by M. L. Guida
He closed his fists in the duster’s deep pockets, his boots crunching the packed, crusted ice. Wind blew snow around him, and he shivered and swayed. He shouldn’t have drank so much wine, but he didn’t want to go back inside. He followed the same road Jacob had stomped down the day he died. For the millionth time, the fight replayed in Jayden’s head, the damn booze failing to block out those cruel words.
“Where the hell have you been?” Jayden asked as Jacob stumbled into the cabin. His face was drawn and his eyes looked tired—he was strung out again.
“I was out with a friend. Who are you? My jailer?”
Jayden folded his arms over his chest. “You were out getting high again.”
Jacob shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. I was out with my sponsor. I needed to talk to him.”
“Ever since Dad died, you’ve been using every day. You’re supposed to be the perfect son. The one who could do no wrong!”
“Jayden, that’s not true. Dad—”
“Shut up, shut the fuck up. You’re a liar. Don’t you think I don’t know when you’re tweaking?”
“Jay, I swear I’m clean.” Jacob’s eyes darted around the room. He fiddled with the cross hanging from a choker around his neck—a sure sign he was hiding something. “I haven’t smoked meth for three months. Look.” He rolled up his sleeves, and for once, the small red scabs on his forearms had started to heal.
Why couldn’t he have given Jacob some credit? But based on his shifty eyes, Jayden couldn’t see the changes, refused to see the changes. All he saw was Jacob’s once white, movie star teeth turned in to a zombie’s brown-stained, toothless grin. Jacob had been too high to care about his mother’s grief over losing her husband, never admitting his own pain.
Hate and envy, had transformed Jayden into his father, Frank Skye. The man he swore he’d never be. “You’re a liar and a thief. You’re going to take that one last high and end up another dead tweaker in the county morgue.”
Those were the last words Jayden had ever said to his brother. They haunted him. Woke him in the middle of the night. Kept him from eating. He couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t sing. And damn well couldn’t celebrate the holidays.
He still remembered Jacob’s face and the hurt glistening in his blue eyes. “Please believe me,” he’d whispered, begging Jayden.
God, Jayden wished he’d said he did. Instead, he’d shaken his head. Too many times Jayden had trusted his twin, only to bathe in disappointment. Jacob had bowed his head, his long brown hair shielding his face and his shoulders slumped. Jayden hadn’t been sure, but he’d thought Jacob might have been crying. Jacob had simply turned and walked out the door, heading toward the road to Rainbow Lake, never to return.
Jayden wished he’d gone after him or gotten him to stay. But he hadn’t.
Two-tons of regret weighed on Jayden’s shoulders. How could he say such a thing to his only sibling? They’d been best friends since they were born. They’d supported each other during their father’s many tyrants, believed in one another’s dreams. True, Jacob had been an addict. But he’d needed help, not for his brother to act as his prosecutor and jailer.
Jayden needed another drink. He should have filled a wineskin to block out his mother’s kind words. She meant well, always trying to tell him it wasn’t his fault that Jacob was dead. But when Jayden looked into her tear-filled eyes, he always questioned whether she meant it. She’d never blamed him. But he did. Damn, he should have at least taken a beer. Liquor would kill the guilt churning in his gut.
Hell, he was a damn hypocrite. Like tonight—how many times had he gotten drunk? Been too wasted to know who he was sleeping with, where he was sleeping. He’d awakened too many times in a strange place and before the girl snuggled next to him woke, he’d slipped out of the covers, grabbed his clothes, and skulked out into the night like a coward, too afraid to commit. What the hell was he afraid of?
The frozen path headed up-hill, and he passed a familiar sign that said Rainbow Lake. He slipped on the ice and landed on his knee. Pain smacked him, sobering him. But he didn’t care. He stumbled to his feet and headed up the trail that he and Jacob used to hike.
Jacob had loved Rainbow Lake. He’d said it gave him peace, grounded him. If he were to rise from his grave, Rainbow Lake would be where he would go. The lake would be frozen over now, and Jayden wanted to sit on the bench next to the lake, sober up, and think. Say good-bye to his brother. Apologize.
