—apologize for things you don’t need to apologize for.”

  She places her hand on my arm. “I hurt for you, and I don’t know what else to say.”

  “I’m not telling you this so you’ll pity me. I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to make the same mistakes she did. I don’t want you to put your hope in some guy who isn’t worth an ounce of your love. I know your dad hasn’t laid a hand on you, but he struck a blow to you every time he hit your mom. I can tell you want to forgive him. I can tell you’re hoping he’s changed, but I’m telling you that if you decide to strike out on your own after you graduate and he’s pissed, then I say he’s a bastard you need to leave behind. If he loves you, he’ll support you.

  “If any guy, including me, gets in the way of your happiness, if he stands in the way of you reaching your dreams, if he can’t understand that harming someone is wrong, then walk away, Scarlett. It is that simple.”

  SCARLETT

  For years, I’ve wondered what love was, and this is it. It’s his words, it’s his actions, and it’s the way he’s holding me as if he’d willingly walk through fire to love me. I caress Jesse’s face, and the stubble along his jaw tickles my skin. He leans into my touch then kisses the palm of my hand. The sensitive brush of his lips sends tingles through my blood.

  Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve kissed. We kiss a lot. We kiss often, but that’s all we’ve done, all I’ve been comfortable with, and Jesse has been patient. So incredibly patient. Never pushing or asking for more. Stopping with my lightest change of body language. Allowing me room, allowing me to be in charge, allowing me to take the lead.

  Now, though, I want more. I want him to kiss me, I want to get lost in him and I want to lose myself. I lean forward and touch my lips to his. It’s a soft brush at first, so light, but it doesn’t take long for our embrace to deepen. Our lips part, our tongues dance. Gentle tugs and nips. Hands roaming along backs, in hair, and there’s this pulse, this energy, this need.

  I want closer. I need closer. I desire closer, and unsure how to ask Jesse for more, I boldly kiss my way down his neck. Jesse sucks in a breath and his hold on me tightens.

  “That feels good,” he whispers, and his admission gives me courage. Courage to kiss, courage to explore, courage to sneak my hand up his shirt and touch the hot skin of his stomach. Jesse moans. My eyes snap open, so do his and we pant for breath.

  “You sure?” he asks. “I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do.”

  “I want to,” I say, but give him the truth, “but I’ll want to stop.”

  Jesse unleashes his pirate grin, and that in itself is like a kiss I can feel down to my toes. “Scarlett, I am at your mercy. You’re in control so lead the way.”

  “I like the sound of that.” I love the sound of that. Before I overthink the situation, I yank my shirt over my head and have to bite my lower lip to stop the fit of giggles begging to be released at Jesse’s adorable expression.

  “Have I told you you’re beautiful?” he says.

  “Several times.”

  I grab the hem of his shirt, and Jesse is helpful and compliant as I free him of his shirt and toss it onto the floorboard. I circle my arms around his neck, nudge him in my direction, and Jesse is like a domino, falling onto me exactly how I want.

  My head on the seat, his body covering mine, our legs tangled, and there’s a rush of sensation as we continue to move and kiss and touch and explore. He whispers things to me, beautiful things, wonderful things, and I hold him tighter when he tells me he never wants to live life without me. I’m so full of joy, so full of happiness that I whisper, “I love you.”

  Banging on the window, my heart jumps, and as we sit up Jesse gathers me close.

  “Hands on the dashboard. Driver, roll down your window. Do as we say and do it now!”

  “Jesse?” I whisper into his neck.

  He kisses the side of my head. “Get your shirt on then do what they say. It’s the police.”

  JESSE

  Scarlett reaches for her shirt and the police officer bangs on the window again. “Put your hands on the dashboard now!”

  She turns ghost white, and that causes my blood to boil. Two teenagers making out in a truck doesn’t equate to his pissed-off reaction. He’s scaring Scarlett, and that doesn’t sit well with me.

