Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  I press play on the next voicemail and a rush of adrenaline goes through me. My heart swells in my chest at the same time. I close my eyes and bring the phone to my ear. No one has ever made me feel this much.

  “I dreamed that I died,” Sierra starts, voice flat and void of emotion, “and when I woke up, I was disappointed. What the hell is wrong with me? I want to live but I feel guilty for wanting that. I try to think what you would say, but if you were here to give me advice, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I know what’s right isn’t easy, and what’s easy isn’t always right. But right now…right now I feel like I have nothing left inside of me.”

  Her words hurt and I feel a maddening desperation to make everything better. I play the next messages, pulse racing. Eventually, I’ll get to a message where she says she’s okay. That’s she’s moved on and is enjoying her life again.

  But—fuck—I know she’s still struggling. Still hurting. And I hate it.

  “Your voicemail changed,” she starts, and this time she’s trying not to cry. “I knew it would happen, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. It still feels familiar to dial your number though.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I went to the hardware store and got stuff to work on the garden today. I drew out a plot of how I want it to look and everything. Now I just need the motivation to actually do it.”

  Lacking all self-control, I play the next message. “Mrs. Williams fell today. She sprained her wrist and is all bruised up, but she’ll be okay. Her son called me from the hospital. I wanted to go, but the thought of walking through those doors…I haven’t been there since…since…and I couldn’t do it. I feel bad. She said she understood though. And I’m working the rest of the week so she doesn’t have to come in.”

  I exit out of my voicemail and open the internet, doing a search for this Jake guy. It’s a bad idea, and I’m well aware. It takes a few keyword changes to get his obituary and an article about the accident pulled up. Jake McLeland died from complications of an accident when a truck failed to yield and struck the driver’s side of his Jeep. He was taken to Mercy Hospital and died from his injuries several hours later. No wonder Sierra can’t go to the same hospital. She must have been there with him.

  From what I can tell from the article on the accident, he was alone in the car and on his way home. His way home to Sierra. According to his obituary, he was doing his residency at another hospital, lived here in Summer Hill with Sierra, and was from a nearby town. A list of his accomplishments follows, and Jake was a model fucking citizen, not counting the fact he was on his way to becoming a doctor.

  He went overseas and volunteered his time and medical skills to children in Africa. He led activities with the Boy Scout Troop he was part of as a child. Worked at a free clinic in a poverty-stricken town in the bayou.

  There’s no fucking way Sierra would go for me. Not that it matters. Because it doesn’t.

  I stop by the river, slowing so I can catch my breath. I’m not a morning person, but going for a run this early was nice. Not as hot. Though standing here in the sun I can feel the heat.

  I followed the deer path this time and found another direction to follow instead of going along the Belmont’s field. I’m back at The Mill House now, looking at the rushing water that Sierra and I sat by last night. The river is about ten feet wide here and takes a slow curve wrapping around the brick building. The old wooden wheel that used to roll in place from the current of the water is rotting at the bottom, and I can’t help but think it’s a shame something so historic has been left to just rot away.

  The surface of the water is a good foot and a half below where it was back when the mill was working, and the erosion along the bank leaves tree roots exposed, dry and hanging over the water, like hair on corpses. I pick up a hard lump of dirt and chuck it into the water. It breaks apart as it hits, sinking down and becoming mud. I sigh and go into the apartment to shower.

  Exhaustion hits me once I’m out, so I eat and lay on the couch. It’s only nine in the morning, and already the sun coming through the large window is heating up the room. I strip to my boxers and flip through Netflix, and eventually fall asleep.

  Four hours later, I wake, startled by a dream. I don’t dream often. Or if I do, I don’t remember them. The dream started well, with Sierra back in my bed and this time I was next to her. She was naked and her perfect tits pushed up against me as we kissed. I moved on top of her, ready to fuck, and suddenly I was inside a casket buried deep in the ground, yet was still able to see what was going on above me.

  Nothing.

