To his surprise, the prospect raised no negative emotions in him—not now that he faced the future squarely and didn’t attempt to hide. There was nothing wrong with a nice, everyday job—a nice, everyday existence. Humble working men were men whom Davis admired. His parents would disagree, of course. His parents would still be disappointed in him, no matter what he did with his life. He’d blown his chance to become the bigshot professional they dreamed he would be, and nothing he did now would ever appease them.
Screw them. I’m my own man—I’ve lived my own life, and I’ve loved the hell out of it.
And he had loved it—all of it. There was nothing in the world that compared to being up on a stage, playing and singing in front of thousands of screaming fans. No thrill he’d ever experienced could compare with that incredible rush—the half-afraid, wildly panicked, glorious madness of performing. Nothing could compare with the view, looking out over a sea of people who all loved you, who all wanted you.
He would miss that life, but he didn’t regret the prospect of letting it go. I lived it—I was the frontman of one of the biggest bands in the world. No one can take that away from me. It’ll be a part of me for as long as I live.
And maybe… maybe settling down into a more average existence would have benefits of its own. Davis was already in his thirties but he had never enjoyed a serious relationship with a woman—not with a good woman, anyway. Christine didn’t count. If he retired from the music business, he might finally get the chance to experience love instead of just lust. Settle down… maybe have a family of his own, someday.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the chilly, salt-soaked morning air, trying to imagine what his future partner might be like. What kind of woman would she be? He pictured fantasy scenes of a nice, normal life—the kind of life a touring rock star didn’t get to enjoy. Waking up in bed next to the warmth of a familiar body, sitting down for morning coffee in the same old chair with the same face across from him, smiling over the rim of her mug. Comforting routines, the simple joy of predictability. He let his imagination wander farther afield. Buying a home with his future bride—a real house, not another condo in the city. Carrying her over the threshold, happy just to feel her arms around her neck and to hear her laughing in his ear. He pictured date nights at the movies, with no need to hide his identity under a ball cap and shades anymore. Honeymoons, anniversaries… he even imagined a couple of little kids tearing open presents on Christmas morning, while he and his dream-wife looked on, average… normal… happy.
But in all his musings, the woman at his side, in his bed, in his arms had Jordan’s shape, her confidence and poise, her deep-brown eyes and long, dark hair. She had Jordan’s voice, Jordan’s laugh, Jordan’s soft sigh of surrender.
Davis’s stomach clenched. A terrible pressure built inside his chest and raised a hard lump in his throat.
I’m okay with losing anything—everything, he told himself. But not her.
Too late. He had screwed it all up, destroyed his last chance with that amazing woman because he just had to seduce her, just had to use her as a crutch for his own ego.
You really are the worst. Jordan’s voice echoed in his head, and Davis, nodding sadly, had to agree.
He opened his eyes and stared out over the water. The realization that he had ruined any chance he’d had with Jordan left a dull ache in his head and chest. Sure, there were probably other girls out there who he could learn to appreciate, and with whom he could even fall in love… eventually. But none of them were like her—intense, focused, the go-getting boss of her world… and so touchingly, enticingly, maddeningly hot behind closed doors, when she turned over all that rigid self-control to Davis. He wasn’t prepared to say he was in love with Jordan. He barely knew her. But the knowledge that he’d never have the chance to fall in love with her—not now, thanks to his dick-head attitude—nearly choked him with regret.
At least the scenery soothed him a little. The rising sun came warmly through the morning mist, revealing the blue-dark, rounded silhouettes of islands through low, white veils of clinging fog. The light moved in ripples of gold across the still, serene water. It really was beautiful out here. Now that Davis allowed himself the time to appreciate the scenery, it filled him with a poignant ache, half bliss, half remorse.
He had only today left, and tomorrow. Then he’d be on a float plane back to Seattle—back to Tyler, who expected Davis to have everything figured out by now. But he didn’t have a damn thing figured out. His life was more a jumble and a mystery than it ever was before. He didn’t know where he was going. And he was okay with that. He had to be okay with it, or else he’d go crazy.
Tyler wouldn’t like Davis’s answer. I don’t know who I am, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next. But it was an honest answer, and Davis knew it was right.
He watched the sun climb a little higher. The great, arching backs of the islands warmed along their upper edges, glowing like polished emeralds against the silvery blue of the sky. The beauty was so intense that he held his breath, feeling his awe like a sharp pain inside him. Jordan had been right: he really had been avoiding this lovely peace for all the days of his voyage—hiding from the solitude, the bigness of the world, all its unknown depths and uncharted coves. But now here he stood, entirely alone, at peace with the quiet and the natural beauty of the world. That unknown future did still worry him… a little… if he was completely honest with himself. But now Davis understood the futility of ignoring those fears, of running from the things he must do.
If I have to watch my life go down in flames anyway, he thought, I wish I’d taken more time to enjoy this trip. I wish I’d spent more time appreciating the beauty in the world, instead of running from it.
