by Monica James
I shuffle my feet nervously and bite the inside of my cheek as he watches me closely. I desperately want to find out what he’s thinking, but why does it matter? I’m not interested in getting to know anyone. I moved away from civilization for a reason—I’m here to focus on me and me alone.
With that attitude, that’s exactly what my future holds—me alone.
“Good night.” It appears he wants to say something else. Just when I’m about to ask if everything is okay, his face turns nostalgic. His heavy footsteps sound on the dock before he disappears down my driveway just as quietly as he appeared.
I stand rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the place he once stood. Call me crazy, but from the brief minutes spent with Jude, I have a hunch that he’s someone with a past just as blackened as mine. The old me would have asked him if he needed a friendly ear, but that old me is dead and gone. The new me has no interest in making friends or even making conversation. I just want to be left alone.
Walking up the creaky backstairs, I slam the back door shut behind me and lean against it, closing my eyes. I hate this constant feeling of apathy weighing me down, but better this than leaving myself open for new heartache.
Pushing off the door, I hunt through my small fridge and snatch a bottle of white wine. Switching off the lights, I climb the stairs to my room, too tired to even process that across the lake, just past a tree, lies the bedroom window of someone who I’m almost certain is going to be trouble.
I wake with a start, convinced an earthquake is rocking my neighborhood, and my home is the epicenter.
Looking down at the non-moving floor, I realize my “earthquake” is actually my iPhone vibrating loudly against the floorboards. The movement rattles the empty bottle of wine, and I groan. This is not how I wanted to wake up Saturday morning in my new home—hung over and questioning if I was wearing any clothes. Peering down, I see I’m still in yesterday’s dress—the dress I passed out in after polishing off a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in twenty minutes.
To stop the racket, I have no other choice but to pick up my cell. I bark, “Hello?” without bothering to look at the screen.
“Well, good morning to you, too.”
Jerking the phone away from my ear, I have no idea who the caller is. “Who is this?”
A small giggle passes through the speaker. “It’s Charley McMann. We went to high school together.”
Charley McMann? How on earth did she get my number? We were best friends during high school but drifted apart when she moved away to attend Juilliard in New York. It appears she’s back in town.
“How are you?” Sitting up slowly, I attempt to join the land of the living as I gulp down a bottle of water.
“Cold.”
“Cold? Where are you?”
“Standing outside your front door.”
“How do you know where I live?”
“You know this place; everyone loves to gossip.”
She’s right. I’m sure the word has spread amongst the desperate and dateless that Bryan is now a single man. Or maybe not. He could be living the perfect life with my sister. I wouldn’t know, as I refuse to acknowledge either of them.
“Can you let me in?”
Charley was a great friend. Maybe this is exactly what I need to start afresh. New friends and new experiences. It’s worth a shot.
“Sure, give me a second.”
Swinging my legs to the side, I place my feet onto the floorboards, the cool texture sending a shiver down my spine. Since that night, I’ve always been cold. There is a constant chill to my bones, no matter how hard I try to get warm.
My wobbly legs make it down the stairs as I open the door. Before me stands my once best friend, Charley McMann. “I can’t believe you’re here,” I stupidly exclaim into the phone.
Charley chuckles, snapping her phone shut. “Where else would I be?”
She’s aged extraordinarily well and looks just like she did the day we said goodbye. I self-consciously run a hand through my bird’s nest, but I know nothing can tame that beast.
“How’re you holding up?” she asks sympathetically. That’s the one thing I liked about Charley; she was never one for small talk.
“Honestly, I should just buy shares in Kleenex.”
Her full lips tip into a small smile. “Cry that asshole out of your system.” Without warning, she steps forward and hugs me tightly. I don’t know why, but her kindness has my tears resurfacing. It feels nice to cry, as I don’t allow myself this reprieve often.
I half laugh, half sob into her shoulder, and once I feel composed enough, I pull away, wiping my eyes. I’m not embarrassed she caught me crying. I’ve known Charley since I first moved to Connecticut. We met at Paradise Valley High School and became best friends immediately.
