by Hughes, Maya
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first person to be caught in the middle of an emotional hurricane. I was glad someone was there for mine.” Her small smile didn’t hold an ounce of pity. Relief coursed through me like it had on the beach when I’d gotten her to smile—a real smile. I could still remember every detail of that night five years ago…
I don’t know what was worse: Emmett and Avery turning our summer vacation into World War III or them banging like someone had just announced the end of the world. I needed out of that house. Our slice of Jersey Shore was quiet during the week, even in summer. Most people rented summer houses and drove down on the weekends, but the Kings were here the whole time. Our last summer of freedom—well for Declan and Heath. Ford and I had been playing pro for two years.
Liv had graduated from high school, so it was another reason to celebrate. But damn, did the four-bedroom beach front house feel too small. Probably would’ve felt less cramped if my girlfriend hadn’t broken up with me and I’d been sharing a room with her, instead of bunking with Ford and Liv.
Sexless summer, here I come. Nothing to kill the possibility of picking someone up like knowing I’d be bringing her back to a room with my kid sister in it.
I trudged over the shin-high dune toward the water. Maybe the rolling swell of the surf would block out the sex Olympics going on at the house. Colorful lights from the boardwalk flickered in the distance.
On the wind of the surf, the tinny melody of James Bay whispered in my ear. It was probably some kids making out, but damn, I loved that song. Only it wasn’t some kids making out. It was a woman. And she was alone. Knees drawn up and staring out at the surf.
Her white-blonde hair was up in a bun and her yellow shirt stood out in stark relief against the rolling waves and night sky. I froze in my tracks. My feet sank into the warm, grainy sand. I’d eaten at the Surf Shack way more than I needed to this summer because she seemed to have taken at least two shifts a day. The yellow and white uniform she wore hugged her curves and her smile was always warm, even if it didn’t always reach her eyes. But even then, she was painfully beautiful. The kind that made me doubt that we were even the same species. Delicate, ethereal, she was like an elf queen from Lord of the Rings.
The song ended and she touched her phone, starting it again. Staring up at the sky, I took a deep breath. She’s just like any other girl. Calm down, Colm.
“I do that too sometimes.”
She screamed, jumped, and toppled over, kicking up a spray of sand into my face. Sneaking up on someone—especially a woman—sitting alone on the beach at night hadn’t been my brightest idea.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but somehow forgot about my mouth. Turning my head to the side, I spit out the rough grains.
“Colm? I’m sorry.” She hopped up, wiping at her face with her arm. Her eyes were ringed with red.
“No, I am. I’m sorry I scared you. Are you okay?”
Her gaze dropped. When her head popped back up, she wore the perfect waitress smile. “I’m good.”
Dropping to my haunches, I picked up her phone, dusting the sand off the screen and case. My finger brushed against the home button. The screen flashed on, showing a close up picture of Imogen with Preston’s face pressed right up against hers. Her boyfriend. Her dead boyfriend. Fuck, I was an asshole.
I handed the phone back to her. The song was still playing.
She took the phone, and our fingers brushed against each other. The softness of her fingertips nudged against mine. The gentle hum through my body shifted with that small connection.
“Thanks.” She slipped her hand away like any polite person would.
I expected her to rub her hands on her pants to wipe away my touch.
“And I do like that song. Have you heard the rest of his album?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled and the corners of her mouth inched up. “I know all his songs by heart.”
“I found some old live versions of his first performances online.” I scrolled through my phone and tapped on what I was looking for.
“You did?” She got closer, careful not to touch me while still looking at my screen. The sweet smell of the Surf Shack cinnamon roll pancakes filled my nose, along with sea air and Imo’s own light floral scent.
“They’re amazing. Do you want me to link it to your speaker?” I gestured to the small cube settled in the sand.
She glanced at it like she’d forgotten it was there. “I’d like that a lot. I never usually have anyone to enjoy his older stuff with.”
I connected it and we both sat staring out at the water, our bodies a hair’s breadth away from one another. The urge to touch her was almost overwhelming. To run my fingers through her hair. To drag my thumb against her full bottom lip.
“Preston always hated his stuff. He said he was too depressing.” The corner of her mouth lifted like muscle memory at saying his name.
And then the exact reason I should do none of those things slammed straight into me. Preston. Her boyfriend. Ex? I don’t know what a boyfriend was called after they died. And it was less than six months ago. So there was no way in hell she’d want me doing any of those things I wanted to do.
Our moonlit talk didn’t end with one James Bay song or even two. Two albums later, we were still going.
Imo told me the secret sauce recipe for the burgers everyone in our house had been devouring. And I regaled her with my stories of dealing with a little sister like Liv. Imo was an only child. She’d lost her parents eighteen months apart when she was a freshman in college. Her aunt had shown up to Preston’s funeral to give her support, but lived in California and had little kids of her own now.
“Sorry to be depressing. Dead parents always bring a party down.”
“No, it’s not depressing at all. I’ve been there, remember?” I leaned in conspiratorially. “We’re in the club together.”
