Charlie’s cheeks blazed red, her head shook slightly. “You sleep with every legal female close enough to touch—”
“Not every.”
“—and you brag about it. You act like no one can touch you. And if you hurt any of those women, you don’t care. It isn’t in you to care.”
I lifted an eyebrow and reminded her, “I cared about hurting you.”
“That’s different, Deacon. You would also care about hurting Grey or Harlow or Knox’s sister.”
I had never fantasized about touching any of them though. And I still didn’t know what to do about wanting to touch the girl in front of me.
“So to answer your question, yes, that’s how people see you. But I think that’s only because you created this for them to see. And I also think that you have deep and confusing thoughts when you’re going off little sleep. That, or one of the girls from last night made you think about who you are far too much. Which . . . actually might be a good thing for you. Maybe she’ll be a change for you, like Harlow was for Knox. But go sit down and I’ll bring your coffee regardless of whichever one it was.”
I bit back my automatic response, because, technically, she wasn’t wrong, and blew out a heavy sigh as I took a step back. Before she could turn away, I asked, “Why does it have to depend on a girl? Why can’t there just be different sides to me?”
“Such deep and confusing thoughts,” she murmured again. “Why are you coming to me with this?”
“Because I’ve seen different sides of you in just the last week. I’ve seen the shy, sweet Charlie I grew up with, and I’ve seen the one who stood up to me and for herself.”
Embarrassment flashed across her face. “You can’t compare us, Deacon. All you’ve ever wanted was to be seen, and I’d rather not be seen at all.” She walked away, leaving me there, staring at the place where she’d been standing.
Just as I turned, she called out my name, and I looked over my shoulder to see her walking back toward me with a mug of coffee in her hands.
“Here, so you can get started.” She smirked, but it died as soon as I took the mug from her hands. “And, Deacon? Keith might be sleeping right now, but he repeats everything, and he’s obsessed with you lately. Keep that in mind when you talk about your nights, okay?”
I’d never realized how much people expected me to have a night with a random girl, or multiple girls, until this week. I’d also never realized how much this image that Charlie said I’d created for myself would piss me off when I found that I could no longer get away from it.
I huffed in frustration, and stared into the dark depths of the coffee for a moment before looking up at her again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I was alone last night?”
Charlie’s face was etched with disbelief, and it was the only answer I needed.
“Right.” I cleared my throat and took a step back, and raised the mug in her direction. “Thanks, Charlie.”
I had barely gotten settled back into the booth before Jagger said in a low, warning tone, “Man, stay away from my sister.”
I glanced up, and everyone else at the booth was frozen and looking at either Jagger or myself . . . but Jagger wasn’t paying attention to me. His focus was on his daughter.
Just when I started to think I’d imagined his warning, and imagined everyone’s stares, he said, “I love you, Deac, but I’m so fucking serious.” His eyes finally flicked in my direction, the look in them drove home his words.
“Jagger . . .” Grey said, her voice almost too soft to hear.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. “We were just talking.”
One of his eyebrows ticked up, a huff burst from his chest. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. As long as it stays that way, then that’s fine. I mean it; you’re like a brother. But Charlie has Keith, she doesn’t need to get involved with someone like—”
“Jagger, stop,” Grey said, this time louder.
“Yeah, no, I got it.” I tried to laugh, but it may have come across as a sneer. One of my phones chimed then, and I didn’t even pay attention to which one it was when I pulled it out of my pocket and held it up. “Because of this, right? They call, and I go willingly.”
I downed the hot coffee as fast as I could and slid out of the booth, more than ready to get away now that no one was speaking and everyone was staring at me with a mixture of shock, confusion, and sympathy.
“See the two of you when you get back from your honeymoon,” I said to Knox and Harlow, then nodded in Grey’s direction. “When Keith wakes up, tell him I already covered up the ladybugs on the menu so they can’t take his superpowers away.” When her sympathetic expression turned confused, I said, “He’ll understand.”
I turned and nearly ran into Charlie as she carried the drink tray toward the booth.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, her eyes already darting over me. “Are you leaving?”
My mouth opened to say, “I have to go live up to my reputation,” but shut again. Instead, I simply mumbled, “Charlie Girl,” and walked past her and out of Mama’s Café.
As soon as I was back home and in bed, I opened up the conversation with Words, the journal girl, on my phone. And as I tapped out a message, I realized I needed this more than I’d thought. If the people I was closest to wouldn’t allow me to be anything other than this image I’d created, then at least I had this.
Words, have you ever thought about how people move to places like Thatch to start their lives over, but the people who grow up in those towns can’t start over unless they leave?
Charlie
June 9, 2016
STRANGER: AT ALL.
My jaw dropped in disbelief as I hurried to respond a few days later.
