Twisting the dials, I let the water heat up and turned my attention toward the mirror.
Free from my father’s conservative views and with money to spare, I’d wasted no time decorating my body with piercings and tattoos. I was covered in various inked designs from my neck to torso, and from hip to ankle.
I knew I looked like everything my father resented in today’s youth, and there was a deep sick satisfaction in knowing that. I wondered if it pissed him off that despite my appearance—I was successful at what I did. More successful than either of us could have predicted.
Steam gathered on the mirror, and I tugged my clothes off before stepping beneath the steady stream, hot water sluicing down my body.
Twenty minutes later, I joined my parents in the kitchen. The tension rose the moment I entered the room, climbing higher as I strolled over to the counter and grabbed a mug. I didn’t have to look at my father to feel the power of his glare against my back.
The room was terse with unspoken words. Words held back, but still felt in the air. It was the silent language of the Jacobs men.
“Good morning, Calum,” Mom said, sending me a warm smile, working double time to ease the tension. The new creases around her eyes gave away how tired she was. “Are you hungry? I set aside a plate for you in the microwave.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, nodding before my eyes flitted to Dad. He was scowling at me, all right. Ignoring him, I turned and poured coffee into the mug, dumping two scoops of sugar in before grabbing my plate from the microwave and crossing over to the table.
I set my plate down, tugging the chair out before sitting down across from them both.
My gaze caught Dad’s, and he grunted, standing abruptly from the table. He grabbed his plate, depositing it on the other side of the counter before disappearing out the front door, likely headed to his shop in the detached garage.
“Let me guess; you told him not to speak if he couldn’t be civil?” I asked, cocking a brow and taking a sip of coffee like it didn’t burn and sting all at once.
Mom turned to look at me and sighed, her lips pulling into a sad smile. “Admitting he was wrong is hard for your father. The two of you are so alike.”
A heavy sigh escaped, and I nodded. Placing the mug down, I rubbed my left hand over the stubble on my jaw. “If me staying here is a problem for him, I can get a hotel room, Mom.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she said, shaking her head. “This is the perfect opportunity for you two to resolve your issues.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” I sighed. Catching her crestfallen expression, I leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Ma. It’s just…I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“You’ve made a lot of choices that your father doesn’t agree with, and the two of you have never seen eye-to-eye, but you both have to find a way to put that behind you. We’re a family, Calum, no matter how many mistakes we make or how many miles you put between us.”
The catch in her voice struck home, and I exhaled slowly. She was right. Gramps had been saying it for years, and it took him dying before I finally listened.
“All he’s ever going to see when he looks at me is disappointment.”
“That’s not true,” she insisted, shaking her head animatedly. Her hand reached out, clasping mine. I looked down at my knuckle, at the letters tattooed on each finger that spelled never. My other hand had more tattooed, with the skull of a crow on my pinky. She followed my gaze, her hand lightly squeezing mine.
I’d gotten it a week after my old man busted my lip when I told him I was leaving with the band. I suppose I deserved it.
Money was tight for my parents, and they’d taken a second mortgage out on the house to pay for my tuition. I had pulled the rug completely out from under his feet, and I’d been arrogant in my delivery of my plan, in my assurance that all would be good because I was chasing my dreams.
But Dad was stubborn, and he hadn’t wanted to hear about the opportunity we’d gotten to open for Kill Bark’s state-side tour, that I’d be able to pay him back. It pissed me off that he never believed in me, so I picked a fight, pushed every button I knew would set him off, and he punched me.
We’d come close to tossing fists before, but it had never happened. Not until that night.
I’d been punched several times before that, the impact of his fist on my face was less shocking than his look of horror when he realized what he’d done; what I’d pushed him to do.
I was pressing buttons, verbally expressing my disdain, shooting my mouth off because I thought I knew best. I got into his space and didn’t back down when he tried to intimidate me. It was my fault as much as it was his, because in that moment; I’d wanted him to snap, I’d wanted him to hit me so I would have a justifiable reason for leaving.
Clearing my throat, I pulled my hand away and picked up my mug. “Well, it feels true,” I remarked, tilting my head in the direction he disappeared. “But enough about that. How are you feeling, Mom?”
Mom swallowed, nodding to acknowledge my need to change the subject. She forced a smile, the corners of her lips tight. “I’ll be okay. I miss him, and it hurts, but I know I’ll be okay. It’s not the first time I’ve had to do this. At least he’s with Mam now.”
An hour later, I’d talked Connor into leaving the house, giving me enough time to stop in and pick up my suit. Tai had called in with my measurements shortly after I boarded the plane so I’d have something to wear to the visitation and funeral.
I ran in and picked both suits up, laying them carefully in the trunk of my rented Porsche Boxster, before heading to the best seafood restaurant in town. We used to go there every Sunday for lunch with Gramps and Nan, and later…just Gramps.
Being there without him was harder than I thought it’d be but going anywhere else—especially today—didn’t feel right.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Connor asked, not looking up from her plate. Seafood was my sister’s favourite, but she only picked at the lobster on her plate. Being here was hard for her too, and thoughts of the visitation likely affected her appetite as much as they affected mine.
