Bring Down the Stars

by Scott, Emma

  “Be right there, Mom,” Connor said.

  “Need anything?” she asked him, but I could feel it was directed to me.

  “We’re good.”

  She went out and closed the door quietly.

  “The famous Reginald,” I said.

  His eyes were still on the door. “These are my last hours with my friends and family. And you.”

  “I know. Let’s go party.”

  We both got to our feet. He held the envelope out to me and I took it, tucking the check into my purse, which immediately felt a thousand pounds heavier.

  “Thank you,” I said, as we walked out. “Even if it stings to accept the money, I’m incredibly grateful.”

  He smiled, a strange melancholy behind his eyes. “It’s what I do.”

  Out in the backyard, Connor held up his glass. “I’m going to get a refill. Can I bring you something?”

  I desperately wanted to get drunk—it wouldn’t take much—and get this horrible tangle and tightness out of my stomach. But the last thing I needed was to make a fool of myself in front of the Drakes. It was going to be hard enough looking them in the eye as it was.

  “Just a water.”

  He kissed my cheek again. “Be right back.”

  But as he approached the bar, a crowd of greetings, hugs, and backslapping surrounded him. He was immediately swallowed up and I knew he wouldn’t reemerge for a while. I plucked a water bottle from the cooler near the grill and took it to a corner of the yard. Leaning against the trunk of a dogwood tree, I surveyed the party, not feeling part of it and not caring much. Ruby was talking to some people near the grill. Weston was still nowhere to be seen.

  Missing in action, I couldn’t help thinking. The damn cap on the bottle wouldn’t turn and the plastic was digging into my skin.

  “Need some help?”

  Weston materialized beside me, looking devastating in jeans and a black dress shirt. He took the bottle and twisted the cap off.

  “Aren’t you helpful?” I said, snatching the bottle back and taking a fast drink. “Next, you’ll be asking Connor to buy me a bottling plant.”

  Weston smiled at the corner of his mouth. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

  “I told you what I told you in confidence,” I said.

  “I know,” Weston said, his smile falling away. “And I know it’s a whole lot of bread—”

  “Don’t make jokes,” I said. “You know how hard this is. To be this grateful and this uncomfortable at the same time.”

  Weston’s angular face softened. “We weren’t going to leave you to deal with it alone.”

  “That’s what Connor said. But it feels like a payoff. I know that’s a terrible way to look at a gift like this, but it’s the truth. Like he’s guilty and so he’s trying to buy me out of being frustrated with him.”

  Weston’s voice was low and heavy. “He wanted to help you. That’s all.”

  Is that all you’ve done, Weston?

  I studied his face—his ocean eyes—as if the answers to my doubts and confusions were written there. The only thing I could grasp was the surety that he’d never hurt me. It didn’t seem possible.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For opening my water bottle.”

  I watched him, hoping he would get my meaning. I didn’t want debt of any kind between us, two scholarship kids.

  He smiled and it was like the sun coming out after a cloudy day. “You’re welcome.”

  We stood together, watching the party. Ruby joined Connor’s group and had them all laughing within moments. At one of the wrought iron tables, Paul gently wiped a dollop of mustard from the corner of Miranda’s mouth. She ceased her arguing with her daughters and smacked a kiss on his lips.

  Weston’s smile was small and sad as he took it all in. A goodbye smile, I thought. And I hated it. Hated every passing second that brought us closer to our goodbye.

  I moved closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, the backs of our hands brushing.

  We stood that way for a long time.

  Fueled by an endless supply of food and alcohol, the party didn’t end until nearly ten at night. The Army unit supervisor would pick Connor and Weston up at six a.m. to take them to the airport. Only Ruby, Weston’s family, and I were staying over at the Drake residence to see them off.

  The guests trickled or staggered out, giving Connor tearful or back-slapping hugs goodbye. Miranda cupped her son’s face in her hands. “Good night, baby. I’ll see you in a coupla hours, okay? For God’s sake, someone better wake me if my alarm doesn’t go off.”

  She planted loud kisses on his cheeks and hugged him.

