Worst Valentine's Day Ever: A Lonely Hearts Romance Anthology

by Kilby Blades

  “Sarah!”

  She picked up speed toward the bank of aft elevators, feeling her scarf loosen as the evening wind began to whip across the deck. Sarah touched the top of her head to keep the scarf in place, but not in time. Off it soared behind her, toward the dark aubergine sky, the full moon shining through the tiny white hearts in the fabric.

  She turned around. The scarf twisted and turned to the Latin rhythms now rocking the dance party. Carter reached up and the scarf fluttered obediently into his grasp. He held it in the air like a banner, showing Sarah the way back to him.

  All at once, a fire burned beneath her sandaled feet. She jumped into Carter’s waiting arms and kissed him with complete abandon. She found his lips in that bushy mess of facial hair, separated them with her urgent tongue and plunged into his mouth. It didn’t feel or look pretty. Sarah hadn’t kissed a man like that since before Greg died. She drooled a lot and accidentally bit his lip a little too hard. But man, it felt good.

  And very public. A crowd nearby broke out in hoots and cheers.

  Carter broke the kiss but kept his face near hers.

  “I want to make love to you, Sarah.”

  In the middle of his king-sized bed in his state room, Carter brought his face between Sarah’s ample breasts, licking and kissing her soft skin as he tugged on the straps of her one-piece. Her whimpers and moans turned him on to no end. If he didn’t slow down, he’d get a little too happy in his trunks. He forced himself to concentrate on pleasing her, tasting her, building up the anticipation for her.

  Carter had had four lovers since Ashley died; two semi-serious relationships if he counted Maggie, and two one-night stands. Sarah hadn’t had any intimacy.

  Carter didn’t want to take anything for granted. This moment— this time—belonged to her. God, she deserved it. Sarah deserved every good thing for the rest of her life.

  He pulled the straps down her arms, lowering the front of her bathing suit. Her nipples, dark and large, soft and pert, seemed to call to him. Carter leaned in and praised them with his tongue. Sarah cried out and clasped her hands against the back of his neck as she turned her head to the ceiling.

  Carter ran his tongue back and forth between her nipples, licked each breast from bottom to top, and started to inch toward her neck. With every move, she released a new, sexy sound. He dotted her neck with tiny kisses, pressing his hands on her back as he reached her jawline. He tilted her head toward him, gently. Carter wanted to kiss her lips and look her in the eyes one more time before continuing. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t dreaming this as he had so many times before. She had to give him the real, final OK.

  Carter nibbled her chin before facing her fully. Tears streaked her face.

  Carter stopped cold.

  “Keep going,” she said, her voice less audible now than in the middle of the dance party.

  Carter cupped her face in his hands.

  “You’re not ready.”

  “I am ready. I’m just...emotional.” She closed her eyes. “Greg was the only one.”

  Carter nodded as he moved to the edge of the bed to give her space. He remembered her telling him that with pride.

  He pulled a few tissues from a box on the nightstand and handed them to her. She thanked him and dabbed her eyes.

  “Now this is what I call killing the mood,” she said, lifting her straps back onto her shoulders.

  “You have to stop being hard on yourself.” The word ‘hard’ reminded him that his little buddy got left in the lurch. It twitched and throbbed in protest.

  Sarah scooted next to him.

  “I guess this was a mistake,” she said.

  Carter thought about it. A mistake, no. Bad timing? Yes.

  “I think we assumed that just because we lost our spouses, we were on the same journey,” Carter said. “But our paths are different.”

  Sarah rested her head on Carter’s shoulder.

  “What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I need some fresh air and a drink.” He jumped up and started looking for his boarding card.

  “You’re angry.”

  “Absolutely not. I just have to clear my head. You should do the same.”

  She flopped her back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t even know what’s in my head anymore.”

  “All the more reason for a little breather.”

  Carter sounded far more pissed off than he intended. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t. He could only think about her beautiful breasts and her moans and how badly he wanted to make love to her and what a damn fool he must have looked like, accompanying her and the kids on this cruise, knowing he had deeper feelings for Sarah than he ever cared to admit.

  He grabbed his boarding card off the floor and slipped on his sandals.

  “I’ll swing by your suite before eight so we can all disembark together,” he said, his voice monotone this time. He opened the door and let it slam behind him.

  Carter walked around the ship for 90 minutes. He stumbled onto more parties, casino tournaments, live bands and conga lines, but he didn’t hit any of the bars. He needed air more than a buzz.

  When he returned to his room, Sarah had already gone. He decided not to chase after her, and fell asleep, dreaming of nothing.

  In the morning, he went to her suite at 7:45 a.m. as planned. A member of the housekeeping staff handed him a note.

  Got a very early start. We’re changing our flights only. Thank you for making good on your promise.

  - Sarah

  February 10, 7:25 p.m.

  “Hey, Ma. It’s Sarah. I was just calling to check on you. We just got back from a fun cruise to the Bahamas and Key West. I’m sure the girls will tell you all about it when you call back. I’m sorry we weren’t able to call you on the anniversary of Greg’s...you know. We hardly used our phones on the cruise. Anyway, in case we miss each other, I just wanted to thank you for Greg. He meant everything to us, and I know he was a wonderful son to you and Papa. I hope you’re doing well. Love you.”

