Island Haven

by Amy Knupp

  “Because if I had to choose one single person whose hands I would put the life of my son, my wife, anyone important to me in…hands down, that person would be you.”

  Unable to speak, Scott cleared his throat.

  “You’re the best guy at the job.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “I do.”

  Scott watched as Brad gathered his composure, as if making a decision to close out the choking emotions for right now.

  Brad swore, a single impassioned word, stared out toward the water as he shook his head, looked up to the sky. When he spoke again, his voice was closer to normal. “So, thanks, man, for being there for my boy.”

  * * *

  HE SHOULD’VE BOUGHT the damn bottle of whiskey after all.

  The rest of Scott’s final shift was just about as tough as facing Brad Gilbert had been.

  He’d actually gotten in his RX8 at the end of his shift, driven to the liquor store—the only one on the island that was open so early—and pulled up right in front. Stared at the window where all the neon beer and liquor signs hung. Somehow, he’d convinced himself that alcohol would only dull his senses for so long and that it wasn’t what he needed.

  That’d been before he’d driven up and found Mercedes’s car in his parking lot.

  He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want to be attracted to her or remember what it’d been like to hold her two days ago. He didn’t want to remember what her soft skin had felt like beneath his fingers or how her hair had smelled like lilacs. And he didn’t want to act as if everything was fine between them when really there could be nothing.

  He leaned against the headrest, eyes closed, he wasn’t sure for how long. Not long enough, because when he opened them again, her car was still there.

  Shouldn’t she be working? Tending to her grandmother? Volunteering at the shelter?

  Then he spotted a newer-model pickup truck he’d never seen before with three Dallas Cowboys stickers plus a Cowboys license-plate holder. If that wasn’t his Cowboys-crazed father’s truck, he’d go abstinent for the rest of his life.

  He’d called the old man back and explained Gemma’s situation to him. His dad hadn’t committed to any particular plan, and Gemma hadn’t spoken a word to Scott since he’d brought up the idea of her moving to Houston, so Scott had no idea what was going on. He found it hard to believe that Gemma had accepted her fate, even after what Mercedes had told him. If she had, wouldn’t she have broken her silence toward him before now? And why did he care that she still wasn’t talking to him? Maybe that was a more pressing question.

  Could be an ugly scene in there. Just what he was in the mood for.

  He propelled himself out of the car and toward the apartment of fun. If he hadn’t promised Rafe he’d go out for one last night tomorrow, Scott would have walked in, picked up his belongings and headed right on out the door and off the island without looking back. Next best thing would be for everyone to be holed up in Gemma’s room so he could get to his and lock the door.

  The first person he ran into was his dad, who stood in the hallway outside Gemma’s room, leaning against the opposite wall. Scott could hear noise coming from inside the room.

  “There he is,” his dad said, putting on a jolly act that Scott couldn’t stomach, today or ever.

  He gave his dad a look of warning and went into the kitchen to avoid everyone. He stood at the counter trying to decide what to do next. Leaving was damn tempting, but he was bone-tired, having not slept a wink all night, and just wanted his bed. Besides, he’d like to part with Gemma on positive terms. It remained to be seen if she was of the same opinion.

  “Scott, I wanted to thank you for calling me.” His dad had come up behind him and stood in the kitchen doorway.

  “Don’t,” Scott said tersely. He turned to face him. “Don’t think you and I are buddy-buddy or even okay. The only reason I called you is because Gemma needs…someone and she doesn’t have a lot of choices at the present moment.”

  His dad’s features fell and he tilted his head first one way then the other. Win some, lose some. “You did the right thing, at any rate.”

  “You don’t get it. I did the only thing. I couldn’t walk out of here leaving her to fend for herself.” He looked pointedly at his dad.

  It had the effect he’d hoped for. His old man’s shoulders drooped farther and he averted his eyes. Best of all, he dropped the subject. Scott left the kitchen and headed down the hall toward his bedroom.

  Gemma was sitting on the floor of the hall bathroom, an open box at her side and a scowl on her face. He braced himself as he paused at the doorway.

  “Hey,” he said, keeping his tone friendly. “You leaving today?”

  “What does it look like?” Her words were laced with venom.

  “Looks like you’re packing up.”

  “You should know, since you called him.”

  “I had to, Gemma. Because I didn’t figure you would and I didn’t want to leave you by yourself.”

  She haphazardly reached into the cabinet under the sink and threw whatever she drew out into the box. Hard. Brushes. Hair things. A hand mirror. Makeup. “It’d be better if you called the cops or social services.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “I trusted you, Scott.” Her voice dripped with accusation. “When I moved in, you told me you weren’t going to call my parents.”

  “And I didn’t. Everything changed when you went into preterm labor.”

  “I told you things I haven’t told anyone else,” she said so he could barely hear.

  He racked his brain and remembered her confession about the baby’s father. “I kept them to myself.”

  Her scowl deepened but she said nothing else, just kept tossing things into the box. From the racket some of them made on impact, not everything was remaining intact.

  Scott stood there as seconds ticked by, not knowing what else to say but not wanting to leave things like this. Finally, he shook his head and turned toward his room.