  “Roll down the window or I’ll break it.”

  He does and I’ll have Marshall sue his ass. Scarlett looks over at me and her entire body quakes. “You should open the window.”

  “Put your shirt on first,” I say in as even a tone as I can. “I’m not going to have some jerk cop checking you out.”

  In a rush, Scarlett slips on her shirt as the cop bangs at the window. I place my hands on the steering wheel and when Scarlett has her hands on the dashboard, I look over at the cop. The windows are fogged, but I can see him glaring at me. He gestures to my window, where there stands another cop.

  “Window down,” I shout, “or door open?”

  “Unlock the door, window open.”

  I do what he asks and the cool fall air races in and bites at my skin. “What can I do for you, Officer?” Not a bit of that sounds sincere.

  “License and registration. License first.”

  I slowly go for my wallet, hand him my license and as I do, the cop says, “Give me your license, ma’am.”

  “I don’t have one,” Scarlett says. “Or any ID.”

  The cop’s eyes flicker over my license. “You’re a Lachlin?”

  Super. My family’s name proceeds me. “Yes.”

  “What’s your name, miss?” the cop asks.

  “Scarlett Copeland.”

  The cop’s head snaps up and he flicks his chin toward Scarlett in some sort of nonverbal to the other police officer. “What did you say your name is?”

  “Scarlett Copeland.”

  The situation changes, quick, too quick. The police officer reaches for his sidearm. “Sir, we’re going to need you to step out of the car.”

  “What for?” I ask.

  “Do what you’re told.”

  The passenger side door opens, and the other police officer grabs Scarlett’s arm. Pure fear overwhelms her expression and I’m consumed with adrenaline. “Let her go!”

  “Step out of the car!” the police officer shouts at me, but I don’t. Scarlett’s being dragged out. She reaches for me, I snatch her hand, but her fingers slip from my grip.

  “Jesse!” Scarlett screams.

  I’m being yanked then, and I go with it because I need to get to Scarlett. I need to protect her. The police officer hauls Scarlett toward his car, and a million scenarios run through my mind. Are they some sort of sick perverts? Are they even cops? “What’s going on?”

  “Put your hands on the car!” the cop yells in my ear.

  “What the hell are you doing with Scarlett?”

  “Jesse!” she shouts again, and as I go to step in her direction, the cop shoves me against the car, my head hitting the door. Hurts like hell, but I don’t care. I round to go for Scarlett again, but as I turn the cop snatches my arm. He attempts to twist it behind my back, and when I hear her shout again, I push him away and he stumbles.

  Curses from the man, shouts from other places as headlights flash over us. I’m rammed into the car again, but as I struggle I realize there are multiple arms pinning me. My own arms are pulled back, one after another, and handcuffs are being placed on my wrists.

  “What’s going on?
” I shout.

  “You’re under arrest for kidnapping Scarlett Copeland.”

  SCARLETT

  The police officer eases into my driveway, and I shake as if I’m naked in the artic. Dad’s going to kill me. “This … this…” My stuttering is back, and I’m having a hard time reigning it in. “This … This is a mistake. I … I wasn’t kidnapped. I willingly went with Jesse Lachlin today.”

  Like he has the entire time, the police officer says nothing. He exits the car as the front door to my house opens and my parents come out, Mom nearly at a run, my father not too far behind. Dad pauses by the police officer at the front of the car, but Mom rushes to my door. She presses her hands against the glass as if I’m an animal in the zoo.

  “Why is she in the back? Why won’t you let her out?”

  My father nods and the police officer opens my door. The moment I’m out, Mom has me wrapped tight in a hug. “We were so worried. So worried.”

  “I don’t understand.” I try to lean back, but it’s impossible. “What are you doing here? Why are they saying I was kidnapped? What is going on?”

  Mom smooths back my hair as if I need comfort. “Our flight was cancelled, and when we came home you weren’t here. Your cell was here, your purse was here, but you weren’t. We called your friends, we called so many people, and no one knew where you were.” Her eyes fill with tears. “We came home and you were gone. You were gone.”

