What Comes Next

by Desni Dantone

“What are you doing home?” I called to her as I took the steps. Last I’d known, she was supposed to close the diner tonight.

  Her gaze swept over me, and her smile dropped. “How did you get caught out in the rain?”

  “Long story.” I waved it off, because I really didn’t want to get into that.

  “Well, well . . .” A deep voice boomed from the doorway behind me. “Look what the storm washed up.”

  My head whipped around, toward the familiar voice I hadn’t heard in nearly two years but would recognize anywhere, as my brother stepped through the doorway. He looked older, obviously, but looked like the same pain in the ass I remembered. His smile seemed a little off, but his arms opened in invitation before I had time to think too much about it, and I rushed to give him a long overdue hug.

  Mitch was back. All six feet, one hundred eighty pounds of him. He came back with not one hair on his shiny white head, a tattoo on his arm that hadn’t been there when he left, and a bad smoking habit—old Marlboro Reds and grass.

  Three times in the last week, I woke up with a contact buzz before school. Twice, I picked his drunk, mostly naked ass up off the floor, and carried him to bed before Mama found him. Once, I woke him to say good-bye before I left for school. His karate chop to my windpipe, and simultaneous foot to my stomach, taught me to never wake a war vet from a deep sleep again.

  Trying to talk to him was pointless. My brother had been sent home from war a shell of the man he used to be, and I didn’t know how to make him whole again. Though I would never tell him so, I feared he was slowly turning into our dad.

  Different war, but same results.

  Thinking it couldn’t hurt, I suggested he come help me work on the Maxwells’ fence. Travis had quit a few weeks ago, and with baseball practice eating up so much of my time, I needed the help. I knew Joe wouldn’t mind, as long as Mitch held it together long enough to get the job done.

  By mid-day Saturday, my still-hungover brother was no longer my big concern.

  My head jerked up at the sound of the squeaky hinges on the kitchen door—hinges I had been meaning to fix for weeks now. But not today. Today, that god-awful noise filled me with hope. Each time I heard it I glanced up, expecting to see Ana stepping outside. It was almost noon, I already had a kink in my neck, and I hadn’t seen her once.

  Now, Jeffrey sprinted toward the barn, probably to do his chores. Something I’d noticed Ana hadn’t come out to do yet this afternoon. Nor had she shown for her morning chores.

  I’d endured nearly a week of this. I could count on one hand how many times I’d seen her since she jumped out of my truck and into the rain. She’d gotten good at becoming invisible, and it was driving me insane.

  A low chuckle pulled my expectant gaze away from the door, and I turned to find my brother shaking his head at me.

  “I don’t believe it,” he drawled. “My baby brother actually whipped on a girl. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  I ignored him, and got in a few swings with the hammer—on the fence post, mercifully not his head—before the hinges creaked again. My head turned before I could stop myself. It was instinct at this point. A necessity to see her, even if I couldn’t do anything about it.

  But it wasn’t her. Jeffrey again—going inside.

  And now my brother was laughing. I spun around to glare at the top of his bowed head while he supported himself with his hands on his knees.

  I waited him out until he sucked in a breath. “What did she do to you, man? It must have been bad for you to act like a whipped puppy.”

  “Nothing,” I grumbled.

  “Nothing? You’re about to give yourself whiplash waiting for her, and you’re going to tell me ‘nothing?’”

  “I mean it, Mitch,” I warned before dropping to a knee to hammer in the bottom slab. “It’s nothing.”

  Except . . . that it wasn’t nothing. I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head all week. Actually, if I were honest with myself, I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head since that night in Richmond. And now . . . it was only worse.

  I was convinced she really hated me this time. I thought it was bad before. I had been wrong. I would give anything to go back to the way it was before I told her that kiss shouldn’t have happened.

  “Well, hello there, sweetheart,” Mitch called over me, and I realized I must have been too far into my own head to hear the telltale squeak of the door. I heard the smile in his voice, and instinctively knew who he had addressed. Despite having waited for this moment all morning, I refused to look up when I heard her shoes slap the ground behind me as she drew closer.