  “Okay, good night, Ma,” he said.

  Paul Winfield shook Weston’s hand. “Good night, Wes. See you in a few. I’ll make sure Miranda’s awake.”

  The Drakes went up to bed, leaving Ruby, Wes, Connor and me alone.

  “Let’s go out,” Connor said, a slight slur to his words.

  “Go out where?” Weston asked.

  “This is our last night of freedom,” he said. “I don’t want it to end yet.” His eyes widened. “Hey, let’s go to Roxie’s.”

  Weston frowned. “The roadhouse? On Route Ten? That’s like an hour from here.”

  Connor fished out his phone, peering at it blearily. After a few moments, he crowed triumphantly. “It’s only a forty-minute drive. Come on, I’ll hire a car. It’ll be fun.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “They have pool tables. I can show you off.”

  I glanced at Ruby.

  She shrugged. “I’m down.”

  Connor beamed. “Wes?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

  An hour later, a sedan was taking us west, along a lonely stretch of highway between Amherst and Boston.

  “I hear this place is kind of rough,” I said, wedged between Connor and Ruby in the back seat while Weston sat up front with the driver.

  “Nah, it’s great,” Connor said. “You’ll love it.”

  Autumn

  The car pulled into the dirt parking lot of Roxie’s; a ramshackle, white clapboard building. A single street lamp illuminated the peeling paint and faded red sign. Despite the late hour on a Tuesday night, a few other cars and trucks were in the lot. Country music poured out of the front door.

  I thought it strange that the door was left open on such a cold night, until I stepped inside and was sucked into a pocket of smoky heat. In contrast to Yancy’s, this joint had one pool table and a sole dartboard, both deserted.

  Connor clapped his hands. “Excellent. Wes, you rack ‘em. I’ll get us beers and shots.”

  My eyes widened. “Shots?”

  “Hell, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “You in?”

  I bit my lip. Connor deserved to spend his last night before deployment however he wanted, but he was already loaded. Shots and beer would kill my chances to talk to him or be alone with him in a meaningful way.

  Then again, sloppy, drunk sex would be the perfect capper on whatever relationship this is.

  Screw it. No Drakes were here to judge. Getting drunk was the way to kill the horrible unease twisting in my gut.

  “I’m in,” I said.

  “You sure about this?” Weston asked me, as the four of us lined up our tequila shots, salt and lime. “Tequila isn’t pear cider.”

  “I got this.”

  Ruby held up her glass. “To Connor and Weston,” she said. “For answering the call of duty.”

  “Actually,” Weston said, “Connor picked up the phone to personally call duty and ask if it needed anything, but your toast works too.”

  We laughed and downed our shots. I sucked the lime as if my life depended on it, and willed my stomach not to throw the liquor back up. I won the battle and everything suddenly felt warm and loose.

  We played pool, laughed, and drank beer between shots. Tequila gave me a rather pleasant, underwater feeling, but I held myself to two slugs and drank plenty of water. Still, the floor kept tilting this way and
that under my feet, and I went from hysterical giggling to morbid brooding. No middle ground whatsoever.

  Ruby and I sat on stools, watching Connor and Weston play. They talked shit, laughed and ragged on each other mercilessly. Chris Isaac’s “Wicked Game” came over the jukebox, and the night finally settled into a mellow warmth.

  “Okay, this works for me,” Ruby said, as Connor and Wes stripped off their dress shirts, leaving them in jeans and wife-beaters. “Holy God, I think all men should be required to report to Boot Camp if this is the result.” She nudged my arm. “Look at your man.”

  I blearily looked up and found Weston.

  Oh my God, his arms alone…

  That lean physique was honed to perfection. Sweat beaded the tanned skin of his chest and glistened in the hollow of his throat. I followed the cut and defined lines of his shoulder down to his forearm as he bent to take a shot over the pool table.

  That’s not your man.

  The thought sobered me more than it should have.

  At two a.m., Roxie’s closed and we staggered out to the sedan and the waiting driver. Weston helped Connor who was hardly able to stand. We piled into the car and Connor’s head lolled to the window.