I’d spent every night since the wedding talking to Stranger, and in that time, I’d come to know him better than anyone, and he me. And sometimes it was hard to believe that he hadn’t been in my life for years, because I’d never been able to talk to anyone like I could this.
What do you mean? How can you not believe in love?
Stranger: No, I mean, I do. Just . . . not like . . . I don’t know. I love my family and my closest friends because they’re like family. But the other? I think it’s something people have made up over the years. It’s wants and needs and infatuations that people glorify into a relationship and marriage that you either stick out for your life or decide you don’t want to deal with anymore.
Stranger: I don’t think we’re meant to fall in love with someone and spend forever with them. I think the whole “the one” thing is just bullshit.
“That’s depressing,” I whispered, then tapped my words out to him.
That is incredibly depressing.
Stranger: How did I know you wouldn’t agree with me? Even after the guy from years ago that treated you the way he did, you still believe in it?
Of course I do.
I don’t think it’s always easy, and the journey to find the person you’re meant to be with can be messy, but I think there is at least one person for everyone. And I don’t say “at least” in the instance that we get bored, but if there’s a death, or something like that . . .
And, yeah, it can start with wants and needs and desire, but you never know when it might end up turning into something so much more than that—when your soul recognizes theirs. I feel like a part of our souls are dying away every day until we finally find the person who holds the other half.
Stranger: Soul mates, huh? If that even exists, I think people are quick to put that label on someone. Just like I think people are too quick to say those three little words.
True, some people are.
Stranger: Not you?
I had only ever told one person that I had loved them, and I hadn’t even said the words “I love you.” I’d simply told Ben that I’d been in love with
him for as long as I could remember. Those three words had never left my lips, though I had fantasized for years about the day they would.
No, but I envy them. I think it’s a beautiful thing to be a lover.
Stranger: You and your words . . .
Stranger: So you’re a romantic then?
Obviously, as if you expected me to be anything less.
And I will say I’m kind of disappointed in your lack of belief in love.
Stranger: Sorry, Words. No white knight waiting to sweep you off your feet here.
Ha ha. Shame.
I fought off a yawn as I tapped out my response, and glanced up when something caught my eye out of one of the large windows of the warehouse. I blinked quickly, squinted, then smiled at the pinkish gray sky.
Good morning, Stranger.
Stranger: Christ. Already? Morning, Words.
I don’t know why you always sound so surprised when you won’t ever let me go to sleep.
Stranger: I’m sorry.
Stranger: I like your words, what can I say?
My chest moved with my silent laugh, and my lips pulled into a smile.
Yeah, but I think people at work are starting to worry about why I can’t function.
There was such a long pause before the little dots popped up, indicating he was typing, that I’d thought he’d finally fallen asleep.
Stranger: I’m really struggling not to ask where you work. Or who you are . . .
I wouldn’t tell you even if you did.
Stranger: Ever?
My thumbs stilled above my screen as I thought. What we’d had with my notebook last week, and now with texting all night every night, was safe because we knew nothing about each other. And yet, in the past week and a half, I’d told him everything about myself.
He didn’t know my name, my family, the specifics of my past with Ben, or about Keith . . . but he knew more about me than anyone else ever had. And I knew that was because there was this sense that he wasn’t actually real. Like he was fictional. It was as if I was falling for the hero of a book, except he was real.
Something told me that if we were ever put in front of each other, what we’d had would end, and I wasn’t ready for it to. I’d never had this, and I didn’t know if I ever would again . . . so I wanted it for as long as it could last.
I’m not sure.
Stranger: Right . . . probably best, yeah?
Yeah . . .
Stranger: Before I let you go, can you tell me something?
Of course :)
Stranger: What ever happened to that not-so-suicide note that started all of this?
Ha . . . the song?
Stranger: It was a song?
The beginning of one, yes.
Stranger: . . . were those all songs?
My cheeks burned with heat as I quickly tapped on the screen.
Songs and poems, yes . . .
Stranger: So did you finish it?
I blinked slowly as I realized I couldn’t even think of anything to say about my nights with Ben other than what I’d already said. I’d been thinking about those nights for years before I finally allowed myself to write about them, and then my Stranger came and made me wonder why I was still waiting for a guy who wasn’t even alive to love me.
Actually, no. I’d forgotten about it with our notes and everything.
Stranger: Are you saying my words can make you forget? ;)
Stranger: Are you going to?
Yes. That’s exactly what I was saying. I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought, then finally responded.
Ha ha. I’m not sure. I thought I had an entire song about what I was for him, and what he never was for me—but now I’m not so sure.
I flew up to a sitting position on the couch, and glanced back up at the window. The sky now a mixture of pinks, purples, and oranges.
