Red Nights

by Shari J. Ryan

  My cheeks burn for the mere fact that that’s exactly what I thought he was doing. “Oh, is tomorrow considered a year?” I play along.

  “Tomorrow is the three-hundred and sixty-fifth day, Blondie-locks.” He bends his arms behind his head, stretching in each direction. “Wait until you see what I have planned.” He winks and slaps my butt. “You might want to change. You have spit up on your shoulder.”

  “Give me two minutes,” I say, rushing into the bedroom.

  I pull a new shirt on and change my shoes. Tomorrow. The thought forces flutters into my stomach. I’ve spent the last year counting down the days, and now I think I know he has been too. God. Tomorrow! “Hurry up, slowpoke!” he shouts into the bedroom.

  I’ve spent the half-hour long car ride grinning like an idiot. It’s funny to think about what I would have done just over a year ago if I didn’t have control over this situation. I would have freaked out. But losing every ounce of control over my life was freeing. I’ve pretty much let go of everything. I don’t want to be in control now. I want to live by the seat of my pants and welcome every new twist and turn life brings me. Of course, I say that now, but every minute within the next twenty-four hours might cause enough nerves to stir up a good old anxiety attack. I want this to happen. This man has spent the last year proving how much he loves me. He’s already given me enough love to last a lifetime. But I’ll never get enough of him.

  We’ve been through so much and have survived even more—especially after last week. One of the detectives from his old department called him. I was there when he picked up the phone. I was there when his eyes filled with tears. Relief. I was there when he dropped the phone, grabbed me and wrapped his arms so tightly around me I almost couldn’t breathe. I was there when he told me they found the man who killed Ella. He thanked me for coming into his life when I did, for making sure he wasn’t the one who found him. He wanted to kill the guy himself. And I don’t blame him. I mean, I’ve had thoughts of revenge against Tanner, but justice has been served in a way, which allows us to live with a kind of acceptance that gets us through the days and makes them survivable. Together.

  “You okay?” He pulls my attention from the blurred lines in the road. “You’re zoning out over there.”

  “Just thinking about the last year,” I say.

  “It’s been a good year.” A flustered look washes across his face as his eyes dart back and forth from the dashboard to the road. “What the hell is going on?”

  “What?” I lean over to see his dash lights, but I can’t see without taking my seatbelt off and I don’t know what’s going on right now. “Is everything okay?”

  “Shit.” He pulls over and hops out of the truck, popping the hood open. I jump out to meet him around front. Not that I’ll be of much help, but I want to know what’s going on.

  I only make it a couple of feet when I see what’s wrong. Nothing at all. Down on one knee in the middle of the breakdown lane, Hayes has a small black box perched on his palm. His eyes are wide and his face a little pale. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow or even until the restaurant like I planned. I’ve struggled through the last three hundred and sixty-four days thinking about the life I want to start with you. I just want to start it now, Felicity. Right here in the middle of this road. I can’t wait a second longer. I can’t.”

  Shaking and shocked, I walk over and pull him up and off the road. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “I know. But I still want you to marry me.” His hand is starting to shake as he opens the box. “There’s a condition, though.” He places the ring on my unsteady finger and then takes my hand with both of his. “I want to marry you as soon as possible.”

  “Are you pregnant?” I ask, straight-faced.

  “It’s not something I’d like to discuss at the moment. I just want to know if you’ll agree to this.”

  “Oh my God. You’re not an illegal immigrant, are you?” I’m totally on a roll at the wrong time. Or maybe it’s the right time.

  “You’re killing me, Blondie-locks.” I can see it’s true. He’s becoming more flushed and starting to glisten.

  “I would marry you right here on the side of this road if I could,” I say softly. His hands cup my cheeks as he closes his mouth over mine, making me forget where we are and why we’re here. Horns are honking as cars drive by, but it’s like music to my ears right now. For the first time in fifteen months, I feel like everything is exactly the way it should be.

