Seared on my Soul

by Cole Gibsen

  I wave as I hobble out the door toward the lobby. The bullet thumps against my chest with every step, as if longing for its original target. A cold sweat prickles along the back of my neck and I sweep my hand through my suddenly damp hair. I hope Lane is right. With the guilt of Chad’s death forever trailing me like a shadow, I can’t be sure of my own intentions anymore. Last night, when I saw the car was on fire, I sped toward it.

  I had no idea who I’d find or what I was getting myself into. Was I really concerned with saving a life—or on some level was I looking to end my own?

  Chapter Seven

  Emily

  The fucker’s back again. The asshat in the sport coat—the kind with patches on the elbow. Some days he has a cane, others he doesn’t. But he always walks with a limp. And he stares a little too long for my liking, even after I hand him his espresso. He used to come in the shop all the time before my accident, and never acted like a creeper before. But ever since I returned to work, his eyes linger a little too long—and it’s really starting to piss me off.

  He sits in the corner, sipping his drink, looking like a typical suit-wearing douchebag. The only difference is most of the yuppie assholes that come in here don’t pay me any attention. And that’s just the way I like it.

  But not this guy. Even though he’s holding a book, his eyes keep darting to my face—probably because it’s still black and blue from the accident. Sick freak. I’m about to tell him as much when someone shoves a book in front of my face.

  “What the—” I jerk back to find Ashlyn standing behind the counter, eyes brimming with tears even though she’s smiling.

  “It’s here,” she says, hugging the book to her chest. “I can’t believe the day is finally here.”

  “Wait.” I wipe my hands on my apron. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She squeals and nods.

  “Gimme, gimme, gimme!” I snatch the book from her and run my finger through the list of names on the cover until I find hers. I can’t help but grin. “Oh my God, this is amazing.”

  “I know. It’s so amazing to see my name in print, even if it is just an anthology.”

  “Just?” I snort and hit her lightly upside her head with her own book. “Don’t you dare downplay this. Being published is a huge deal.”

  Her cheeks burn crimson and she ducks her head.

  “This calls for a celebration!” I set the book on the counter and grab a plastic cup. “One iced mocha on the house.”

  “Yay.” Ash claps her hands. “I can’t believe I’ve only been published for a day and I’m already enjoying the perks of being a famous author.”

  “Get used to it, baby,” I reply, pouring milk into the cup. I make sure to use whole milk. Even though Ash has gained weight since her days of being homeless and living out of her car, she could stand a little more meat on her bones. When I’m finished making her drink I slide it across the counter. “And the party doesn’t have to stop here. Just because I’m in A.A. now doesn’t mean we can’t find a fun booze-free way to celebrate.”

  Ash makes a choking noise mid-sip and sets her drink on the counter. “I’d love that, Em, it’s just that, um, Lane made reservations and—”

  Of course he did. I turn away, feeling suddenly stupid. God, I’m an idiot. I shrug. “No biggie. We can do it another night.”

  “Don’t be silly. It won’t be a celebration if you’re not there. It would be no trouble at all to change the reservation and—”

  There is no way in hell I’m going to play the pathetic third wheel. I turn to face her. “Ash, it’s fine. Really.” I force a huge smile. “Spend the night celebrating with your man. I’ll take a rain check.” Just add it to the pile, I silently add.

  “But—”

  I hold up my hand to silence her. I refuse to accept a pity invitation. There’s nothing I hate more than people feeling sorry for me—and it’s only gotten worse since the accident. I wrack my brain for a way to keep her from looking at me like I’m a limping lost puppy. What would make me less a loser? A Nobel Peace Prize nomination? A Paris photo shoot?

  No good. I need something realistic. So naturally I blurt out the first non-ridiculous excuse that came to mind. “You know what? I completely forgot—I can’t go out tonight anyway. I…have a date.”

  Shit. The second Ash’s eyes widen I know I’ve used the wrong excuse.

