by Ellie Hall
Three months since the doctors said the treatments weren’t as effective as they’d hoped.
Six months since the diagnosis.
One-hundred eighty-four days since she and her sister had been eating lunch on a sunny day, chatting about guys and dresses and girly things. Since they’d laughed and went shopping then back to Cece’s where they’d baked brownies because that’s what they’d always done—never mind that Cece’s trainer was going to freak out because she broke the strict dietary regime Cece was meant to adhere to. It was Serena’s twenty-fifth birthday and baking brownies together was what they’d done every year. A ninety-nine-cent box of brownie mix, plus an egg and oil was what they could afford when they were growing up and they’d kept the tradition.
However, since those early days, Cece made the addition of the finest chocolate money could buy and they’d started topping the brownies with ice cream when they were still warm out of the oven, then all the sundae toppings: melty peanut butter, fudge, caramel, sprinkles, gummy bears (her favorite), M&Ms (Serena’s favorite), and whipped cream. Serena liked the cherry on top so Cece always gave hers to her sister.
They were supposed to keep up that tradition until they were old grannies, passing it on to their children and grandchildren. Serena wasn’t supposed to go to her annual checkup and leave with a terminal diagnosis. That wasn’t part of the plan.
Cece tormented herself by tracing back to that time when things were still normal and joyful, to when Serena sang along with her to the traditional happy birthday song. Of course, they had their own version. They were two years apart and were as close as sisters could be, best friends, lifelines for the other forever and always.
Friends commented that when they were together, they occupied their own world. Looking back, they both knew it was a way to cope with their troubling childhoods. They’d stuck together and defied odds.
Cece was a world-famous singer.
Serena was, well, Serena. She was a hair stylist, calligraphist, loved elephants, books, and brownies. She was a sunrise kind of person but looked gorgeous and mysterious in a pair of shades. Her laughter could fill a room and she was the best listener. She was everything.
All Cece could do was go back to the time when Serena was still with her, whole, vital, alive. Instead, she was there with Blake, the guy who’d broken her heart.
If she and Serena were seated together at that table in that thatched hut on that tropical island, Serena would’ve told her sister to gobble up that meal. So Cece did. She always listened to her little sister.
Chapter 4
Blake
Blake hadn’t prayed over a meal since he’d sat at the table with his father. They’d also go to church together every Sunday. But the slipping away of his faith started when his mother had left. It only got worse over the years. He’d questioned everything he’d valued, especially love. But seated opposite Cece and folding his hands together lit something inside him.
When he looked up, Cece was half done with her meal. Apparently, she was starved. The low light of the cabana highlighted her pronounced cheekbones, the smooth line of her nose, and the fullness of her lips. The ones he’d once kissed.
With the exception of her shaved head, she looked much the same as she did all those years ago. He hadn’t been lying. She was beautiful. Perhaps even more so. She possessed a wildness, a certain uncontained emotion simmering just beneath the surface, bursting to explode from her. It drew him near while exciting him and urging him to want to protect her in equal measure.
She looked up from shoveling food off her plate. “What?”
“My, you were hungry,” he said slowly. From an outsider’s view, it might’ve sounded lazy, but long days on the island had slowed him down considerably and made him appreciate the little things. Like a smile, the sparkle in someone’s eyes. Laughter. All of which had once lit Cece up but since had disappeared. That was what was different about her.
“I haven’t had a proper meal in one-hundred eighty-four days.”
“That’s very precise.”
She sniffed. “It’s hard not to be.”
“Bad break up?” he asked. He didn’t make it a habit of asking what brought the guests to the resort. The less he knew the better. And he’d certainly never cooked for anyone—that’s what the salaried top chefs were for; there were two on site along with a pastry chef, sommelier, and of course one of each on retainer for yachting excursions.
“Yes,” she said, sitting up taller. “I guess gossip even travels to remote islands fast.” Her phone beeped with a notification.
“It was just a guess.” He set his fork down and leaned back in the chair. The glow of her phone near her face tinted her skin blue. He blinked away the fear that had taken hold of him when she’d nearly drowned. Cooking her dinner and making sure she was okay was the least he could do.
She glanced at the screen, shook her head, and her shoulders dropped. Her eyes caught on his and she shifted uncomfortably.
“Did he break up with you over text?” It was just a hunch.
Her forehead furrowed. “What else did Lizzie tell you?”
He purposefully took an agonizingly long sip of water. She was cute when she was flustered. He didn’t imagine many people in her life ruffled her feathers. Instead, they probably catered to her every whim, ensuring that her wants were always met. “She only mentioned that she had a good friend who needed to get away. She didn’t share details other than that you’d experienced a series of tragedies. That seemed serious so I said yes.”
“Then she told you who the favor was for so ultimately you knew I was coming.”
“You’re just as intuitive as me.”
Her stormy eyes narrowed. “Would you have said no if she’d mentioned my name before telling my tale of woe?”
Even if he’d had an answer, her incessantly beeping phone would’ve interrupted him.
