Drift

by Amy Murray

  I flinched when the front door opened behind me. “Abigail, what’s burning? I can smell it from outside.”

  Colin was home. The man in front of me didn’t seem bothered by his appearance. In fact, he seemed excited.

  “Ah, look who’s finally joined us.” The man stood and straightened his tie, placed his hat on his head, and clamped his cigar between his teeth.

  Colin stepped behind me, and his hand covered my shoulder, warm and tight, secure and protective.

  “You need to leave,” I said while keeping my gaze leveled on the man in front of me. “This has nothing to do with you.” Colin’s hand tightened at my words, and the man in front of me barked a laugh. He pulled his cigar from his mouth and looked between Colin and me. Amusement glittered in his eyes.

  “Please, tell me she knows.” He chuckled. “Colin, my old friend, introduce me to your lovely wife. After all, we have quite a memorable night in common.”

  My heartbeat stuttered, and I denied his words with a shake of my head. Three years ago, Colin had rescued me from the alleyway long after the killer had left.

  Unless.

  Unless…

  Colin had come back. I turned slowly to face the man who’d saved me that night, but I was unable to lift my gaze higher than his neck.

  “Tell me it isn’t true,” I whispered, clutching the broken shoe at my chest. “Tell me you didn’t murder James.”

  Colin’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and my hand covered my mouth, catching the sob from my broken heart.

  I groaned, and my surroundings slowly came into focus. The campus was bustling with students, moving in and out of buildings, while we three stood like frozen statues. My nose began to run, and when I wiped it, I felt something wet and warm. Pulling my hand back, I saw bright red streaks staining my fingertips.

  “You’re bleeding,” James said.

  I dropped my bag on the ground next to me and pulled a travel pack of tissues from the front pocket.

  “Don’t lean back, just hold your head steady so the blood can run forward,” James said as I pressed the tissue to my face.

  “They’re getting worse,” Mack said in a flat voice, understanding where I’d been.

  “What’s getting worse?” James asked.

  “Nothing. I’m fine. It’s just a nosebleed.”

  “No, it’s not. Nothing’s as simple as that when you’re drifting.” He pointed a finger at James. “I told you what would happen.” He dropped his hand, his eyes sad. “This will kill you if you’re not careful.”

  My head jerked up, and anger radiated from James. “I think you need to leave. I’ll take care of her from here,” he said.

  They stared at each other, neither blinking, for several strained seconds before Mack spoke. “You have no idea what you’re capable of doing to her.” His voice was low and deadly.

  “Mack, leave it alone,” I said. “He doesn’t know about any of this.”

  Mack kept his eyes trained on James. “Well, maybe he should. One of you needs to be smart, and if it’s not going to be you, then I hope to God it’s him.”

  I dropped my hand from my face. “Enough, we’re leaving,” I told him, and James laced his fingers through mine.

  “You’re making the wrong choice,” Mack said. He stood where I’d left him, not angry but defeated, and bubbles of anger, sorrow, desperation, and frustration bounced between us.

  “You don’t know that.”

  Mack sighed. “Unfortunately, I do.” With his shoulders slumped, Mack walked away.

  James didn’t tell me where we were going, and I didn’t ask. I was thankful that after the day I’d had he suggested we get out of town. Relaxing against the seatback, I watched the city fall away. Pastures replaced mid-rise buildings, and wooden picket fences lined their borders. James twisted and turned on roads with no names, winding along a path familiar only to him.

  When we pulled onto a bumpy dirt road, the truck slowed and splashed through puddles of muddy water. Tall pine trees soared on either side of us, and the underbrush was so thick I couldn’t tell what lay beyond. The road veered right and opened to reveal a small wooden home, twice as long as it was wide. It was situated in the exact middle of nowhere, a forgotten island, lonely and desolate.

  “Where are we?” I asked after several seconds of silence.

  “My grandmother’s house. She passed away several years ago. I inherited it when my mother died.” He stared at the house, his thoughts lost in a memory I couldn’t see. “I don’t know what to do with it now.”

  James opened his door, and a blast of cool wind barreled through the cab of the truck. When he stepped out, I pushed mine open and followed him. He walked around the back of the house, where a few tires had tall grass growing through their centers and broken clay pots were scattered next to an untended woodpile.

  James moved through a thick set of pines, their trunks spindly yet strong, and followed the memory of a footpath visible only to him. Under the canopy of trees, the air grew still, and apart from our steps, there wasn’t another sound. When we came across a gully, where thick roots broke through the sides and protruded like tentacles, James took my hand and helped me over the gap and on to the opposite bank.

  For several minutes we walked like that—hand in hand, silent mouths and screaming thoughts—until the forest opened and revealed an oblong pond surrounded by sprawling oaks and grass that was long past dead. A flat rock, its edges softened by years of rain and weather, sat at the edge of the water. James took a seat on it and gestured to the spot next to him.

  “Every summer for as long as I can remember, my mother brought me here. Her parents—my grandparents—were divorced. There were times I thought she preferred this place to her father’s. It was simpler. Less complicated.”