  “What? A date? A real one? Like my kind of date or your kind of date? Do I know the guy? Where did you meet him?” She narrows her eyes. “Are you supposed to be dating while in recovery?”

  Yeah. Definitely wrong excuse. I purse my lips. “It’s fine, Mom. It’s just one date. Actually, it’s not even a date. Just coffee. And talking. By those standards, what we’re doing now would be a date. So no. Definitely not a date.”

  She frowns. “I don’t think Lane—”

  “Has to know anything about it,” I interrupt. Shit, this lie is becoming more complicated by the second.

  “Are you sure we can’t change the reservation?” Ash asks. “It would be so easy. And a double date would be really fun.”

  I shake my head as I pick crumbs off the counter. “I don’t think that’s a good idea for the first date. I don’t want him to feel ambushed, you know?”

  “You’re acting really weird about this.” Ash crosses her arms. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

  I grab a discarder straw wrapper, roll it into a ball, and flick it into the trash. “You don’t know him.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “Here at the coffee shop.”

  “What does he do for a living?”

  I make a face. “I don’t know his life story, Ash. He only asked me out today.”

  She gives me a pointed look. “What’s his name?”

  “Why are you making such a big deal about this?” I snatch a rag and begin to wipe the counter furiously in an attempt to hide my frustration.

  “Can’t I be interested in my best friend’s love life?” she asks.

  I stop scrubbing. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Nope.” Smiling, Ash shakes her head.

  “Fine.” I throw the rag on the counter and scan the room. I’ll distract her with a random guy, tell her the date was a bust, and that will be the end of that. Unfortunately for me, the only guy in the café remotely close to my age is sport jacket creeper dude. With a sigh, I wipe my hands on my apron. “Wait right here,” I tell her.

  I march over to the creeper who’s still sitting in the corner with his book. He frowns slightly as he watches me approach. He’s everything I don’t like in a guy—collared shirt, clean-shaven, and not a tattoo to be seen. Ugh, boring. Lucky for me, this is all just pretend.

  I stop beside him and place a hand on my hip. “I need you to do me a favor.”

  His frown deepens and he sets his book down. “What?”

  I huff. “Trust me, you’re the last guy I would ask for this favor, but you’re the only guy in here under fifty. See that girl over there?” I motion toward Ashlyn. Her eyes are so wide I’m sure they’re seconds from falling out of her head. “That’s my best friend. Do me a favor and pretend we’re going on a date tonight so I can get her off my back.”

  He jerks slightly. “What?”

  “Not for real,” I tell him. “Just say we have a date tonight and then you and I can go our separate ways and pretend this whole thing never happened. I’ll give you free coffee for the rest of the month. What do you say?”

  He opens his mouth to answer when Ashlyn appears at my side. “Reece. I can’t believe it’s you.” She holds her hand out. “Ashlyn, remember?”

  Reece smiles politely and shakes her hand.

  Oh, fuck me. Ash knows this guy? I can practically feel the blood drain from my face.

  “I can’t believe this,” Ash continues. “You and Em are going on a date?”

  He turns, giving me a hard stare. I clasp my hands beneath my chin and mouth the words, Free coffee.

&nbs
p; He grunts. “Apparently.” Grabbing his cane, he pushes to his feet. “I hate to leave so abruptly, but I need to get to class before my students do.”

  Perfect. I smile inwardly. Leave now and everything will be fine.

  “Wait.” Ash grabs his arms. “Lane and I have reservations at Alfonso’s tonight. Em didn’t think you’d want to double date because you’d feel awkward, but since you already know us, please say you’ll come. Lane would love it.”

  Lane? My heart plummets to my stomach. This guy knows my brother, too? A siren rings though my head along with the warning: Abort. Abort. Abort. I shoot Reece a panicked look.

  He shifts awkwardly. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s such a good—”

  “Please,” Ash interrupts, tugging on his arm. “Let us take you out—our treat. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done.”

  Reece looks to me, but I’m too stunned by what Ash said to respond. Why the hell do they owe douchebag Sport Coat anything?

