Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “I just have a few things to say. First, we want thank you all for supporting our decision. I know a lot of you asked why Katelyn and I didn’t get married, and the simple answer is that marriage isn’t for us right now. But the option is there if we want to take it. Secondly, I’ve been blessed many times over since moving to Beaumont and I thank each and every one of you for making Quinn and I feel welcomed. Lastly,” I say, pulling out the bracelets I’ve been hiding in my pocket all day. “I’m going to start with my youngest.” I walk over to Elle and kneel down in front of her. “Elle, I give you this bracelet as a token of my love and devotion to you as your dad.” I clasp it on her wrist and kiss her on the cheek, earning a giggle. “Now for my drummer girl, Peyton.” I repeat the same words I said to her sister and get a high-five in return. When I get back to Katelyn, there are tears in her eyes. I bend over, kiss her lightly and open my palm so she can see what I have for her.

  “Harrison,” she says as she covers her mouth.

  I bend down and ask for her hand. She extends her left hand and it shakes as I slip on the ring I had designed for her. It’s a diamond solitaire surrounded by Quinn, Peyton and Elle’s birthstones. “This is my commitment to you and our family, from here and this day forward, I’m yours forever.”

  She cups my face, threading her fingers through my hair. “I love you, Harrison Powell-James.”

  Not as much as I love you, I want to tell her, but I don’t. I let her have this moment.

  ***

  Remembering Joy

  by

  Jenni Moen

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  Adam

  I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time to see if I had missed a text from Burke. There were no new notifications. I audibly cursed his name and took another look around the bar that was steadily filling with the regular Friday happy hour crowd.

  I couldn’t imagine why, out of the hundreds of bars in Manhattan, Burke had picked this one. The dark wood-paneled walls, soft lighting, and leather seating of The Library had all been selected to be reflective of the bar’s name. The steady stream of suits filing through the door matched the stuffy atmosphere. This wasn’t our kind of scene. In my t-shirt and jeans, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I would have been more at home at a sports bar or even, possibly, a biker bar than I was in this joint. I cursed a second time at my own stupidity for agreeing to meet him here.

  After taking a long pull on the beer in front of me, I looked across the bar. And that’s when I saw her. It had been almost 10 years. My heart fell a little at the thought that 10 years had actually passed. I’d always known that she was here, but I’d never sought her out. It was practically mandatory that I keep my distance.

  She’d lost the bubbly cheerleader look that had worked for her all through high school. She was stunning now. Her blonde hair was shorter and sleeker, and just barely brushed her shoulders. She was thinner than I remembered, but not gaunt. Her high cheekbones accented the deep blue eyes that had lost their childish sparkle.

  Despite these less than subtle changes, I recognized her immediately. Hers was a face I would know anywhere and a face I would never forget.

  I must have been holding my breath while I checked her out. I swallowed the drink that now tasted warm and bitter. As I released my breath, my heart raced, and I forced myself to take a series of measured breaths. I looked down at my phone again for a much needed distraction and steadied my heart rate. I told myself that I didn’t have any reason to worry. She wouldn’t recognize me. It would be an interesting theory to test.

  I motioned the bartender over. The beer in front of me had suddenly lost its appeal. Tonight called for something a little stronger.

  Without being obvious, I watched her for at least 30 more minutes while I finished my first and then my second whiskey, straight.

  She was with two friends: a girl and a guy. They were smiling and laughing at something she had said. I couldn’t quite make it out, even though I was doing a pretty good job tuning out all the douchebags around me. She seemed to be retelling a story from work. From her friends’ reactions, I surmised that her day had been more interesting than mine.

  The two friends were obviously together. They hung all over each other. At the realization that she was the third wheel, I couldn’t stop a sly smile from spreading across my face. She had a sexual energy about her, and her periodic scan of the room told me that she was looking for something or someone. As if, maybe, she wasn’t planning on going home alone tonight.

