Skin Dive

by Ava Gray

  “You could’ve stopped.”

  “Walked away? From this? From you? I don’t think so.”

  She didn’t know what that meant. “Were you scared you couldn’t come back?”

  “Absolutely. Once you took me out of the net, it was like . . . being imprisoned. Here, I have all this space and freedom. In the flash drive . . .” The words trailed off.

  He probably couldn’t explain it to her anymore than she could tell someone how it felt to use her siren voice. In that way, at least, she understood him. They were both different.

  “You can stay with me,” she said. “If you need a home base, I mean.”

  She was sure he didn’t. Need one. He could go anywhere. But that was as close as she could get to what she wanted. At least she hadn’t lost him completely. How funny to think of her little blue netbook as such a powerful thing.

  “I’d like that. It’ll make it less lonely.”

  “You can chat with people, can’t you?”

  “Yeah.” His electronic voice gained some bitterness. “I’ll pretend to be a real boy.”

  “Enough of that. Nobody made you do this . . . you wanted to be a hero.”

  “I wanted to be your hero,” he said quietly.

  Fucking bastard. Why now? After all these years, when it was too late. Tan swallowed tears, and she paused long enough to get herself together, forcing the emotions down. When she spoke, her voice came out husky. “Enough of this shit. We’ve got some living to do . . . How do you feel about taking a cruise once the old guy gets back from Vegas?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not so much.”

  He laughed softly. “Then I’ll make you a reservation.”

  Staring at Gillie’s apartment door, Taye wondered if he had miscalculated. Maybe he should have stayed at the hospital instead of going off to see about some grand gesture. She had to be furious—or maybe she just thought he was crazy. God knew, he’d given a fair impression of it over the past few months. Part of that, he could blame on the pain medication—it was impossible to make rational choices when you were stoned.

  But the rest of the stupidity? Him. All him. Guys like him didn’t get the girl; they didn’t catch the brass ring. Yet he was still here, somehow. Still standing. That meant things might not wrap up as he deserved. So he steeled his nerve and knocked.

  After a moment, Gillie opened the door. The first thing he noticed? Her red hair. Symbolic, he figured, for taking back the sense of self she’d lost while pretending to be someone else. He was so glad she didn’t have to do that anymore, however this turned out.

  “You bastard,” she snarled.

  That was his only warning. A heavy book flew at his head, then a lamp, and then the contents of the bowl she kept beside the door; coins and keys pelted him. Still cussing him, she backed into the apartment and laid hands on a pretty crystal vase. Heavy, it looked like. Her aim was better, too, because despite his attempt to dodge, she nailed him with it; hurt his shoulder more than he would’ve expected, and then it smashed into shards at his feet.

  “Just let me explain,” he said.

  But inwardly, he was smiling. Bent as it was, her outrage meant she still loved him. He just had to talk her past it. Admittedly, it could take a while, but he had an ace up his sleeve.

  “There’s nothing to explain, you fuckhead. I hate you and I hope your balls rot off. I hope you die in the woods alone, bears eat your bowels, and then your spirit’s cursed to wander the earth for all eternity.”

  “Harsh, but fair.”

  She made an adorable, angry noise and slammed the door in his face. Unfazed, he raked the glass aside and sat down outside her apartment. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be.

  One of her neighbors went past while he waited. The guy studied him and the mess in the hallway. “So should I call the cops?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t . . . she’ll let me in eventually, and I’ll try to get her to keep the damage inside the apartment.”

  “Damn. What’d you do, dude?”

  “Long story.”

  Half an hour later, she peered out at him. “Are you still here? Seriously? How much clearer can I be? Go. To. Hell. I’d rather be alone than be with someone like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “A man who doesn’t trust me. Even knowing how I feel about my own sovereignty, knowing how important it is I get to choose, you almost made that decision for me. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.” The anger faded, leaving only sadness.