  People carried on with their lives. No one missed me. No one even noticed I was gone. Sierra stood on top of the grave, crying, and her tears penetrated the earth and dripped inside the casket. I thought she was crying for me, but then I realized I was inside Jake’s grave.

  I woke before things could get even more fucked up. Dream interpretation is a crock of shit…or so I thought. Figuring out exactly what that messed-up dream means requires me to think about it, and I don’t want to. It’s just a dream. A stupid dream.

  Feeling groggy, I take my time getting up and dressed. I’m out of food again so I grab my keys and head out. I make it to my car when I suddenly stop.

  “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mumble aloud. I’ve never been one to back off when the odds are stacked against me. I like a challenge. Change has never fazed me.

  But Sierra…Sierra is a force to be reckoned with.

  Chapter 11

  Sierra

  I yawn for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. I reach for my water and regret sleeping in the extra twenty minutes after my alarm went off. I’m still just as tired as I would have been if I’d gotten up, and I didn’t have time to run to Suzy’s for a coffee. Time is crawling by, and business has been slow as well. I have an hour to go until my lunch break, and I’m honestly unsure if I can keep my eyes open for much longer.

  Nothing makes you feel old like a hangover, right? I roll my neck—yawn—and try to wake myself up by stretching my arms above my head. That doesn’t work. Getting up and moving might, but that requires energy, which I don’t have.

  The bell above the door rings, and I lazily turn my head, questioning my decision to work in retail and having to deal with the public.

  “Hey, Sierra,” Chase says with his famous grin.

  “Chase. Hi.” I blink, mind going to the lack of makeup and messy bun sitting like a rat’s nest on the top of my head. Wait, what? Why do I care? “What are you doing here?”

  He holds up a bag of takeout from The Mill House in one hand and a drink holder with two iced coffees in the other. “I finished The Fake Wife and need something else to read. And I figured you could use this.”

  He sets the coffees down on the counter. Still in a bit of shock, it takes me a few seconds to realize he got my usual.

  “That’s what you like, right? I can get something else if not.”

  “Yeah. It is. How…?”

  “You said you get coffee from Suzy’s Cafe almost daily. So I asked them what you get.”

  I stick a straw in my cup and bring it to my lips, closing my eyes as soon as the cold liquid hits my tongue. “French vanilla is my favorite. And I didn’t have time to get one this morning. Thank you, Chase.”

  Our eyes meet, and I get hit with the strangest feeling: I miss him, and he’s standing right in front of me.

  “And I don’t know about you, but after a night of drinking too much, junk food for some reason makes me feel better.” He gets a box of fries out of the bag, along with poppers and wings. A little plastic tub of cheese dip is inside the French fry box, taking place of the ketchup. “You said you like cheese.”

  “I do.” I bring my coffee to my lips and push books out of the way. The man brought me coffee and bar food. Why is it making me so emotional? “Thanks, Chase,” I say and realize that I’ve thanked him already. “Want to stay and help me eat this? It’s too much for me to eat on my own.”

  “I c
an do that. For the food.”

  I wave him around the counter and pull out another stool. He smells good and looks even better. His jeans and T-shirt cover up the scars but don’t hide the tattoos that decorate the skin on his arm.

  “Did you get much sleep?” I ask. “After I left, I mean.”

  “About four hours. Which is probably more than you, I’m guessing.”

  “I showered as soon as I got home and slept until about ten-thirty. I think I slept more than you did, but I still feel tired,” I say with a small smile and dip a fry into the warm cheese. “What about you?”

  “I’m okay,” he says. “I went for a run after we unloaded that truck, which helped. Though I wasn’t the one who drank enough to kill a whale last night.” He playfully nudges me with his elbow.

  “It wasn’t that much.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t make me remind you of the threesome that almost happened.”

  “You just did.”

  He laughs and I shake my head, smiling. “Maybe I should say sorry for intervening. Those two looked like they’d be a good time.”

  I shudder and laugh. “Ew. No way.” The door opens again, and I turn to see Wyatt walking in. He smiles when he sees me.