  “Great,” Ashlyn says before either of us can answer. “We’ll see you at eight.”

  We both blink at her. Finally, Reece breaks the silence. “I better get going.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” I announce, wrapping my arm around his. He immediately stiffens but allows me to hold on. Once we’re through the door, I let go. “What the hell was that? You weren’t supposed to agree to an actual date. It was supposed to be fake, remember?”

  He glares at me. “I don’t remember you stepping in to say anything.”

  “Oh my God.” I run my fingers through my hair. “This is perfect, just fucking perfect.”

  “I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” he says. “You said yourself, it’s just pretend. Tell them I cancelled or something.”

  I groan. “You don’t get it. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, and if they think I got stood up, they’re really going to think I’m pathetic.”

  He leans on his cane. “So what’s your solution?”

  “We have to go on the date. Duh.”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “I did not agree to that. Actually, I didn’t agree to any of this.”

  “No, but you didn’t not agree to it, either. It’s your fault I’m in this mess. Besides, what else do you have going on tonight? Another hot date?”

  He pauses, frown deepening. “No. I don’t date.”

  I feign surprise. “With that award-winning personality? I’m shocked, I say. Shocked.”

  His scowl deepens. “If you were such a hot commodity yourself, why would you have to beg strangers to take you out?”

  Ouch. I fight to keep from flinching. “Listen, I just don’t understand what the big deal is. All we have to do is pretend to be mildly interested in each other for approximately an hour. We get to eat good food without doing dishes. And if we play our cards right, we’re both in our separate homes, watching our separate Netflix accounts, by ten o’clock.”

  He’s quiet for a moment before finally letting out a long sigh. “This is insane, but whatever. You win. I’ll go on your fake date. But just so you know, I’m not picking you up and I’m not paying for your dinner.”

  “Never asked you to.”

  “I’ll meet you at Alfonso’s, I’ll stay through the meal, and afterward I’m gone.”

  “Good.”

  “Great,” he echoes.

  We stare at each other for several heartbeats, like children having a staring contest. And me being who I am, even though my eyes are burning, I refuse to blink.

  Reece is the first to break the silence. “Don’t you have coffee to make or something?”

  “Don’t you have a class to teach?” I counter.

  He mumbles something under his breath and hobbles toward a line of cars. I half expect him to climb into the Volvo sedan, but instead he straddles the sexiest motorcycle I’ve ever seen.

  I hide my obvious surprise with a snort. He’s way too straight-laced and boring for a bike like that. Either he’s borrowing it from a friend or he’s overcompensating for some serious bedroom issues. If it’s the latter, lucky for me I’ll never have to find out.

  The bike’s tires squeal as he peels out of the parking lot.

  Definitely bedroom issues. I pity the girl who has to deal with that.

  I walk back toward the coffee house to find Ashlyn waiting for me by the door.

  “This is unbelievable,” she says as I approach.

  “What? That I have a date?” I place a hand on my hip. “Thanks for the optimism.”

  “No.” She hits me lightly on the arm. “That you have a date with Reece.”

  That’s right, I remember. “Say, how is it exactly that you know him?”

  Ash jerks back, her eyes widening. Instantly, I know I’ve said the wrong—and probably stupid—thing. “I know him the same way that you do.” She pauses, as if waiting for me to draw some conclusion. When I don’t react, she clasps her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God.” Her words are muffled by her fingers. “You have no idea, do you?”

  “Of course I do.” I pretend to wipe an invisible stain off a nearby table. “We met here at the coffee shop. He comes in nearly every day.” At least that much is true.

  “And?” she prompts.

  “And,” I shrug, “that’s it.”

  “No, it’s not.” Ash grabs my hands, forcing me to meet her gaze. “Emily, Reece is the guy who saved you the night of the accident. By some miracle, he happened to come across your wreck while he was out riding his motorcycle. He pulled you from your car and later, at the hospital, returned your necklace.” She touches the star pendant at the nape of my neck.