Swirling snow picked up, and the wind howled around him. His vision blurred. He couldn’t see three feet in front of him, yet he’d hike up to the lake, even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees. But before he hiked up there, he walked over to the ledge to see where Jacob had died.
Jayden shook his head. The damn ledge wasn’t even that steep. Snow blinded him, but he knew a trail wove down between pines and aspen to an open meadow and then a bike trail.
Jacob had stood on the same edge to look at the town of Frisco below. He’d done it a dozen times. How the hell could he have fallen and died here? The coroner had said Jacob had hit his head on a rock, been knocked unconscious, and bled to death. If Jayden had gone after him, Jacob would be alive.
To make matters worse, there hadn’t been any drugs found in Jacob’s bloodstream. He’d been clean.
Jayden wiped a tear off his cheek. “Damn it!” He reached for his choker and the Celtic cross that lay on his chest. The choker had been Jacob’s, and Jayden hadn’t taken it off since the funeral. When he touched it, he felt Jacob around him, and it gave him strength. Hell, it might have been his imagination, but it was one thing he’d used to get through Jacob’s death.
The sun set behind the mountain, and gray clouds gathered overhead. Dusk blanketed the area. He should turn around, head back to the cabin, and hike up to Rainbow in the morning when he was sober. But he couldn’t return to the cabin. Not now. Not until he made peace with Jacob.
The wind bellowed, blasting icy flakes into his face, blinding him. Jayden flipped the collar of his jacket up. He should have worn a hat.
Frisco’s white lights glowed in the swirling snow. Tomorrow night, he and his band, Nightmare, had a gig at the Mountain Bar and Grill. He should have gone to practice tonight, burying his sorrow in the music, but he had faked a migraine. His manager and best friend, Desmond Carver, had yelled at him over the phone to get his ass down there, and Jayden had hung up on him. Friends since elementary school Desmond knew Jayden too well, knew when he was lying.
He sighed and inhaled, expecting to smell pine and crushed leaves. But a swell of spicy and minty aftershave rushed around him, the same kind his brother wore. Or used to wear. “Jacob?”
Had to be the wine.
A large gust swirled snow around Jayden, blinding him. He lost his balance, and bits of snow crumbled down the hill. He wove in a circle, unable to make out what direction he was facing, thanks to the buzz in his head. He grabbed for a tree branch to steady himself, but missed. His boot slid on ice. He stumbled forward, tripped over a gnarled tree root, and somersaulted down the ledge.
His vision clouded, then swirled as he careened down the rocky hill in an out of control barrel roll.
He slammed against something, and agony rocketed through his upper body, stealing his breath and squashing his lungs. He coughed and spurted blood onto his chest. A long thin tree branch poked through his duster jacket like a sword. Pain pulsed through him. When he tried to exhale, he hissed. The metallic taste of blood slid inside his mouth. He put his shaking hands on the branch and pulled. He screamed, spraying crimson onto his cheeks.
He moved and slid back farther on the tree branch. Shit!
He had to be trapped in some delusional drunken dream. He couldn’t be dying.
But he felt the new sensation of fading. There was the horrible tickling of his scalp, a platoon of invisible spiders crawling up his spine and over his head. His chest pinched and his throat tightened. Dizziness swept over him, and he couldn’t focus.
Don’t pass out.
Numbness snaked through his body, and he closed his eyes. Should have hiked here tomorrow rather than at dusk.
Jacob appeared. Jayden must be drunker than he thought. He shook his head. Jacob was so real. So God damned real. Gone was the vacant look, instead, Jacob’s blue eyes were bright, his long brown hair clean, his face tan and warm. He no longer had the flaccid body of a tweaker, but the body of a running back. Jacob had been the fastest running back in high school. He hadn’t looked that healthy in years.
Jacob shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes. Jayden never cried. Not when Dad had died in the hospital. Not even at Dad’s funeral. Jacob was the one who’d broken the cardinal rule and cried like a pussy.
Jayden tried to speak, but words only gurgled out. Was he dying? Was this why Jacob was here? “Jacob?” he croaked and reached out a trembling hand.
