by Amelia Wilde
I breathe away the heat pressing against my cheeks, but he’s seen me looking. I offer him a hand up. It’s the least I can do, even if the gesture is totally ineffectual. I’m not a weakling. He’s tall and muscular, but I could at least—
He dismisses the offer with a shake of his head and pushes himself up using the arm of the chair instead. Day narrows his eyes over my shoulder—jeez, Carla, be a little less obvious, would you?—and looks down at me.
Take control of the situation. This is your job. You are here to help. To prove that you can help.
“Let’s head back to my office.”
I try for a neutral tone, like Dayton is any other client, but he’s not any other client. He doesn’t smile but the corner of his mouth lifts up a fraction of an inch.
“Okay.”
How long has it been since I last saw him? Up until this moment, if you asked me, I’d have been able to give you an exact number of days. But right now, standing next to him in this waiting room, the cold, clean scent of him filling my lungs, I have no idea. Has it been three years? How did I ever go that long without seeing him? My soul is lit up like the Empire State Building on a clear night. My soul…and other parts of me. It’s like my soul doesn’t remember that he took my heart in those big, rough hands and squeezed until it broke.
“Summer?”
My name is soft on his lips, and watching those lips form the word sends illicit pleasure tumbling through my brain.
“Yeah?”
A nod of his head, a quick gesture behind me. “Your office?”
Now the blush takes over. I can’t stop it. “Right. Of course. Right.” I turn on my heel and lead the way.
3
Summer
Twelve Years Ago
Only people who really, really love winter would brave the top of Suicide Hill. The biggest hill. The forbidden hill behind the middle school.
I love winter.
My mom named me for the warmest season of the year, but give me inches of white snow any day.
It’s not cool to hate summer vacation, and really, I don’t. Every summer my dad takes three weeks off from his job at the plant, and since mom teaches seventh-grade English in the next town over, that leaves plenty of time to drive all the way from New York, where we live, to Michigan, where my Grandpa Louie bought two cottages on one long lot in the 1970s. When he died he gave one to my mom and one to my aunt Holly and every single summer we go on vacation with her, and her husband Tom and their three kids. I like the pontoon boat rides best.
They can’t beat sledding.
Especially on snow days. Like today.
School’s closed for us, but not mom, so she left Wes in charge. I don’t need him to watch me. I’m eleven. I’m old enough to take care of myself. He’s better at ordering pizza, I guess, which he promised to do when we’re done sledding.
I’m not sure if we’re going to be done anytime soon because when we got here, to the top of Suicide Hill, his best friend Dayton appeared out of nowhere. The woods, really, which isn’t nowhere. I’m pretty sure he lives on the other side of those woods in the cul-de-sac my mom doesn’t like to drive to. I heard her telling Dad the other night that she was going to be glad when Wes got his official license and she wouldn’t have to drive Day home, but I bet she didn’t mean it. It’s just a cul-de-sac.
For a snow day, it’s not very cold. School’s closed but there are lots of other kids at Suicide because who could resist snow like this? Deep and fluffy and cushioning. It’s perfect for sledding, and when Wes woke up at 11:15 I couldn’t help asking him, and for once he didn’t pretend he was too old for it.
So here I am, at the top of Suicide Hill with my bright orange saucer, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
We’re not supposed to be here. Nobody’s allowed during school hours because it’s so steep, and there’s a huge boulder at the bottom of the hill that’s a memorial for a boy named Victor who died in 1991, according to the big metal plaque on the front of it. When we left the house Wes started walking here instead of the regular sledding hill at the park on Pine, but what was I going to say?
The rough edges of my hat, barely blunted by the fleece on the inside, rub against my cheeks and I scan the hill, clutching my saucer with my mittened hands. There’s a group of boys from my grade here acting like maniacs. My heart is racing and I haven’t even gone down yet. The thought that I’m going to—that I’m going to hop down onto the saucer on my knees and go screaming down the new snow—makes my arms tingle, same as when I sneak three more Oreos from the cupboard while Mom’s watching. Two of the boys go down again, crashing into each other at the bottom of the hill, yelling at each other through laughter that the other one is an asshole.
Boys.
I roll my eyes and steal another glance over at Dayton and Wes, who are huddled close together. Wes has the blue saucer from the garage and Dayton doesn’t have anything. Day’s back is to me. The boys at the bottom of the hill don’t have shoulders that broad, and even under his winter coat, I can tell that football practice is making him more muscular.
I wish he’d look at me.
I wish he’d do more than look at me, honestly, but I’m not sure what I’d want him to do. Up until this fall, I thought kissing was pretty weird and gross, but then my best friend Amy stole one of her mom’s romance books and we read it under the covers one night when she stayed over. I couldn’t picture most of what was going on—why do they write them like that?—but when we skipped to the part about the first kiss, it was Dayton’s face that popped into mind.
So embarrassing.
He’d never want to kiss me. He’s fourteen, a freshman in high school already, and I’m a seventh-grader. He plays on the football team.