  Finally, my phone buzzed in my hand as the text I had been anticipating came through.

  BURKE: Hung up at work. Catch you tomorrow.

  I shook my head. Normally, I would have been irritated at him for leaving me stranded in a place like this, but this evening was shaping up to be something entirely different from what I had expected. I was glad he wasn’t coming. I wasn’t going to be alone for long.

  She was about to get my worst. And, she deserved every bit of it.

  Alexis

  I hated this bar. It didn’t matter that we seemed to come here all the time or that it was a short walk from our office. The conversations around me were tedious. Professional blowhards talked over one another, trying to best everyone around them. I was good at my job, and it was really all that I had going for me. But, after spending the last 12 hours trying to prove that I was something more than just my last name, I was tired of the charade. I had very little free time, and I really didn’t care to waste it on pompous assholes. Unfortunately, that’s exactly where I was in my life, and I rarely left the Financial District.

  My “work husband” had coerced me into coming tonight. It was a label that I bestowed on Ethan when we were still in law school ... back before there was real work to be done. The term was correct in that we seemed to spend all of our time together. It was also correct in that I would do anything for him. However, it was a bit of a misnomer since – aside from one tequila-laced night back in school – our relationship was completely and totally platonic. That one anomaly had been a mistake that I would not repeat.

  Tonight, I was playing wingman. Or wingwoman, as it would seem. The plan had been to meet up with a new girl that he had met earlier at the Starbucks in our building. Ethan’s taste in women never varied. He liked them tall and leggy, and well endowed.

  Meghan seemed tolerable even if not very bright. Forty-five minutes into their first official date, she was hanging all over him. He couldn’t have gotten more attention from a woman if he’d paid for it. In fact, I was reasonably sure that my position as wingman had successfully been fulfilled and that I would soon be released from my duties.

  I had just polished off my second Belvedere and soda, and was considering making a stealth exit when I noticed a guy across the bar. He didn’t fit in with the rest of the clientele. His simple black t-shirt contrasted sharply with all the button-down oxfords in the room. His longer brown hair rested just past his ears. It was tousled as if he had just come in out of the wind ... or possibly a photo shoot ... or maybe someone’s bed. A day’s worth of beard growth didn’t hide the strong, masculine jaw line beneath.

  A strong hand curled around his glass and brought it to his lips just as his eyes met mine.

  I nudged Ethan in his side and raised my eyebrows suggestively. “Other side of the bar. One o’clock,” I said.

  Ethan glanced in the guy’s direction and then rolled his eyes at me. “Geez, Alexis. Really? That guy?”

  “Yes. That guy,” I almost whispered.

  “Look around you, A-lister. There are a hundred guys in here to choose from and you pick him? You can’t possibly have anything in common with him,” he said.

  I looked him dead in the eye and said, “That’s the point, dear husband o’ mine. That is exactly the point.”

  “You are on a path of self-destruction,” he said, shaking his head.

  Returning my gaze to my mark, I said, “Don’t be silly, Ethan. This is going
to be fun.”

  And a little fun was all I was looking for. After all, I had no desire to meet someone who I actually had something in common with. I didn’t want someone who would really want to get to know me. I was damaged goods, and I’d learned the hard way that once they learned the truth I wasn’t worth sticking around for.

  ***

  I looked skyward. Dark clouds were rolling across the oppressive grey sky from east to west. Until just a few minutes ago, it had been a beautiful and unusually warm day after a very cold spring, but the weather in northern Texas could be very unpredictable. The rumble of thunder signaled that the storm was closing in.

  I leaned forward, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. I was driving too fast, but then another half dozen raindrops smattered against my windshield. Another clap of thunder was so close that my car seemed to shake. I tapped the brake. My foot slipped and hit the gas pedal. Hard. The engine revved, and the little car lurched forward and jumped the curb.

