Out of the Blue: True Colors #2

by Phoenix, Shea

  Those stormy-blue eyes were about to kill me.

  3

  Fuck I killed him.

  I watched him dive under and I heard the muffled thttumppp that sounded nothing like the sound of hitting a wave or the beach. It sounded like an overripe pumpkin falling to the ground.

  The sound of a jet ski- my jet ski- hitting a person.

  Earlier, when I decided I needed to clear my mind with a long, fast ride on the water, I was pissed that my hero was a total asshole, but I wasn’t murderous.

  Not even a little bit, I swear.

  I had the whole wide blue ocean to myself. Nobody was supposed to be out here, it was windy and the sun was hiding behind gray clouds. The gray matched my mood. I opened up the throttle, and concentrated on the feeling of the jet ski smashing through the waves, and the salty, biting mist in my face. The hurt of being yelled at and thrown off the beach by Gavin Ross- or his henchman- began to ebb. I began to smile, thinking about how ridiculous my whole plan to meet him and become friends actually was.

  Screw him, was the last thought that went through my head. It was good to have my illusions shattered. I even began to have hope that maybe I could write during my last few days here instead of stalking that asshole. I decided that I wasn’t going to think about him anymore. I loved his books, and could continue to love them, but anyone who was such an ass to someone sitting quietly, reading a book, to kick them -me!- off of their -his!- empty-fucking-beach was not someone I ever wanted to be friends with. I could learn from his books- emulate them- and vow to never be such a prick if I figured out how to write them.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the air and the sharp, biting spray in my face, and wanted to write about this feeling. The sad freedom of finding out your fantasy was stupid and your hero was a total jerk.

  Screw him.

  When I opened my eyes again, I felt my heart stop. I threw my hands off the throttle as I saw the dark spot just in front of me and the leaf green eyes looking at me, widening.

  I shouted something but the wind caught most of it, he half turned in the water, his eyes spotting me just before he dove under and I jumped off, pulling the key with me and trying to steer the thing towards anything but him, then I heard that that pumpkin falling to the ground sound and the cold water hit me. I breathed in water instead of air and choked while my eyes frantically circled the water for him.

  After the longest few seconds of my life, finally I watched him come up for air near the dock and watched as he heaved himself up unsteadily onto the dry, gray wood. He was breathing heavily and deeply and a deep gash on his head trailed pale red blood down his back. I tried to yell out again but choked and coughed on the water I had swallowed. I watched as he walked and stumbled down his way-too-fucking-long-dock. I held my breath as he clutched the guide posts for balance every few feet. When I had my voice back I yelled again, but the wind caught my words and threw them right back at me.

  I had to find the jet ski and go check on him. He was alive but that unsteady walk scared the hell out of me. I swam slowly towards the monster and climbed up on the seat, felt water flow out as I sat, then caught my breath as I leaned my forehead against the handlebars and watched him through the side of my eye.

  Thank God he was alive.

  I felt for the key tethered to my ankle and watched him sucking in deep breaths, but still walking, getting closer to the beach and his house.

  Almost a tragedy because of my recklessness, because I had my feelings hurt and shut my eyes like an idiot driving a however-many-pounds jet ski. My bruised ego almost cost a man his life. The fact that he was an asshole was no reason to try to kill him.

  And I didn’t do it on purpose.

  I knew that.

  But he didn’t.

  He looked me right in the eyes. He recognized me. He saw those eyes that had stared daggers at him just a few minutes before.

  What would he think?

  He would think I tried to kill him. That’s a pretty easy conclusion to draw from the facts he has to work with. He and his friend told me I was trespassing, and he threw me off his beach. And I was a mess of hurt and anger and who knows what else. A half hour later, that angry, hurt person ran him down with a jet ski. Nobody will think those two things are a coincidence.

  Nobody will believe this was an accident.

  We were the only two people on the ocean as far the eye could see.

  He was going to call the police. I would. Attempted murder wasn’t one of those things you forgive and forget. And even if you were a saint and could forgive and forget, you couldn’t let someone who would flip out into murder after being yelled at get away with it. You had to lock that person up or they might do it again.

  Maybe he didn’t recognize me.

  Isn’t your whole life supposed to flash before your eyes?

  If he really is the jerk that I think he is, then there wouldn’t be very many good memories in there for him to linger over. He would skip over those and focus on the person who tried to kill him. That doesn’t really make him a jerk either.

  It doesn’t feel right to hope that he was too worried about being killed by me to remember me.

  I watched several people meeting him at the door to his house, they held him steady, bracing his shoulders and brought him inside.

  I watched the door close and felt relief that no one saw me.

  I tried to figure out what I should do. What was someone supposed to do here? What was the neighborly thing to do after you nearly killed someone? Call the house and ask how he is and try to explain, to apologize? Call the police? A doctor?

  That might make things worse. Anger him when he needed to relax. It was an awful thump sound, and a nasty gash with a lot of blood.

  What if he died?

  I’d be a murderer.