“I guess you’re right.” She leaned in too. “You’re an awesome older brother. Pro hockey player. Lady magnet. You seem pretty close to perfect, Colm.”
“Lady magnet?” I lifted an eyebrow.
“Do you think Lady Killer would be more appropriate? You don’t think I get requests when you guys come into the restaurant? Requests to be seated next to you. Requests to be seated with you. Requests to be seated on you.
“Just because the waitress shows up at their table doesn’t mean people stop talking. Let’s just say you’re very good for business.” She laughed.
I squeezed my hands against my thighs at her sweet gentle chuckle. It warmed me inside. Totally natural and beautiful, just like her.
“Maybe I’ll stop by the diner more often to help keep patronage steady.”
She nodded. “Maybe you should. We’re so far down the end of the boardwalk, sometimes it gets quiet during the week.”
“Maybe I’ll come in off the beach. Shirtless and still damp.”
“Then we’d have to keep you around long term. Lock you in the walk-in fridge to preserve freshness. The perfect way to bring in crowds even after the summer.”
“Only if you feed me well.”
“I’d make you steak and eggs every freaking day.” Her smile reached her eyes tonight. It was full and bright and made her eyes glitter. The long lines and curve of her neck called out to me. Maybe I’d had too many hits out on the ice. Maybe it was that I’d been on a no attachments kick since my last relationship ended. Or maybe it was just that she was so damn hard to resist, but I blurted the words out without even thinking about everything she’d been through and what they might mean.
“If that’s on the table then you might as well marry me.” It was a joke. Joking words said between two friends sitting on the beach, but I can’t say if she’d said yes, I wouldn’t have kept her up all night so we could be at the courthouse the second the doors opened in the morning.
Her laugh stalled in her throat like someone had wrapped their fingers around it and choked the sound out of her. And then she did the exact op
posite of what you’d want someone to do, fake proposal or not—she bolted. Jumped up like she’d been bitten and mumbled something about needing to get back. To where? I didn’t know, but from where was obvious. Away from me.
Sitting alone on the beach after the one woman who’d made me feel something real in a long time nearly leapt out of her skin to get away from my fake proposal hurt in a way I hadn’t known it could.
Rain splattered against my skin. I don’t know how long I sat out there with my shirt plastered to my chest, trying to figure out why I always ended up alone.
2
Imo
“Thank you for taking my shift last week.” Cecily grabbed onto my arm and shook me. Some of my weariness was washed away by her infectious smile. The happy hour crowd had given way to a much bigger one, filled less with suits and button down shirts and more sequins, miniskirts, and guys who wore sunglasses inside—at night.
“Not like I had anything better to do.” Sitting home alone was getting old even for me. Netflix had stopped recommending movies after it seemed like I’d watched ALL the things. Maybe I should get out a little more. If I wasn’t careful people would stop inviting me, even out of pity.
Cecily rolled her eyes. “That’s completely and totally your fault. You get asked out—what? —five times a week by the guys who roll through work.”
“I’m not dating a client.”
“That’s not an official Garfall Rehab Center policy.”
“I’m pretty sure that was in the ethics exam we had to take for our last recertification.”
A sound halfway between a scoff and a snort shot out of her mouth.
“No exceptions? What about those ripped guys who stopped by last week?”
“Those guys? Old friends both happily married or nearly there.” Emmett and Heath had stopped by to invite me to one of their monthly dinners, but it was on a night I needed to head down to the Surf Shack, so I’d asked for a raincheck.
“Shame. But at least we got you to come out tonight. All it took was one year of non-stop asking. We’re wearing you down.” She laughed and speared the cherry in her drink with her straw.
“I’ve got a lot going on.” The volume in the bar kicked up at least five-fold. There was something going on up front.
“More like a lot of hiding.”
A new voice broke in. “If I didn’t do this, I’d kick myself for the rest of the month.” A guy loomed over our table and crouched down beside me like a server at The Olive Garden.
“And what’s that?” Cecily was practically in my lap, leaning over enjoying the view.
“Talking to you.” Even with Cecily grinning in his face, he kept his gaze trained on me. “And bringing you this drink?”
He slid the martini glass with clear pink contents much like the one I’d already finished across the table.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Exactly the reason I didn’t like going out to bars right here. He was cute, there was no denying that. His suit fit him like he’d taken the time to get it tailored. A happy hour hold over. There wasn’t too much product in his hair, but just enough. He had dark eyes framed by long eyelashes most women had to buy in a store.
And he did absolutely nothing for me. Not a flutter, not a flip, not a flicker of interest. With my best placate-the-guy-in-the-bar smile, I shook my head. “Thank you, but I don’t accept free drinks.” There was no such thing as a free drink. At a minimum, he’d want conversation and I wasn’t up for flirty.
“No strings.” He pushed it toward me and then held up his hands, standing and backing away a step.
“We were just leaving, but thank you so much. There’s probably another woman in here who’d love to get a drink from you.” I craned my neck trying to spot the perfect hook up for him.