  He knew his first pang of genuine terror—that their relationship might be utterly FUBAR. “Gillie, please. Give me five minutes and hear me out. Afterward, if you still want me to go, I will. I promise.”

  She sighed and relented, stepping back so he could come in. “Five. I’m timing you. Ass.”

  Taye didn’t look around at the home she’d fashioned because it would just make talking harder, but he owed her this. “Even before we got out of Exeter, I knew my time was limited. I tried not to get too close to you because of it . . . but you’re impossible not to love. For me, anyway. You’re the answer to every question I never asked, nothing I deserve and everything I need.”

  “Well, sure. Even now it’s all about you. Guess what? I don’t care.”

  His fear amped up. “Okay, so here it is. I didn’t want you to know because I knew you’d save me. This gift . . . it’s carcinogenic, and I can’t fully control it. If I could just stop, I would, but sometimes I pull and I don’t even mean to. That means the cancer’s coming back, sooner or later, and I didn’t want to commit you to a lifetime of healing me, when it fucking hurts you, when you hate it. I couldn’t stand being a burden on you, and I didn’t want to become Rowan in your eyes.”

  “You aren’t like him,” she said softly. “You’re worse. You made me love you . . . and then you didn’t trust me to make my own decisions, even though I told you from the start how much that mattered. Regardless of what he did, he couldn’t hurt me, not really, not deep down where it counted. But Taye . . . you broke my heart.”

  Past tense. Shit. I left it too long. I fucked this up so completely. I . . . lost her. But no, there was no point in this fresh start if he didn’t get to build a life with Gillie Flynn. Against all the odds, he was still here and he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d win her over; he’d try harder. There was no other acceptable outcome. Without Gillie, he might as well have died, as he’d planned, in that final raid.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Believe me, I am. If I could go back, if I could confide in you—”

  “You can’t. The past’s immutable. And hey, on an intellectual level, I get it. Once I knew, how could I ever leave you, knowing that means your eventual death?” She shook her head. “But that’s predicated on specious logic. It assumes I would want to.”

  “Gillie—”

  She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “That, in turn, is predicated on the supposition I’m unable to assess the pros and cons of committing to a relationship with you. Did you really think I wouldn’t understand the gravity?”

  Time to change things up. He was starting to realize he’d been a total ass but maybe he could get her to look past his mistakes and see a future. “I have something to show you.”

  “Your five minutes is up. You swore you’d leave if I still wanted you to, or is your word worthless, too?”

  Damn. She was mean as a snake, and he loved her for it. Deep down, the masochist in him knew he deserved to suffer. No question. So he practiced patience and let her twist the knife. God knew, he’d hurt her enough for three lifetimes. If she needed blood to make her feel like they stood on level ground, so be it. He’d bleed for her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her . . . and in the coming weeks, he intended to prove it.

  “Okay.” Taye strode toward the door. “I’m leaving . . . for now. But I don’t promise to stay away. Ask me to cut out my heart instead. Ask me to stop breathing.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” she mutter
ed.

  He flashed her a smile over his shoulder, meant to tell her he’d only just begun. “Get ready to be wooed.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The first thing Gillie did after the raid was look up her parents online. She had to know if Rowan had been lying. And there they were in the Internet White Pages, Ambrose and Stephanie Flynn, Knoxville, Tennessee. She didn’t know what she intended to do about it, but maybe someday, she’d pick up the phone and call. For now it was enough to know they lived. Before, she hadn’t wanted to risk her parents, as the Foundation would surely have been watching them.

  Relief eased some of her anger at Taye, too. But not all of it. Not nearly.

  Gillie stood in her booth at the firing range, grimly plugging her target. In her mind’s eye, it was Taye, not some random paper figure. Bastard thinks he can show up and smile and everything will be forgiven? I. Don’t. Think. So. Not with what he did . . . and the way he just left me at the hospital, not knowing if he was ever coming back. She emptied her magazine and hit the return button. It was satisfying to see how many times she’d hit her target. Not all in the little circle, granted, but not bad either.