  I woke up with a gasp, clutching the sheets around me. The nightmare was back. It was always the same though it had been two years since I had woken up in this state of terror. Until this moment, I thought I had finally freed myself from it. Apparently, I was wrong.

  I was still white-knuckling the sheets when I stuck my arm out and patted the bed beside me. The realization that I was alone caused an audible sigh of relief to escape. I wasn’t sure where I was, but there was still a chance that I could sneak out of here. “Thank God,” I muttered to myself.

  I put my feet on the floor and tried to get my bearings. My head was pounding, and my heart was still racing. Rubbing my temples, I slowly stood and turned to begin the search for my clothing. It had to be around here somewhere.

  “I think I should be the one thanking God,” a deep voice said.

  Damn. I was definitely not alone. I surveyed the room for the source of the voice. A man was casually leaning against an open doorway. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and one bare foot resting on top of the other. He wore an amused expression. While I could have stared at the smirking curve of his lips all day, it was the eyes that drew me in. They were dark pools that seemed solemn, if a bit sinister.

  His hair just barely hung over his eyes, and he was sporting at least two days’ worth of beard growth. His well-worn jeans hung from his hips in an exceptionally sexy way. The frayed ends of the pant legs just dragged the ground and looked like he had walked miles in them. His black ‘NSFW’ t-shirt did nothing to hide the fact that he clearly spent his free time in the gym or, possibly, cage fighting.

  The tattoos sprinkling his arms had me leaning toward the cage fighting theory. There were at least two that I could see. The first was a thin rope-like tattoo that wrapped around his left wrist. The second was on his right bicep, and it just barely peeked out of the bottom of his sleeve. I couldn’t help but wonder if there were more under that shirt. And then I mentally slapped myself because I should probably already know the answer to that question. I also made a mental note to look up ‘NSFW’ on urbandictionary.com.

  The smirk on his face told me that I was missing something.

  He had completely distracted me from the task at hand. I was missing my clothes and was standing stark naked in front of him.

  “My clothes?” I asked with as much nonchalance as I could muster. Standing in front of this complete stranger in nothing but my birthday suit was completely disconcerting, but for some reason I didn’t want him to feel my panic.

  His smirk turned into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He said nothing and instead pointed to a chair across the room. My folded clothes were neatly stacked on the seat. My purse leaned up against the side of the chair. If I wanted my stuff, I was going to have to walk directly in front of him.

  Jeopardizing my theme of nonchalance, I reached over and pulled the sheet off of the bed and wrapped it around me. I waltzed by him with my head held high and picked up my clothes. My lace bra was on the top of the stack. I found it strange that this severe looking stranger had taken the time to make such a tidy little pile of my unmentionables.

  His silent, but watchful, stare was unnerving. Again, it was the eyes. I almost needed to look away as soon as his met mine.

  As an act of mercy, he finally shifted on his feet. “I made coffee. But I think you might be better off with a Gatorade. There’s a new toothbrush in there if you need it,” he said, pointing toward an open doorway to my left. Then he turned on his heel and was gone.

  It was only after he left the room that it dawned on me that he wasn’t trying to put the moves on me this morning. Most men would have definitely been going for a Round 2. I imagined that I probably looked horrendous. I felt horrendous.

  It was also not lost on me that I couldn’t remember his name. I was in this man’s house, apartment ... I had no idea where I was ... and I had no idea what to call him. I needed to redeem myself by figuring out his name before I went face-to-face with him again. His wallet had to be around here somewhere. When I didn’t find it on the dresser, I headed for the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. Gah. My eyes were glassy, and my usually stick-straight hair was flying all different directions. Definitely horrendous. As I slipped my shirt over my head, I waited for last-night’s-bar-smell to hit me and was surprised when it didn’t. Strangely my clothes still smelled like Bounce dryer sheets.

  I mentally berated myself. How much did I have to drink last night? I couldn’t remember having more than just a couple of cocktails, but clearly I had overdone it. I had no recollection of anything that had taken place in this apartment. “You are turning into a real hot mess,” I told my reflection in the mirror.