In hindsight, lunch was probably a bad idea, but I’d needed to get away from the house for a bit. Home for six hours, and already I was anxious to escape, to do something with the restless energy building up inside of my chest.
“Yeah, sure. Fire away,” I replied, the picture of calm as I leaned back in the chair and waited.
“What did your letter from Gramps say?”
I considered her for a moment. “He wants me to talk to Harper.”
My sister’s lips curved in a small smile. She was young when Harper and I were together, but she remembered her. Harper was hard to forget, and she’d joined the Sunday lunches with Gramps, Mom, Connor, and me a few weeks after we started seeing each other. She was the first—and only—girl I’d wanted to bring around Gramps.
Gramps, like the rest of my family, had been just as smitten with Harper as I’d been. She even had Dad’s stamp of approval—a pretty girl with intelligence and drive, one who had steady plans for her future. One that made me think about and constantly question mine.
Moisture gathering in her eyes, the ache of missing him apparent in her irises. “Are you going to do it? Talk to Harper, I mean?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, my brow furrowed, and my gaze went to the window across from us. It overlooked the water and gray skies above it. Ignoring the gawking stares coming from the patrons who’d recognized me, I turned back to my sister. “Gramps has been telling me to talk to her for years.”
Connor nodded, her eyes reflective. “I think you should.”
“Do you now?” The corner of my lip twitched with dark amusement.
“I do,” she repeated, her eyes holding mine. “You were different with her. Not so…aimless.”
“I know.” I could have made some flippant remark, could have shrugged off her assessment of me and slid the mask in place, but I didn’t have the ene
rgy, and I wasn’t one to lie to loved ones. Disappear without a word, sure, but I couldn’t look someone I cared about in the eyes and lie to them. I pushed her foot with mine. “What did yours say?”
“He had no complaints of me,” she teased, smiling lightly, her eyes dropping to her untouched plate. I chuckled, knowing that she wasn’t being entirely honest. But I wasn’t about to pry; Connor would talk when she was ready.
“Doesn’t surprise me, Miss Perfect,” I replied before chugging back the remainder of my beer. Connor gave me an unimpressed, pointed look.
“Guess I’m driving home?”
“Guess you are,” I replied, leaning so I could grab my wallet from my back pocket. I tossed down more than enough to cover our bill and a generous tip before we stood.
“Seriously?” she squeaked, catching the keys I tossed at her.
“You’ve got your license, right?” She nodded eagerly, dancing in place, her eyes bright with excitement. “Go for it, then.”
“You’re sure about this?” she asked again, just as I went to open the passenger door. Levelling a look at her, I arched my brows.
“It’s a rental, Con.”
“So? You still have to pay for any damage,” she shifted from one foot to the other, still eyeing the car wistfully.
“Don’t hit anything then,” I shrugged, sliding into the passenger seat and tugging the door shut behind me.
Connor slid in behind the wheel, her eyes wide with excitement and apprehension. As the engine rumbled to life, she ran her hands over the steering wheel affectionately, and tossed me a barely contained smile. “Buckle up!”
She rechecked the mirrors, and her foot hit the gas pedal, pulling abruptly from the spot. Driving it a touch too fast, her laughs echoing as her hair wiped around her face. I grinned, gripping the holy shit bar in jest—although I wasn’t worried. Even when Connor let loose, she was the most in control person I knew.
Harper
We need to think about drumming up more interest before the heavy tourist season begins,” I informed Ellery, not looking up from the notebook in front of me. I felt, rather than saw, her nod thoughtfully.
“What are you thinking?”
I chewed on my lip. “We did so well with the kids’ camp days. Maybe we should do one over the summer.” I mused. This year’s interest for our March break day camp program had been staggering, but it was a program geared to the younger kids. I glanced over to Shelly—who was stocking the new arrival table—a new idea taking shape. “Maybe we should aim towards young adult readers? We’ve got some great indie dystopian novels. We could do a summer reading challenge. We’d have to find sponsors for prizes, but I’m sure I could make that happen.”
“You’re a genius, my friend,” Ellery proclaimed, blowing me a kiss. I shook my head, rolling my eyes.
“You just keep doing what you’re doing, because the café part of this venture is thriving,” I replied, glancing over to her section. Ellery’s delicious treats and top of the line coffee drew the customers in, and from there they’d venture down aisle upon aisle of bookshelves and tables.
Since our opening two years prior, we’d had a steady flow of business between the locals and the busy tourist season.
We stocked traditional books as well as independent titles, and we catered to every reader. There were plenty of cozy reading areas for customers, and our kid zone was a popular hangout spot for little ones.
I worked with the local high school to make our day camp programs happen, offering volunteer positions to students who were looking to get their volunteer hours. They watched the kids and helped with crafts, and they would spend lunchtime in the café. Parents happily paid the package fee, which I put into more reading programs for the local schools.
