by Beth Michele
I draw her to me then and she presses her face into my chest, sobbing loud, painful bursts of emotion. And I let her give it all to me, so I can carry it for her—as long as she’ll let me.
She pulls back when her sobs turn to soft cries. The quiver of her lip calms and her warm palm finds my cheek. “Somehow I knew you’d understand.”
I cover her hand with my own. “I do understand,” I utter quietly and give her a small smile. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share it with me.”
She nods, letting her hand slide out from underneath mine. A profound sense of loss comes over me and shakes me up, making me lightheaded.
How can you fear losing something that can never be yours?
THE DRIVE BACK to Ember’s house is filled with introspective silence. Though all that changes as I pull into her driveway. The cut of the engine is replaced by muted groans. When I turn to Ember, she has one hand clutched to her belly while the other one holds the side of her head.
“I don’t feel so good all of a sudden.”
“Hang on, Mickey.” I climb out and come around the car, opening her door and leaning inside. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” I instruct, and once she manages to anchor her loose limbs around me, I reach under her knees to scoop her up. She continues to moan softly as I ease her out of the car and carry her to the porch. With one arm keeping her body hoisted, my other hand scrounges in her purse for keys while attempting not to drop her to the ground.
“I might throw up on you if this takes too long,” she mumbles as I fiddle with the key in the lock. The sound of the loud click makes me exhale with relief.
Except for dim light emanating from the kitchen, the house is dark and quiet.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I whisper, not wanting to get caught sneaking around her house. I don’t think this would make for a great introduction to her mom.
She lifts a clumsy finger and points toward the staircase. “Up.”
Every other step creaks as we climb and I slow down, the noise too loud in the dense quiet. Somehow, I’m able to get us to the bathroom; the last room at the end of what seems like a never ending hallway.
A loud gurgle erupts from Ember’s stomach as I push open the door and set her gently on the tile. She springs into action, diving for the toilet bowl and plopping down in front of it. Her limp arms attach to both sides of the cold porcelain, hugging it for dear life. Then she coughs, but it sounds more like gagging. I kneel beside her, holding up her ponytail and soothing her back with my hand.
“I drank too much, t-too quick. I’m drunk.”
I chuckle. “You are.”
“That was s-stupid.” She whines into the toilet.
“Nah. I kind of think it was a human response to a subhuman asshole.”
Ember tries to laugh, but throws up instead. “Urggh.” She groans, the contents of her stomach emptying two more times before she lies down on the floor and curls up like a snail. Her body starts to shiver as noises of discomfort bubble up from her mouth. Cold races down my throat and I go into panic mode, digging around the bathroom cabinets for a washcloth or anything to help her. I find a small towel underneath the sink and soak it in warm water. Crouching beside her, I lay it across her forehead. Her eyelids flutter and she groans again, arms wrapped around her belly.
“Let me get you into bed.” In one motion, I raise her up off the tile, carrying her against my chest. “Which room is yours?” I ask, and she grunts an incoherent response that makes me smile. Basically, I’m on my own.
Through the powers of deduction and the help of Mickey Mouse, I locate her room and navigate my way to her bed. Gently lowering her to the mattress, I keep her head cradled and position her on a pillow. She giggles when I slip her sneakers from her feet.
“Mmm… good.”
I have no idea if she needs to get sick again. Just in case, I sprint to the bathroom and grab the small trash can near the toilet. I place it on the floor next to the bed then cover her up to her neck with a blanket. As I sit down beside her, my weight shifts the mattress and she blinks up at me. The scrap of light from the window rests on part of her face. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she stares at me and jabs a sloppy finger into my chest.
“You know, I didn’t like you when I first met you. You were kind of a j-jerk. But,” she adds, her smile lopsided. “I like you now.”
I thread my fingers through the damp hair at her temple as a grin takes over my lips. “I like you too, Mickey.”