  The entire ride back, no one spoke. Ruby dozed on my shoulder and Weston faced straight forward in the front seat, not looking back once.

  Back at the Drakes, we poured Connor out of the car. He stumbled and swayed up the walk, an arm slung around Weston’s shoulders.

  “I love you,” Connor said. “I do, man. I mean, dude, the fucking Army…”

  “I know,” Weston said, his own eyes bleary. “Come on. Almost there.”

  We made it to Connor’s room—the room he and I were to share. Ruby kissed her fingers and pressed them to my cheek. “G’night, friends. I’ll see you in about three hours.” She started down the hall to her room, putting her hand out for balance. “I swear to God, there’d better be coffee…”

  Weston and I dragged Connor into his room and eased him down on the bed. His mouth hung open, and he snored wetly almost instantly.

  Weston pulled off Connor’s shoes, and then he walked out, unspeaking.

  I closed the door and followed him into the suite’s small sitting area and sank onto the small couch. A short silence fell. The celebrations were over. My heart clanged in my chest, a steady metronome of fear. Growing louder and louder with each passing second that brought Connor and Weston closer to tomorrow.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay in the morning?” I asked. “He drank a lot. All day, actually.”

  “It’ll be a long time before he can drink again,” Weston said. “He’ll dry out in the desert.”

  “I’m scared for him,” I said, pulling my legs under me on the couch.

  “I’ll watch out for him,” Weston said. “I promised I would.”

  “And who watches out for you?”

  “Connor,” he said. “The platoon. Myself. I’ll be okay.”

  I looked to see him looking down at me in a way I’d never seen before. His blue-green eyes soft. His mouth, always a grim line, now slightly parted. His lips…

  God, why am I staring at his lips?

  “I’m scared for you, too.” My voice was small under the thrashing of my blood. I tore my gaze away, but my eyes were drawn right back to him when he spoke.

  “You are? Scared for me?”

  The tremor of vulnerability in his voice cracked my heart. Then his demeanor hardened again and he shook his head. “Don’t be.”

  “How could I not be worried for you both?”

  “We’ll be fine.” He snorted a dry laugh and leaned his hip at the edge of the couch and crossed his arms. “Connor will be more than fine. He lives a charmed life. The other guys will stick to him like glue, so his luck rubs off on them.”

  “I wonder if he’ll have time to write to me.”

  “Do you want him to?”

  I nodded. “I need his letters to stay close to him. When we’re together, he’s not the same. I don’t get the same feeling from him as I do from his words. I don’t feel that electricity.”

  I felt it now, though. And it was coming from two feet away. The air around Weston was always electric. A crackling force field that kept people away, fueled by his barbed tongue and acid wit. If I reached through it to touch him, no doubt I’d be shocked. It would hurt like hell.

  But I want to try…

  The thought sent a jolt through me. Why? Why was this happening? Why were my cheeks inflamed and my heart beating hard? I tried to force my alcohol-induced thoughts to go somewhere else, anywhere else but Weston.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” Weston snapped.

  I blinked to see him glaring back at me from the edge of the couch. I gripped a cushion for support.

  “Sorry, I’m…a little wasted myself.”

  “I’m going,” Weston said. “Night.” He strode to the door, but then froze with a hand on the knob. His back to me as he said, “Connor’s an idiot for not fucking you one last time before we ship out.”

  The tone and language made my eyes flare. Weston turned around and his intense stare pinned me to the couch. Another jolt of electricity surged through me. I fought for words in the jumble of thoughts and emotions, soaked in tequila, each one more heated than the last.

  “Well, that’s crude,” I managed. “You’re trying to pick a fight with me? Right now?”

  “Nah, just being honest,” Weston said. “If I had a girl like you and I passed out the night before we’d be separated for months? Maybe longer? I’d curse myself every night while jerking off in my bunk or the latrine. Thinking of what I could’ve had one last time.”

  “Why are you saying this…?”