  February 10, 8:15 p.m.

  “Hey Papa MacNeil. Melody, Grace and I just wanted to hear your voice. I called Ma’s phone a little while ago and it went to voicemail. Maybe you guys are at church or out to dinner or something. All right, well, I’m gonna go. Talk to you later.”

  February 10, 7:30 p.m.

  “Hey, babe. Geez, I haven’t called your number in a long time. I remember your voice, though, especially today. It’s our anniversary, babe. If you were here, I’ll bet you’d take me and the girls out to a great restaurant, maybe see a movie, maybe go for a drive through downtown. We don’t do that anymore. That was your thing. Our thing is karaoke and learning Spanish and making new friends. Yes, me, the introvert, made a new friend. I think you’d like him. He thinks he can fix everything. I think he blames himself for not being able to save his wife, so he tries to make up for it in every other way. For a while, I believed he could. But he can’t mend a broken heart. I think that’s up to me, and time. Maybe it will never be fully repaired. I think it will always long for its other half. But I’ve got to keep it beating, and that means I have to keep moving and loving and doing right by our girls. I think that’s what you’d want. I love you Greg.”

  February 11, 10:12 a.m.

  “Dr. Hudson, its Sarah MacNeil. We have an appointment on the seventeenth, but I was wondering if you could see me sooner, like, today? I’m just feeling a little...I don’t know. Confused, I guess. Today Greg and I would have been married fifteen years. And of course, we’ve got Valentine’s Day right around the corner. The thing is, I found a companion like you advised, but then I lost it. He was actually more than that. He was my friend, and I think I messed everything up. Anyway, let me know your availability. Thanks.”

  February 13, 3:56 p.m.

  “Carter, it’s me, Sarah. I just wanted to thank you again for a great trip and for just being there for us. I know things ended pretty awkwardly, but I wanted you
to know that I really enjoyed spending time with you. You listened, and you tried to make things better. You’re my friend, Carter. My best friend. I’ll always be grateful for that. Truth is, I think I had it all wrong. I didn’t need a distraction from Febzilla. I think I needed to feel all the pain and loneliness of it. I read somewhere that, when it comes to grief, the only way to get to the other side is to go through it, you know? So that’s what I’m doing. We didn’t cry or reminisce at all on the cruise, so we’re doing that now. We’re crying and just holding each other tight, because that’s part of grieving, and that’s how we get to the other side. There’s no going around it.

  Anyway, I just got your voicemail’s warning to wrap up this diatribe within ten seconds or else. So I guess that’s it. Take care of yourself, Carter.”

  Carter stared at his reflection, stroking his beard with one hand and opening and closing a pair of scissors with the other.

  Ashley adored his beard. She had encouraged him to grow it long and bushy, “like a wild man,” in the first place. She loved that he wore the poncho she made, even in warm weather. She loved that he cooked healthy meals and tried to get her to exercise more and take her medicine regularly, even though she didn’t always comply.

  He’d tried to fix her, but he couldn’t.

  He’d tried to fix Sarah, but she didn’t need it.

  Carter needed to fix himself.

  He brought the scissors to his beard and started to cut. With each snip, he gained a little more confidence, and looked more like the person he’d hid inside for six years: a man under construction. A widower.

  “I am a widower,” he said when he finished. He ran his hand over his close-cut, tamer beard.

  After showering, Carter washed and dried his poncho. He put it in a plastic storage bag, and placed it in the back of his closet.

  “Carter’s here!”

  Melody and Grace opened the front door and started to run to him until they saw his face. Sarah stood at the threshold, her arms folded. All three wore matching red two-piece pajama sets with hearts on them.

  “What happened to your big beard?” Melody asked, stunned.

  “I made it a little beard.”

  “And your poncho?” Grace pulled on the sleeve of his gray suit.

  “I put it away. It was time.”

  The girls finished their hugs and invited him in. “We’re about to have a Valentine’s Day karaoke party! We’ve got cupcakes and ice cream and those little heart candies!”

  “That sounds like fun. But I’d like to speak to your mom for a minute, if that’s ok.”

  “Sure!” The girls ran back inside.

  Sarah stepped outside and closed the door. After several chilly nights, the weather had warmed up to the mid 50s.

  “I won’t keep you long,” Carter said. “I just wanted to tell you…I needed to say…” Dammit! He blew out a nervous breath.

  “Calma.” Sarah reached up and caressed his cheek. His breathing steadied to a regular pace, and he pulled the words from his heart.

  “Sarah, you are strong as hell. I don’t ever want you to forget that. You don’t try to pretend to be somebody you’re not. You don’t take anybody’s crap. You’re beautiful and real and brilliant. And I want to be there for you and your amazing daughters, however you need me to be.”

  Sarah threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek as he held her close, his hands circling her waist.

  “I’m so sorry I left you in my state room all alone,” he said. “I should have been more sensitive.” He pulled away so he could look in her eyes. “I was gentle one second, pissed the next. I feel like I confused you.”

