Western Waves

by Brittainy Cherry

  “Stella.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t care. Yes, I know, but we should at least talk about this. Kevin wouldn’t just do this without a reason. There has to be a deeper meaning to his actions.”

  “What does ‘I don’t care’ mean to you? Because I truly don’t give a shit about a deeper meaning.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “I know, and I get it. You’re some modern-day Cinderella who is trying to go from rags to riches, but I don’t really give a damn about any of that.”

  “What? No. I don’t care about the money. I’m no Cinderella.”

  “Aren’t you currently on the property of a man you viewed as a father figure with a collection of seemingly evil-wannabe stepmothers?”

  “I, well, yes, but—”

  “Cinderstella.”

  A mixture of Cinderella and Stella.

  Welp, I hated this guy. I also hated how clever the name had been.

  “That’s not clever,” I lied.

  “I don’t care, Cinderstella. Just move.”

  I crossed my arms. “No. Not until we talk.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Move, or I’ll relocate you.”

  “I’m two hundred and twenty-some pounds. I doubt you could move me.”

  “I bench press double your weight in my sleep. Trust me, you don’t want to test your theory. Now, move before I really get pissed, Cinderstella.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Stop being that, then.”

  “Well, you’re just, you’re, you’re the freaking Beast from Beauty and the Beast! Before he transformed into a hot guy! You’re just a hairy, ugly, grumpy Beast!”

  He took a step toward me and arched a cocky eyebrow. “You think I’m ugly, Cinderstella?”

  “Yes,” I confidently stated. On the inside at least. Which made his outside appearance that much more hideous. Oh, Stella, the lies we tell ourselves. Damian Blackstone was easily one of the most attractive men I’d ever crossed paths with. Which made it that much more annoying.

  “Good. I’d rather not have your eyes on me.”

  I tilted my head up to the ceiling to avoid staring his way. “Trust me, that’s freaking easy!”

  “Good.”

  “Extra good!” I combated, feeling a pool of nerves and rage intermixing within my gut.

  “Damian, please, a moment,” Joe said, breaking up Damian’s and my interaction.

  With a sigh, he walked over to Joe. The two exchanged words with one another in low voices. I wished I was a few inches closer so I could hear what they were saying, but alas.

  When they finished talking, Damian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

  Within a few seconds, he was standing back in front of me. He reached into the pocket of his suit blazer and pulled out a laminated piece of paper. A business card. He placed it in the palm of my hand. “Here’s my card. Call me if you agree to do this fucked-up arrangement.”

  “But seconds ago, you said—”

  “I know what I said,” he yipped, sending a wave of chills down my spine. “I changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I did.”

  I didn’t say a word, but my hand grasped the card. I stepped to the side of the door, allowing Damian the freedom to exit if he’d wished to do so. He took the opportunity and walked outside.

  “Stop staring at my ugly ass,” he shot out without looking over his shoulder.

  “I’m not!” I hollered back, feeling my cheeks flush.

  Okay, maybe I was staring a little bit, but it wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have worn a custom-tailored suit that showed off his ugly Beast butt.

  It was almost comical that I called him ugly because not an ounce of hideousness lived across Damian’s body. He was attractive in an old Hollywood kind of way. He had his grumpy smolder look locked in, ridiculously addictive blue eyes that reminded me of the stormiest of oceans, and he easily lifted semi-trucks during his free time based on his physique.

  Sure, his exterior design was what dreams were made of. Yet what did that matter when his interior was so dark and cold?

  Oftentimes, men lost their attractiveness once they opened their mouths and spoke, and Damian was the hottest ugly man I’d ever crossed paths with.

  I felt as if my world was spinning round and round at a speed I couldn’t comprehend. That was when Grams showed up and lay a hand against my shoulder.

  “Slow it down,” she said in her gentle voice. “You’re disconnecting from yourself, from your inner self. Time to ground.”

  “I can’t right now, Grams. Did you hear what just happened? His will? His final wishes? Kevin couldn’t possibly want me to marry a man like Damian! There’s so much that just doesn’t add up. And if that was what he wanted, then why? And how long had he known he had a son? And oh my goodness, can you imagine how hard it would be for Damian to find out Kevin raised another? I can’t even imagine. Plus, the angle with the ex-wives and—”

  “Stella Rose Mitchell.” Grams used her authoritative voice. “Go ground yourself right now.”

  I knew what she meant. Whenever I felt overwhelmed as a child, Grams sent me to the water. I’d wash away my anxiety while reconnecting with the earth, with myself. It was a habit I’d held on to since childhood, but it felt a bit ridiculous to do it right then and there.

  “I don’t have time for that right now,” I explained.

  Grams shook her head, a few of her silver locks falling from her high bun. “If you don’t have time for yourself, then you don’t have time for anything. Now go, child.” She took my hands in hers and squeezed them lightly. “Go find your peace. The world will still be here when you return.”

  3

  Damian

  * * *

  Fuck me sideways, and call me Kevin Michaels’s little bitch because that was exactly what I’d become. A dead man’s little bitch. That ghost had me wrapped around his finger, and I hated him for it. I had a list of reasons I hated that man, but the latest reasons were loud in my mind.

