8 Hearts Beat As One: A Romance Anthology

by Gray, Elena; Lee, Taylor; Gould, Jonathan; McCracken, Kelli; McCray, Carolyn; Scott, Amber; Charles, Ann

  There was a tiny cloud hovering in front of me. And reclining on the top, stretching his legs out over the edge, sat … a child? Or was it an angel? His blond, curly hair overlooked a cherubic face, but his eyes twinkled mischievously. There were wings on his back, and he was clad in nothing but a white cloth around his groin.

  “And even after all that,” said this angelic figure, “they actually went out and wore them in public. Now that’s what I call true love.”

  “Who … what …how …” I managed to stammer.

  “Cupid’s the name,” said the apparition, “although I would have expected you to have figured that out by now.”

  “You’re Cupid?” It wasn’t my strongest reply, but under the circumstances, it was all I could muster.

  “No, I’m the Wizard of Oz. Of course I’m Cupid. Who else could I possibly be?”

  Fair point, I figured, but it still didn’t tell me much. “But what are you doing here? And aren’t you meant to have a bow and arrows?”

  “Bow and arrows? Sheesh, what century do you think we’re living in? I’ve got wireless technology now,” and he held up what looked like a little remote control, with a flashing heart-shaped light on the top.

  “Then why are you still dressed like a baby?” I said, starting to warm to this little fellow’s attitude.

  “My clothes are at the dry-cleaners, smart guy,” Cupid snapped back at me.

  “Very good,” I laughed. “So maybe now you can tell me exactly what’s going on.”

  “You’ve been given a gift,” said Cupid. “You have the power to see other people’s true loves.”

  “True loves?”

  “Exactly. Those faces you can see in the bubbles over people’s heads. Those are their true loves.”

  “So those couples …” I pointed at the ones beside me and on the opposite benches.

  Cupid nodded. “A perfect match. Mr and Mrs Right. Damn fine work on my behalf, if I do say so myself.”

  “You do this? You choose somebody’s true love.”

  “Been doing it for years. Tricky work, but rewarding.”

  “But how do you choose?”

  Cupid frowned. “It takes time to really figure it out. There are a lot of factors you have to take into consideration. You need to know there’s a deep and abiding connection before you can make a decision.”

  I nodded. It sounded just like Jodi and me. “So there really is no such thing as love at first sight?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Cupid. “Load of bunkum. Mind you, there definitely is lust at first sight. You should speak to my cousin, Eros. The things he could show you, you wouldn’t believe. But true love, on the other hand, that takes time. For example, check out those two over there.”

  I followed Cupid’s pointing finger. The couple approaching was really young. In the thought bubbles above their heads, the faces of their other halves could be made out, although they were kind of blurry.”

  “You see,” said Cupid. “It’s looking positive, but I haven’t completely decided yet.”

  At that moment, the young lad’s eyes alit on the female half of the couple on the opposite bench, giving her a good looking over. The face in the bubble over his head became noticeably blurrier.

  “Then again, maybe not,” Cupid chuckled. “Hey, would you like to see who your true love is?” Suddenly, he was flashing a mirror up in front of my face.

  “No, thank you.” I quickly averted my eyes before I could see anything. I didn’t need anybody telling me who my true love was. I knew the answer, deep in my heart.

  “Suit yourself,” said Cupid. Then he held a finger to his mouth. “Shhh. Listen to that.”

  The sound of a quarrel came floating over our quiet corner of the park. The couple responsible made a peculiar sight. Neither of the faces in the bubbles over their heads matched those of their partners.

  “His is the girl at school he was always too scared to go up and talk to. Hers is the hero of a romantic novel she read when she was nineteen.” Cupid laughed again. “Neither of them is ever going to match up.”

  “So how on earth did they end up together?” I wondered.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” said Cupid. “There’s one other, extremely important factor that goes into my decisions.”

  “And that is?”

  A roguish grin crossed Cupid’s sublime features. “I’m a complete bastard.”