She was there through thick and thin, always a shoulder to cry on, no matter what.
“Come inside.” Looking at the collar of her couture-looking sundress, I blanch. “Sorry I used you as a tissue. I promise your garments are safe from now on.”
She laughs, wiping away the tears which have gathered in the corner of her eyes. Some things never change as Charley was always a sympathetic crier.
When she steps into my bleak home, she looks from left to right, but doesn’t pass judgment on my barren surroundings. It’s old, ratty, and barely functioning, but it’ll do.
“Shit,” I curse as we walk into my kitchen. “I don’t have any coffee.”
“I thought as much.” Charley reaches into her blue bag, pulling out two disposable cups, a jar of ground coffee, and some creamer.
“You’re a lifesaver. I’ll just take a quick shower. The kitchen stuff is in there, I think.” I tentatively point at a lone box in the corner, unsure if there’s pots in there or pants. I dumped my stuff anywhere, as it’s not like I had a method to my madness when I packed up my life into a handful of boxes and threw them into the small moving trailer.
She waves me off and goes to work on sorting out my mess by ripping open the mystery box. “Go, I’ll find what I need.” I nod before lumbering up the stairs and heading straight for the bathroom.
I strip off, avoiding the mirror above the sink, and dive into the small, outdated shower, turning the faucet to hot. The pipes whine and grumble, but eventually, lukewarm water splutters from the showerhead. The pressure is lousy, but the water feels divine against my aching flesh, reminding me of last night’s weird yet exciting proceedings.
I can’t deny that some unexplained static was bouncing between Jude and me. He is incredibly attractive, so I’m sure it’s just a normal reaction to seeing a handsome guy. But is it? I wouldn’t know. Bryan was my first everything, and I’ve never experienced a weird static with anyone other than him.
It’s hard to think back on our relationship with anything other than hatred, but the butterflies were there. They were there the moment I saw him chasing the ball as star quarterback in high school. Too bad those butterflies turned out to be moths in disguise.
Regardless of this static, I’m not in the right frame of mind to be thinking about this. But I can’t help but wonder what secrets lay behind those sorrowful blue eyes. I know there’s something…more.
So much for not thinking about this.
Switching off the water, I quickly dry off and step into my bedroom in nothing but a towel. My eyes land on the open window where the flimsy lace curtain flaps gently in the light breeze—the window that sits in line with Jude’s.
I tighten the towel around my body and ensure I’m not flashing any inner leg as I dash over to the two boxes sitting near my closet. Tearing open the box, I pull out my denim cutoffs and a tank. The smaller box to the right contains my underwear, so I hunt through it.
Meeting someone as perfect as Jude has made me feel incomplete, which I know is ridiculous. But I don’t feel how I once did when looking into the mirror. When I look at the angry, red scar sliced across my chest, it reminds me of all the things I’ve lost.
That night, it wasn’t enough that my attacker took my soul. He also took a part of me physically when a bullet lodged deeply into my chest. The doctors said I was lucky because if the bullet was two millimeters to the right, I would be dead. But I don’t feel lucky. I’m not only scarred emotionally, but physically as well.
I aptly strip off, ensuring to steer clear of the window as I dress. When I’m good to go, I run my fingers through my damp hair and bounce down the stairs the moment I smell coffee waft through the air.
“You’re a godsend.” She chuckles and passes me a cup, which I gratefully accept.
I lean my elbows on the counter and cradle my cup, lost in thought.
“I read what happened to you in the papers. I’m so sorry, Tori. You didn’t deserve that. And then Bryan…” She frowns, shaking her head.
I reach for her hand. “Thanks, I’ll be okay. I need to live a normal life, and to do that, I have to start living.”
She squeezes my fingers. “I’ve always admired your strength.” Tears sting my eyes, and I discreetly wipe them away with the back of my hand. “Okay.” She lets out a loud breath. “Enough with the sads. I’ve decided you’re having a housewarming party.”