  When Joe pulled me to the side to talk, he gave me the one piece of knowledge that shifted my interest to take part in the absurd arrangement Kevin left in his will: my charity.

  If I had millions of dollars, that meant that I could help millions of children growing up in the foster system. I could make a difference. I could help change the corrupt laws that often harmed more than helped the children in the foster programs.

  I could open mental health clinics for those kids who struggled.

  I could help make sure struggling teenagers never had to get as close to the darkness as I had grown.

  That money meant shit to me, but it meant a whole lot to a lot of other people who I might have never met.

  “Why do I feel like I missed a chapter of this story somehow? What do you mean you might be playing house with a stranger?” Connor asked over the phone line. After I stormed out of the house, I had to wait for my driver to show up to the property to take me home. So, of course, the first thing I did was call my best friend, Connor, to fill him in on the oddities of my life.

  “What I mean is, next week, I’m supposed to get married to a woman I don’t even know in order to get answers about my past and to get a shit ton of money. Kevin wrote it that way in his will. It’s the only way I get the answers I need, and for Stella to get half of the inheritance. If we don’t get married for at least six months’ time, all of his wealth will be divided up between his ex-wives.”

  “Jeez.” Connor sighed through the receiver. “I’m not easily thrown off by things, but this is insane.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “And the family, this woman—what’s her name again?”

  “Stella.”

  “Stella’s okay with this?”

  “Who knows? It’s a mess. The whole ceremony is set to take place at the property.”

  “The place you’re supposed to live?”

  “Yep. That’s right. I’m
supposed to move in with a stranger by next Friday.”

  “This is crazy, Damian. The whole situation is odd, but then again… maybe this can turn into something magical. Like, look at Aaliyah and me. We lived together, and now we are married with a kid on the way.”

  “This isn’t a Connor and Aaliyah situation.”

  “Right, but it could be a Stella and Damian situation.”

  Oh, Connor. The hopeless romantic.

  “Stop it,” I ordered.

  “Stop what?”

  “Making up some fairy-tale romance in your head, you weirdo.”

  “I’m not doing that,” he said in a tone that was the complete opposite of convincing.

  “You are!”

  “I’m not!” he cried out. There was a moment’s pause before he said, “But I mean, what if she is the one, Damian?”

  “She’s not. You know I don’t believe in that shit. I get it—you’re a believer in all of that love mumbo jumbo, but that shit’s not for me. I’m here to get my information, get the money, and get out. That’s all there is to it. All right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, all right.”

  “Connor.”

  “Yes?”

  “Stop falling in love with the idea of me falling in love.”

  “But Damian!” he cried, dramatically whimpering. “What if she’s your happily ever after?”

  “You get a woman to fall in love with you, marry you, and now have a child on the way, and you think that makes you a love expert?”

  “Just call me Dr. Romance,” he joked. “But since we are on the subject of Aaliyah being pregnant, I think I’m suffering from morning sickness.”

  “I’m no doctor, Connor, but I don’t think that’s how pregnancy works.”

  It’d only been about a week or two since Connor and Aaliyah tied the knot, and the whole time at their wedding, Aaliyah passed up every drink offered to her. No one else seemed to notice, but me, being me, I took note right away. Plus, Connor had no chill to his excitement about their soon-to-be kid and kept touching her stomach that evening whenever he could sneak a chance. They informed me about the pregnancy the day I left for Los Angeles.

  Since then, Connor has been the most dramatic person alive, acting as if he was carrying the load himself.

  “You don’t understand. I’ve woken up nauseous for the past two days, my body aches, and I feel as if I’m going to vomit every time I eat the smallest thing. It has to be pregnancy symptoms.”

  “You have heard of this thing called the flu, right?”

  “Well, yes, that’s a possibility, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s pregnant vibes. Aaliyah and I are just that close that I can feel everything she’s feeling. We aren’t even together right now, but I know she’s craving chili fries, so I’m going to go out and get some.”

  “You’re going to get fat over these next few months.”

  “Just call me St. Nick, buddy, because this gut is going to be ho-ho-huge in a little while.”

  I snickered a little. “I’m going to hang up on you now.”

  “Okay. Keep me updated on everything.”

  “Yup, will do.”

  “If you end up doing the arrangement, I’ll see you Friday!”

  “What do you mean, see you Friday?”

  “Uh, I’m sorry. Didn’t you just drop the bomb that you might be getting married next weekend, and the rehearsal is Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see you Friday.”

  “Connor, no. You don’t have to fly out here for this. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s the biggest deal, even if it’s for different reasons. I’m not missing your wedding.”

  “I’m not kidding, Con. Don’t come. I don’t want to make this a bigger thing than it is. Even if we do decide to do this, the arrangement will be shorter than Aaliyah’s whole pregnancy. We aren’t going to make this a big deal. Please, don’t come.”

  We hung up with one another, and I looked around the property. My driver was still fifteen minutes out, and for the life of me, I didn’t want to go back into that house.

  I hated everything that was happening.

