Never With You
Anie Michaels
Never With You
© Copyright Anie Michaels 2017
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Edited by Lawrence Editing
Cover design © Cover Couture
To my grandfather —
You are missed.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Chapter One
Talia
“Don’t forget to bring in the twins’ things, Talia.”
Angela, my sister-in-law, said the words as she walked past me, throwing them over her shoulder, not even stopping to look at me. I gaped at her, but wasn’t surprised. Well, I suppose I was a little surprised the entitlement had started so soon into our vacation.
Once a year, during the summer, my parents, my brother, his family, and I, all went on a week-long vacation to the beach. My parents put down a decent amount of money to secure a beach house for seven days, leaving a small balance that my brother and I had to split. This tradition had been taking place for over ten years, since right after I graduated from college.
For a while we’d always rented the same house, but then my brother began dating Angela and things started changing. She didn’t like the beach house we’d spent every summer in, so one year she convinced my brother to coerce my mother into switching beaches. The next winter my brother married her and every year since she’d been slowly killing my beach vacation.
This summer she had the twins.
My niece and nephew, whom I loved tremendously. It wasn’t their fault who their mother was, after all.
And to be honest, when Brody started dating Angela, I’d liked her. She seemed sweet and genuine, and I could tell she really loved my brother. But then the more comfortable she got, her true colors started showing.
She expected me to carry in all the luggage for the twins because they had fallen asleep in the car on the drive over and she didn’t want to disturb them by waking them up. She was going to hold them until, well, who knows when. She had little Raina and my brother was holding Beckett.
And since I was young, single, and childless, I was the designated work horse, apparently.
Angela had picked the perfect house—for her family. It was quiet, isolated, relatively close to the beach and nothing else.
Nothing.
Else.
There were no restaurants within twenty miles, no shopping malls, no movie theaters.
Nothing.
Angela had said she wanted a quiet getaway, a place to relax, where she could focus on the babies. And I wanted to focus on the babies too, but there were twenty-two other hours in the day that I’d have to fill in the middle of nowhere.
I lugged three suitcases, one portable crib, and a portable changing table up to the second floor of the house while Brody and Angela slept on the two recliners in the downstairs family room, their precious babies asleep on their chests.
If it wasn’t so damn cute it would have pissed me off. Actually, it did piss me off.
“Dad, let me carry your bags upstairs,” I said to my father, who was not as young anymore as he believed himself to be.
“I can carry my own bags, Talia,” he replied grumpily.
“I think I saw Mom trying to figure out how to get the pilot light going on the furnace,” I said, taking the bag from his hand as soon as he registered what I’d said.
“She’s going to blow this place up while we’re still inside,” he grumbled, walking away.
I smiled because I’d won. I’d lied, but won regardless. I had no idea where my mother was. Probably upstairs making up beds for everyone. My mother was a pleaser. She wanted to take care of everyone. That was usually a good quality to have, and my mother meant well. My problem was that she was always trying to take care of me even though I didn’t need or want her help. And when I didn’t give in to her, she tried to help Angela, and that always turned into something different. It meant my mom was always giving in to Angela. Hence our boring beach house.
I walked up and down the stairs a million times until every single piece of luggage was upstairs, in the appropriate bedroom. I thought it was typical that my brother and I paid equally to make up the difference from my parents’ down payment, but he and his family took up an extra room and made the ultimate decision as to where we stayed. But these were thoughts I kept in my head; speaking them aloud would do more harm than good.
My bedroom was the smallest in the house. A tiny room with a single twin bed, no closet, and no private bathroom. There was one tiny seaport window and I considered myself lucky to have an ocean view. I was pretty sure Angela didn’t know I could see the ocean from my bedroom or she would have found some reason to move me. I took a few moments to unpack my things into the small dresser in my room, then made my way back downstairs.
I sat on the couch across from Angela and Brody. Both of them still had their eyes closed and, to be honest, I knew they needed the rest. Being the parents to eight-month-old twins was probably the most exhausting thing in the world, so I didn’t begrudge them their nap.
Settling onto the couch, I pulled out my phone and opened my e-reader app.
“Talia.”
I looked up when I heard Angela’s whispering voice.
“We’re trying really hard to keep the kids screen-free for the first two years.”