  However, it turned out that I was a lucky hot mess because his wallet and cell phone were lying in a basket on the bathroom counter. I quickly rifled through the wallet and discovered a New York driver’s license. I scanned it briefly and made a mental note of his name, Adam Michael Hill. I patted myself on the back. Nancy Drew had nothing on me. Then I stuffed the license back in the wallet.

  I should have simply put his personal effects back where I found them, but something else caught my attention. I pulled out a piece of paper that was similar to one that I had seen a million times in my dad’s wallet: a hunting and fishing license that was good for a lifetime, but only in the great state of Texas. Behind it was a photo of a little girl who was probably about 5 or 6. Her long blonde hair was pulled back with a headband. She stood among shreds of wrapping paper, and her eyes gleamed with excitement at a small bicycle with a bow on the handlebars. The worn edges of the photo told me that must have been taken years ago.

  For some reason, the picture tugged at my heart. It was her eyes that grabbed me. They were identical in shape and color to the eyes that had been staring at me from the doorway just a few minutes before. Except, whereas his eyes were dark and brooding, hers were full of happiness and the innocence that came with youth. Feeling like I had trespassed somewhere I shouldn’t, I guiltily tucked it all back inside. I tossed the wallet

  CHAPTER 2

  Adam

  I leaned forward against the kitchen counter and pressed both hands into its granite surface. My eyes bored into the speckled pattern as if I would find the answers there.

  What was I doing with this woman? How could someone who elicited such fury in me also make me want her so much? If I kept this up, it wouldn’t end well.

  Then again, I think that might be exactly what I wanted.

  Alexis

  I was fully clothed and feeling more myself. My head still hurt, but my teeth were shining. And I had a goal now. It was to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. I prepared myself for the walk of shame through his apartment. I garnered as much false confidence as I could muster. Then, with my heels in my hand and my purse slung over my shoulder, I waltzed out of the bedroom.

  I entered a big, open living area. Large windows covered the main wall and offered a fantas
tic view of the city. I leaned on a table and took a look around while I slid my shoes on my feet. The place was really quite spectacular for a New York City apartment. It wasn’t huge by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t lacking in space either.

  And it was nice. Really nice, actually. I found the space unexplainably comforting. Adam certainly wasn’t the starving artist ... or cage fighter ... that I had guessed him to be. The decor was simple, but elegant. It wasn’t overly modern, but it also had a cool vibe to it. Cool as it was though, it definitely didn’t match the tattooed man in black who had been leering at me earlier.

  Then again, what did I know? I knew nothing about him. Maybe he had money to match his sophisticated digs. You certainly couldn’t judge a book by its cover. I was proof of that.

  My heels clicked on the polished concrete floor as I made my way through the living room and into the kitchen. My host was facing the counter in front of a coffee maker that was emitting an aroma sent straight from heaven. At first, I thought he was reading something, but there was nothing on the counter in front of him. His shoulders were raised and tense.

  My shoes had given my entrance away, and he moved his head from one side to the other. Something in his neck cracked, and it occurred to me that he might need a good chiropractor. A smile escaped as I wondered if our escapades from the night before had left him needing an adjustment.

  Finally, he shrugged his shoulders back and turned toward me expectantly with a cup of coffee in one hand and a Gatorade in the other. The coffee mug said, ‘I brake for squirrels.’ For some reason, I found this hilarious, and a giggle slipped out. It’s possible that it was the tension in the room that made me laugh, but I did like the mug.

  I moved toward him and took the Gatorade even though it was the coffee that was calling my name. I wanted to ask for a switcheroo and take that mug to go, but I didn’t want to delay my exit. The pounding in my head told me that the Gatorade was probably the better choice anyway. Besides, while I wasn’t entirely sure of what corner I would find myself on when I walked out of this building, I was certain that I could find a Starbucks to fulfill my caffeine needs.