One of the boys my age shoves the other and he falls backward into the snow. I try to picture kissing one of them, and it makes my face twist like I’m smelling sour milk. Disgusting. I bet Day would taste like the wintergreen gum he likes to chew.
It’s weird, thinking about him like this, and it makes my cheeks hot even in the winter wind. The boys at the bottom of the hill start walking up. My path is clear. It’s time.
I hope Dayton sees this.
I take three running steps forward and jump onto the saucer.
It’s a mistake.
I know it right away.
I’ve started too high on the top of the hill. It’s way too steep and I can feel the saucer going out of control beneath me but I can’t stop with my legs pinned underneath me. All I can do is hold onto the edge and try not to scream. Am I screaming?
Adrenaline rushes through my veins, bright and sharp—this is what breaking the rules feels like—and I see everything so clearly, the sunlight dazzling on the puffs of snow rising on the hill, the boulder at the bottom, and the gray saucer spinning in front of me, dropped or thrown by one of those idiot boys.
I tip right to avoid the saucer, picking up speed, but it’s another mistake because now I’m barreling toward the boulder and that will not be good, oh my god that will not be good.
I overcorrect to the left and almost lose it but then I’m going up, up, over a hill in the snow hidden in all the blinding white and for a few loud beats of my heart I’m airborne, tipping backward too far backward and I can see the snow beneath me where I should be seeing sky and then that brilliant snow is speeding toward me.
I try to tuck my head in but it slams into the snow first, my hat tugging off, and suddenly the snow seems more like ice. The saucer comes down next, one edge clipping my lip, and I roll out onto my back, one wet mitten against my mouth, ears ringing.
What did I do?
All those people watching—
My lip throbs, the back of my head throbs, and tears prick the corners of my eyes, which is why it’s blurry when a face appears above me, brown eyes wide and worried. It’s not Wes. It’s Dayton, and with the sun behind his head like this he looks like the handsomest angel ever to have walked the earth.
H
is lips move but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.
“What?” I say, and my voice sounds too loud inside my head.
He crouches next to me and his voice cuts in. “—can you feel your toes? Jesus, you hit the ground hard. Summer? You okay? Your arms are probably fine, since you’ve got that one up.” He puts one hand on mine and tugs my mitten away from my lip, then makes a face. “What happened to your lip?”
“The sled.” It’s puffy against my teeth now. I can see Wes—he’s behind Dayton. He must have gotten there second.
“Can you feel your toes?”
I guess I can. I wiggle both feet, but I’m still lightheaded.
“Deep breaths,” says Dayton casually, like he’s in charge of this situation and every other one too. I take a deep breath and the ringing subsides a little bit. “Damn, you’re tough.” He cracks a smile, shaking his head. “You almost did a total backflip in the air with that thing. I didn’t think you’d go for it, but—”
“I didn’t. I hit the hill by accident.” I try to shove up on one elbow but it makes me dizzy.
Dayton moves fast. “Whoa. Let me help you. That was a hell of a fall.” He puts one hand on my arm and the other around my back and everywhere he touches me my skin glows. I take as long as I can standing up, then one last deep breath. Day stands close. He’s tall. Taller than I remembered him being. I want him to stand this close for the rest of the day. I want everyone to see him standing with me.
But the only person who seems to notice is Wes, who’s watching Dayton with narrowed eyes, sled dangling from his hand. “You okay?” He says finally.
“Yeah.” No thanks to him. I used to think he was a hero, but he doesn’t look like one standing next to Day.
“Good.” He rubs a hand against his forehead, under his hat, then turns his attention to Dayton. “You want to get some pizza?”
4
Dayton
She thinks I’m a hero.
That’s problem number one. Her eyes lit up at the sight of me. Her cheeks went a delicate pink. And she ran across the room to hug me like I never broke her heart. In Summer Sullivan’s eyes, I’m still a good man.
Problem number two?
Her shirt is distracting.
It’s a dress shirt, a dark blue that brings out the vivid hue of her eyes, and it’s completely appropriate for an office setting. But it’s fitted, and when she turns to her computer to pull up my file, I stifle the urge to leap across the desk and run my hands over the curves the fabric is hiding. It has five buttons and a ruffled bit at the bottom that did more than accentuate her ass while she walked in front of me. I might not have a left foot, but I could undo all of them before she could gasp.
Don’t get me started about that ass.
“Is it okay if I call you Dayton?” The question wrenches me away from a juvenile fantasy involving her breasts and my face—Jesus, where did that come from?—and it takes too much time for it to compute.
“What else would you call me?”
“Mr. Nash.” Her cheeks go pink. She can’t hide it. I want to run my thumb over her cheekbone and my fist tightens in my lap.
“We’re not strangers.” I say it like I don’t care.
An emotion flickers across her face, too subtle for me to capture and name. “Not total strangers, anyway.” I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now. She scrolls a few more times, her elegant fingers quick on the mouse, and turns to face me. “Let’s start with a little bit about how we can help you.”
How we can help you makes my stomach curdle. I don’t want help. I especially don’t want Summer’s help. But her face is wide open, and as much as I want to get the hell out of here, I can’t force myself to leave. I settle for a nod.