  When the chill in the air gets the best of us, we continue on to the restaurant, where we’re greeted by the shrieks of Mom and Hayes’s mom first, and then Dad, who’s just beaming with pride. “I asked him first,” Hayes whispers into my ear, nodding toward Dad. I’m speechless. He really did have this all planned out.

  After hugging everyone and showing off the handiwork of his diamond buying skills, we leave our parents to get to know each other a little more. Hayes leads me toward the back door. “Don’t worry, we’re not eating out here,” he says, “but I want to show you something.” Another surprise? What else is there?

  He opens up the door and we walk out onto the dock and into the glow of the setting sun. From behind me, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and we stare out into the water, watching the sun slowly dip below the horizon. The sky begins to morph into vibrant shades of orange, yellow…but mostly red. “You know how we’ve made all the bad turn into good?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  “This is our red night. This is a night I want you to remember. All red nights from here on out will be the reminder of our beginning and only the good.”

  EPILOGUE

  “OH, SOMETHING CAME for you in the mail today,” Hayes says. “It was forwarded from your old apartment. It’s on the counter.”

  I grab the letter and flip it back and forth. “Weird. No return address.”

  I tear open the envelope and unfold the pieces of paper. Scanning over the hand-written words, my hands begin to shake, making it hard to read. I walk backward until my knees buckle at the couch. “What is it?” he asks.

  Hayes leans on me, looking over my shoulder as he reads along with me.

  Every word has been carefully thought out. Every thought was perfectly planned out. Every action was completely carried out—thankfully in my case, unsuccessfully.

  I clench my hand around my throat, squeezing it, needing to feel something other than what I feel in my stomach right now.

  Hayes pulls the papers from my hands and drops them on the counter. “Look at me,” he says.

  Every movement feels robotic inside of my cold body. “He might only be in prison for twenty-five years,” I say, breathless.

  “At least twenty-five years. We have a long time to figure things out. Plus, he needs to survive those twenty-five years in prison first.”

  I grab the letter back and glance at it again, lying there, taunting me with its evil text…

  Dear Liss,

  It’s taken me over a year to put my thoughts together. It’s also taken me a year to figure out how to get this to you. Turns out they frown upon murderers and arsonists sending mail to their victims, but I found a way around that.

  You know, I still don’t understand why I did the things I did. I’d like to say I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, but I’m not sorry at all.

  What I do know is that you broke my fucking heart. I loved you, and you threw me away like I was a piece of trash on the side of the road. All because your brother told you to. You knew you weren’t the first one to do this, and yet you did it anyway. Every woman I’ve ever loved has found a reason to get rid of me. And I just don’t get it. I don’t understand what’s so wrong with me. I’m a good-looking, laid-back guy. Most women dig that kind of shit.

  But people can only be hurt so many times before they snap. And that’s what happened, I think. One day, something in me snapped. That was the day I decided I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt me again. I was going to hurt them instead.
I let these women break my heart and believe they had the last word. I had the upper hand the whole time.

  You, though? You were the queen of all heartbreaks. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. But of course, Blake always made it clear that you were off limits. He thought I was a womanizer because he found my list. You were at the very bottom of it, the only one who hadn’t hurt me. So I figured my list would end with you, just like it was supposed to.

  I truly thought you were different. I thought you didn’t have it in you to hurt me like the others did. And if I were right, I wouldn’t have had to hurt you.

  But I was wrong, Liss. Boy, was I wrong. You hurt me more than all the others combined. And Blake making you hurt me the way he did? I wanted you both to burn in hell. That was the plan, anyway.

  I found your little smoking tin on the back porch. You know…the one you were hiding from everyone? God forbid someone found out that Miss Perfect smoked a cigarette every night. But I knew. I knew everything about you.