  “Scott.” Mercedes spoke from Gemma’s room as he passed the doorway.

  He stopped and closed his eyes against the reaction just her voice caused in him.

  Weak, weak, weak.

  As soon as he could blank his face, he stepped into the room and looked at her.

  Holding a conversation with his eyes closed would be much wiser and easier.

  Her hair was pushed back with a thin white band. Her brown eyes sparkled flirtatiously and her cheeks held a hint of pink. Her tanned legs were stretched out in front of her, left mostly bare by her short shorts. She wore a snug tee with Yankees scrawled across the chest and stripes on the short sleeves—a boyish style that ramped up his heart as much as any silky pink something would do.

  She couldn’t have shown up in a flour sack today. Hell, who was he kidding? She could wear a Coleman tent and he’d still want to jump her.

  “Didn’t know you were a Yankees fan,” he said, forcing his eyes from her chest.

  “I’m not a baseball fan of any kind. I just liked the shirt.”

  He just liked the shirt on her.

  “Did Gemma talk to you?” she asked as she folded a blanket.

  “If you can call it that. She’s still pissed.”

  “Your dad apparently called last night and told her to have her things packed. She didn’t tell me till this morning. We’ve got a ways to go.” She gestured at the mess around her.

  He wanted to touch her so badly and stuffed his hands in his pockets to refrain from doing so.

  “Want to help?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  “No.” He spit it out before he did something stupid. “I… No.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Is something wrong?”

  Wrong? Was anything not wrong? He stared at her, tried to memorize every inch of her so he’d have that image later. “Nothing you can fix.”

  He walked out of the room, into his. Managed to shut the door calmly instead of slamming it the
way he was itching to do. Collapsing on his bed, he found no peace.

  He stubbornly laid there for over an hour trying to sleep, or at least relax. When he could no longer stand it, he sat up. Swung his feet to the floor, threw his pillow and swore.

  He was the adult here. Making peace with Gemma was the right thing to do. Though she was currently acting like a petulant twelve-year-old, he reminded himself what Mercedes had said. The teenager was stressed to the hilt and her moods were all over the place.

  When he got to the open doorway of her bedroom, he was surprised that the room was mostly cleared out, including the twin-size mattress she’d had on the floor. The truth was that Gemma traveled light, just like him.

  She stood in front of the beat-up dresser his previous roommate had left. Her backpack was on the floor next to her, the large pocket unzipped, and Gemma was packing the final few things.

  “Almost ready?” he asked.

  Sullen silence met him. She tossed a couple items into the bag without looking at him.

  “Gemma.” Scott walked across the room and leaned on the wall next to her. As he stared at her, willing her to talk, he noticed again how pretty she was, in spite of the weariness that remained in her eyes. Their father’s eyes, he remembered, though he no longer saw Dale Pataki when he looked at her. “I didn’t betray you. I did the only thing I could think of to make sure you’d be okay.”

  She didn’t look at him or stop tossing things into her bag. Scott leaned his head back against the wall in frustration. He might be the adult, but he sure as hell didn’t know how to handle this situation like one.

  The dresser was finally clear. Gemma bent down to zip up the backpack.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, surprised to realize the apology was genuine. “This isn’t how I wanted to leave things.”

  “Whatever.”

  He’d never heard so much emotion forced into a single word. Sadness. Hurt. Anger.

  Gemma hoisted her bag up on one shoulder and he stepped toward her.

  “You’re not supposed to lift anything.”

  She took a step away, ignoring him and ensuring that he couldn’t grab the backpack. When he thought she was going to walk out without another word, she paused and met his gaze. There was so much pain reflected in her eyes he flinched.

  “You know what? You’re just as bad as he is. You run away from your family and anyone else who needs you. I thought you were bigger than that, but I was so wrong about you.”

  He felt the blow in his gut as if she’d actually punched him.

  “Have a nice life on your boat.” Gemma turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.” Mercedes spoke quietly to Gemma as she passed her in the doorway, and Scott realized she’d probably been standing there listening to the whole exchange.

  Nausea erupted inside him like lava shooting upward to become a volcano as Mercedes came into the room. She touched his upper arm in concern, but he turned away.

  “She didn’t mean it,” she said.

  He clamped his jaw down hard and didn’t look at her. She’d meant it because it was true. He was doing exactly what his dad had done ten years ago and again to Gemma in the years since.

  “Scott.” There was a hint of pleading in her voice. “Remember, she’s—”

  “Go,” he said firmly.

  Mercedes stared at him, her hand still on him. He shook it off and stepped away.

  “Just go.”

  Another five seconds ticked by before she shifted and blew out a discouraged breath. “Can we talk later?”

  “Goodbye, Mercedes.”

  * * *

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Scott jogged up the stairs to his apartment, bottle in hand. He needed a drink of whiskey so badly he was sweating. It’d been a considerable feat not to open it and take a swig the second he’d gotten to his car, right there in the liquor store parking lot.

  He burst into his unlocked apartment, planted himself on the couch. His hands shook as he broke the seal. Once he had the cap off, he didn’t stop to savor the aroma. He lifted the bottle with barely a thought, touched it to his lips and savored the warmth all the way down his throat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  GOODBYE, MERCEDES.