  I stared at the grey water rippling with gentle waves as the cool wind skittered across the surface. James grabbed a rock and tossed it sideways. It skipped three times before it sank.

  “It’s beautiful.” Even in the dead of winter, the oak trees were full and shaded the pond from the sun. I rubbed my hands together and tucked them into my jacket pockets. James frowned, and even though he was sitting next to me, he felt far away. “How long ago did your mother pass?”

  James’s head dropped before turning toward me. “A year, almost exactly. The night we met, that was the one-year anniversary. Crazy, right?” He threw another rock into the pond. “That’s why I was there. I needed a drink, or maybe just to be somewhere loud enough that I wouldn’t think about it.”

  I covered one of his scarred hands with mine, knowing what a persistent and sometimes angry companion loss could be. He flipped our palms together before slipping his fingers through mine and holding tight.

  “How did she die?” I tilted my head in his direction while his teeth ran over his bottom lip several times.

  “Fire,” he said.

  I closed my eyes against the questions, assumptions, and emotions that single word ignited and pictured his rippled skin.

  “Earlier, you asked me about my father,” he began. “But for you to understand what happened between us, you’d need to know about her death.”

  My thoughts were piecing it together, and if I was anywhere near the truth, I didn’t want to know.

  “It’s okay.” I swallowed and squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

  “Yes, I do. You need to know that I’m not who everyone thinks I am.” His gaze locked with mine. “What Gracie thinks I am.”

  “I shouldn’t have listened to her.”

  “Maybe not, but you should’ve heard it from me first. I know what people say about me. About the kind of monster they imagine I am.” His eyes turned sad. “Did you know I attended the University of Texas before transferring here?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “I was there on an athletic scholarship. Baseball. A year ago, I was home from school for Christmas break. My mother and father were in the midd
le of another epic fight. They hardly paused to tell me hello.”

  “Did they fight often?”

  “All the time. I thought when I left for college that I’d miss them, and I did, but at the same time, I was so glad not to be a part of it anymore.”

  “Did they fight about you?” I asked.

  “I was just a small part of it. You see, my father was an alcoholic and compulsive gambler, and my mother was a Westerfield.” I shook my head, not understanding, and James clarified. “Her father—my grandfather—was Calvin Westerfield.”

  The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it, not right away. When it dawned on me, I sat up a little straighter. “Calvin Westerfield? As in the C. Westerfield Science Building at school?”

  James nodded. “The very one. He also happened to own one of the largest privately held oil companies in the United States.”

  I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but I knew oil and I knew Texas, and together I knew that meant money. Lots of money.

  “My father had lost big the night I came home. That’s why they were fighting. He wanted more money, and she wouldn’t give it to him.” James took a breath and squinted his eyes. “When Xander called and asked if I wanted to go out for a drink, I left and didn’t come home until after midnight. When I pulled up, I could see flames through the upstairs windows. My dad stumbled out the front door coughing and fell down on the lawn. I asked him where my mom was, but he couldn’t tell me. He was too drunk.”

  James grabbed another rock, but instead of throwing it into the pond, he rubbed it between his fingers. “I wasn’t thinking at that point, but I couldn’t leave—” His back hunched and jerked. “I couldn’t leave her in there to die. The smoke was so thick I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stand. And it was hot—it was so hot in there. You have no idea.”

  “James,” I said, urging him to stop, but he continued.

  “I crawled, screaming her name. I don’t know when it happened or how, but the sleeves of my shirt caught fire. After that…I don’t know.” He paused and rolled his neck. “The next thing I knew I was in the back of an ambulance. My mother didn’t make it out. They found her body, or what was left of it, the next day.”

  “I’m sorry, James.”

  He nodded. “The investigator said the fire started in one of the back bedrooms because of a forgotten cigarette.”

  “Your father?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “The worst part was that he didn’t even remember there was a fire. He woke up in the hospital with no idea how he got there. It was just another day with another hangover.”

  He shifted his position on the rock, stretching his legs out in front of him. I didn’t think he was going to continue, so when his voice broke the silence, I shivered.

  “My mother’s will, and my parent’s prenuptial agreement, were very specific. You see, the money was my mother’s. It was her inheritance—something she received before she even married my father. Upon her death, she left him a lump sum, and everything else he would’ve inherited—the cars, the house, valuables—all burned in that fire. A trust was already set aside for me, which I was to inherit when I was twenty-two. The rest of the money she donated to various charities.

  “I moved in with Xander to recover. Eight months later, on my twenty-second birthday, my father showed up out of the blue. It was the first time he’d seen me since the fire, and all he could talk about was the money. He’d gambled his away in a matter of months, and needed a few thousand to get back on track. He didn’t mention my mother. He didn’t ask how I was doing.” James stopped talking and shrugged. “I lost it. I hit him, and when he didn’t fight back, I hit him again. I couldn’t stop. I was so angry. Xander pulled me off of him. I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there.”

  “Is that when the police came?” I asked.

  “Xander called the ambulance first and told them what happened. The cops showed up with the paramedics, and I was arrested for domestic assault. The rest is history.”