  “What?” For several dizzying seconds I feel as if the floor beneath my feet has crumbled and left me in a spiraling freefall. “That can’t be right.”

  “It’s true. I met him at the hospital when he came to your room to return your necklace.” She places a hand on my arm, and it’s her touch that stops my falling, anchoring me to the room, to the moment…to the truth. “Em, Reece saved your life that night.”

  “Why didn’t he say anything?” I mutter.

  Ash clasps her hands together. “Maybe he didn’t want that to influence your decision to go out with him. Maybe he wants you to like him for who he is and not what he’s done for you.” She sighs. “Isn’t that romantic?”

  I give her a little smile. I wouldn’t want to shatter her delusion with the much less romantic truth—that I guilted the guy who saved my life into agreeing to a fake date with me so I wouldn’t look like a pathetic loser to my best friend and brother.

  And worse still, despite the fact I feel like the world’s biggest idiot, now I’m going to have to be nice to him—at least for the night.

  Chapter Eight

  Reece

  “Another late night grading papers, huh?” Tonya stands in the doorway to my classroom. She’s wearing her hair down today. It spills across her shoulders when she tilts her head. A few tendrils fall into her cleavage.

  My mouth goes dry, forcing me to grunt an acknowledgement.

  She taps her dimpled chin with a manicured nail. “I’ve been doing the same thing. What a coincidence.” She approaches my desk and I can feel heat flush up my neck. Again I’m reminded how very long it’s been since I’ve been with a woman. To distract myself, I shuffle the papers into neat, meaningless piles.

  Tonya perches on the edge of my desk. “Looks like you’re all finished.”

  “Yup.” I shove the stacks of half-graded papers into my messenger bag.

  “Another coincidence. Me, too.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “Dinner time. I’m starving. You got any plans?” She gives me a hopeful look.

  I pause. I know I’d have a much better time with her than I would the tattooed-loudmouth barista. But even at the thought of standing her up—even for a fake date—makes my gut clench with guilt. I really am a Goddamn Boy Scout. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Her face falls, making me feel like a royal ass. For reasons I
don’t understand myself, I’ve yet to make good on my promise for a rain check. Aside from being sexy as hell, Tonya is an amazing woman. She coaches the JV volleyball team, heads the school’s animal activists’ club, and is always pestering faculty to volunteer on her Habitat for Humanity projects.

  So why can’t I bring myself to ask her out? What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe it’s all that wholesome goodness she projects. She’s so innocent—unblemished by the world I’ve seen and the darkness it holds—the darkness that now resides within me.

  Tonya gives me what appears to be a forced smile. “Unfortunately?”

  I exhale. “I got roped into this thing tonight. It’s going to suck.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “Thing?”

  I know she’s not going to quit until I tell her. “It’s a date, but not a real one.”

  If my admission has any effect on her, she doesn’t let it show. “How can a date not be real?”

  “When it’s done out of guilt,” I say, zipping my bag closed. I grab my cane. “Or pity.” The only problem is, between Emily and myself, I can’t decide who’s more pathetic.

  “So how you’d get roped into that?”

  “That is the million dollar question.”

  “If it’s going to be that bad,” she says, “just cancel.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that would be really shitty of me. I agreed to do this, so the least I can do is see it through. I won’t bail out, no matter how badly I want to.”

  “Or don’t want to.”

  I jerk back. “What?”

  Hopping off my desk, she gives me a sad smile. “You’re a grownup, Reece. You have the option of not doing something you don’t want to. And since I don’t see a gun to your head, I have to wonder if there’s a small part of you that really wants to do this.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off. “I hope you have a nice time. You’re a great guy and you deserve every chance of happiness.” She smiles before walking out of the room.

  I stare at the door long after she’s gone. There’s no way she’s right—that I want to go on a date with the loud-mouthed barista. Emily’s rude, pushy, and obviously a party girl. She’s the exact opposite of the type of girl I used to look for before I gave up dating.