  When she went home, she found a dozen roses waiting outside her apartment. She scowled at them, but she picked them up and carried them in with her. It wasn’t because they were from him; she just didn’t want the poor flowers to die because an asshole had purchased them. In retrospect, she hadn’t hurt him enough. The bouquet came with a card attached; Gillie debated whether she should read it, but in the end, she did. As he had to know I would.

  I’ll spend the life you gave me making this up to you. This is day one. I love you, Gillie Flynn. Always.

  The flowers arrived like clockwork after that, day by day, though Taye didn’t come himself. He was giving her coolingoff time. Which was smart, she had to admit. Most days, she still felt like stabbing him. After the first week, he switched from flowers to cards and stuffed animals; most were adorable, but they didn’t assuage her rage.

  Still, it was amazing what he remembered. When he first started visiting her, they had talked about all kinds of things . . . and she’d mentioned in passing how sad she had been at sixteen when Rowan decided she was too old for her toys. He had made that decision, along with every other major one in her life, and removed the bear she hugged at night. No more softness. Rowan had given them to her, which meant she should hate them, but as a kid, she had been grateful for even pretend company.

  And so Taye gave back her collection, piece by piece. God, she’d shared such minutia down in Exeter. Who could’ve imagined that Taye would recall she once had two stuffed bears—one of which was a koala—a rabbit, a tiger, a puppy, a penguin, and a big fat turtle. Each arrived, day after day, with a new greeting card. Some were cheesy, some romantic. Others were funny. Sometimes he wrote in blank ones. Words like, I miss you, I’m lost, and I don’t want to live without you.

  By the end of the second week, she started to miss him. A little. And maybe he knew that, too, because the day she picked up the turtle—the final piece of her lost set—he stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, probably ready to run if she threw things at him again. As usual, he wore a plain white T-shirt, motorcycle boots, and worn jeans. No leather duster—it was too warm out, even though it was getting on toward evening.

  For the first time since she’d known him, Taye looked healthy. He had put on a little weight, just enough to ease the ravaged quality. God, he was handsome, though he still had that tragic air about him, like a rock star about to go out in a blaze of glory. Part of her wondered if that had anything to do with her refusal to see or speak to him.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you wouldn’t give up. How long do you plan to keep on like this?”

  “As long as it takes,” he said quietly. No bravado. He just gazed up at her with those Mediterranean eyes.

  Oh, God. Why do I still love him?

  “What do you want, Taye?”

  “You. Forever and ever.”

  She wished she could throw something at his head, but the initial anger had gone. Now she was just sad and tired. Just as well she had no classes this summer and no internship. She needed time to get her head in order.

  “You had me. And I don’t trust you now . . . I don’t know if I ever can again. You treated me like a child.”

  Pain flared, unmistakable. Yeah, he understood what he’d done. But he didn’t make excuses or try to justify it this time, which was a step in the right direction.

  “I regret that,” he said. “But as you said, it cannot be changed. Let me take you out . . . just one date. If, at the end of the evening, you still want me to leave you alone, I will. I promise.”

  Wow. He must have a hell of an evening lined up. Reluctantly, she was intrigued as to what he thought could change her mind.

  “Okay. I’ll take your deal. What should I wear?”

  “What you have on. You look beautiful.... you’ve never looked less than beautiful.”

  Hell. Maybe he does love me. She was wearing a thrift-store T-shirt with a picture of a donkey piñata and the slogan “I’d Hit That,” along with a pair of jeans with the knees torn out.

  “Let me get my purse and keys, then.”

  They stepped outside, and the air smelled of honeysuckle. It grew all over the fences despite the careful landscaping. To her surprise, he led her over to a motorcycle; though she was no expert, it looked old—chrome, retro-styling, and cherry paint.

  “It’s a vintage Indian Chief,” he told her, interpreting her expression correctly.