She flicked through a few notifications, grunted, and then clutched the phone to her chest as though thinking about whether to reply.
Blake finished his meal. “The ex-boyfriend asking for you back?”
“Not in so many words. He’s a DJ and is upset because he was supposed to open for me during the summer festival circuit. My manager didn’t say as much, but I think they dumped me because of my new look.” She pointed at her head. “I guess being known as The Hair then cutting it all off made me a liability.” Her lips pressed together with agitation.
“And he dumped you for the same reason?”
“How do you know he dumped me?”
“Because he’s an idiot and because you all but confirmed it when I asked.” Only an idiot would do anything that would hurt her. He’d know.
Her chin tucked in. “Yeah, but—”
“Let me get this straight. He dumped you because you cut off your hair, the tour he was on with you was canceled, and now he wants you to fix it.” In the same moment she nodded in confirmation, Blake snatched the phone from her and pounded the keypad, his large fingers hitting the wrong letters. He growled with annoyance and started over.
“What are you doing?” She circled the table and tried to get the phone back. “You can’t text Jaxon.”
“It’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable, secure,” he said as he dodged her attempts to grab the phone. She smelled like the ocean and coconut. He wanted to pause there and breathe her in. But he pushed the chair away from the table and stood.
She was tall, but on his feet, he stood nearly a head taller and easily kept the phone away from her.
“Blake. Give. Me. My. Phone.” She punctuated each word with righteous anger.
He didn’t like the idea of some idiot, wannabe DJ dude taking advantage of her—not that he’d treated her much better. Blake pressed send and held the phone out to her. “Here you go.”
She snapped the phone from him and read the reply he’d written. “This is Cecelia’s bodyguard. Do not text or call this number again or you’ll have a tough time spinn
ing those records never mind standing up straight.” Her chest rose and fell like she was trying to catch her breath. Then her mouth twisted and she leveled him with a glare. “So, it turns out that you do know how to text.”
“Of course I—” He caught himself, belatedly realizing her insinuation. “Regrettably, I am familiar with the technology.”
“Is this a new skill you recently acquired or were you text savvy roughly five years ago?”
Relief washed over him when she didn’t say the exact number of days. Unfortunately, he knew in much the same way she’d listed the string of numbers since her last real meal. However, for him, it wasn’t because they’d broken up. He’d never given them a chance to truly be together. His reason for knowing that particular timeframe was what kept him away from Hawk Ridge Hollow, from his family, and what kept him in pieces.
“Should we talk about it or are we going to let it fester between us, unspoken?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Let’s let it fester.” He’d left home to avoid examining the past, emotions, and the inevitable difficulty that came with them.
Her hands crossed in front of her chest. She lifted a shoulder and cocked her head. Her eyes narrowed and her lips formed a thin line. The girl who’d appeared lost and confused and devastated when she’d regained consciousness after he dragged her from the ocean had made a quick recovery. The version of Cece in front of him was feisty. He kind of liked it.
Instead of awkward silence, charged air crackled between them in the long pause before Cece spoke. “No. I already have an open wound and you, Blake, did not take part in its formation.”
“You were the one who used the word fester.” He struggled not to smile as he lowered into the chair to finish his meal.
“Obviously, that was a poor word choice. Shame on me for even asking you.”
He leaned back, relieved she agreed it was a subject they best put behind them.
“But we are talking about it. Now.”
Or not.
A sudden stubbornness came over him as he pushed his plate away. It was like when his mother told him to eat his vegetables. In part, he stopped listening, but as Cece continued to speak, she leaned closer and closer. He tipped farther and farther back in his chair, hammocking his head in his hands. It took all his power to resist her magnetic pull.
That seemed to infuriate her. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”
“No.”
She roared in frustration. “For that, I’ll just have to start over. We met at your family’s resort. We flirted. We kissed.”
“I seem to remember enjoying that part.” He couldn’t help flashing a cocky grin.
“Apparently, not enough to text or call me back. I thought maybe there was something between us. Something real, something hard to come by in my line of business. But I guess you had better things to do.”
All four legs of the chair legs slammed onto the floor. Something painful twisted in his stomach. His nostrils flared as he got to his feet. The old anger, at his helplessness, came over him. “I’m not here to chat with you about the past or present. It’s my job to make sure you have a comfortable stay.”
She stood. “I’ll have to consult management because I’m not entirely sure texting my boy—” She corrected herself. “My ex-boyfriend is included in your job description.”
“Just make sure that idiot leaves you alone. He’s not welcome here.” Blake wanted to punch the guy for ditching her.
“Is that supposed to be threatening?” she asked, stepping closer.
His hands balled into fists as he got to his feet. “I could Facetime him to give him a better picture of what I mean.”
Anxiety drew her features tight. “You wouldn’t.”
He shrugged and tilted his head so they were nearly eye level, mere inches apart. Fury rolled off him like boiling waves. “He’s been warned. If he bothers you, it’ll come as no surprise if I pound him.”
“Why would you do that? Oh, right. It’s your job. Poseidon, cook, and thug are all part of the title then?”