  “Where were you?” Dad’s voice breaks in and the entire world goes silent.

  “I … I was out … I—”

  “We found her with the Lachlin boy,” the cop says in a low tone, but we all hear it. “They were at the overlook … in his truck…”

  Dad’s eyes harden and nausea hits me so hard, so fast, I sway.

  “Go inside,” Dad says. “I want to finish talking with the officer alone.”

  “Jesse didn’t kidnap me,” I spit out. “They handcuffed him, they said they were charging him with kidnapping. They said—”

  “Get in the house!” Dad roars, and I flinch. So does Mom. She takes my hand, and she whispers for me to move quickly and I follow her directions, as I realize that we just entered hell.

  JESSE

  “Resisting arrest!” Marshall busts into the holding room I’m in, and I lower my head, half wishing that they would have left me in lockup. “And you wonder why I don’t think you’re responsible enough to own the land.”

  I had one phone call, and I called him. Wouldn’t have mattered if I didn’t call him, the police would have. Marshall is my guardian. “I thought I was being arrested for kidnapping.”

  The glare Marshall gives scares even me. “Is this a joke to you? Because let me assure you, there is nothing funny about this.”

  I couldn’t agree more. “I’m being serious. Am I being arrested for kidnapping?”

  “Should you be?”

  I look my uncle straight in the eye. “No.”

  “Why did you think it was a good idea to hit a police officer? You’re lucky you aren’t being charged with assaulting an officer!”

  “I didn’t hit him. I shoved him, but he shoved me first. Two police officers come up to my truck, and tell me to open my window. I tell Scarlett to get her shirt on first, then I open my window. They find out I’m a Lachlin, and the next thing I know they open Scarlett’s door and drag her out. Drag. She’s terrified, screaming my name, and when I get out, I’m slammed against my truck.”

  “You should have complied!”

  “They should have never touched Scarlett!” I shout. “What would you have done? Scarlett and I were making out in a car, we weren’t knocking over a convenience store! I may not have been right, but I wasn’t wrong.”

  Marshall kicks the legs of a chair and pivots away from me. “This is serious, Jesse. These aren’t charges I can easily have dismissed.”

  “I shouldn’t have pushed him. I know that, but everything happened fast. She was scared, and that scared me.”

  Marshall rolls his neck, returns to the table, and with a mumbled curse takes the chair across from me. “The kidnapping charges are expected to be dropped soon. Scarlett told the police officers she went willingly with you. As for the resisting arrest charge, I don’t know how to handle that one yet, but give me some time and I’ll figure it out.”

  “Thank you for helping.” It’s all I can say.

  “This is the reason I want you to leave town. The Lachlin name carries a heavy load. Scarlett’s parents come home to find her gone, they contact the police, and when they find her with you, everyone assumes you did the worst because of your family name. If you stay, you will forever be living under a storm cloud you’ll never be able to outrun.”

  There’s no doubt I lost his vote. There’s a good possibility I lost the pastor’s vote, too, but I’ll handle that once I’m free. At least I still have Scarlett’s vote. My gut twists as I think of her. “Is Scarlett okay?”

  “She’s home,” he answers.

  But that doesn’t mean she’s fine. I weigh the pros and cons of asking Marshall to check in on her, but don’t know how to voice my concerns without breaking Scarlett’s trust.

  “Maybe I should have told you who’s responsible for the vote,” Marshall says. “If I had, then maybe you wouldn’t be in this scenario.”

  I forget he’s not aware I know the identities of the people in the tribunal. “How’s that?”

  “I could be wrong, but maybe you wouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with the daughter of the man who is going to vote on your future.”

  My brain vibrates with the impact of his words. “What did you say?”

  “Besides me and Pastor Hughes, Scarlett’s father is the third member of the tribunal.”