She held my gaze and the silence settled between us. I must have looked confused, because I was. “Okay,” I said slowly, drawing the word out. “Sounds good.” When I didn’t say anyt
hing else or make a move, she looked pointedly down at my phone.
“I would appreciate it if you could keep your phone turned off if you’re in the same room as the babies.” Her tone was polite, but cold.
“Angela,” my brother chimed in, his voice sounding so tired and raspy. But it also sounded like a warning.
“They’re sleeping,” I argued. “Their eyes are closed.”
“But, they’re still here, Talia.”
“Are you serious?” I wasn’t asking to be rude. I was looking for clarification. “I think when pediatricians warn against screen time, it’s a warning against putting them in front of a TV, a warning against letting their underdeveloped eyes look at a screen. I don’t think there’s anything that warns against kids being in the same room as screens… if they’re sleeping.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. Maybe one day, if you have kids of your own, you’ll see where I’m coming from.” She sighed. “I’m not saying you can’t look at your phone, just please don’t do it in the same room as the babies.”
I knew Brody could hear us and I was waiting for him to say something to his wife, to tell her she was being ridiculous, but he didn’t. He just let out a large sigh. Didn’t even open his eyes.
Instead of responding, I stood up and went back upstairs. And I stomped the whole way. Immature? Possibly. Warranted? I thought so.
I changed into my bathing suit, grabbed my towel and flip-flops and my hoodie—the Oregon coast wasn’t known for its warm temperatures all the time—and I headed back down the stairs, stomping all the way. My mother met me halfway down.
“Where are you going?”
“To the beach. To read.”
“That sounds relaxing.” My mom gave me a sweet smile, as though she were relieved I was actually going to do something besides sulk all week. She probably wouldn’t be surprised to learn I was actually sulking right then.
“Well, I don’t want to disturb the babies.”
“That’s nice, dear.” She continued up the stairs and I clomped down the last of them. I opened the slider door, not even glancing in Angela’s or Brody’s direction. I tried to slam it shut, but it was heavy, so I probably just looked as though I was struggling. There were folded lounge chairs leaning up against the back of the house, so I took one and found the path leading from the house down to the beach.
Oregon had beautiful beaches. That was my only consolation when my parents had settled on this house—it was a gorgeous beach. From the deck you passed the pool with a gate and took a walk through some grassy dunes. Once you were over the hills, it was just sand and ocean.
I stopped at the crest of the dune and took in the view. The ocean was my favorite place to be and just seeing it, taking it in, listening to it, calmed me. A part of me felt guilty about the way I’d acted toward Angela, and I would apologize to her about it, but there also had to be some way to make her see that just because I wasn’t married with kids, it didn’t mean I was inconsequential. I was an equal member of the family with equal say. We would all need to have a conversation sooner or later if I was expecting to make it through our vacation with my sanity intact.
I decided to leave my anger at the house and let myself enjoy the beach, even if I was sent outside for ridiculous reasons.
Walking closer to the water, I enjoyed the way the sand went from being warm and soft, to being wet and hard. When it reached the right consistency, I unfolded my chair and put it down, making sure the sun was pointed directly at me. I situated myself facing the water. Looking up and down the shore, I could count the number of people I saw on both hands. Turned out, an isolated beach wasn’t that bad after all.
The sun was high and warm, and the wind was absent—a rarity on the Oregon coast. I draped my towel over my chair, took off my cover-up, kicked off my flip-flops, and sat down to read in the sunlight. I’d started this particular book weeks before, never finding the time to sit down and read, vowing I would finish it on this vacation. It seemed likely and very possible as there wasn’t much else to do.
When I woke up, the sun was still high in the sky, but the beach was empty. I was never a midday napper, so falling asleep in the afternoon was rare for me. My e-reader was lying on the sand and I was slouched down on the lounge chair. I couldn’t remember a moment in the last month where I felt as relaxed as I did right then. The sun had warmed my skin and the sound of the ocean had lulled me to sleep.
I was so relaxed, in fact, I decided not to move. Instead, I looked out at the ocean, watching the waves crash onto the shore. The tide was out and the waves weren’t really impressive close in, but beyond the break they were mesmerizing to watch. After staring out to sea for a few minutes, a figure came into view. I watched as a person surfed, riding a wave as far as he could, then fell into the water with a decent splash.