  Even more than the actual words, the tone Scott had used for them echoed through Mercedes’s mind. Over and over, more than an hour after he’d spoken.

  She knew somehow that he’d intended those two words to be final. The way he’d acted today—again—was chilly and distant. On some level, she understood he was pushing her away now to prevent an emotional goodbye scene, and there was even a little part of her that was in favor of it. But it was a very small part.

  The rest of her ached. Not with physical pain. Gemma’s belongings were sparse, the heaviest thing being the mattress Faith’s parents had given Gemma that she and Mr. Pataki had carried out to the back of his truck. Moving her had been remarkably quick and simple.

  The ache was centered in her chest and throat and made her pulse pound at her temples. Tears threatened as she drove down her street toward home, finally, after appeasing Mr. Pataki and joining him and Gemma for a quick brunch before they left town. Mercedes had left her house only three hours ago, but now, strangely, everything felt different. Off, somehow.

  Parking in the carport, she went in the front door and directly up the stairs to her room, not wanting to talk to Gram or face Charlie right now. Not that Charlie would speak to her—they hadn’t exchanged more than necessary information about Gram since their blow-up.

  She was going to miss Gemma even though they’d promised to touch base daily. But that wasn’t what was causing the feeling that someone had drilled a hole in her heart.

  The cause was no great mystery. She might have been able to fool herself for the past two weeks, but now that Scott’s departure was imminent, there was no hiding from it.

  She shut her door and kept the lights off and the curtains closed. Fell onto her bed, her head at the foot of it.

  It wasn’t that she could love Scott. It was that she did.

  How she’d managed to fall in love with the man who had started out being such a hard, cold person, she couldn’t quite say. It was as Gemma had said from the beginning—there was a good person, a special man, beneath the surface. A man who cared so much about every call he went on that he had trouble handling the ones he couldn’t win. A man who fought hard not to care about someone in his personal life because, she was learning, when he did, he cared with every fiber of his being. She’d seen a flash of it in his eyes the other day when they’d been together.

  The tears overflowed and fell down the sides of her face, dampening her ears, her hair, her quilt. A feeling of helplessness and dread pressed down on her chest. The weight of it made it difficult to breathe and she rolled to her side and squeezed her eyes tight against the pain. Her heart was racing out of control and it felt as if the room was closing in on her. Nothing she did helped. Nothing made the blackness ease up on her. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and escape from whatever was happening to her. She bolted upright, desperate to rid herself of the suffocating feelings.

  What was wrong with her?

  She tried to coach herself through breathing slowly. Inhale. Exhale. It helped a little, but when she heard Charlie bumping around in the room next to hers, she hesitated for only a second before hurrying out into the hall. She knocked on the mostly shut door.

  “Yeah?”

  There was no warmth in her sister’s voice, but Mercedes didn’t care. She barged in and sat on Charlie’s bed, pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging them.

  “Sadie?” Charlie rushed to her side. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  When her sister’s arms went around her without pause, the tears ran and Mercedes cried without restraint. Charlie didn’t ask any more questions, just held her, brushed her hair back repeatedly in a soothing motion. When Mercedes felt as if there was nothing left inside her, she slowly c
aught her breath. Wiped her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice higher than normal and thready.

  “No… Shh.” Charlie took her hand as Mercedes straightened. “Tell me what’s wrong. It’s okay.”

  Still drawing in air cautiously, as though she’d been in the fight of her life and was afraid it wasn’t over, Mercedes reached for a tissue from the nightstand. Dabbing her eyes, she shook her head. “I don’t know. I freaked out. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Room was closing in on me. Hard to breathe.”

  “You’re better now?” Concern shone in Charlie’s eyes as she handed Mercedes another tissue. “Your mascara is everywhere.”

  “Better than I was.” The panicked feeling was gone, but the other stuff was still there.

  “What happened this morning, Sadie?”

  Mercedes swallowed hard. “It’s Scott. He’s leaving in two days.”

  “You love him.”

  Mercedes’s head popped up in surprise.

  “I could tell you cared about him.” Charlie smiled sympathetically. “He’s leaving anyway?”

  The pressure on her chest, as if a fist was squeezing it, returned. Mercedes took in a slow drag of oxygen to fight it off.

  “He doesn’t know how you feel.” Charlie stated instead of asked it.

  She shook her head. “There’s no point in telling him. He’s going. Plans to break all ties. That’s the whole point of his leaving.”

  Charlie watched her knowingly. Patiently.

  The only sound in the room was an obnoxious ticking. Mercedes glanced at the nightstand. “That alarm clock is older than Gram.”

  “The ticking helps me sleep. Don’t change the subject.”

  Mercedes blew out a breath and closed her eyes. “I think maybe…you were right.” The words pained her, but not as much as the facts. “I’m scared. Of loving someone.” She dared to look her sister in the eye. “Happy now?”

  Charlie brushed the back of Mercedes’s hand. “I’m not as evil as you think.”

  “That’s why I haven’t told him,” she said. “Why I didn’t want to face up to it myself. If you love someone and they go away, it hurts too much.”