by Randa Lynn
“Yeah.”
We stand up and head towards the car, walking through the maze of shoppers and retail kiosks when something, off to my side, catches my eye.
I turn my head to look.
Then, I freeze.
Every muscle in my body locks up. The bustle of the Galleria fades into oblivion as my eyes focus in.
Charlie jerks as she tries to continue forward, while I remain stoic. I’m frozen as I watch a little girl—curly, brown hair—totter her way across the floor.
She’s grown so much since the last time I’ve seen her. Her hair is longer. She’s taller. It’s incredible how time seems to stand still, but when you look back you wonder just where all the time went.
“Claire,” I breathe out.
That peace I’ve found since finding out she wasn’t mine is being tested, and it’s hovering on the edge of nonexistent.
“What?” Charlie asks, stepping closer to me. I can hear the confusion in her tone, but I don’t look at her. I can’t take my eyes off Claire.
I nod my head in the direction. “That’s Claire. That’s my little… That’s the little girl I thought was mine.”
She gasps as the realization hits her. I try to mask the pain I feel, but it’s no use. Seeing Claire is equivalent to watching a knife jab into my chest in slow motion, but not being able to do a damn thing about it.
She walks on shaky legs, babbling before she yells, “Da-dee!” But she doesn’t say it towards me.
She says it towards… her father.
As she continues to go forward, Marcus—I remember so vividly how he looks with his blonde hair and suntanned skin—goes towards her and picks her up in his arms. She reaches in and kisses him on the cheek.
She looks…happy. So happy.
The tightness in my chest grows as I stand there watching what I thought was my life play out before me. Except it’s not my life at all. And she isn’t mine.
I continue to watch, unable to pry my feet from their cemented position, as Marcus plays with Claire. Jodi walks up to them, hugging Marcus tight. Claire wraps her little arms around both of their necks. At the same time, a vise wraps around my throat. Fifteen, maybe twenty, strides separate Claire and me. I could get to her in mere seconds, but I won’t.
They have no clue I’m here, and that’s the way it needs to stay.
I see another wooden bench off in the other direction, a bit hidden from their view. I don’t think. I just move. I quickly make my way to the bench and sit down, my eyes never leaving them.
I can see the happiness all over Claire’s face. I can see the joy in her actions.
Her smile is infectious. Her little laugh is so genuine.
She’s okay.
She’s more than okay.
She’s perfect.
“Hey.” Charlie sits down beside me, getting as close as she possibly can. “Are you okay?”
She grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. This is her comforting me. This woman, the one who has literally lost everything, is worried about me. The enormity of this small gesture speaks volumes to who she is. I blink, turning my eyes towards her. “Yeah.” I turn my head, taking one final look at Claire as they walk out of sight, camouflaging themselves in the crowd of people. I fight the urge to run after them, to be able to see more of her. But I don’t. Because it would be selfish. I can’t confuse her. She’s not hurting over this. She feels nothing but joy and happiness, and I’m okay with that. I have no choice but to be okay with that. I can live with this as long as she is living her little life full of love. And from what I just saw, she is. “I think I am.”
“Want to talk about it?” she probes. “You know, you can talk to me about it.”
“No.” I lean into her. Brushing my lips against hers, I let her sweet scent calm me. Needing to feel her on me, I whisper against her lips, “I just need you right now.”
She grabs each side of my face in her hands. “Let’s get out of here, then.” She kisses me with her soft lips and says, “Let me take your pain away. Let me do this for you, the same way you do for me.”
We lay in my bed, legs tangled together. The sheets are haphazardly thrown over both of our bare bodies.
The laboring of our breathing is all that cuts through the silence of my bedroom. Running my fingers through Charlie’s hair, I replay everything that happened at the Galleria.
I understand now how someone can go from feeling like they’re on top of a mountain to feeling like they’re in the lowest of valleys to feeling at peace with the events that have happened in their life.
I get it because that’s the way I feel right now.
I’m still not ready to talk about everything relating to Claire and Jodi with Charlie, but she respects that. There comes a point when you have to trust the fact people don’t want to talk about certain things for fear that once a wound reopens, it’ll never be able to heal.
Charlie, of all people knows that.
I kiss her forehead. “Thank you, beautiful.”
Her head tilts up. She looks at me through those thick lashes, her eyes blinking heavily from fatigue. “Don’t thank me. I was just returning a favor.”
“Charlie,” I whisper, my thumb rubbing light circles along her jawline, “you don’t give yourself the credit you deserve. You are amazing. More than amazing.”
“I’m not amazing, Slayter.”
“But you are. You’ve gone through so much. But you saw me hurting, and you—just being you—helped bring me out of that. Thank you.”
She blinks lazily several times. “I’ve got you, Slayter.”
“That’s my line,” I tease.