She lets out a hiccupped sigh then rolls over and snuggles into the pillows. Quietly, I slide off the mattress, glancing around her room but seeing very little in the darkness. “I like you… a l-lot,” she mumbles, and I freeze, my heart thrumming to a beat I can’t control. With those five words, it’s like she’s trying to get inside me, push past my skin to a deeper place. I think it might be too late. I already feel her there. I’m scared of that—of her—and what she could do to me. But I let my body ease down the wall where I’ll stay to make sure she’s all right.
There is no place else I’d rather be, anyway.
I DRIVE INTO the entrance of Cannon Beach, the salty ocean air wafting in through the open window. A lightness fills my chest as if a small amount of weight has been lifted. I feel more like myself—my old self that is.
The breathtaking view of the sea makes me pause and my chest flutters. Water may have taken my brother’s life, but there is no denying its beauty. The way it glistens and sparkles in invitation, blue-green waves curling before they break against the shore.
It’s fairly deserted this time of day. The sun is playing hide and seek with the clouds, doing some sort of indecisive waltz. Four tall white birds perch beside a rock, their noses digging in the sand looking for buried treasures to eat.
It doesn’t take me long to spot Vance, though even on a crowded beach he would stand out. I stop to watch him for a minute. His feet are bare, shirt off, the hills and valleys of his back shimmer in the hazy sun. Fine hair dances along his neck, the slight breeze moving it and I shiver, almost as if I can feel the sensation across my own skin.
One arm glides back then forward, a stone leaving his fingers and skipping along the calm surface of the water. The way his body curves inward toward the ocean, giving it his full concentration is truly beautiful.
“You’re really good at that.” I interrupt his quiet moment, but the way his lips bow as he turns toward me makes me glad I came.
“Heyyy,” he chirps, and my eyes move over the ripples of his chest then quickly back up to meet his grin.
“You can stare all you want, Mickey. I don’t mind.” The ground suddenly grabs my interest. I’m hoping it might suck me in like quicksand, making the warm flush spreading across my face disappear. As if he senses I need an escape, he keeps talking. “How are you feeling?” he asks, and that I can handle.
“Much better.” I bypass his chest this time and go right to his face. “Thank you for that hangover cure you left. What was that, anyway?”
“Fresh squeezed orange juice with a hint of Ginger Ale.” He chuckles. “The Advil I can’t take credit for, though.”
“Wait.” I edge a few steps closer to him. “How did you make the orange juice?”
“I did it the old-fashioned way.” His blue eyes gleam. “You know, I squeezed oranges… with my hands.”
“In my kitchen?”
“No. In your front yard.” He smirks. “Of course in your kitchen.”
“Oh.” A tiny flutter pings my belly at his sweet gesture. “Thank—”
His hand comes up between us, cutting my words short. “Don’t say it. I think we’re good with the thank you’s for a while,” he explains, and I let out a small laugh.
“Okay.”
“So how did you know where I was? Because this is kind of a hike for you.” He looks back toward the water as if it’s calling him.
“I stopped by your house and caught Julian on his way to a client.”
“Ah.” He bends down to pluck another ro
ck from the sand and I catch a glimpse of his tattoo. My fingers itch to glide along the curved letters. “You ever skip stones?” When I shake my head no, he motions me closer with a jerk of his chin. “C’mere.” As I get near enough to see the beads of sweat dotting his chest, he points to my feet. “Take off your sneakers. You know, to get the full effect,” he adds, and I kick them aside. He positions himself behind me, close enough that his breath whispers over my cheek, and places the warm stone in my palm. “It’s all in the wrist,” he explains, his fingers circling my hand and flicking it a few times. Goose bumps travel up my arms and I’m praying they’re invisible. “Okay, on three.” We count backwards and release it into the air. The rock plunks into the ocean and sinks to the bottom. “Good try.”
Despite two more unsuccessful attempts, Vance remains encouraging while I blow out a frustrated breath. “Do you want to try again? Fourth time’s a charm,” he teases, and I nod. It isn’t a difficult decision because I want him to keep holding my hand. “Okay, same motion. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I answer, and together we let go of the stone. It skips once, twice, three times across the water and I squeal. “I did it!” I spin around, still squealing, and nearly fall into him.