This venture had been a terrifying leap of faith, and yet somehow…we were doing well. I’d managed to payback my dad for the personal loan I took out when I purchased the building with Ellery. It was the first year that we were finally in the green, which allowed me the opportunity to experiment with all the new ideas churning around inside of me.
“Ellery! We’re out of scones!” We both looked up at Holly’s frantic shout. Seeing a line of three forming behind a disgruntled looking customer, Ellery pushed away from the counter.
“Well, duty calls,” she winked, heading back to the café portion of Books and Brews to help.
Chuckling, I went back to checking inventory, seeing which novels I needed to reorder, and going through the electronic list of suggestions customers had submitted. I tucked my hair behind my ear, biting my lip in concentration.
The bell over the door chimed, and I looked up. All the colour drained from my face and everything came to an abrupt halt—my heart, my breathing, time itself—as Calum Jacobs’ bright blue eyes zeroed in on me.
I drew in a breath, and my heart resumed beating in spite of itself. Eyes narrowing, I watched him linger by the door.
Steeling myself, I tilted my chin up as he approached. Each step did things to my pulse, and the mischievous grin I’d fallen so hard for hit me like a freight train. It was the grin I saw every day in the son we shared.
The son he had no clue about.
I swallowed hard, working to keep my body from trembling. He left. I thought desperately, needing the reminder. I shouldn’t be feeling guilty, and I definitely shouldn’t be having this amorous reaction to the man that had obliterated my heart and left without saying goodbye.
But I could feel the electrical charges in the air between us, like the barometric pressure change before a storm, and I was powerless against it. I was simply a causality of the storm that was Calum Jacobs.
Here’s the thing about storms; when they end, the silence is often deafening.
“Harper.” His voice was exactly how I remembered it, and my skin erupted in goosebumps. The black Henley he wore beneath his opened leather jacket stretched across his chest when he drew in a breath.
I inhaled, too, drawing in his scent. An unfamiliar cologne laced with notes of birch and black currant, bergamot, and pineapple invaded my senses. The cocktail made it impossible to think, to separate all the thoughts swirling around in my head. It was new, and it was familiar at all once.
“What—” I cut myself off, irritated that I sounded as breathless as I felt. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “What are you doing here?”
“Gramps passed away. I’m in town for the funeral.”
I blinked, sorrow settling in along with the news. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
The sadness in his eyes painted them a deeper bluish hue that made my heart soften, temporarily drowning out the tiny voice inside my subconscious mind that protested loudly, reminding me of his betrayal.
“Yeah.” Calum nodded, his brow creasing. I could tell by the tension in his jaw that he was struggling to find words. I’d seen that same look a million times when we were together.
It was harder than I thought it’d be to hold his gaze, and my hands trembled from the effort as we stood silent, staring at each other for several long beats. I needed his words—whatever they were, and I needed them to come from him.
Calum thrived in lighthearted conversations and situations, but the moment things became complicated, he shut down. It had happened many times throughout our relationship, and it was usually after he’d had a fight with his father.
He was struggling now, but so was I. There was so much that needed to be said between us, and it seemed that neither one of us could find our voice—nor could we pull our gazes away from one another.
Calum had always sucked the very oxygen out of the room, and I was dismayed to see that hadn’t changed. I still felt breathless, starved of oxygen. Beneath that, I was spitting mad and confused. The deep sadness in his irises made me hurt for him; and I didn’t want to hurt for him.
I tried not to notice how kind the years had been to him. His features had sharpened with age, and he seemed to loom even taller over me. He’d always been lean and f
it in our late teens, too, but he had packed on maybe twenty more pounds of sheer muscle.
The tousled dark hair I used to grip had been buzzed short on the sides and left longer on top, styled back with gel, and the tattoos peeking out from his shirt collar were beautiful and artistic, but still a strange sight for me. I’d known from watching music award shows that the rest of his body was decorated in ink and metal. It added to his rock star appeal, but it was still odd to see on him.
My assessment complete, I swallowed hard and returned my gaze to his face, finding him still watching me with an odd brightness in his eyes. He smiled, leaning forward and gripping the counter.
I followed the movement, needing respite from the confusing electricity thrumming through my traitorous body, but that didn’t end up helping. The letters inked across his knuckles stood out boldly against the alabaster counter. The Poe reference stroked the embers of my bookish heart. I stubbornly pursed my lips, raising my eyes to his again.
He was still appraising me; this time dedicatedly and cautiously. I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw when he looked at me.
My heart stuttered in my chest at the thought, and I exhaled sharply in frustration. It wasn’t fair, the effect he still had on me; the unrelenting grip, and it was almost easy to forget the years.
It didn’t matter what he saw when he looked at me, because all I saw when I looked at him were those years. The lost ones. The way he left. The way I felt when I realized he was gone.
My lungs felt tight, and my eyes burned. I had years of pent up frustration to lob at him, and the guilt I was contending with was making it hard to focus on the hurt still embedded in my heart. But I couldn’t do that to him. I knew how much his grandfather had meant to him.
“What are you doing here, though?” I asked, my voice an octave above a whisper. Somehow, he heard.
Off Beat (Forgotten Flounders Series Book 1) Page 5