  Cat litter looks an awful lot like sand when it’s in a tin. Add a little brake fluid, a long match sticking out of the center, and the lighter you left on the back porch—it was all sort of perfect. Bam. It would have worked like a charm if you hadn’t woken up. But Miss Perfect always knows what’s going on, even when she’s sleeping. Blake though, he had no idea. I gave him a few beers, each one with a healthy dose of Valium mixed with Ambien. Worked like a charm. He never knew what hit him—or what burned him alive.

  You were both supposed to be dead, but I guess we don’t always get what we want, do we?

  Don’t worry. I can be patient.

  Maybe you’re at home all cuddled up with that asshole you were with. The one who acts all innocent and shit, like he’s never done anything wrong. But you know, you thought you knew me, Liss. You really did. I was the last person you suspected up until the very end, wasn’t I? You should have learned a valuable lesson then, but you probably haven’t. Sometimes we think we know the people closest to us, and then it turns out we might just know them the very least. I would be careful about who you trust. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

  These years will fly by faster than you know, so enjoy this time for both of us. Trust me when I tell you, I will be on my best behavior here.

  I’ll leave you with this: all good is laced with some bad, and everything you think is the truth is nothing more than a blatant lie. Love is a fickle thing, Liss. It can make you bat shit crazy. I’ve even heard that some people go so crazy that they just become sane again. We’ll hope for that.

  I wish you the best in your future endeavors, and I recommend you always watch your back.

  Take care, Liss. I look forward to the day we see each other again, but until then, just remember; I will love you until the day you die.

  —Tanner

  A preview of Shari’s upcoming romantic suspense novel:

  Ravel – Coming this fall

  CHAPTER ONE

  Daphne

  DANG IT, IT’S CRAZY in here tonight. It’s not even six, and the boys are all shit-faced. They must have just gotten home from a deployment. Jacey, the owner of the bar, throws a dish rag at me and slaps the newly-filled steins down on the bar top. “You’re up. I gotta go meet with a vendor.” She’s quick to grab her things and run out the door, leaving me alone at the bar with this place definitely over its bodily capacity. This type of crowd seems to appear once a month, and I still haven’t figured out why this is the go-to bar when the boys get home. It’s dark and dingy and smells like whatever sticky substance is on the bathroom floor.

  Most nights the place sees five patrons, tops. They’re locals and all over the age of sixty, which is why Trent doesn’t care that I work here. If he knew what this place looked like tonight, he’d throw a tantrum. A grown man-child tantrum.

  It’s been three hours of non-stop beers. When Marines get home after not being able to drink for months, their tolerance is low, which means I have a bunch of drunken loons on my hands right now.

  I skate my focus down the bar looking for a hand out, waiting for their next beer, but I actually think everyone’s happy for the moment.

  Except him. Hmm. His elbow is firmly planted onto the bar top, and his hand is holding up his head. I can’t see his face, but his slouched shoulders and his empty beer glass tell me he’s definitely not happy.

  “Why so glum, Marine?” I plop my elbows down on the bar and rest my chin in my hands. “Why aren’t you partying with your buddies?”

  He lifts his face to look at me. And it’s right this second I realize that if I had any idea what he looked like three seconds ago, I wouldn’t have approached him. I know that’s childish, but holy hell, he’s hot. There’s something about the way men look when they return from overseas. It’s nothing I’d admit out loud because they’ve just gone to hell and back, but they’re always so tan and chiseled. Hardened in a sexy kind of way. This guy, though, not only is he bronzed and solid, but he’s got these radiant sea-green eyes, and his short, light-caramel hair is pushed away from his face, framing his exquisiteness. Not a flaw to be seen. Except there’s sadness in his eyes.

  This is exactly why Trent wouldn’t want me here.

  So I decide to be an asshole and stand up, back away, and pick up the dishrag, completely forgetting I just asked this obviously doleful man a question.

  “My brother died over there,” he says, stopping me in my tracks. Shit. God bless him, the poor thing.