Summer takes a quick breath in. “Great.” She’s relieved. We’re on solid ground, at least for the moment. “Heroes on the Homefront is primarily a job placement service, but we also offer assistance with arranging medical care, finding suitable living arrangements, and connecting you with fellow veterans who may be—”
I thought I could let this speech roll over me, but fellow veterans is too much.
“No. I don’t need any of that.”
She bites her lip, eyes lowering to the calendar at the center of her desk, and a wave of regret crashes into me at chest height. I reach out to her folded hands before I know what I’m doing and catch myself at the last minute. I’m not going to hold her fucking hand, but the movement has caught her eye and those blues are on mine again, every bit of me mesmerized by the color.
“I’m—” I clear my throat. “I don’t think I need that, but go ahead and finish.”
Summer’s smile is brilliant like sun on the sand. “There wasn’t much more to say. Only that we offer support groups and one-on-one meet-ups between veterans who may be able to connect via common experiences.” Her words come out in a tumble, and when she’s finished speaking she blows a breath out through her lips and reaches up to tuck a nonexistent flyaway behind her ear. That’s what she always did when she was relieved, and seeing it nearly gives me a heart attack. Maybe she’s not so different.
“All right. I don’t think I’ll need those things, but if I do—”
“If you do, here’s my card.” She leans forward and takes a card from a holder at the edge of the desk, sliding it across the surface toward me with a grin. Summer Sullivan, right there in big letters. Career Placement Coordinator underneath. “Those came in yesterday,” she says, pride on display.
I look into her eyes and do my best to keep my head above water. “Yesterday? How long have you been here?”
“Three months.” Summer leans back, keeping her head high. “I graduated in December and got hired straight out of college.”
College. That’s what she was doing while I was in the desert, and then doing even less savory things back in the states. My throat tightens at the life not lived. If I’d done that—if I’d done a lot of things differently—
I can’t go down that road right now. Summer has shaken off her burst of pride and switched back into professional mode. “So, career placement.” Her eyes track over my arms, barely fitting into the dress shirt from lifting so many windows and frames. “What kinds of jobs are you interested in?”
“I’m supposed to ask about clerical work.” I can’t help sounding bitter.
She takes it in stride. “All right. Something without a lot of heavy lifting, then. Let me take another look at your resume and I can see—”
My right hand curls into a fist on top of my knee as she scans the screen again. “I’m seeing Army experience here, honorable discharge, then nine months with Killion Glass, most recently a…” Her voice fades out as she reads. “Level 2 Processor? Did that give you any management experience?”
I didn’t expect this conversation to happen with Summer. “No. Level 2 means I stand at the end of the row for most of the day and lift finished windows into racks for delivery.” It sounds fucking pathetic, and up until now, I didn’t care.
“You’re still at Killion?”
“Until I can find replacement work.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her mouth twists in an unconscious pout. “The main issue I see is this gap of almost—” She does quick math. “Looks like ten months. Were you recovering?” Summer doesn’t say from what. “Or volunteer work? If it was volunteer work, we can add a section to the resume, which will look pretty attractive to—”
I don’t want to think about it. For fuck’s sake, I wish she’d leave it alone.
“It wasn’t volunteer work.” Her eyes fly back to my face, but she doesn’t look surprised at the tone. She hides it well.
“All right,” she says softly, then tries again. “If there’s anything you’d like to share, I can help with phrasing so it’s not so glaring.”
My throat is thick with rage at what I did. For being so stupid. But there’s no way I can explain that to her. If I get through this without flying off the handle, it’ll be a s
mall miracle. “It wasn’t volunteer work.” The words are almost a growl. I can feel the howling blackness surging up from my gut. I’m supposed to be past this. I’m supposed to be long past this.
“Day,” Summer says, looking me straight in the eye, a little half smile on her face. Does she know she’s calling me back from the brink? How could she? “It’s all right. Let’s move on.”
5
Summer
Ten Years Ago
Bentley Davis is the biggest asshole on the planet.
I feel so stupid I could die. I could die, right here in the high school gym. My chest is tight and achy underneath the gorgeous pale pink dress my mom and I spent two hours picking out at the mall. Nobody’s noticed the dress. They’re all busy laughing at me.
Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes. It’s a gross hot shame and I hate it. I swallow the lump in my throat and retreat farther back into the corner, watching the multicolored lights from the DJ’s stand soar over the gym.
“Your dress is killer,” someone says off my elbow. It does nothing to dull the pain.
“Thanks.” It’s a dull, quiet response, meant to push them away, but he laughs.
“Sunny, what’s got you down?” His voice is warm and familiar and sexy and oh my god it’s Dayton, over here in this abandoned corner with me.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt it out like an idiot, but he and Wes weren’t coming to the dance.
He laughs again. “That’s some greeting for your favorite person on the planet.”
It makes me laugh too, a silvery happiness unfolding at the center of my rib cage. “Who said you were my favorite person on the planet?”
Day gives me a knowing look. “Don’t say it out loud, Sunny. I know.” He sounds like he’s joking. Is he joking?