  “Gracie told me Xander bailed you out.”

  James shook his head. “He picked me up when I was released. The charges were dropped when my father refused to pursue them. I think he’s hoping I’ll reward his generosity with money. He’s wrong, of course. I’d rather rot in jail.”

  I stared at his hand and the way he curled it unconsciously into a fist. “You could’ve died that night. In the fire.”

  “I know,” he breathed, and we stared in silence at the pond. The water, like everything around us, stilled as he turned and focused his gaze on me. “But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the people I love.”

  The air charged and heat burned my bones, and I knew that for me there was no turning back. With James was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  Chapter Nine

  We sat at the pond until the sun dipped low and the temperature dropped, leaving us to navigate back with the light of the moon as a guide. When we reached his truck, James pulled open the passenger door and the overhead light flicked on, casting a feeble yellow glow into the black night.

  I stared at the interior of the truck, but didn’t move to sit inside. I hadn’t told James about my drifts, and the weight of it felt heavier now that I knew about his past. I needed to tell him before we left because things would change when we got back to the city. Out here, everything was simple. Black and white. Believable. At least, that’s what I hoped.

  “Come on, it’s getting cold,” James said, urging me forward and into the truck.

  The sharp contours of his face swallowed the light and created shadows that lent an air of authority to his words. I was ready to pull myself in, when this unnamed thing that bonded our souls nearly a century ago swelled and kicked. I couldn’t ignore it, and from the way James leaned toward me, I suspected he felt it, too.

  “What if I don’t want to go,” I said.

  He blinked, not once but twice as he considered my words. “It’s late. We should get back.”

  I stepped toward him until our chests were inches apart. “Please,” I said. “Just for the night. We’ll head back in the morning.”

  James looked at the house and back to me with indecision written on every line of his face. “If you don’t want to go home, we can find something better. This house—”

  But I didn’t need better. I needed him. “It’s perfect.”

  His hand tightened on the car door before he gave it a shove. The light snapped off, and for a moment I was blind, until my eyes adjusted to the moonlight. James took my hand in his, and we walked toward the house.

  The inside was cold and smelled of mold and dust. He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out an ancient box of matches. We brought wood in from outside, and he had a fire blazing in the hearth in a matter of minutes. The furniture, which was plentiful, considering this home was all but abandoned, was covered in mismatched sheets. Careful not to disturb the fine layer of dust and grime, James folded back the sheet that covered the sofa. The upholstery was worn but clean, and the cushions had permanent divots, making it look as if an invisible weight sat on them now.

  “It’ll warm up soon,” James said, and gestured at the couch.

  “When was the last time you were here?” I asked to prevent my teeth from chattering.

  “About a month ago. I come every few weeks to check on the place, make repairs, that sort of thing.”

  “Are you planning on keeping it?” The house hadn’t been updated since the seventies. The walls were covered in wood paneling, and the carpet was dark brown shag, but everything was well kept.

  He looked around, and his shoulders lifted. “I’m not sure. It’s the last thing I have that was my mother’s. Everything—every picture, every memento —it all went up in flames the night she died.”

  I ran my hand over the back of the sofa, feeling the rough texture. “Have you talked to your father since you were released?”

  A chill settled over the
room. “No, and I don’t plan on it.” He turned to the fire and poked at the wood, stoking it to burn hotter.

  I sank into the sofa watching him. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  He stepped toward me, his footfalls slow and thoughtful. “Don’t be. It’s just—” He sat next to me, and the heat from his body warmed me in an instant. “He’s a part of my past. I don’t want him anywhere near my future.”

  His hand traced the length of my arm, and as he wound his fingers through mine, they brushed the top of my thigh. Shivers flitted across my skin, and I shifted against the tingling in my lower belly.

  James’s gaze, dark with desire, connected with mine. He brushed his palm against my cheek, and his lips parted. He was going to kiss me, but the moment before was like being suspended in mid-air. My muscles tensed until they trembled, and I prepared for the fall.

  He pushed forward, and his lips, warm and tender, pressed against mine. My eyes rolled closed as some kind of firework ripped through my body and exploded in my gut. Everything wrong with us, every reason why I shouldn’t be with him, vanished because in that moment, everything was right.

  The kiss deepened, and as his tongue swept mine, I melted against him—into him and around him. My hands wrapped around his waist and pulled at the hem of his shirt until I was able to splay my fingers against his scalding flesh. His muscles flexed, and with one swift move, he flipped me down and onto my back, his body, heavy and strong, draped over mine.

  I arched my neck and his lips landed at my throat, tracing a hot line up to my jaw. I kissed the base of his ear, and on the next breath, pulled his lobe into my mouth. With a groan, he pushed his hips into mine while I pulled at his shirt, frantic to feel his skin with more than just my hands.

  I shimmied it to his shoulders, but before I was able to remove it, James resisted, pushing up on his hands to look me in the eyes. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He twisted his face away and squeezed his eyes closed before he pushed himself to a seated position. “I’m sorry,” he said, but wouldn’t look me in the eye.