“Um, no,” I reply without delay. “I’m not here to make friends.” She flutters her eyelashes playfully. “Charley,” I warn. “I don’t need or want a housewarming.”
My plea falls on deaf ears. “You don’t have to do a thing. I’ll organize everything. It’ll be small. I promise.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply, unconvinced. I have a feeling Charley’s “small” is one hundred plus guests.
When she sees my apprehension, she raises three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You were never a Girl Scout.”
She shrugs, unperturbed. “I know, but I would have totally rocked the outfit if I was.”
How can I argue with that? “Okay, fine. But twenty people max.” I point my finger at her to emphasize how serious I am.
She ignores me and jumps up and down, clapping. “You won’t regret it. It’ll be so fun.”
“And no gifts.”
“Nonsense. Your bleak home will thank you.”
I don’t bother arguing.
She reaches for her cell. “Now, is there anyone you don’t want me to invite?”
“Everyone,” I grumble, sipping my coffee. “I don’t do social events—especially now. I just want to blend into the background and be incognito. Not the center of attention.”
Charley stops typing and frowns. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve some attention. Let loose. This is a part of being the new you.”
Scraping my fingernail over the paper cup, I confess, “I don’t know who I want to be. That night, I don’t…remember much. Flashes come back to me through nightmares, but I can’t recount what happened. The doctors, they tell me I got shot. The scars I bear also confirm this. But I don’t remember anything.”
“What can you remember?” The room suddenly turns stale, still.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. It’s the same scenario I dream about every night. A dark alleyway, my heart about to explode from my chest, a hooded savior, whose face I never see, screaming at me to watch out. Then I wake in a sweat. I’ve been told what happens next, but I can’t remember. Is there something wrong with me? Who was the man who saved me? Who was willing to risk his life for me, while my fiancé lagged behind?
“Tori, are you all right?”
My eyes snap open, focusing on Charley’s fingers gently squeezing my forearm. “I just wish I could remember. I feel like something is missing, and I don’t know what.”
She bites her glossy lip, allowing my purge.
I chew the inside of my cheek to stop the tears. “I’m just so scared…all the time. I feel helpless. I should have done more. I pushed Bryan away because a part of me hates him, and I don’t know why.” I sip my coffee, but my palate suddenly demands something stronger.
“And…your sister?” she apprehensively asks. Now I definitely need the booze.
“I don’t have a sister. She gave that right up the moment she thought my husband was suitable shagging material.” My tone is sharp, and I regret snapping. Rubbing my brow, I exhale loudly. “I don’t know who I’m madder at; her or Bryan.”
Charley shakes her head, disgusted. “Both.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a mini bar-sized bottle of vodka. She unscrews the lid and takes a swig, offering me the rest.
As I tap my finger against the label, I realize she’s right. One betrayal is just as bad as the other.
“It’ll get better. Each day will get easier.”
I nod half-heartedly, not so sure.
“If you ever wanted to talk, you know I’m here. I know we drifted apart, but I never stopped thinking about you. You were a great friend to me. Sometimes, I wish I never moved away.”
I can’t help but frown because she sounds so glum. I try to lighten the mood. “You were a great friend too. We did get up to loads of mischief, didn’t we?”
She smiles broadly, almost nostalgic. “We sure did.”
“So did you become the world-famous dancer you were determined to be?”
She lowers her eyes and chews on her bottom lip. “Things change. What was once important doesn’t seem so important anymore.”
Her vague response is clue enough that she doesn’t want to talk about her past, which I will respect, as I know the feeling all too well.
“Thanks for being here, Charley. I really appreciate it.” Deciding to let down my guard, I confess, “I just need to move on. My heart still aches…” Will I ever stop hurting? “I’m a mess, I know that, but that’s why I moved here. To work on myself and to start over.” Away from memories I wish I could forget, I silently add. “You being here helps.”