  “Aren’t you the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time,” Mitch added, earning a hard glare from me.

  He glanced at me with a smirk. I drove a nail down with two hard hits—impressively without smashing my thumb. My back stiffened when she came to a stop directly behind me. I grinded my teeth when the tantalizing blend of strawberry and mint washed over me.

  Damn if it didn’t throw me back to that night. Her strawberry scented hair brushing against my face, the minty taste of her mouth, her soft body beneath me . . .

  “I brought some water if you want some.”

  And that voice. So soft and . . . sweet.

  Except I could feel her eyes burning into the back of my head, and I remembered that she was feistier than she looked . . . and sounded. I instinctively traced a finger across my lip—which she’d once bloodied with her tiny fist when we were kids—and rose to a stand between her and my brother.

  I gave him a warning glare before I finally turned to face her. Except I still couldn’t face her. I trained my eyes on the container of water in her hand as I reached for it. My fingers grazed the cool metal before she yanked it out of reach. My eyes snapped up to meet hers, and I mentally forced myself to not retreat from her wilting scowl.

  “I was talking to your brother,” she snapped.

  A snicker erupted behind me as Ana passed the water to Mitch.

  “So I suppose I’ll just—”

  “I don’t really care.” Ana cut me off before turning on her heel to walk away.

  “I just thought—”

  “Your mistake,” she fired over her shoulder.

  I stared after her, watching the peppy bounce in her step. I didn’t doubt she fully intended for me to catch the double meaning behind her parting words. Oh, I got it alright. My mouth ran dry as the reminder of my mistake pranced away from me, and dammit if that didn’t make me thirstier.

  I spun around to snatch the container of water from my nearly hysterical brother, but he pulled it back before I could grab it.

  “Ah, hell no,” he laughed. “I don’t want her mad at me for sharing with you. She obviously wants to see you shrivel up from dehydration. I’d hate to disappoint a pretty thing like her.”

  I snatched the water from him while he was preoccupied with a laughing fit. While it was nice to see my brother loosen up again, I was too miffed to thoroughly enjoy it. I took a nice, long swig of the cold water, and tossed a glance over my shoulder when I heard the hinge creak. My eyes met Ana’s from across the clearing, and I raised the container in the air.

  “Thanks for the water, sweetheart!” I shouted.

  She responded by slamming the door shut behind her as she disappeared inside the house. Mitch cracked up again, and I tossed the container at him.

  “Want to tell me what you did to piss her off?”

  “Nothing,” I muttered.

  I stole a glance at the door, and repeated the answer to myself. I had done absolutely nothing, considering what I knew I was capable of. She should have been thanking me.

  So why did I feel like an even bigger asshole now?

  Excitement over the upcoming spring dance had taken over the school. It was all anyone talked about, and even trumped the usual popular topic of Ben’s exceptional baseball stats. Though I wasn’t as excited about it as everyone else, I enjoyed the break from the nonstop talk abou
t how amazing Bennett Sawyer was.

  As Ma suggested while I was getting dressed for the dance, I fully intended to have a great time.

  Johnny picked me up in his parents’ borrowed car promptly at six. Loud music poured from the overheated gymnasium, the overworked air conditioner unable to maintain a comfortable temperature with the number of bodies crammed into the small space. Besides the dance floor, the punch bowl was the most popular spot in the room.

  After a few dances with Johnny, and several cups of punch, I was forced to excuse myself to the bathroom. There, I paused long enough to smooth down a few wayward curls in my hair. The make-up Ma had helped me with hadn’t melted off from the heat, so that was good. I would have to remember to thank her again later.

  I’d fought her on the whole eyeliner thing—but she’d made the right call. Combined with the thin-strapped canary and violet colored dress Pop splurged on for me, I did look nice. Older, and ready for a kiss that wouldn’t later be labeled a mistake.