  My words trailed away as an image filled my mind: Weston with his eyes closed, his fist curled around himself. Stroking hard to thoughts of me. My face in his head. My name in his mouth. Coming for me.

  Slowly, like a cat, he walked over to the couch. He planted his hands on the cushions on either side of me. His gaze moved over my face and lingered on my mouth.

  “I’m drunk,” Weston said, though his eyes were clear and sharp as always, a fire burning behind the blue-green ocean that no one could see…unless they got as close to him as I was.

  I nodded, my lips parted. “Me too,” I said. “You should go.”

  “I will,” he said. “Say goodbye to me, Autumn.”

  “Goodbye, Weston.”

  For half a heartbeat, we lingered in that moment, then broke it at the same time. I gripped him by the lapels of his shirt and pulled him to me. His hand snaked behind my head and into my hair.

  And we kissed.

  Hard. Unrelenting.

  I kissed Weston.

  Something I’d never felt before ripped through me. A heat heavy with words, thoughts and emotions. All unspoken. All of it in Weston’s mouth. I could taste him. I bit his lower lip. Licked his upper lip. Sucked on his tongue. Taking and taking, but I couldn’t get enough. All the while he fed on me, crazed like a lion at the kill.

  What’s happening…?

  I was falling sideways and backward on the couch, and Weston was sliding onto me, all of his lean, hard weight against me. His mouth crashed into mine, opening and taking my kiss—taking it from my mouth in a delicious sweep of his tongue. Demanding. Almost cruel. Yet beneath that savage kiss, my body loosened like water. I melted in his arms while he lay over me, hard and unyielding.

  God, what are we doing…?

  The answer broke through the onslaught of Weston’s kiss, rose between our rasping breaths and whispered: Finally

  This.

  Now.

  Finally.

  His arms slid under me, holding me so close—as close as he could—while his mouth worked over mine with relentless desire. Never breaking for breath, as if he were running the race of his life.

  Finally.

  My arms snaked around his neck, my fingers sliding into his hair, then down his back. His muscles lean and
hard under his shirt. I wanted skin. I wanted heat. I wanted all of him.

  Finally.

  Kissing him was the completion of something I didn’t know had started.

  Weston’s hands skimmed up my sides, exploring me, touching me intimately for the first time. His thumbs brushed the curves of my breasts and he groaned. He broke away to breathe and pressed his forehead to mine.

  “Weston,” I whispered against his lips.

  He kissed me again, as if he could erase our hesitation with every sweep of his tongue, every bite of his teeth. My eyes fell shut as another wave of heated desire swept through me, leaving me too weak to protest, to find my voice or my conscience.

  His mouth trailed down my neck while his hands slipped up my body to cup my breasts. His long fingers undid the top buttons of my dress but too slowly.

  “Tear it,” I whispered.

  Buttons clattered to the floor. My bra clasped in the front and in a heartbeat, Weston had that undone too. He hovered over me, eyes drinking me in. I’d never felt more beautiful in my life. I reached for him, brought his head down to my skin. I moaned as his hands covered both breasts and his mouth went to one nipple. My back arched off the couch to fill his hands. The movement brought our hips together with a hard grind. I felt his erection through his jeans, heavy and thick against the soft material of my dress. Another grind. And another.

  Weston let out a small grunt as his mouth crashed back into mine. Our bodies reached and retreated for each other, again and again. Moving as if he were inside me already.

  Finally.

  He slid one hand down my body to my hip and pulled me tighter to him. My dress fell away as I hooked one leg around his waist and cinched him tight.

  “Autumn,” he growled into my mouth. “Jesus…”

  My hands roamed under his shirt, feeling every slender, perfectly honed muscle. All edges and sharp contours. Not an ounce of fat left after Boot Camp. Only hard sinew, bone and muscle. My fevered imagination recalled his body on the track, slick with sweat, his long legs a blur before stretching to leap over the hurdles. Perfect masculine grace and agility under a bronze sun.

  What would it be like to have that body naked on top of me? Those muscles blurring and stretching for me? Thrusting. Beautiful Weston, sweat-slicked and hard, driving into me.