  “You are?” For some reason I was not too surprised by this revelation.

  “Oh, yeah. A total and utter stinker. Check out what I did to those two.”

  I looked toward the couple he was pointing at. The male partner did not look so out of the ordinary, and the bubble over his head indicated his feelings for his other half. The female, on the other hand, had a bubble like none of the others I’d yet seen. It was about twice as large, and it needed to be, for inside it were not just the face of her current companion, but another male face sitting serenely beside it.

  “She has two true loves?” I said in amazement.

  “Why not?” said Cupid. “Who says you can only have one true love? I wish I could be there when he finds out,” he added with a snigger.

  “Is that common, for people to have two true loves?”

  “Two true loves. Three true loves. I don’t set any limits. Have a look at that one over there.”

  The male half of the couple walking towards us looked extremely pleased with himself, and no wonder. The bubble over his head was enormous, and it must have contained at least…

  “Ten true loves?” I said.

  “That’s nothing. I’ve worked with people who’ve had over a hundred.”

  “What would that be, like some rock star, or randy politician?” I laughed.

  “Oh god no,” said Cupid. “They’re far more likely to be like him.”

  There was a strange sort of symmetry to the pair he pointed out, but it took me a few seconds to realize why. The bubbles over both of their heads were exactly the same. The person in her bubble was him. And the person in his bubble was also him.

  “I think it will work,” said Cupid. “They have a lot in common. Hey, why don’t we take a walk?”

  Discarding my lunch, I stood up and followed Cupid’s bobbing cloud as he led me around the park, gleefully pointing out various examples of his handiwork. I was especially intrigued when I saw two men walking together, their bubbles indicating that they too had found their true loves.

  “Why are you surprised?” Cupid commented. “I never said I discriminated. I may be a bastard, but I’m an equal-opportunity bastard. Hey, take a look over there.”

  For about the fifth time, Cupid pointed towards a food stand with a large reflective glass across the front. But by this time, I was wise to his game.

  “I told you, I don’t need to see,” I admonished. “I already know who my true love is.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Cupid. “Can’t blame a divine mythological figure from trying. Oh, here’s one of my favorite tricks. Check this fellow out.”

  The man was by himself and he looked somewhat awkward. The woman in the bubble above his head looked to be about thirty years older.

  “She seems kind of old for him,” I commented.

  “Take a close look,” Cupid suggested.

  I did so. There was something about the two faces; the shape of the chin, the set of the jaws and the color of the eyes were all strangely similar. Then I figured it out.

  “She’s his …” I began.

  Cupid nodded with a cheeky giggle. “Gives a whole new meaning to the term mummy’s boy. Believe me, one whiff of that, and the girls go running.”

  So we walked on, Cupid making sure to demonstrate further examples of his craft. There were those whose true loves were already married to good friends or siblings. There were some whose ideal partners were living in countries on the far side of the world, or had lived and died centuries ago, or even had yet to be born. It was pretty funny, seeing all of those mismatched couples parad
ing through the park, the looks on their faces totally at odds with the evidence above them. But every so often, we’d find one of those rare, lucky couples who truly had found their perfect match. And whenever he pointed one out to me, I could feel a strong note of reverence in Cupid’s voice.

  “Aww, look at those duckies, aren’t they cute?” Cupid said as we walked past the lake.

  I had already turned to look before I realized what he had done. I tried to stop myself, but it was too late. I had seen it, reflected in the water. There was the bubble, shimmering over my head. And there, inside it … was … the face of … my Jodi.

  I heaved a sigh of relief, though I wasn’t sure why. I’d always known who my true love was. I shouldn’t have been worried at all.

  “Feeling better, now?” said Cupid.

  “You tricked me,” I snapped.

  “What can I say? I just can’t help myself.”

  “Well I think you can see that you’ve done a pretty good job as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Thank you so much. I so rarely get direct feedback. Hey, how’s about we check out your lady love?”