“You did at that.” He lifts a finger to tuck a wisp of hair behind my ear. His hand lingers and my breaths come faster—too loud now, overshadowing all other sound. But then he blinks out of the moment, as if he realizes what he’s doing, and lets his hand drop to his side. He clears something from his throat and turns to face the water. “You did good, Mickey.”
Moving to stand beside him, I peer at the ocean, the tide breathing in and out as it reaches then pulls back from the shore. My eyes track a seagull flying overhead as the grey bird swoops down in search of food. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“It is,” he agrees. “And it’s a great place to read.” He points behind him to two books sitting on a slab of rock. “I saw my mom earlier today.” He glances over at me with a smile that reaches his eyes. “She was having an unusually good day.”
“Yeah?”
“She knew who I was when I walked in.” His happiness is contagious. It blooms inside of me and I rest my hand on his arm. He looks down at it but doesn’t pull away. “She told me my hair was too long, but that she liked my earring.”
“I’m so thrilled for you.” I give his arm a squeeze then let go.
“Thanks. I told her I’d see her tomorrow, and…,” he hesitates, his voice littered with emotion, “even though she might not remember me tomorrow, I feel like I can keep today in my pocket for when I need it.” He casts an uncertain glance my way. “I know that probably sounds odd.”
“Not to me.” I flash him a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t sound odd at all.” His eyes pore over my face before he lowers them to the sand.
Rippled waves cascade under our feet as we continue to gaze at the golden sun, free of the clouds now, reflecting off the water. I chance a glimpse of Vance’s profile. His skin misted with a fine sheen of sweat, mouth relaxed and parted slightly. Worry that normally hides in the corner of his eyes is at bay—at least for now.
The strong angle of his jaw and the smooth curve of his nose beckon to me, and I find myself tracing his features as if I was actually touching him. He turns to catch me staring and his lips spread into a wide grin. That’s when it strikes me.
“I want to sculpt you.”
His eyes sparkle. “It’s because I’m devilishly handsome, isn’t it?”
I huff out a laugh. “Yes, that’s definitely it. Sprinkled with a dash of ‘I’m full of myself.’”
A moment goes by and I can tell he’s considering my request. He regards me then, his smile transforming into wickedness. “Would I be naked?”
I lift a brow. “Do you want to be?”
“Let’s move onto the next question,” he answers quickly, and I snort.
“So can I?” Too many seconds pass that I’m sure his answer is going to be no, but he surprises me.
“Okay.” My heart does a small leap inside my chest. “When will I be sculpted?”
Lost in my excitement, it takes me a minute to respond. “Huh? Oh, I don’t know.” I search the sky before meeting his eyes. “How about in the morning? I don’t have to work so….”
“I need to send out more resumes, but….” He gestures with his hands as if he’s balancing a scale. “Let’s see… job hunting, orrrr, being the subject of a work of art? Hmph.” He shoots me an uncertain grin. “Let’s do it.”
Inside, I’m brimming with enthusiasm but I try to tone it down. “Great.”
Vance sweeps his shirt from a nearby rock and tugs it over his head while I try not to stare at his abs, his pecs, his everything really. He grabs his books and we hoist our sneakers from the sand. I swing mine all the way back to the car, unable to keep how thrilled I am under wraps.
“I’ll see you in the morning then,” he says as we part. The amusement that lights his face isn’t lost on me.
“What?”
He walks backwards, mouth curving high on one side. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“Enjoying what?” I protest with a straight face. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Exactly.”
Then he pivots and stalks off, as only Vance Davenport knows how to stalk—sexy and damn near arresting—oozing everything I know I shouldn’t want.
But in this moment, I can’t think of anything I want more.
I THROW ON a Mickey Mouse tank with a pair of cutoff jean shorts and stand in front of the full-length mirror, wondering what Vance Davenport thinks about me. I’m not entirely sure why I care. I just know that I do.