  Sarah sniffed and wiped a tear away. “I’m not confused. I know I’m in love with you.”

  Carter broke into a goofy, boyish smile.

  “I knew it!” he said, pumping his fist in the air and laughing. She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

  “I love you, too, Sarah.” Carter kissed her lips softly, sweetly. The kiss lasted the length of the pop song the girls were crooning inside. He never wanted it to end.

  “All this is new to me, Carter. I don’t need you to fix anything anymore. I just need to take it slow.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I know. And I’ll wait.”

  She put her hand in his. “You’ve already done so much. Valentine’s Day doesn’t suck, and we’re about to see a live show. I just have one question.” She began to giggle.

  “How long will it take you to grow your beard back?”

  “Chasing the Night” by Deb Lee

  Anne

  “Help! Please, I need help!”

  The clinic door slammed hard against the adjacent window, nearly shattering it as the familiar rugged face burst through the doorway along with a gust of ice and sleet.

  Anne Riley lunged to her feet, her stomach sinking through the floor. This was her worst fear and it was happening. A large gash on his forehead dripped blood but none of that mattered when she saw that he cradled a limp, blood-soaked, ninety-pound German shepherd.

  She covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. “James! Oh, my God, is he d—dead?”

  “Well, he’s not skipping around playing fetch is he?”

  Anne bristled at his harsh tone, frantically scattering her hands over the mess of papers on the desk for the vet hospital’s number. People brought animals here all the time thinking the clinic could help. They kept the number to the veterinarian with the other specialists’ numbers. “I’m not equipped for animals. I can’t help him here.”

  The cop’s eyes cut to hers. “He’s been shot. Where the hell am I supposed to take him?” It was less of a question and more of a direct statement. The nearest vet was forty-five minutes away and Anne knew by the amount of blood pooling at James’s feet that, if the dog wasn’t already dead, that trek would do it.

  Anne snagged the phone. “I’ll call EMS then. They’ll transport a K-9 to the vet hospital in Ellington. This is just a clinic. I have limited recourses for animals.”

  James wasn’t wearing his typical K-9 BDUs, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working. Her eyes shifted to the poor creature draped over his arms, and her throat swelled. Her legs wanted to move but she felt anchored to the ground.

  “EMS will never get here in time. And if I thought he’d make it, I’d have driven a hundred miles an hour to get him there. But there’s a storm blowing in and he doesn’t have that kind of time. Please, Anne, help us.”

  Anne’s legs finally came unglued and she rushed around the counter, side-eyeing the People magazine still open to the celebrity crossword puzzle she’d just been working on, trying to stay awake. How could life change so drastically in a moment? A few seconds ago she’d been waiting for her shift to end, and now…

  She swallowed a sob.

  Tonight would have been difficult enough. At the stroke of midnight—exactly ninety minutes from now—her divorce would be final. The night had been quiet until then, probably due to the weather—so quiet Anne had sent her only back-up home. Not so much as a runny-nosed kid had walked through the door all day. Now, here she was. Alone.

  Except for the man standing before her, desperation in the lines of his ruggedly-handsome face, holding a ball of fur she had known since he was twelve weeks old: her soon-to-be ex-husband, James, and Chase, the police dog they had raised together.

  James

  James couldn’t feel his feet anymore and he couldn’t care less about the throbbing pain shooting through his head. He didn’t give a shit that his fingers were numb or that his pulse raced heart-attack fast. All he cared about was that his wife–at least for a couple more hours—was being an infuriatingly stubborn gatekeeper between his dog’s chance at survival and no chance at all. Now was not the time for pleasantries.

  “James, I’m sorry. I . . . I don’t know what to do. Let me call the attending. Maybe he knows.”

  James lumbered closer so the only thing separating him from her was Chase. He to
wered a foot above her and even he knew how intimidating he must look with blood pouring down the side of his head and dripping from the wounded dog in his arms.

  He didn’t care. Screw being gentle. He needed her to act.

  “There’s no time. Do something—anything. Now!”

  Anne frowned. “I don’t know the first thing about canine first-aid.”

  “But you know first-aid. You’re a doctor.”

  She lifted the dog’s eyelids and shined a light into his right eye, then the left. “But I’m not a vet. Completely different training.”

  “Try,” James demanded.

  He didn’t deserve her help. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Chase.

  Keeping her eyes fixed on his, Anne palpated the dog. Even though he kept a firm hold over the hole, James could feel the blood mercilessly seeping through his fingers. “He’s alive but I don’t know how much I can help. He needs a vet.”

  “He needs you.”

  James leveled his stare at the woman he’d loved for so many years. She couldn’t possibly understand how much he needed her right now. The past year had been awful. Emotional. The hardest year of his life.

  They didn’t have children; they had Chase. But he got the dog in the settlement because Chase was his partner.

  Anne shook her head. “What if I screw up?”

  “Try,” he whispered.

  Determination clicked into her eyes. Maybe no one else knew that look, but he did. He wanted to weep with relief.

  “Of course. I’ll try. Bring him in here.”

  She whipped around and charged forward, leading James into a back room. She shoved through the double doors, flicking on a light, bright as the sun, and pointing to the stainless steel table. “Lay him here.”