  “I don’t see how … Hang on a minute.”

  There was Jodi, walking up the path toward the lake.

  I couldn’t help grinning. “She must be coming over to surprise me at work. She really is a great girl.”

  “Sure she is,” said Cupid. “Should be coming into focus right about now.”

  As she got nearer, the bubble began to form over her head. Within it, a human face gradually began to take shape, revealing itself as …

  Robert Glamorton?

  “What the hell?” I cried.

  “Looks like we’ve just figured out who that secret admirer is,” said Cupid with a smirk.

  I still couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Robert worked at the desk beside me. He was the biggest skirt-chaser in the office. The nickname we had for him was “Rob on the job.” I turned to Cupid in horror.

  “Why would you do this to her? Why would you make her fall for a ratbag like that? Someone who’s just going to mess around with her and break her heart?”

  “Who says I did that to her?” said Cupid. “Hey, look at that. Here comes your wife’s true love now.”

  Sure enough, Robert Glamorton was walking up the path the other way. As he approached, the bubble appeared above his head. And there inside was the face of my wife, smiling contentedly.

  “I guess he just never met the right girl,” said Cupid, “until now. Isn’t that delightful? He’s brought her flowers.”

  I watched with incredulous eyes as “Rob on the job” handed the flowers to my wife and they embraced.

  “But she doesn’t even like flowers. That’s something we agreed on ages ago. Like the Valentine’s Day cards.”

  “No,” corrected Cupid. “You agreed. I’m not sure she ever did. And just so you know, she also really enjoys the theater. In fact, she and Rob are planning to see a production just next week.”

  “Why you … you …”

  “Bastard I believe is the word you’re looking for,” Cupid laughed.

  “Just wait till I get my hands on you,” I roared, reaching out to grab the rotten blighter’s neck.

  “Is that the time? I think my dry-cleaning must be ready.” Before my hands could reach his tender skin, he was gone, and I was left standing with my head immersed in the remnants of his cloud.

  So I watched as Jodi and Rob strolled away, hand in hand. The sun was still beaming down, showering its warmth over the couples all around. But all of a sudden, standing alone in the middle of the park, it began to feel awfully cold.

  ~~

  Heart Strings

  by Kelli McCracken

  Jocelyn walked the length of the grand piano, admiring the curves of the rim. A Mason & Hamlin Model BB, similar to the one she once played. It made every other instrument in the music store look like scrap metal.

  She caught her reflection in the lid. Wow! She looked a mess. Dark curls strayed from the ponytail that had been so tight this morning, she still suffered from a headache. Why did she have to be so tender headed?

  Cracking knuckles drew her attention to the front of the piano. Brighton. With a taunting brow, her brother gave her that same boyish smile she remembered as a child.

  “Any requests?” he chuckled, wiggling his fingers.

  Jocelyn shook her head. “No. You always play the opposite of anything I suggest.”

  Brighton’s fingers hovered above the white ivory keys Jocelyn could no longer tickle.

  “Very well, then.” His voice took on the warning tone Jocelyn knew well. She held her breath. If he broke into November Rain, she’d smack him.

  Notes filled the air as his fingers glided across the naturals and accidentals to the melody of Chopin’s Berceuse Opus 57. One of her favorites. Surprising.

  Brighton closed his eyes, swaying his head as he and the instrument became one.

  A twinge of jealousy tightened Jocelyn’s chest, along with the tendons in her fingers. How she wanted to feel that same connection, again. To be one with the music.

  Trailing her fingers along the rim, she mimicked the strokes her brother made. A dull ache warmed her hand. She ignored it, allowing the music to comfort her. The ache switched to a throb in all four fingers. Maybe she should stop moving them. But how could she prevent the music from moving her, from setting off instincts she’d had from the age of eight? She’d have a better chance of keeping the sun from setting.

  She refocused on Brighton. The store, the customers, even she faded from his mind. Not that she could read his thoughts. She didn’t have to. His creased brow said it all.