Avery’s voice startles me from behind. “Well, well. Only ten minutes in the shower. What gives, sister dear?” She’s leaning against the doorframe with her arms poised across her chest, one wicked brow scrutinizing me.
“Nothing. I’m just….” I let out a breath and turn around to face her all-knowing smile. “Vance is coming over and I’m going to sculpt him.”
Her eyes spring open. “He’s letting you do that? Wow.”
“I know, right. I’m kind of taken aback myself.” I shift to face the mirror again, running a comb through my wet hair.
“I’ve always been so jealous of you.” Avery’s gaze meets mine in the glass and I blink. Her comment doesn’t quite register. “I’ve always been jealous of the fact that you’re so comfortable in your own skin. That I always felt like I had to try so hard, when you didn’t worry about trying at all.” Her melancholy expression is as unexpected as her next words. “You always thought you were ordinary. When in fact, you’re anything but.”
Her gaze drifts to a picture of us on the wall. “You’re just so… you,” she admits, her eyes coming back to mine. “And you’re essential to me. Almost like air,” she adds. For a second I wonder if she’s kidding, but there isn’t a hint of teasing in her voice. “I love you. And… I admire you, Ember. I always have. I just wanted you to know that.”
Stunned, my hand flies to my chest and I whirl around to reply but she’s already gone. I’ve never seen my sister like that before. Most of the time when she feels something it’s concealed, like the world would end if she let someone know there was a thing called emotion.
“Hi, sweetie.” My mother walks by as I’m still trying to process Avery’s words.
“Hi, Mom. Wait.” I step into the hallway to catch her. “Are you all right? What I mean is, I’ve barely seen you at all. And you haven’t been around for our Wednesday dinners.”
“Oh.” She runs a hand over her hair to smooth it down. “Well, we signed a huge contract for a new residential renovation in Portland so that’s underway. Plus, I’ve received a few referrals as well.”
“That’s great, then.” I think.
She checks her watch and holds her portfolio snug against her chest. “Okay, I have to run.” She glances at the time again. “I’ll probably be home late tonight, b
ut I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Frazzled doesn’t enter into the equation where Mom is concerned, and something nags at me. “Mom, are you sure everything is okay?”
“Yes, yes. It’s great, sweetie. I’m just running behind is all,” she calls back as she trots downstairs in her navy blue suit and matching heels. She opens the door and runs right into Vance. “Hello.”
“Hi. You must be Mrs. Bennett? I’m Vance, a friend of Ember’s.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Vance.” Mom sends me a rushed smile and then she’s gone, leaving my head spinning with questions.
“What’s wrong?” Vance asks as I come down the stairs. I wish I had an answer.
I throw my hands up then slap them against the side of my legs. “I have no idea. It’s like the twilight zone around here this morning.”
“Not to worry. I’m here now.” He proudly holds up two cups and a bag. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee spills into the air and I smile. “And I come bearing sustenance.”
I sniff a few times and Vance grins. “I smell… blueberries and amazing coffee?”
“Close, Mickey. Very close.”
Dipping my nose down, I inhale again. “Boysenberry?”
“Got it on the second try.” He passes me a coffee and holds out the open bag. “Not bad.”
“I got the coffee right,” I tease, desperate for my first sip of the day. As the warm taste of hazelnut floods my mouth, I dig my fingers into the bag to pull out a clump of muffin.
Vance shakes his head in a dramatic fashion, hair flying around his face. “I just figured, to sculpt a work of art of this magnitude, you needed nourishment.”
I bark out a laugh and nearly spit coffee in his face. “I might not have enough clay to sculpt that big head of yours. Let’s go.”
“Cool,” Vance muses as we descend the stairs and the basement comes into view. “This is a great space. I could totally read or strum some tunes down here.”
“Thanks. I love it, too.” Energy buzzes beneath my skin as I look around. I’m not certain if the high is from the room or the person standing in the room. “It’s always been a bit of an escape for me.”