  I had to go check. Whatever happened to me would happen but I needed to help if I could. It was tempting to run away, but there was no way I could make it all the way to my rented house without knowing more. Without trying to help.

  I chased out that voice in my head saying run away, and the second thoughts that said I was only checking on him to make me feel better, and that it was selfish to upset him now. They were lies, convenient lies that I shouldn’t believe.

  I brought the jet ski in slow and easy and beached it, then walked up to the house and knocked on the door.

  I had to knock again, and again, louder and harder on the thick old door.

  No one answered.

  The wind was still howling. Maybe they couldn’t hear me.

  Maybe they had more important things to do.

  Shit, they must have had to take him to the hospital. That’s good. Or really bad.

  I walked down his beach to the jet ski and pushed it into the water and climbed on. I saw the exact spot where I had set-up my chair a few minutes before. It felt like ten hours had passed since then.

  I drove slowly to the house. The most unhappy jet ski ride in history, and I was glad it was over when I beached it and trudged up to the house. I didn’t have the energy to go any further than the couch and flopped down into it, staring at the ceiling.

  What if he was seriously injured?

  I had to find out or go nuts thinking about it.

  I called the closest hospital. They couldn't give out any information, but the incredibly nice nurse could say a man was admitted just a few minutes ago with a head wound and this saint of a nurse added ‘all the cursing he was doing was a good sign’.

  At least he’s alive.

  In the hospital.

  Where I sent him.

  I stalked, then almost killed, my favorite writer.

  All I wanted to do was learn how to write romance novels.

  Maybe I should switch to horror.

  4

  I kept trying to open my eyes even though they were already open.

  “You’re lucky to be alive.” My doctor told me for the hundredth time. “We think you slipped off the dock and hit your head-”


  “Not all of us think it was an accident.” Eli Stone, my enforcer added. He was also the best investigator anybody had. I was lucky that he and Nate still were loyal. He should be out looking for those disappearing omegas, or for Caden Cameron, one of the reasons so many omegas were missing, but I was glad to have him nearby.

  “That ridiculous dock of yours.” Nate chimed in. He focused on hating my dock. “You could have drowned halfway out in the ocean slipping off the end.”

  “Having the green light at the end of a short dock doesn't work,” I answered.

  “You could have died for your damn literary allusion. I hope you enjoyed it. First thing we do is rip out the dock and the light. You’ll figure out how to write without it.” Nate added. We had been having the same argument the last few days, but I decided to change it up. He was just angry at not being with his mate Finn. I told him I didn't need him and he could go be with his mate, but unfortunately he knew I was lying. I did need him now.

  “I’ll never write again.” The silence was deafening. “Aren’t you people supposed to say no, don’t be silly. Of course you will? Where’s your bedside manor?”

  “My manor and me are beside your bed. This is what you get.” Nate scolded.

  He was right. He was loyal, unlike some others. “Where’s Dillon?”

  “Had business to take care of.” I could hear the anger in Nate’s voice. He was defending Dillon for my sake, and hating it.

  “Did he stay long enough to hear I was alive?”

  “Yes. He stayed until the doctors said you’d be fine.” He said through gritted teeth.

  “What about blind?”

  Another silence. “That's what I figured.”

  “You might wake up tomorrow with your vision restored.” The doctor interrupted. “But it’ll probably be little by little. The optical nerve was jolted, it may take a while to settle back. Where it’s supposed to.”

  Or it might never settle in. I might need brain surgery and risk that going wrong to get back my eyes.

  The Doctor said that because I could see shadows, it was a good sign, but it wasn’t a good sign to me. If I couldn’t see, I couldn’t write. I couldn't be alpha if I had no eyes. Shadows were no better than total darkness. If I had just learned how to type I ‘d be able to continue. But I was stubborn. I never even learned good handwriting- I made my assistant learn to read my chicken scratch instead.

  “What about shifting? I can just heal quickly.”

  The doctor was by my bedside now, “It’s not a great idea. The optic nerve is not where it's supposed to be right now. If you shift, there’s no telling what might happen. You might heal up, but you might damage the nerve permanently.”

  So I had to live like a cripple. How can I remain the alpha if I can’t shift and I can’t see?

  “Eli. See if you can find out if this wasn’t an accident. If someone else did this to me, they need to pay.”

  I was walking along the beach a few days later. Stumbling along the beach. The shadows hadn’t improved, and night and day were no different to me.

  I had a flashlight in case I got lost, so Nate could come find me if I got lost and didn’t come running when he called for me.

  Everyone else had left and I didn’t blame them.

  How could a blind alpha lead? How could I protect anybody like this?

  Nate was the best man I had, but if he was smart he would have left too. Or challenged me.

  I was lost in these dark thoughts as somebody walked into me.

  “Excuse me,” the stranger said instinctively.

  “My fault,” I corrected him, “I can’t see anything.” I wasn’t even sure I was looking in his direction.

  “You can’t see?” the voice managed, I read more shock than pity in it and loved hearing the lack of pity.