  Taye handed her a sparkly red helmet; it matched his, only his was matte. With a mental shrug, she put it on and climbed on behind him. When he took off, she had no choice but to lean into him and wrap her arms around his waist. That’s probably why he bought the thing. Even with the hot wind and car exhaust, she could still discern his scent—light citrus and bergamot. Whatever his cologne, it so worked. Damn him.

  Astonishment curled through her as they pulled up outside the club where she’d taken him, what seemed so long ago now. It was still early, so the twenty-somethings and college students hadn’t shown up yet. Taye parked the bike, waited for her to slide off, and then he laced his fingers through hers. She followed him with a furrowed brow.

  Inside, it was even weirder. Based on the time and day of the week, Gillie expected a nearly empty establishment. Instead, the place was packed, standing-room only, and the karaoke stage was set up . . . only it wasn’t Thursday. Taye led her through the crowd to a table down front, which bore the placard “Reserved VIP.” As soon as she sat down, he vaulted onto the stage, conferred briefly with the guy running the equipment, and then took the mic.

  “This song’s for the woman I love.”

  Without preamble, he launched into the hammiest rendition of “All Out of Love” that she’d ever heard. Ever. And he was terrible. The raw husky quality that made his voice so sexy when he spoke translated painfully in a musical sense. No tone. No pitch. At first, she didn’t understand why the hell he thought this would help his case. And then she remembered; he’d said this was where he drew the line. It was the one thing he would never, ever do for her.

  Yet he was doing it. And so badly that the audience hooted and threw things. A few people got out lighters to mock him, and still he sang on, dogged in his determination.

  “You suck!”

  Taye ignored them; she could tell he saw only her. He cared about only what she thought. And she listened to the words of the song, heard the apology. It was awful—and perfect.

  When he finished at last, Gillie stood and applauded. She was the only one.

  “Sorry for the deception, folks. There will be free beer, on me, for the next half hour.” That won a thunderous ovation from the disgruntled audience, and most of them rushed the bar.

  “What the hell did you tell them?”

  “I posted flyers all over campus that Fall Out Boy was playing a surprise gig here tonight.”

>   “Shit. Did you want to be humiliated?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Well, hell. How am I supposed to stay mad at him?

  “Taye—”

  Panic flared in his face. “No. Not yet. This was our first stop, not the best.”

  He thought I was going to tell him we’re done. Tenderness flooded her. No, she didn’t trust him entirely, but she believed he loved her. And she was capable of forgiveness. Nobody always got it right, but they could try—and do better each time. But she wouldn’t let him off the hook until he showed her this last thing.

  “Okay.” She drew out the word on a sigh, as if she were reluctant instead of madly curious.

  Taye stopped at the bar to drop some bills for the beer and then they went out. Dark had fallen, just fringes of crimson and gold above the horizon. She lost track of the twists and turns with her head against his back. Though it was terrifying, the motorcycle was also rather thrilling, the way it hummed between her thighs. That pretty much encapsulated the way she felt about him, most days—a little scary, but too good to stop.

  This time, he parked outside an old building built of pale cement and white stone facing, though it was dirty and crumbling—seedy neighborhood, broken glass, and graffiti. She wasn’t entirely sure why he’d brought her here. He wheeled the bike toward the doors. Yeah. Probably smart not to leave it out here.

  “What’re we doing?” she asked.

  “Shh.”

  Shock coursed through her when Taye unlocked the front doors. The foyer glowed, adorned with strands of tiny white Christmas lights, and there was a table set for two with a picnic basket and a manila envelope. He leaned the motorcycle against the wall and secured the door behind them.

  “Do you want to eat first or do you want to see your surprise?”

  “What do you think?”

  In answer, he went for the envelope. His gaze was meltingly tender as he handed it over. No explanations. So she unsealed it and drew out a sheaf of papers. By candlelight, she read them over with a dawning sense of wonder. They were IRS documents and zoning permissions, all related to the Flynn Foundation, a homeless shelter to be established on these premises.