“No, it’s okay.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You have a great night.” He disappeared into the sea of people now packing the bar like he’d been told to pack up his knives and go from a reality TV cooking show.
“He was so hot!” Cecily shoved at my shoulder.
“He was cute.”
“Hot!” She pushed the drink toward me. “At least take the drink.”
“I’ve reached my limit.”
“Your limit? You had one. Your limit is one?”
Sweet pink contents splashed over the edge onto the table as I slid it in front of her. “I’m not big on drinking. You have it.”
The words barely made it past my lips and she picked it up and downed the whole thing in one gulp.
Furtive looks and not-so-under their breath catcalls swept through my group of friends. I should’ve guessed something was up. My co-workers from the Garfall Rehab Center had all shed our scrubs for a night on the town and the guy at the front of the bar was the talk of the table.
“He looks like one of the doctors from Grey’s Anatomy.”
“Which doctor?”
“One of the hot ones.”
“Thanks for narrowing that down.”
“Is he buying drinks for everyone?”
“Looks like he’s pouring them straight out of the bottle.”
“Now that’s bottle service I can get behind.”
Short of standing on my chair, I couldn’t get a good look at him through the sea of people, but as we left I couldn’t help but look.
I should’ve known it wouldn’t be just any guy who whipped my co-workers up into a frenzy. At the center we had local celebrities, run-of-the-mill hotties and pro athletes come in every day, but this wasn’t just any pro athlete.
His dark hair was mussed in a cover model kind of way, and I knew the small streak of white was there, even though it was hidden by the swoop of the curl across his forehead. The hanging lights over the bar that he held onto to steady himself lit up his face. Dim lighting from the bar did nothing to hide his body. A machine of muscle and bone built for speed and dominance on the ice. Broad shoulders leading to a muscled chest and powerful legs.
Colm.
Even with all the commotion going on around him, people jumping up and down in front of him like he was a new boy band that had rolled into town, even standing on top of the bar with a cocky smile, there was a sadness in his eyes. It was the kind you kept under wraps by speaking quickly or moving fast, like you’re so damn busy you barely have time to breathe. It was the kind I’d found myself on the swampy edges of, stuck in mud so deep I could barely take a step.
My heart lurched. I couldn’t stop myself; I never could when someone was hurting.
“Colm?” I called up to him, not even sure he’d notice me in the sea of people, but his gaze locked onto mine.
After I spirited him away from the mob of people surrounding him and got him into the bathroom, I got a close up view of how right I’d been about whatever was going on with him.
He splashed water on his face, the back of his neck and tips of his ears red. His gaze darted away from mine.
I dropped my hand on his broad shoulder. The insanely soft fabric of his tailored blazer caressed my fingers.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first person to be caught in the middle of an emotional hurricane. I was glad someone was there for mine.” My attempt at lightening the mood fell flat.
Our night on the beach. How he’d made me feel like I wasn’t alone. How I’d run from the feelings stirred in me when I had no right to feel them so soon after...
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” The word was sharp and clipped. His lips were tight, so tight it felt like his face might crack open.
My fingers itched to take out my phone and call the guys, but he didn’t exactly seem like he’d welcome their company right now. Or anyone’s company.
What the hell had happened? I hadn’t hung out with the Kings much lately. A dinner here or there with the girls. A potluck after Christmas. I always felt like they were including me as a pity invite.
Poor Imogen with the dead boyfriend. Poor Imogen, all alone so we should invite her, then shoo
t sad looks her way all night. Even years later, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they only offered because they felt bad. But sometimes I wanted to get out of my apartment. And sometimes I wanted to do the things other people my age did, like hang out with friends. And for a few seconds before I walked in the door I’d think it could be a normal night out, and then I’d be reminded by the looks in their eyes that I’d always be Preston’s Imogen. Their voices always dipped lower and they’d get that hint of sadness in every glance, like my presence was a reminder of what we’d all lost. I’d become a walking, talking, breathing memorial to him.
“Then maybe I can just sit here for a while.” I hopped up onto the bathroom counter, resting my purse and hands on the cold, smooth surface, staring at him.
“In the women’s bathroom?” He stared back at me like I’d suggested roasting one of his testicles over an open fire. “You want to have a conversation in here?”
“It’s as good a place as any. Quieter than out there.” I smiled, trying to suck some of the tension out of this situation. It wasn’t every day I had a big, strong guy break down in front of me, but it happened more often than you’d think when you’re trying to get people back on their feet.
I was a get-along kind of person. Agreeable, always trying to help wherever I could, but after my parents and Preston, everyone had always tiptoed around me.
Except Colm. He never looked at me like he was afraid I’d break and needed to be handled with kid gloves. Like that night on the beach. He’d talked to me like a normal person. Flirted even, which was so weird I hadn’t even recognized it at first. That’s how it went when your eighth grade relationship lasted for eight years—almost eight.
“It’s actually pretty nice in here.” I picked up the abandoned bottle of gin he’d left beside the sink. “I’ll have a drink right here.” I kicked my feet against the counter, the backs of my shoes drumming against the hard surface.