I’m in the midst of tossing back the vodka when I see her eyes widen as she stares over my shoulder. “What?” I screech, sweeping my shoulder frantically, afraid a spider is crawling all over me. A shiver spreads like wildfire. Why can’t I brush the feeling that someone is always standing behind me?
“Who is that?”
“Who is who?” I ask, confused.
“That,” she replies, pointing behind me and pulling at her glossy bottom lip.
I have no idea what has captured her undivided attention, but when I turn around and see the object of her affection, I understand why her jaw has just dropped onto my kitchen counter.
“That’s Jude,” I say, watching curiously as he stands by the lake, hands on hips.
“Who is Jude, and how do you know him? Dear Lord, he kind of looks like Scott Eastwood. All dreamy and so brawny.”
I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes me. Good to see I’m not the only one affected by his looks. “He lives across the lake,” I explain. “I met him last night when he kindly gave me the heads-up not to burn my possessions or smoke weed in the vicinity of Henry, the county sheriff.”
Charley gasps. “I don’t even know how to process that sentence.”
My gaze never wavers from Jude, who looks even better in the daylight. He’s wearing blue jeans and a white tee, showcasing his impressive muscular arms and summer tan. The sunshine catches the light chestnut in his hair, contrasting the woven strands of darkened brown.
“Introduce me,” Charley says, snapping me from rubbernecking.
“Why?” I ask a little too heatedly, turning back to face her.
When her mouth parts and she smirks, I kick myself for not being a little more tactful. “I just meant, why do you want to meet him?”
“Because he’s hot,” she replies, fanning herself. “And so…big,” she settles for after fishing for the right word.
The reason I moved out here in the wilderness was to stay away from big, hot, handsome men. What are the odds I now live near one? “If you want to meet him, then be my guest,” I foolishly suggest, as I believe that’ll discourage Charley and she’ll let the matter drop.
But I should have known she never backs down from a challenge.
“Charley, no!” I scold, but she brushes past me and yanks open the door before I have a chance to stop her from charging down the stairs. The noise alerts Jude.
With no other choice, I throw back the vodka and follow my determined best friend.
This is so embarrassing, and I have no idea why. But I stand tall, hoping I look semi-composed instead of displaying how nervous I feel. I’m a few feet away when I hear Charley gush, “Tori didn’t tell me you came with the house.”
Jude smiles broadly while I feel a pinch of jealousy. I dismiss it instantly.
“I’m Charley, Tori’s best friend.” She extends her manicured hand.
“Nice to meet you, Charley. I’m Jude.” He politely shakes her hand.
“Oh my…” She gasps. “Firm grip you have there.”
And that’s my cue to intervene. “Good morning, Jude.” I raise my eyes upward at my ridiculous friend who is still shaking his hand.
The moment he hears my voice, he drops Charley’s hand and focuses that stormy gaze my way. “Good morning, Victoria.” My name has never sounded so smooth.
I need to stop this now. Mentally slapping myself, I smile. “So, not to sound like a broken record, but what are you doing in my yard?”
He grins, a dimple hugging his cheek. “I figured I owed you.”
“Owed me what?”
“Well, considering I ruined your side of the lake, I figure it’s my job to clean it.”
“It might be hard to clean a lake,” I tease, hating the way I respond to him.
He catches me completely unaware when he steps forward and wraps his fingers around my wrist. The charge sizzles all the way to my toes. “Maybe I could cut your grass then?”
I gulp.
I know I’m slender, but my wrist looks dwarfed by his humongous hand. “Thank you for the offer, but you’ve already done enough.” And I’m not just talking about him saving me from Henry, the neighborhood vigilante.
Only when Charley clears her throat do I realize Jude is still holding my wrist, gently stroking his finger over my sudden racing pulse. His touch feels surprisingly good, but regardless, I should probably break contact. He must be able to sense my retreat because before I can move away, he pulls me toward him so we’re standing inches apart. He’s tall, I’m guessing six foot three. My modest frame of five foot four is eclipsed by his enormous frame.