Stranger: He didn’t deserve a song anyway
Hold on. I’ll be back with something, but then I really need to get ready for work.
I ran through the warehouse and tiptoed into my room, and snatched my notebook up before running back out to the couch. I flipped to the first clean page since our notes had taken up so much of the others, quickly wrote out what had been Ben’s song, and then added a little bit below. Once it was done, I took a picture and sent it to Stranger.
Who listens to your sad songs
The shoulder that you cry on
Out on that ledge you walk on
When you’re sinking
Who keeps your secrets locked up
When there’s no one you can trust
I know it’s much more than just wishful thinking
Just say the words and you know I’ll be there
You can’t believe it’s daylight
We stayed up again all night
Just ta Talking just cause you like the way I make the words sound
I waited for what seemed like hours but was really only a minute before those little dots popped up. My heart raced and I bit at my lip as I worried about what he would say.
Stranger: That’s not about him, is it?
No . . .
Stranger: Will there be more?
I guess that depends.
Stranger: On?
Our conversations, and if they continue.
Stranger: Words . . . you’re not getting rid of me.
My cheeks burned as my lips stretched into a smile.
Then eventually.
Stranger: Good. Go get ready for work. I’ll talk to you later.
Have a good day, Stranger.
I stood from the couch and started walking back toward the bedroom when my phone vibrated in my hand again.
Stranger: Hey, Words? Having what you wrote about him at the beginning makes it seem like that’s what is happening now. He’s your past . . . I think he should come after us.
Us. I stared at that word for the longest time as those stupid, stupid butterflies took up residence in my stomach again, then I tapped out a response.
Okay then.
Chapter Nine
Deacon
June 11, 2016
I GLANCED AT Charlie’s car as Graham and I walked up to the warehouse, and shifted the bags in my hands when he knocked on the door. After knocking again and not getting an answer, Graham tried the door, and sent me an annoyed look when it opened.
This was Thatch, but Jagger and Grey really needed to start locking their door.
Loud music was blasting through the warehouse, and from experience, we knew that meant Jagger was drawing in the back.
“Jagger,” we mumbled at the same time.
“I’ll go let him know we’re here,” he said, and set off in that direction, but I didn’t bother to respond as a flash of blond caught my attention.
I hurried to set the bags of food on the table before quietly walking toward the couches, where Charlie was curled into a ball on her side; her finger still holding her place in a book even though she was asleep.
My mouth curled into an amused grin as I squatted next to her. “People actually fall asleep like this?” I said under my breath, and carefully took the book from her.
Once I had it set down, I looked back down at her, and was struck again with the intense urge to touch her. To feel her body against mine again.
Before I could do something as stupid as either of those things, her eyes shot open and she jerked away from me. Her hand went to her chest, and she exhaled roughly.
“Oh my God, Deacon,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“Charlie Girl.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks, and though she opened her mouth, it took her a few seconds to get the words out. “Why are you staring at me while I sleep? It’s creepy when Keith does it, and I actually exp
ect him to be there when I wake up.”
“I . . .” I blew out a slow breath, and sat back on my heels when I faltered for a reason that I could give her. “I was going to wake you up. You beat me to it.”
“Room.”
My brow furrowed. “What?”
She placed her hand against my chest, and pushed. “Give me room so I can sit up.” Once she was upright, she ran a hand through her long hair and looked around the large room as she blinked slowly, like she was trying to orient herself.
“How did you sleep through Jagger’s music?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Years of getting used to it, I guess.”
Jesus Christ. Why the hell did this tired, rumpled version of Charlie make me want her more?
This was Charlie. Charlie Girl. Jagger’s shy little sister. Shy, sweet Charlie who had always been in the background my entire life. No man could deny that she was gorgeous, but she wanted to be invisible, and she usually succeeded in it.
I’d never once thought of her in any way like I had the past couple weeks. I’d never wanted to touch her. I’d never wanted to push her back down and cover her body with mine. I’d never wanted to know what she felt like beneath me.
This had to be what it felt like to lose your damn mind. Because this was fucking Charlie.
It had never been that she was untouchable; it was just that there was no thinking of her at all. I didn’t know what to do now that I couldn’t stop. Ever since that night, that damn night outside these very walls had changed something. And I wanted to change it right back.
“Why are you here?” she asked softly.
I glanced up to find her studying the ground with her arms wrapped securely around her waist.
There she went, trying to be invisible again . . . but I’d never seen anyone so clearly.
“Graham and I brought breakfast from Mama’s,” I said as I nodded toward the kitchen area, even though she still wasn’t looking at me. “Speaking of, I figured I would’ve seen you there.”
“I switched with someone, so I’m going in later today.” She looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen, and said, “But I should get ready because I have to walk to work.”
“Walk?” I asked as she stood.
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