Her proximity, the movement of her lips, and her breath whispering across his skin stilled his anger and stirred another part of him. A part of him that was certainly not employed by the resort. “Cook? Not so much. I was hungry too.” But that wasn’t the entire truth even though he’d never have admitted otherwise.
She had a raw vulnerability to her that he didn’t quite remember. Whether the break up was the most tragic thing in her life or it was something more, he wanted to calm the storm in her eyes and the one in his chest. Despite his attraction to her, he was not looking for more complications in his life. And Cecelia Sparrow was definitely complicated.
Her phone beeped.
“I could shut the phone off for you.” He arched an eyebrow. He’d purposefully left his in Hawk Ridge Hollow when he’d left, though he’d later replaced it if only for practical business purposes.
“I need it.” She gripped it tightly like a child with her favorite toy.
It beeped again followed by an obnoxious song.
“I should take this.” She glanced at the screen.
“Or I could throw it into the ocean.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I dare you to stop checking it.”
“I have to keep up with my social media. The fans need to be updated.”
He regretted ever getting the internet installed on the island. In the early days of the resort, there wasn’t any, but because of the caliber of the clientele, many required connectivity. It also helped him make arrangements easier and increase security. Still, it annoyed him how much she clung to her device.
The phone beeped again, but instead of tapping the screen she lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Unlike you, I respond to people who contact me.”
He felt like rolling his eyes as they returned to that tired subject.
She clicked her tongue. “Blake, I’ll accept your dare if you to tell me why you never texted back.”
He shifted on his feet and considered her offer. The phone beeped again and he held out his hand in response.
She merely turned the device off and set it on the table.
He sat down on the plush, cream-colored sofa and rested his elbows on his knees. She sat on the opposite end and tucked her feet under her and propped her head in her hands. It was almost as if they were friends and were going to play a board game or watch a movie.
But the film of his life, specifically five years earlier, was something he didn’t want to think about nor was it a story he wanted to tell. Ever. A sigh escaped.
As if sensing his hesitation, she said, “Hawk Ridge Hollow Resort. Snowboarding on the slopes, cocoa by the fire, flirting like there was a spark between us. Your lips on mine. My heart melting. My heart breaking.”
There was no denying the hurt in her eyes as she referenced the lyrics to her hit song. Breaking her heart wasn’t his intention. No, protecting it was. He’d failed multiple times over. He stiffened and swallowed thickly. His suspicions were correct. Her song Once Wasn’t Enough was about their brief time together. He knew he’d hurt her, but had told himself it was more like an insult. She was a diva, used to getting the flavor of the week, chewing him up, and spitting him out. She would’ve cut things off with him in a matter of months anyway.
Her gaze bore into him and he made the mistake of looking at her. His eyes landed on her lips which were twisted into a scowl, but her eyes told another story. My heart melting. It had meant something more to her. It had to him as well, but—
He let out a ragged exhale, giving in. “The day after you left, I was skiing with my father. The conditions weren’t ideal, but we were both pros, right? I believed we could handle anything. We took a run down a double black diamond. No big deal. We’d done it loads of times.” Blake’s breath caught in his chest. He balled one hand into a fist and caught it in the other. He couldn’t go on. The words wouldn’t come out. He got to his feet. “I should go.”
Cece stood and extended her arm as though reaching for him then quickly retracted it. He strode toward the door. She followed.
Across the room, her phone, programmed on silent, vibrated against the table, but she didn’t automatically look in its direction. She held up her end of the dare. Her stormy eyes concentrated on him, challenging him to keep going.
“A snow squall came upon us and produced whiteout conditions. My father must’ve lost control and hit a tree. When I realized he wasn’t with me, zipping past, spraying me with snow and laughing because the old man could still outski me—” Blake paused. His brothers knew the story up until that point, but he hadn’t ever told anyone the next part. “I hesitated. I was having a good run and wanted to keep going. I thought maybe he was messing with me or—I don’t know what. But that hesitation cost him his life.”
Cece’s fingers pressed against her lips.
“I went back, called, searched. The snow was thick, blinding. I found him in a tangle around a tree. He was unconscious. I took too long finding him and getting the rest of the mountain rescue team. Life flight came, but it was too late.”
“He died?” Her voice was a whisper.
“He was in a coma for a while. We had the best doctors. They tried everything. Nothing worked.”
Tears pooled in Cece’s eyes but didn’t drop.
“If I hadn’t hesitated, he’d still be alive.” The pain of the past seized Blake’s muscles, tightening his chest, his lungs, his throat. His entire body actually ached.
“You don’t know that,” she said too quickly.
He shrugged. “I do. It’s my fault my father died. I didn’t act fast enough.” He’d gone over the scene every single night since it had occurred. “If the second that I’d noticed my father wasn’t there and had turned back, perhaps they could’ve saved him.”
“Blake, you don’t know that for sure.”
But he did. Right down to his bones.
They stood there, toe to toe, but not touching. Despite his confession and devastation, the crackling continued between them as though communicating.