  “Good afternoon, Sierra.” His eyes go to Chase and his face falls a bit. “And, uh, Chase, right?”

  “Right,” Chase says. “And you’re Wyatt, from the bank where my sister-in-law works.”

  “Isn’t she your half-sister-in-law? Josh is your half-brother, right?”

  I stare at Wyatt, wide-eyed, and then slowly turn my head to see Chase. He looks amused, not offended, and doesn’t bother responding. He grabs a fry and dips it in the cheese.

  “Are you looking for a book?” I ask Wyatt and wipe my hands.

  “Uh,” he starts, still staring at Chase. He wanted to offend him, and I have no idea why. Chase’s non-response is irritating Wyatt. “Yeah. I need to get my grandma something for her birthday. You remember her, don’t you, Sierra?”

  “Yeah,” I respond, giving Wyatt a look. I know most people in this town. Why is he acting so weird? “We just got some new cozy-mystery novels in this week. I ordered a few from indie authors too so she wouldn’t be able to get them just anywhere.”

  Wyatt leans in and gives me a forced smile. “It’s sweet you remember what she likes to read. I guess she made an impression on you like you did on her.”

  “She’s nice,” I say and walk to the display of new books right in front of the counter. “And she’s a regular customer.”

  “She talks about you, you know, and still brings up how nice it was to have you around the house.”

  “Aww, that’s nice. I always enjoyed talking to her. She had such an interesting past.” I grab the book and give it to Wyatt. “Make sure you tell her I said ‘happy birthday’ then.”

  “You can say it yourself. How ‘bout you come to her party tonight?”

  “Uh,” I start, mind blanking on a way to politely make up an excuse not to go. “Tonight isn’t good.” Each word comes out slowly, obviously a lie.

  “You got plans?”

  “Yeah. I do. I have a, uh, a thing…”

  “I’m taking her on a date,” Chase says, sitting up straight. He brushes salt off his fingers and meets my eye. “I have a very romantic evening planned for us. If Sierra didn’t go, I’d have to cancel the helicopter and I won’t get my deposit back.”

  How he says everything with such sincerity and a straight face, I’ll never know. I blink, look away from Chase and back to Wyatt. “Right. So, uh, sorry.”

  Wyatt nods, gives Chase a quick glare and then pays for the book and leaves. Standing behind the counter next to Chase, I turn, hands on my hips, and inspect him.

  “What?” he asks, taking another popper and putting it in his mouth.

  “I don’t know what I find more curious: the creativity of your lies or the ease at which you tell them.”

  He smiles, finishes chewing, and says, “Either way, that’s a compliment.”

  I shake my head. “A helicopter, really?”

  “Hey.” He holds up his hands defensively. “You seemed to enjoy the Mr. Grey vibe the first time we met.”

  “Christian Grey is pretty damn sexy,” I agree. “And thanks, but I really don’t need to be saved like that, you know.”

  “Oh, I know. We already established how well you handle yourself. You’d get out of the party, I’m sure, but he’d be back. That guy has a serious school-girl crush on you.”

  I shake my head and let out a breath. “I know. I was friends with his sister and went to prom with him when he was a senior and I was a sophomore but only because he had no one else to go with and underclassmen couldn’t go to prom unless a senior asked them. And I really wanted to go to prom. It was the classic Under the Sea theme that year.”

  “You used him for a theme night.”

  “I totally did. I’ve always had a girl-crush on Ariel.”

  Chase laughs and then slowly runs his eyes over me. “I should take you out tonight. You don’t want to get caught in a lie, do you?”

  I stare back at him and bite my lip. Part of me really does want to go out with him. He’s funny, confident, and so damn hot. There was a time in my life not that long ago where Lisa and I would gush over a man like Chase, admiring his fine physique from a distance. We could look, but not touch.

  I can touch.

  I’m single.

  I can touch whoever I want. Whenever I want. It shouldn’t feel wrong.