  Damn that Ben Sawyer. I wouldn’t let him creep into my thoughts any more. I was here with Johnny . . .

  “Witter? Ritter?” I made a face in the mirror. What was his last name?

  I pushed away from the counter with a shrug. It didn’t matter. Not like last name knowledge was a prerequisite for a first date, or a first kiss.

  I hurried out of the bathroom with renewed purpose. A warm arm brushed against mine as the door drifted shut behind me. Without looking, I knew who was standing beside me. My heart rate accelerated without permission, and I mentally chided my body for betraying me. I forced a tight smile, in an attempt to mask my involuntary reaction to Ben’s presence, when I reluctantly turned to face him.

  My body failed me again when my breath immediately rushed past my lips. Of course, he noticed, and the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly, like he knew he looked particularly, and sinfully, handsome tonight. Maybe like he messed his hair up like that on purpose. To make me wonder if that was what it would look like if I ran my fingers through it . . .

  And now that was exactly what I was thinking about. I swore the bastard knew it, too.

  As his gaze trailed across my face, soaking me in, the smirk on his face dropped. In its place slid surprise and astonishment. That last one made me stand a little taller.

  “Damn, Ana.” He blinked and flashed me an almost shy smile. “You look . . . really nice.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but my bullshit radar didn’t go off. Suspecting he actually meant the compliment to be taken as a compliment, I said, “Thank you.”

  “So . . . uh, how’s the date going?” A lopsided grin accompanied the word date, effectively undermining the entire experience.

  “Really good,” I returned quickly, then added, “I didn’t think I’d actually enjoy having some boy’s hands on my ass all night, but it’s not so bad.”

  Ben’s grin slipped, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I turned to leave him with that thought, but didn’t make it more than two steps before his hand snagged my elbow.

  “Ana . . .” His clenched jaw relaxed when his eyes met mine. “Dance with me?”

  “What?” I yanked my arm out of his grasp. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  His head jerked to the side as if reacting to my invisible palm on his cheek. His eyes squeezed shut briefly before pinning me with his steady gaze. “No. It’s no joke. I really want to dance with you.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

  His jaw slid to the side. “I just want one dance, Ana.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I have a date.”

  “Your date’s obviously an asshole.”

  “So are you.”

  His mouth snapped shut, and his head lowered with a barely visible shake. I watched his reaction, pleased with myself. But when his chin lifted fractionally, just enough for him to peer up at me through heavy lashes, I felt myself weakening. One look turned me to putty. His words threatened to unravel me.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Alright? I am. I’m really sorry for the way I’ve treated you.”

  My feet shuffled beneath me as I absorbed his sincerity.

  “This is me”—his arms spread to his sides—“apologizing to you for being an asshole, and asking you to dance one dance with me. Are you going to shoot me down again?”

  A reluctant smile betrayed me—but there was something extremely gratifying about seeing Ben vulnerable. It tore down my defenses.

  His head lowered to my level, and I willed myself to not flinch away from his nearness. “Do you want me to beg?”

  “I think you already are.”

  His head snapped back in surprise, and he peered down at me with a lazy grin. I backed away as he inched closer, but not fast enough. His arm hooked mine, and he turned us toward the dance floor.

  “Ben.” I halfheartedly tried to wrench my arm free. “I don’t want to dance with you.”

  He glanced down at me. “Yeah, you do.”

  We reached the back corner of the dance floor and stopped. He positioned my reluctant arms around his neck before placing his hands on my waist. He pulled me to him, and I went. Because he was right, of course. For some strange reason, I did want to dance with him.

  Maybe it was the hair, or the subtleness of his cologne, that got me. Perhaps it was how surprisingly different—and good—he looked in a crisp button-down shirt. Or the way his eyes were soaking me in that made me want to be vulnerable with him.

  We moved together, just the two of us in the neglected, dark corner of the dance floor. It was almost possible to imagine we were completely alone in the dimly lit gymnasium as we swayed to the soft melody of The Righteous Brothers.