Jordan—at least he’d recognized the beauty there. Recognized it all too well—with a stab of despair, Davis realized that Jordan had imprinted herself forever on his soul. There was no going back from the way he felt about her—whatever those feelings might be called. And there was certainly no forgetting her. She was the one beautiful thing he would surely remember from this trip—the one bright spot of loveliness in his life, before its impending slide into the unknown.
Davis sat with his back against the fore mast, watching the world wake up. The mists that shrouded the islands’ edges dissipated, and he could see the intermittent flashes of white foam against dark, rocky shores where gentle waves met walls of stone. Gulls winged overhead, crying softly to one another as they flew. Far from the Coriolis, a pod of some small, dolphin-like creatures which Davis could not identify played in a sparkle of sunlight, their black backs rolling like little wheels along the surface of the water. Except for the ache in his heart where Jordan had made her mark, he felt content—as comfortable as he could with the days to come, the years to come… his life to come.
After an hour of solitude, the hatch opened and Emily exited, yawning and stretching. Storm followed close on her heels.
“I thought you’d still be in your cabin,” Emily said cheerily.
“I’ve been up for a while now,” Davis said. “Just enjoying the view.”
Emily gazed out at the morning, smiling with the fuzzy, half-attention one gives to something totally familiar.
Davis said, “You know, you guys are lucky to live here. Really lucky.”
“You think so?” She turned to him with a grin. “I’ve lived in the San Juans my whole life, and sure, it’s a beautiful place, but I think I’d like to live in a big city. For a couple of years, at least.”
“It’s all just noise and traffic. It’s really losing its appeal for me, I have to admit. Now that I’ve had this down time, a little escape from it all…”
“Now that you’re actually paying attention to the islands instead of just going nuts with your music.” Emily giggled. “Not that I’m complaining. We had some pretty good jam sessions.”
Impulsively, Davis put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze. “Yeah, we did. You and Stor
m ought to start a band of your own.”
“You ought to move up to the islands, since you’ve come to like this place so much.”
Maybe I should. Why not? Tyler would surely drop the Local Youths from Sky Records, and then the cascade of changes would snowball across Davis’s life. Bereft of his music career, he could go anywhere, be anything… even an islander, if he chose.
And if he lived closer to Jordan, then maybe he hadn’t blown his last chance with her, after all. Maybe fate would provide a way for them to start over.
Storm, who had been peering up at the towering foremast with one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, tapped Emily on the shoulder. “Anchor light’s out.”
Emily squinted up the mast, too. After a moment she shook her head. “It is out. Again! That damn thing. I swear I change it at least once a month; the wiring must be screwy.”
“Guess we’d better fix it now. Jordan has a pretty long day planned and it might be getting dark by the time we anchor again.”
“Okay; I’ll go get the bosun’s chair.” Emily pulled up the forward hatch and disappeared into the depths of the Coriolis like a rabbit vanishing into its burrow.
“How are you going to get all the way up there to change a lightbulb?” Davis asked Storm. “That mast has to be sixty feet high! Don’t you need a cherry-picker to get all the way up there?”
“It’s only fifty-six feet high,” Storm said with a crooked smile. “And you’re gonna see how we get up there.”
Emily re-emerged with a strange contraption in her arms. Made of nylon webbing and steel rings, it resembled a cross between a child’s swing and a sky-diver’s harness. She and Storm hooked the thing to a stout line that extended down the length of the mast, then Emily slid her legs through the swing and buckled the harness around her body.
Storm pulled a line from its deck cleat and beckoned to Davis. “Here; you’ll be the backup in case my winch fails.”
Davis backed away nervously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Don’t worry; it’s just a precaution. This line is rigged up on a nice, strong pulley and it’ll hold Emily’s weight just fine if anything goes wrong. You just lean on it a little if I tell you to.”
Davis gripped the line tightly in both fists, already prepared for the worst even though Emily swung gently with her feet no more than six inches from the Coriolis’s deck.
Meanwhile, Storm readied a winch at the base of the mast. “Ready?”
Emily gave a thumbs-up, and Storm cranked the winch. It ratcheted loudly, raising Emily into the air. She wiggled her toes as she ascended, bouncing herself gently against the wooden mast, utterly unconcerned by the feat.
“Holy crap,” Davis said. “She makes it look so easy.”
“It is!” Storm cranked the winch for a few moments more, than called up to Emily, “All set?”
Emily shouted a yes, then set to work at the top of the mast. Davis tried to imagine the view from nearly sixty feet above the water’s surface. It made him distinctly dizzy, to see Emily so small and dark against the sky, but it filled him with excitement, too.
“What’s up?” Jordan’s voice close at hand made Davis jump and turn guiltily, but she seemed coolly unconcerned with his presence. She, too, watched Emily at work on the mast, and Davis allowed his gaze to flick over her smooth, confident face, her soft mouth, the pale skin of her neck. Then he swallowed hard and returned his attention to Emily.
“Anchor light’s out again,” Storm said as he locked Emily’s line into a cleat.
Jordan sighed. “I’ve got to get Uncle Ted to look at the wiring again. That light should really last longer than it does.”
“All set,” Emily called. Her voice sounded tiny and faint from that great distance.