  Yet it does.

  “Sierra?” Chase asks softly and reaches out. His fingers sweep over my wrist, and the tenderness of his touch makes me want to melt into him. I crave the touch of a man, the way it feels to be wrapped in someone’s arms.

  “Sorry,” I say and bring my arms in and around myself. “Chase,” I start, only to let out my breath and shake my head. “When I said I wasn’t the kind of girl you’d want to date, it wasn’t a lame attempt to blow you off.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “The truth.”

  Chase’s eyes soften, and he gently curls his fingers around my wrist. “It’s okay,” he whispers, and it’s almost like he knows. I twist my arm in his grasp and slide my hand up, so my fingers intertwine with his.

  “Before this,” I start, feeling my chest tighten. “My boyfriend…Jake…” I say his name and the same pain that hurts my heart is reflected on Chase’s face. “He died.” Tears fill my eyes and my bottom lip begins to tremble. I pull my hand out of Chase’s grasp and turn. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Chase says and stands. His hands land on my shoulders, and he gingerly turns me around, pulling me close. “Don’t ever be sorry for feeling, Sierra. It’s what makes us human.” A tear rolls down my cheek and Chase brushes it away. “And don’t worry about going out tonight.”

  “I want to,” I whisper. “I find you interesting, Chase. I want to go out with you but it’s…it’s…” I let the words die in my throat. Because I don’t know what it is. Too soon? It’s been almost a year and a half, yet the hole in my heart is still fresh. The edges of the wound are still seeping blood. It’s thickening and beginning to scar, but the oozing hasn’t stopped, and I’m weak from blood loss.

  “Your heart was broken,” he fills in.

  “Yes. But it was because…because he died.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sierra.”

  “And that’s why you shouldn’t want to be with me. I have baggage.”

  “Everyone does,” he replies and slips his arms around me. I step into his embrace, soaking in the warmth of his touch. “There aren’t many people I’m willing to pick up the baggage for, but you’re one of them, Sierra. I don’t know why,” he confesses. “But there is something about you I’ve never seen before. And I want more of it. Go out with me tonight. Give me a chance.”

  I look up at Chase and see it. The momentary slip in his tough exterior. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, and right now, I hope it
’s not the last.

  “Okay.”

  “Spill,” Lisa orders, leaning on the counter.

  “We close in five minutes, you know?”

  “I already locked the door.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  She shrugs. “But I did. Now fucking tell me everything! Wyatt came back all huffy saying you’re going on a date with Chase tonight.”

  “I am. Kind of.”

  Lisa leans back, waiting for me. “Don’t make me beat it out of you.”

  I look at the clock, decide we’re close enough to closing, and pull the cash drawer out of the register. “You know yesterday was Jake’s birthday.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Let’s just say I didn’t handle it too well. I was all emotional, and then got mad that Chase said he’d call and never did. So I went to The Mill House to yell at him, but ended up drinking too much, puking by the river, and passing out in Chase’s bed.”

  Lisa’s jaw drops. “Are you being serious?”

  “I am. And no, nothing happened, sorry to disappoint you. He was the perfect gentleman last night. But this morning…” I wiggle my eyebrows, teasing Lisa. “Nothing happened this morning. I thought he was going to kiss me, but then his brother came over because they had a delivery at the bar, so whatever vibe we felt was over.” I pull out a handful of pennies and start counting.

  “Do you want him to kiss you?” Lisa asks after I counted and sorted.

  “I think so.”

  Lisa waits until I count the rest of the change. “That still doesn’t explain why Wyatt says you are going out with Chase tonight.”

  “He brought me food and coffee this afternoon and stayed to eat with me. Wyatt asked me to go to his grandma’s birthday and you know I’m terrible with excuses, so Chase said I can’t go because I’m going out with him.” I shake my head. “He really is irritating. It’s like he thinks I can’t take care of myself. Socially, I mean. He probably thinks I’m socially awkward.”

  “You are socially awkward.”