Surfing in that part of Oregon was pretty rare. Not only was the water frigid year-round, but the surf wasn’t actually that good. Very few times had I ever seen a person surfing on the Oregon coast, and when I did see someone, they were just averagely skilled. Nothing impressive, just someone who enjoyed riding mediocre waves.
But this person, this man—if I was seeing correctly—was doing more with the small waves than I’d ever seen. I watched him surf for an hour, just sitting in my lounge chair, eyes glued to him. The way his body moved, the control he had even when battling the sea, it was impressive and startling. And even though it must have taken so much strength and ability to surf that well, I was also drawn to the beauty of the movement. Watching his board dance across the water, the way I couldn’t always tell if he was directing the board or if the board was directing him, was fascinating. When he finally came out of the water, I couldn’t deny the disappointment that washed over me. I wanted to watch him surf all afternoon.
He made his way to where the sand was less solid, where your feet sank down into the warmth, and stabbed the end of his board into the grains. He picked up a towel he must have stashed there while I was sleeping and used it to dry off the parts of him that weren’t in a wetsuit. His hair lightened once he’d run the towel over it a few times, and even though he was far away, I could see the strands of golden hair woven among the dark brown.
I felt like a total creeper just watching him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was captivating. Especially when he started pulling down the zipper of his wet suit. I gawked. Openly. Operating under the possibly false impression that the dune I was next to was hiding me. The rational girl in the back of my mind told me that if I could see him, he could see me, but I was banking on the idea that he wasn’t going to look in my direction; he had no reason to.
I watched as he pulled the zipper down the back, pulling on the long dangling string, and then slowly peeled the fabric down his arms, one by one. My mouth was suddenly dry and it felt as though I was swallowing sand paper. My breath caught when he continued to peel the suit down his torso, revealing his absolutely chiseled chest. He kept pulling, and I found myself saying a prayer that he’d take the wetsuit all the way off, but sadly he stopped right before the grand finale.
Then, like he knew I needed it, he dragged the towel over the newly revealed skin, making the muscles in his arms and abs flex and pull with every movement.
I might have whimpered.
Each of his muscles were perfectly and acutely defined. Even from a distance I could see the lines between each of his abs. But he wasn’t bulky. It didn’t look as though he built his muscles in a gym mindlessly lifting weights, but more like he’d developed them by using his body to do the things he enjoyed—like surfing. He definitely had a swimmer’s body, his shoulders wide and back tapered to his waist. I wanted to take a picture, but didn’t want to out myself as the creeper that I was.
He grabbed both ends of his towel and draped it over the back of his neck, then yanked his board out of the sand and walked away from the ocean. I craned my neck to watch him go, a weird and pathetic panic floating through me at the thought of never s
eeing him again. After his head disappeared behind another low dune, I decided I didn’t give a fuck about public perception and stood to watch him wander away. I figured if he was walking away from me, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to catch me stalking him.
I watched him walk up a similar path to the one I’d taken to the beach, just a little bit farther south than mine. My eyes followed him as he walked up the steps to a house, opened the sliding glass door, and disappeared inside.
The house he entered was the next house down the beach from my rental.
We were neighbors.
Chapter Two
Talia
“Sweetheart, can you grab the meat plate from your mother?”
My dad spent our summer vacations as king of the grill. If he could be outside grilling, he would be. He didn’t get a lot of time to grill at home, and I sometimes thought he felt about grilling the way I felt about reading or getting a pedicure. This was why I felt badly for him in that moment. The rain had started about a half hour earlier, and even though my dad was optimistic, he was also being a little unreasonable.
“Dad, it’s practically pouring. Come inside. We can broil the steaks. It’s not safe to be out here.” As if Mother Nature was trying to say I was right, a loud crack of thunder peeled through the sky, making me jump. It scared my father too, but it also made him decide his grilling dreams were dashed for the night. I hurried him in the house, both of us standing just inside the door, trying to shake off what rain water we could.
“Could you please close the door, Talia? I don’t want the babies catching a draft.”
I looked at Angela, who had both the babies in the traveling, folding high chairs I’d brought in from the car earlier that day. I didn’t bother responding, but I did close the door. I didn’t want the babies sick either.
“I guess we’ll have to broil the steaks,” my dad said with way too much sadness to be talking about meat.
“That’ll be great, honey,” my mother replied sweetly, knowing how much my father liked to be outside grilling. “Talia, dear, will you turn the broiler on?”
Never With You (The Never Series Book 6) Page 1