His brother turned and disappeared into the snowstorm. Abandoning him. Again.
Jayden yelled his brother’s name, and blood and snow swirled in his mouth. Footsteps crunched in the snow. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether he was still dreaming, but something moved through the flakes. He stiffened. It was smaller than Jacob. Was it a bear, mountain lion, or coyote?
Whatever it was, it walked on two legs and wasn’t an animal. A black-hooded figure stood in front of him, looking like a monk from an old movie. Wind beat at the black cloak rippling it, but the hood shielded the face.
Slender fingers pushed back the hood, and a cascade of brown curls swirled in the wind. Weirdest monk he’d ever seen.
“Help me,” he gagged.
The reaper knelt next to him and violet eyes peered at him. “You’re dying.”
He was surprised at the feminine voice and a hint of an Irish accent.
“No,” he coughed. “Don’t let me die…Please.” He lifted his hand.
She clasped it, and his bones cracked. The woman was strong, damn strong.
She leaned closer. Wow. He was gazing at a sexy Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Beautiful. Tempting. Exotic. With her angelic face, red lips, and an upturned nose, he wished he had the strength to kiss her. Insane dying wish.
“Do you want to live?”
Her husky voice caught his attention. Why was she asking that question? Of course, he wanted to live. He thought he whispered yes, but wasn’t sure.
“I can’t give you a mortal life, but I can give you an immortal one.”
Great, a crazy woman was his rescuer. Just his luck. She opened her mouth, revealing sharp fangs. Didn’t the woman know Halloween was over? “Wrong holiday, lady.”
“I need an answer,” she urged.
His strength faded, and his eyes fluttered shut. His breath squeezed in and out of his lungs, and he was cold. So damn cold.
Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled. His flesh tore on the jagged branch. Agony rushed through him, and his scream died on his lips. The woman cradled him in her lap. Wind howled. He wanted to breathe, but couldn’t inhale.
Something wet was pushed against his lips. “Drink.”
He woke to stare into mesmerizing violet eyes.
“I said drink.”
He opened his mouth. Warm liquid trickled in, tasting metallic but sweet. Soft fingers pushed back his hair.
“That’s it, my love, drink.”
My love? Was she some nutty fan? His stomach roared. It was as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks and wanted more. He sucked harder and harder.
“Stop,” she said.
He didn’t want to stop and sucked again, not wanting to give up the nectar. She ripped her hand out of his mouth, robbing him of the sweet ambrosia. Crimson dripped from a cut on her wrist, sliding down her arm and staining the white ground. He froze. Oh crap, he’d been sucking the crazy woman’s blood.
An uncontrollable tremor seized his body—like a vibrating guitar string—starting with his toes and ending with his head.
His teeth chattered violently. He bit his tongue and winced, swallowing metallic.
His back arched, and each of his limbs shot straight out as if being yanked by ropes.
Vision blurred.
Thoughts fled.
Blinding pain pulsed through him. Stop. Make the torture end. Suddenly, the convulsions ceased. But his body wasn’t done, not done by a long shot.
He hacked up blood, the night’s chili dinner, and God knew what else. He inhaled, and his stomach revolted. The stench was worse than the rotting deer carcass Jacob and he had found the last time they went hunting.
Misery shot through his back. Each time he gasped for breath, wretchedness swept through him, tiny needles stabbing his skin. Knives tore up his insides as if a psycho killer repeatedly sliced and minced his organs into bite-size pieces of flesh.
“This will pass,” she said.
Pass? God, he was dying, and all she could do was watch the horror flick.
“Jacob? Where are you?” He didn’t know whether he said the words or thought them.
Sweat broke out across his body. Volcanic heat rushed through him, and despite the bitter cold, he wanted to rip off his clothes. He rolled onto his gut and tried to push himself up on his hands and knees and crawl away from the crazy bitch. Head back home.
His arms shook, and he collapsed. His strength was gone. He was a dead man.
Jayden woke to a ravenous hunger. His head pounded, and he put his hand on his forehead. His tongue was bloated, and dryness swelled in his mouth like he’d sucked down a mouthful of sand. Wine had never left this kind of hangover.