  I wasn’t some kid begging for a family to love me anymore. I was past that stage in life. Still, for some odd reason, I felt as if I were that same vulnerable little boy who could’ve been put out on the streets tomorrow if someone had changed their minds.

  That was why I didn’t like taking things from others. I hated gifts, and I hated promises. People could hold gifts over your head and throw them in your face if they needed to, and promises were the easiest things to break.

  My head was in overdrive mode, and all I wanted to do was shut it off.

  While I waited for my ride, I found myself on the basketball court shooting hoops. Because of course Kevin Michaels had a basketball court. It was the only thing I could do to keep my mind from spinning. I grew up playing basketball on broken-down courts in the Bronx, and the game always gave me some kind of peace. There was something about me being in control of my shots and getting a chance to try again if I missed.

  The night’s sky was pitch black, and a few stars shone through. As I dribbled the ball back and forth a few times and performed a few drills, I glanced toward the water and paused a moment, grabbing the ball in my hands.

  There Stella was, walking toward the water, in her black dress. The waves were a bit aggressive that evening, and I knew the water had to be a bit chilled. The water hit her ankles first, and she shivered a bit but kept walking into the ocean. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and I couldn’t grasp why she was walking into the water like an insane person. It wasn’t like she was going for a late-night swim, but she was walking into the intense waves that were hitting at a speed that made me uncomfortable.

  I wasn’t a water person. The closest I’d gotten to water growing up was when the firefighters used to open the hydrants in the summertime during the heat waves of NYC. So, the ocean freaked me the fuck out.

  The deeper she grew, the more nervous I became.

  She knows what she’s doing, I told myself.

  She wouldn’t be out there if she couldn’t handle the waves, I kept repeating in my head.

  A massive wave came her way and engulfed her whole body, taking her under the water. I swore my balls clutched from watching it happen. My chest burned when she didn’t emerge.

  “Get up,” I said out loud as if she could hear me. When time passed and she still didn’t stand, I cleared my throat and hissed, “Get the hell up, Stella.”

  Still, nothing.

  I dropped the basketball onto the court and dashed toward the oceanfront. Stella still wasn’t coming up, which freaked me the hell out. I dove in and went under, searching for her. The moment I felt her, I wrapped my arm around her waist and began pulling her out, dragging her soaked body out of the water. That was when the panic ensued.

  She began to scream, tossing her arms around, shouting as if I was some psychopath trying to kill her.

  “Let me go!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, coughing from her discomfort of being dragged out of the water. She stumbled back as we hit the coastline, falling onto her behind and crawling backward away from me. “Don’t touch me!” she yelled in a panic. Could I blame her?

  I just dove into the ocean and pulled her out without her even knowing I was outside. I’d be creeped the hell out too if I was yanked from the water by a stranger.

  But what was I supposed to do?! She was drowning.

  “Chill out,” I said, tossing my hands out in surrender. “I was helping you.”

  “Helping me?!” she hissed, trying to stand on her feet, startled and still looking terrified. “I didn’t need your help!”

  “The hell you didn’t. You were drowning.”

  “I was not drowning!”

  “Yes, you were. You didn’t come back up for air! I saw you.”

  “I know! It’s called swimming!”

  “Swimming can turn into drowning!�
�

  “Not when you know what you’re doing,” she snapped. “I was talking to my mother.”

  Crazy woman says what?

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, uncertain if I wanted her answer.

  “None of your business! Jeez. I like to go into the water to swim, okay? So, if you could leave me to do that, that would be great.”

  “Fine.”

  “Great.”

  “Wonderful,” I hissed back.

  “Fan-freaking-tastic!” she replied.

  I turned to walk away, annoyed that I even allowed myself to care for a short period. Next time, without a doubt, I’d let the woman drown.

  “What’s your deal, huh?!” she snapped, making me turn around to see her in a complete fit. “What’s your freaking problem?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your problem, what is it? From the moment I met you, you’ve been nothing but rude.”

  “Me? You pretty much went psycho on me over a damn scone.”

  “I didn’t go psycho. Besides, you don’t know the meaning behind it all.”

  “There is no reason good enough for the way you’ve acted in and outside of that bakery,” I told her.

  “That’s not true. I—”

  “Don’t have an excuse—”

  “It was his favorite scone!” she hollered, her nose flaring as emotion burst out of her from the seams. Water dripped from her body as emotions built behind her eyes. Her voice dropped a bit as she continued, trying her best to gain composure. “It was his favorite scone. For over two decades, Kevin would go into town on Saturday morning and wait in line at Jerry’s Bakery. He then would come home, and we’d share a blueberry scone with one another. We never missed our Saturday scone date up until today.

  “So, forgive me for being weird this morning. Forgive me for not being my complete, stable self. But today, I laid to rest the one man who meant the world to me. The one man who was there for me through thick and thin. Today, I lost my father.” She choked back her tears. “So how about you give me a freaking break because if you think your criticism and judgment of me are needed on one of the worst days of my life, then you’re unbelievably wrong. I’m broken to my core, okay? I’m currently drowning. You don’t have to proceed to hold my head beneath the water. I’m having a bad enough day.”