  Ben’s arms tightened, pulling me closer. My cheek grazed his chin, and I flinched from the unexpected contact.

  “Is this okay?” he asked softly.

  His head lowered to mine, eliminating the height difference between us, and I had to pull back to avoid bumping noses with him when I searched his eyes. Instead of speaking, I nodded. He flashed me a smile before pulling me back in.

  A dozen questions swam in my head while we glided in a leisurely circle. One question dominated the others, and I found myself repeating it out loud.

  “That apology earlier . . .” I murmured, “was that . . . were you . . .”

  “Still apologizing for kissing you?” he guessed. “Yes.”

  I tried to jerk out of his hold, but he anticipated that, and only squeezed me tighter. “Ana, listen to me,” he pleaded urgently. “We both know I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “No, Ben, we both definitely do not—”

  “You were vulnerable. You were crying.” One hand rose from my waist, and he ran it through his hair. “God, Ana, I’d wanted to kiss you for weeks, but I shouldn’t have done it then.”

  My head snapped back. “You . . .” He what? For weeks?

  His palms pressed into the center of my back, pulling me against him in every way that mattered. His cheek caressed mine, his breath hot against my neck, as our mouths drew closer together like two magnets.

  The faintest brush of his lips against mine sent a bolt of excitement straight through me.

  “I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

  “Stop saying that.”

  “It’s true. I’m no good for you, Ana. I—”

  “Will leave me heartbroken and alone?” I hadn’t wanted to believe Tracy when she’d promised me that outcome. But if Ben believed it, why shouldn’t I?

  Why wasn’t I already running?

  I should have run when he nodded yes now. Instead, I said, “That would require me to be in a position to be heartbroken by you . . . and I’m not.”

  What I wouldn’t tell him was that I feared I was getting close. If whatever was going on between us didn’t stop soon, I would be in the exact position neither of us wanted me in.

  As if fate understood the precarious ledge I balanced on, and wanted to ease m
e safely to one side, the soft melody gave way to a popular, upbeat song that had the other dancers squealing with excitement as they transitioned into a fast dance. The lights surged, cutting through the shadows that blanketed our quiet corner. Ben’s hands immediately dropped, and the sudden foot-wide gap between us felt like a mile.

  His gaze held mine as his voice rose above the escalating music. “Make sure it stays that way,” he told me.

  And then he was gone.

  I watched him disappear into a sea of dancers letting loose to the Bee Gees, and wondered if that was something I was capable of doing. Or if it was already too late.

  I was pretty sure I had just lied to Ben Sawyer.

  I didn’t see Ben again during the dance. I stuck to my side of the dance floor, away from the seniors enjoying one of the last remaining school dances they would have. I chatted with my friends. I danced with my date.

  Uneventful. Ordinary. Dull.

  That was what that one dance with Ben had done to the rest of my evening. He had turned a potentially enjoyable experience into something unremarkable.

  By the time the last song ended, I was ready for the night to be over. I had no intention of going to the after-party by the river, as Johnny suggested. Not until Jen and Heather persuaded me. Jen had even thought to bring extra clothes for me to change into, leaving me with no excuse not to go.

  The party was in full swing by the time we pulled into the mowed down field packed with more cars than the student parking lot at the high school could hold. At the edge of the field, the ground sloped down to the river. The nearly stagnant, wide body of water connected with the bay on the coast. Centuries of hurricanes and storm surges had pushed sand inland, creating a narrow sandy bank on either side of the river.

  It was Stone Creek’s version of a beach. Several upperclassmen sat around the large bonfire, either in chairs or on the long, fallen log. Many more mingled in clusters along the sandy shore. Most, however, hadn’t even left the comfort of their vehicles, choosing instead to gather in the beds of their trucks or recline on the windshield of their cars.

  I kept my eyes straight ahead as Johnny led me onto the beach, determined to not look for Ben, or his stupid red truck.