Storm uncleated the line and eased Emily back down the mast.
When her feet touched the deck again, she caught Davis’s avid stare and grinned. “Want to try it?” Then she turned to Jordan with a pleading look.
“I don’t know,” Jordan said.
“Oh, we’ll be really careful with him. Won’t we, Storm?”
“You bet.”
Jordan’s face went stony; Davis was certain she would refuse. But then she muttered, “Why not? It won’t be the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done.” She told her crew in a commanding voice, “As long as you’re careful. And you,” she added to Davis, looking him squarely in the eye for the first time since their last tangle in the cabin. “No screwing around up there.”
Emily whooped with joy while Storm showed Davis how to strap himself into the sling. Davis still wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to do something this crazy, but it seemed the crew had made the decision for him. His stomach was a knot of nerves by the time Storm began to crank the winch. The bosun’s chair pulled taut around his body, then lifted him smoothly off his feet.
When the deck of the Coriolis fell away beneath him, Davis felt possessed by a sweeping fear unlike any he’d known before. He stared down at the boat as it pulled away from him—as it, and the three people who watched him, shrank to the size of toys. He felt completely out of control, barely even capable of breathing. Nothing had ever intimidated him so much—not even his first concert. The mast swayed even more than the boat’s deck did, like a tree rocked by a wind storm, although the morning was perfectly calm. Davis’s fingers were locked tight around the straps of the harness. But when he tore his eyes from the deck far below and gazed out over the islands, his fear turned to an incredible, soaring elation.
Nothing in his life had ever looked so beautiful, so inspiring. He came to rest at the top of the mast and gazed around, awe-struck. The water was like a blue-gray mirror, smooth, bright, and reflective. From this vantage he could see far more islands than he’d glimpsed from the deck of the boat—there were dozens of them, maybe hundreds, if you counted the little mossy rocks scattered along the shores of their larger kin. The sea was like a silvery path curving and wandering between whole ranges of enchanted green mountains. The world itself seemed to unroll around him, and no matter what direction he looked, he saw beauty, inspiration, possibility. A hundred different futures lay along those mystical paths, waiting for him to seek them out, to choose who he would become. And each potential life was as breathtaking as the islands that clustered darkly in the glittering water.
Before he knew what he was doing, Davis whooped and pumped a fist in the air. He could hear Storm and Emily laughing and cheering far below. Then, giving in to his natural, instinctive desire for thrills on top of thrills, he began to sway with the boat’s gentle rocking. He didn’t really understand what he was doing—he was simply carried away by exhilaration, by the joy of knowing that even if he didn’t know just what his future would be yet—even if he didn’t know exactly what he’d tell Tyler when he got home—he did have a future out there somewhere, waiting for him. And it was going to be amazing.
His weight at the end of the mast was like a pendulum; the swaying magnified until the boat below him swung heavily side to side on its wide, pale ribs.
“Whoa,” Storm called up from the deck. “Take it easy, Davis!”
Davis caught himself against the mast and noticed with a dizzy lurch just how much the boat was rocking. Vigorous ripples emanated out from its sides, and Jordan and Emily crouched down, holding tight to the stanchions. As the mast sailed through the arc of its swing again, one of the rigging lines smacked Davis painfully in the face. The sting of the impact made him gasp. And all at once he was aware of a humming sound, the lines of the rigging vibrating all around him, quivering with tension and movement. The booms and gaffs below him swung hard against their ties.
Storm began to lower him back to the deck. He came down faster than he’d gone up—captain’s orders, Davis suspected. And long before he touched down, he could tell his suspicion was correct. Jordan’s face was red; she made no attempt now to hide her fury.
“What was that all about?” she snapped. “I said no screwing around.”
“I’m sorry,” Davis said as Emily helped him out of the bosun’s chair. “It was just—”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it! You don’t listen, Davis! You’re so stuffed inside your own damn head that you don’t stop and think about anybody else—what you’re doing to anybody else!”
Storm placed a gentle hand on Jordan’s shoulder, and Emily said quietly, “Okay, captain. I think he gets it.”
Jordan rounded on Emily. “He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get a damn thing.” Then she stomped away down the Coriolis’s deck and disappeared into its cabin. As she ducked through the hatch, Davis was sure he saw the glint of tears in her eyes.
Face hot with embarrassment, Davis turned to the crew with a look of chagrin. Emily and Storm seemed startled by the vehemence of Jordan’s anger, but Davis accepted the ass-chewing with the best grace he could muster. He knew Jordan’s feelings had little to do with his foolish behavior in the bosun’s chair. This was about much more—about everything that had passed between them during those few precious hours when they’d been alone.
“Wow,” Emily said quietly. “Davis, I’m so sorry. She’s not usually like that.”
Storm nodded thoughtfully, staring at the hatch where Jordan had vanished. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, but this definitely isn’t the captain we know and love.”
“It’s okay, guys.” Davis tried to smile, but it slid off his face like melted butter. “I… I understand. Let’s all just let it go. I’ve finally realized how great these islands are, and I want to enjoy them while I’ve still got a little time left here on the boat.”
Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology Page 108