  The throbbing turned into a pulsing burn. She glanced at her fingernails, worried that they’d begun swelling. If enough pressure built, could her nails detach from her skin?

  Wincing at the thought, she pulled her hand back. Thankfully, Brighton was into the music. One look at her face and he’d be rushing to her side, making a fuss.

  She hated when he made a fuss.

  Once she immobilized her hand, the ache receded. Relief washed over her body, though the episode left her lightheaded. She needed to sit or she'd be a puddle on the floor. Slow, steady steps brought her to the bench.

  Brighton must have sensed her presence. He opened his eyes, gazing up at her. Allowing a note to linger in the air, his smile darkened before his fingers slammed on keys. The note led into a faster tempo.

  Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance filled the store.

  Seriously? Did he have to go there? She’d much rather hear Guns N Roses any day. But Lady Gaga?

  The notes pierced her ears. If she thought her head hurt before…

  Her eyes found the front door. Could she make it outside before Brighton objected? Her fingers were damaged, not her legs.

  Brighton cocked his head toward her, jabbing a brow upward. She narrowed her eyes in the best menacing look she could muster. It worked. He pressed his lips tight to hide a smirk as the notes switched to Tchaikovsky’s The Seasons: April.

  Jocelyn lowered her hips until the plush cushion stopped her. She fought against a smile, then nudged him with her shoulder.

  “Couldn’t resist, could you?”

  The impish grin faded as a mess of dark waves tussled against his face. “Wanna show me how it’s done?”

  “Like I can do that,” she said, waving her splinted hand in his face until the scorching throb had her cringing.

  The last note faded from her ear. Brighton’s fingers left the keys. He gripped the bench, nudging her this time. “Wanna talk about it?”

  Jocelyn swallowed hard. “No.”

  Silence fell between them. She hated shutting him out. He’d been her confidant since they were kids. Heck, he knew when she got her first period long before their mother. But this…

  Her eyes dropped to her hand. No way would she burden him with this pain.

  She could sense his eyes on her fingers as he cleared his throat. “The
surgeon seems positive that the surgery worked.”

  Jocelyn shrugged. “It’s not a guarantee.”

  “Since when did life come with guarantees?”

  Her lips readied for the perfect retort. But nothing came out.

  Brighton grabbed her right hand. He thumbed her knuckles, careful not to touch her stitches.

  Jocelyn’s stomach knotted when she noticed the hurt in his eyes. She yanked her hand away, causing Brighton to flinch. Tucking her hand inside her pocket, she watched his chest expand.

  “It could have been a lot worse.”

  “How so?” she asked, jumping to her feet. “Getting them completely severed? If this surgery didn’t work, won’t it be the same?”

  “No.” Brighton pushed away from the piano. “Hating life won’t change anything. You have to suck it up and keep going. This didn’t just affect you.”

  “You walked away without a scratch.”

  “Maybe on the outside,” he patted his chest. “Knowing I’m the reason you were in that car…that eats me alive.”

  “You didn’t cause the accident. I wanted to go with you to the audition.”

  “No, you didn’t. I begged you to go. You cancelled your plans for me.”

  Jocelyn grimaced. How could she respond to such a statement? Could she be so caught up in her own suffering that the pain blinded her from her brother’s anguish? Her stitches itched, as if answering what she couldn’t admit.

  The grotesque image of her lacerations made her stomach knot. Frankenstein’s was put together better than her.

  “If we’re both finished with our pity parties,” Brighton said, tugging on the frayed strings around a hole in his jeans, “will you follow me to the store room? I have something I want to show you. Something that might help put this in perspective.”

  Nodding her head, she answered, “I’m right behind you.”

  * * *

  Jocelyn’s eyes trailed over a flute on the workbench in the store room. The instrument lay in pieces, broken down for repair. Just like her. She stroked the silver plated brass, wondering what unfortunate musician waited patiently for its return.