A strange dream teased at the edges of his mind. All he could remember was a woman’s sweet face. He’d seen that face once before. When he tried to remember, the biggest pounding headache slammed into his temples like a battering ram. He slowly rubbed his temples. Despite the pain, he could get lost in those shimmering, violet, cat eyes. God, she had been beautiful, enchanting.
He moved his leg, expecting he’d caress a slumbering, curvy body. But he was alone. Had she come home with him then left already?
He rubbed his forehead, trying to recall anything else from last night. Glimpses of Jacob, the woman, and blowing snow flashed in his mind, but he couldn’t fit the pieces into the puzzle. One was missing. Something important. Think. He must have taken wasted to a whole new idiot level.
Hell, he didn’t even remember coming back from the lake and getting shit-faced with Desmond, making out with the woman, then climbing into bed naked. But it must have happened. Only thing that made sense.
He opened and shut his mouth. He licked his dry lips and was surprised he didn’t taste bitter medicine. After a night of drinking, his mouth always felt like he’d swallowed a bottle of Nyquil. He lowered his hand and groaned. A bottle of orange juice would ease the upheaval in his gut.
Hoping the room wouldn’t spin like an out-of-control merry-go-round, he opened his eyes.
Gone was his stark, white-walled room and king-sized bed. Instead, he lay in a bed with a lacy red canopy over him. Light pink walls surrounded him. Heavy crimson drapes covered tall windows. On a nightstand, a gas lamp cast a low glow in the room. Where the hell was he?
A woman sat on cloth bench in front of an oak vanity dresser, combing brown hair that ran down to her ass. She had the same color hair of the enchantress in his dream, but he needed to see her eyes. He struggled to remember her name. Shit. Maybe, if he saw her face, he might remember. Or at least he hoped he would.
He glanced in the tri-fold mirror and froze. Chills traveled up his spine and down his naked arms. He couldn’t see her in the mirror.
Maybe he was still wasted. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger. And refused to look into the mirror again.
She stopped combing her hair and turned around.
“Good mornin’ to ye.”
The hint of an Irish timbre rolled over her greeting. He dropped his hand. He was drawn into those words as if he’d been a soldier lost at war and came home. He’d heard that
voice before, but where? Something about a woman being chased. She was in pain. Violet eyes…Right when he thought he’d remember, agony thumped into his head.
The woman had the same mesmerizing violet eyes. Was she the siren from last night, the same woman being chased? Who had she been running from? There was something surreal about her, something familiar. Another sharp pain stabbed him, and he winced. This was so damn frustrating to not know what happened. He was too hung over to figure out why he had this creepy feeling. Her warm smile did nothing to reassure him.
“I’ve met you before, haven’t I?” It was more a statement than a question.
“You actually remember meeting me?”
Crap. He waited for the petrified silence, the flash of anger, and the blizzard of foul names.
Instead, the woman flashed him a warm smile. “I’m Eleanor Baines.”
Why wasn’t she pissed? They’d slept together, and he didn’t think he’d been so wasted he couldn’t get his cock up. In fact with her curvy body, his cock was hungry for another romp.
“What do you remember from last night?” Her voice was too sugary, too warm.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood straight, flashing him a warning to get out. Get out now.
Lie or truth. “I just remember your beautiful face.”
She arched her eyebrow.
Not buying it. Now for the accusations. The familiar order to get out of her bed, out of her home, out of her life.
“Is that all you remember? My face?”
Shit. He was too tired to play these games. He shrugged and leaned his head back on the headboard. “Last night was a blur. But you didn’t answer my question—have we met before?”
She smirked as if she knew a secret he shouldn’t have forgotten. “We ran into each other.”
He frowned. Flashes smashed into his mind. His throbbing headache went nuclear, and he clutched the sheets, forcing himself to ignore it. Some kid had been chasing her with a knife. He’d knocked the kid out. Carried her. Soft and yielding in his arms. As the memory faded so did the pain. Jayden took a deep breath. “Why had that kid stabbed you?”