  “I’m blind and I’m really bad at it. I had an accident a few days ago,” I replied. “I guess I fell. All I remember is pain.” I usually didn’t confess so much personal stuff to strangers, but I needed to hear that voice. “Is it dark yet?”

  Silence. This was really frustrating, but I would probably do the same thing. “I can’t see if you’re shaking your head ‘yes’ or ‘no’. You have to say it out loud. Because. I’m. Blind.”

  “Of course. It’s almost dark.”

  “It takes getting used to talking to a blind man. It takes getting used to being a blind man too. It makes me feel better that you’re bad at it too.” Maybe it was the need for human contact or not being treated like either a leper or a child, but I really didn’t want this stranger to think I was a jerk. I should probably be on guard. Now that I was crippled or disabled or whatever people were whispering that I was, I would be an easy victim. I was helpless. It would be very easy for this stranger to beat and rob me. I’m totally screwed if they take my flashlight, but I was willing to risk it. I craved human contact. The darkness was so damn lonely.

  “You shouldn’t be out here wandering around in the dark.” I told him. He sounded young.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Can you find your way back…?”

  “As long as I hear the water and don’t feel it, I should be fine.”

  “What about horseshoe crabs?”

  “What?” I laughed. It felt really good to laugh.

  “I saw one on the beach my first day here and it scared the hell out of me.”

  “Thanks. That’ll make my walk back a lot more fun. I was only worried about careless strangers not watching where they were going before. Now I have two things.”

  Even better than my laugh was the one this stranger had. It sounded incredible.

  “Maybe you should wear a bell. Let people know you’re coming.”

  “We got my cat one and he hates it. And I still stepped on him twice today.”

  Another amazing laugh. “Poor cat,”

  “He hasn’t run away yet. Not like everyone else.”

  “Do you know if your eyesight is going to come back?”

  Despite that being a much more personal question than I would usually answer, I drew a deep breath and decided I didn’t want this person to leave me. “There’s a chance, a decent chance. But I don’t know when. Days, weeks, months, never… they can’t tell me. The optic nerve is pretty hearty, but I jumbled it pretty good.”

  “Can you see at all?”

  “A few shadows. But none now. It must have gotten dark on us.”

  “It did. I should go.”

  “Wait. What color are your eyes? It’s hard to talk to the image in my head. With eyes I can picture you.”

  “Blue.”

  “Blue? I wish I could see them. Blue boy, then. Do you live close?”

  “Just down the beach,” he said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Slate” he replied. “Do you need help?”

  “Maybe. But I have a flashlight so my second can find me if I get lost.”

  “That’s clever. “

  “His idea.”

  “What’s a ‘second’?”

  “Second in command of my pack.”

  “So you're still the alpha, even with…”

  “So far, yes. You know about shifters?”

  “A little. I like to read about them.”

  “That’s good. I like to write about them. Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?”

  “Now?”

  “I’m hungry now, but we probably have to wait till we get to my house.” I held my hand out for him to take. I didn’t want to go grabbing at him to find his hand. Well, I did, but I wasn’t going to. Not yet.

  He didn’t even know he was my mate yet, that he was mine forever, and damn, he was sexy.

  5

  I’m not sure why I said yes. Part of it was guilt, but there was more curiosity, and even more excitement when I realized I could ogle him and not get caught.

  A feast for the eyes, and dinner too.

  The weird thing was I was heading to his house when I almost bowled him over o
n the beach. I planned to confess to him and I was probably going to do it. I chickened out when I saw him but only because I expected to have another five minutes of walking to summon the necessary courage.

  Then I totally chickened out and abandoned any hope of coming clean when he confessed he was blind. There was some bitterness in his voice, but not like it should have been. Not like if he knew it was me who was responsible.

  I was going to have dinner with Gavin Ross. My dream come true- just the way I had planned it when I rented a beach house here. Except I didn’t plan hitting him with a jet ski and almost killing him, making him blind and driving his pack away so he would be lonely enough to be nice to me and invite me to eat dinner with him. That wasn’t what I expected to happen at all. Unless I was way more devious and twisted than I realized and all this was part of my long con as a stalker.

  I was really happy he was getting better, or would get better. I would be back to Rowan and my real life when he regained his sight completely. Unless it happened over dinner. But if it did, then I deserved whatever happened next. It was worth the risk of having a dinner that I would always remember, with my favorite writer.

  Who I can stare at without shame since he can’t catch me checking out his muscled arms or peaking at the hint of abs when the wind lifts his shirt, or falling behind his walking pace and ogling his ass.

  And who is also not a huge asshole anymore.

  All it took was me violently taking away one of his five senses.

  “Sorry,” I said, picking up my vibrating phone. Rowan would not stop texting me. I made the mistake of admitting everything to him and telling him I was going to go confess tonight. I wasn’t sure how to let him know everything was cool without having to explain I chickened out and that my total lack of character and utter cowardliness was working out really well for me.