  SCARLETT

  My father left the house, and I’m in my room. Mom hasn’t visited. Isabelle hasn’t either. I’ve sat on my bed, knees drawn to my chest, and I look out the window, searching for some sign of life at Jesse’s, but there’s none. The place is dark, shut tight, and his truck is missing from the driveway.

  It’s late. So late. Hours have passed since I’ve been home. What’s happened to Jesse? Will my choices cost him his land and me my freedom? What have I done?

  Headlights down our dark road and I will those lights to turn into Jesse’s drive, but they don’t. They instead turn into my driveway. Nausea ravages my stomach. My father’s home.

  I strain to listen in the silence. From my bedroom, I can’t hear the kitchen door open, but I do hear his footsteps in the foyer then pounding on the stairs. My heart picks up speed and my chest becomes tight. My mother. He’s going to go after her, he’s going to yell at her, he’s going to hurt her.

  The doorknob turns and there’s a crash as my door flies open and bangs against the wall. My father shoots in, he flicks the light on and I’m temporarily blinded.

  “How long have you been lying to me?”

  I don’t know how to answer. I don’t know if I should answer.

  “How long have you been lying to me!” he yells, and I flinch.

  Dad turns to my dresser, opens the drawers and he goes through them. Ransacking through folded clothes. I’m so shocked I’m up and out of my bed. “What are you doing?”

  “This is my house.” He goes for another drawer and then another. “Everything in here belongs to me, not you. I’m the one who works. I buy everything. It all belongs to me, and if I want to go through it, I can go through it. If I want to burn it, I can.”

  “Bryant,” Mom says in soft voice from the safety of my doorway. In a long, white nightgown, she clings to the doorframe as if she needs the support.

  Dad doesn’t respond to her, he probably doesn’t even hear her. He’s in my room, but in his head he’s in a different universe. A hostile universe. A place where madness reigns. He crosses the room, rummages through my bedside table, tossing out my pens and notebooks.

  I scramble out of the way as he grabs my mattress and flips the bed. The mattress lands on me as I
try to get away. I push it off and tears prick my eyes as he tosses the box spring and it hits the floor with a boom.

  Exposed is my closed shoebox full of cash, my laptop from Glory and the boxes of necklaces that I priced. He leans down, flicks off the top of my shoebox and I slap a hand over my mouth in an effort to stay quiet.

  Dad straightens, a stack of cash in his hands, and he shakes it at me. “Are you selling drugs with Jesse Lachlin?”

  My eyes widen and my heart stops beating. “No.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I stumble forward to make him believe. “I work for Glory Gardner. You can ask her. I track her purchases on the laptop. Look at it and you can see. I price her jewelry. I do clerical work for her and she pays me. That’s it.”

  “Are you doing drugs with him?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re sleeping with him then? My daughter’s a whore?”

  The air rushes out of my body.

  “The police told me how they found you. Naked in his truck at the top of the hill. Do you know how humiliated I am? Do you know how upset I was? How sick with worry? Do you know what it was like to wonder if you were hurt or dead? If you needed me and I wasn’t there? That I couldn’t protect you? I called everyone. Your friends, your mother’s friends, people I work with, and I told them that my daughter was missing and instead she’s having sex?”

  “We weren’t having sex!” I yell.

  Dad turns an unnatural shade of red, and he’s a steamroller as he rushes at me. I stumble, fear weakening my knees, and my back smacks the wall.

  “Don’t you lie!” Spit flies from his mouth. “They found you with your shirt off!”

  “Bryant,” Mom says a little louder. “Please, stop.”

  “Admit what you did!” Dad yells. “Admit what everyone in this town is going to think by tomorrow morning! Admit that you’re a whore!”

  “I am not a whore!” I shout.

  “You’ve made me an embarrassment! You’re costing me my reputation so you could throw your life away with that trailer trash? You could have at least had the self-respect to sleep with someone reputable.”