  I turn back around, unable to walk away from a heart-wrenching comment like that. “You were with your brother overseas?” Well, that’s why he’s not partying with his friends. I can’t even imagine going through something so horrible. No wonder he looks the way he does.

  “He wasn’t my brother by blood, but close enough.” It looks like each word rolling off of his tongue physically hurts him. Like he hasn’t spoken about it out loud before. Like it wasn’t real. It almost looks as if what he’s saying is as much of a shock to him as it is to me. “But if he were sitting here right now, he’d smack me upside the head and tell me to have one from him.” Without even thinking, I grab a stein from under the bar and place it below the tap, filling it until the foam spills over the lipped rim. I place the glass down in front of him and grab another, filling it the same way.

  I hold the second stein up to him. “To your brother,” I say. The corner of his lips curl upward ever so slightly, and he lifts his glass, tapping it against mine.

  “Thank you.” He brings the glass to his lips, and I find myself staring at his mouth, watching as he pulls in the amber liquid. I feel like letting out a loud sigh and saying, “Oh, you’re what fairy tales are made of.” Damn those fairytales. I’m forced to snap myself out of my daydream and refill a couple of orders being shouted at me.

  As I busy myself with what must be the fourth round for every guy in here, I begin to lose track of whose arm was reaching out to me first. It’s getting bad tonight. Just as I’m about to throw my hands up in defeat, the heartbroken man walks around the backside of the bar and starts filling up glasses to help me. “I used to bartend,” he shouts over.

  It takes less than five minutes to get caught up with the requests and now we’re both just standing here looking at each other. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he says, smiling, flaunting a perfectly white smile, which, ugh, seriously—it makes him look even tanner. Trust me. I won’t be mentioning this.

  All of the Marines stayed until closing, requiring more help behind the bar, which also required me to smell this guy’s delicious cologne every time he walked by me. At one point, he put his hand on my hip while he was leaning over me to hand someone a beer. I felt things I definitely shouldn’t have felt. God, I’m like a caged animal—taunted and teased, needing to be pet and fed. But that can’t happen when I’m with Trent. He owns the only key that could set me free, and he won’t give it up that easily.

  As the hour after closing conti
nues to creep by, the bar slowly empties out, each Marine leaving an eerie silence behind as they leave. “Thank you, again,” I say, letting him know it’s okay to go with the others. I still need to clean up and close the place down.

  “Give me a rag,” he says.

  “You want a job or something?” I smirk.

  “Sometimes I wish I’d stayed bartending, but I can’t work here while I’m enlisted. Ya know?” He takes the rag from my hand and wipes the bar down. While I know I should be helping, I’m too busy watching the muscles in his arm flex and relax. Flex and relax. Flex… I really need to stop staring at him.

  “So why are you helping me?” What’s in this for him? Trent’s warned me about these guys. They want one thing, and I’m dumb enough to put myself in a situation where they’d expect it. I’m alone in a bar with this guy. “I don’t have anything to give you,” I add.

  He stops flexing—I mean, wiping down the bar, and looks up at me. Oh those eyes. The things I want to do—but I’m just going to sit here and suffer silently. “Can’t I just help you?” he asks.

  “I don’t even know your name.” And it’s probably best that I don’t, because it might become my new favorite name.

  “Kemper. My friends call me Kemp.” That’s a nice name. He wipes his hand off on his jeans and reaches over to me.

  He wants to touch me. This is only going to make things worse, but still, I wipe my hand off on my pants and then place it in his. It’s as strong, warm and nice as I thought it would be. It completely engulfs mine, and I catch myself looking at the way his tanned skin looks against my paleness. This has to stop. I pull my hand from his, realizing it’s been there way longer than a normal handshake. What am I doing? I’m being dumb. I just have to finish up here, and it will be like none of this happened.

  As quickly as I can, I finish cleaning and cash out the register. I flip all the lights off and with the last light to go I see the front door open. Thank goodness. He’s leaving.