“I was so lost when I first met you,” she admits, her voice soft-spoken. “The night at the bar, I just wanted to drink my heartache away, drown it at the bottom of a bottle. And when you showed up, spilling your sob story, I hated you. You were complaining about living with only a memory when I would die to just have any memory at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Let me finish,” she says. I nod my head, and she continues. “I laughed inside at your pitiful excuse for feeling broken. But the truth is, being broken has no rule book. When your world comes crumbling down, the blow can come in any form. Not everyone loses everything, save their beating heart, like I have. And, for that, I’m grateful. But someone else’s everything isn’t my everything. It’s taken me a while to realize it. You helped me see that, even though I get so caught up in the things of my mind, there is a light out there for everyone. And my light is you.” She laughs lightly, and I can’t help but get mesmerized by everything that is her. “I kind of really hated you that day, though.
“But Slayter?”
“Yeah?” I ask, running my fingers through her hair.
“I don’t hate you anymore.”
I laugh as she nuzzles into me.
We lay here, neither one of us speaking. We don’t need to. Sometimes silence can speak louder than words.
Charlie’s eyes flutter closed, and a few moments later her breathing evens out.
Our conversation replays in my head. She thinks I’m her light? Little does she know, she’s quickly becoming the brightest light in my life.
I kiss her on the top of her head, breathing her cherry blossom smell in. This—her in my arms—feels so right. I hold onto her tighter, afraid that if I don’t she’ll slip from me, and possibly even herself. “I don’t hate you either, Charlie. Not even close.”
I’m not sure of a lot of things in my life. One thing I am sure of, however is that Charlie McGee is by far the most incredible, yet complicated, woman I have ever met.
She lets me in only to shut me out.
Lucky for her, I’m always up for a challenge.
We’ve spent as much time as possible learning about each other—in all the ways. I told her all my best memories growing up. Like the time Stetson and I stole Mom’s car to go to the local convenient store. We attempted to buy alcohol, but failed miserably. Gail, the owner, had us t
hinking we were going to be able to get some…until our parents walked in the store. We got our butts tore up, but I swear, looking back now, I can’t help but laugh at how stupid we were.
We’ve learned each other’s quirks, likes, dislikes, and everything in between. She likes to argue. I think she’s sexy when she argues. I pick arguments with her for that very reason. I make up for it afterwards. She can’t resist the things I can do to her. She’s tried fighting it—us—but I always win. I draw her back in, because whether she likes it or not, I know she doesn’t want to stop whatever this is between us. I think I’m finally making her realize it’s okay to feel okay. At least I hope like hell I am.
I grab the coffee from the barista and stuff a tip into the jar before walking out of the coffee shop.
It’s early. So. Damn. Early.
I get to my truck and climb in, placing the coffees in the cup holder. After typing the address to the church into my GPS, I head out. Traffic is light, too early for the nine-to-five commuters to pack the road.
I maneuver through the empty streets just as the sun starts to come up. Oranges and reds paint the early morning sky a fiery glow. Like a phoenix.
I pull into the old abandoned church. It’s wooden and painted white, but the paint is chipped and worn from years of weathering the elements. I kill my truck and hop out, balancing the two cups of coffee in one hand. It’s cold, a little below freezing. My breath flows visibly in front of me as it collides with the cold air. I walk around the back of the derelict church slowly, not wanting to make a sound. Then I see her. Snapping away as a woman sits in a torn and tattered wedding dress on an old, dilapidated pew that’s seen better days.
“Explain the day you got the heartbreaking news,” Charlie says. She continues to snap away. I stand back a half step so they don’t see me. I want to watch her in her element, one where the mask is off, and the raw her shines through. She’s a natural in the way she moves and talks to the client as she snaps away on her Nikon.
I can hear the woman in the wedding dress speak, but I pay no attention. I’m too focused on Charlie. Her hair is braided and thrown to the side of her head, with a black, slouched beanie covering her head and ears. Jeans and Chucks cover her legs and feet as a black coat shelters her from the cold March air.
She snaps some more, crouching to get shots from different angles. The sun still rising in the eastern sky, shines directly on Charlie’s cream skin and rosy cheeks. Her face glows, even more stunning than I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know it was possible.
She has no idea I’m here or that I even knew she’d be here. But when I went into her office the other day, I caught sight of her planner. I had Paul go out to the worksite early so I could head out a little later. I wanted to do this; see her doing what she loves to do.
I’m so caught up watching her I don’t notice her client getting up, pointing this way, until Charlie spins on her heel towards me. Her eyes wide with fear until they lock onto mine, then a smile flashes across her face. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
I start walking towards her and hold out the coffee for her to take. “I wanted to bring you coffee.”
She takes the coffee, drinking a sip. “How did you know where I’d be? Or that I even had a photo shoot today?” Her voice drops off at the last question as she realizes she never told me about this.
I shrug. “Your planner. You write down information very well. Bravo Miss McGee.”
She laughs and I lean down, laying a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I see why you love morning sessions. The morning sunlight against your skin—stunning.”
She blushes. Looking up at me through those thick lashes, she tucks a stray piece of hair under her beanie. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“You can—“
Her client clears her throat. “Sun is almost all the way up.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m leaving in just one second.” I hold my finger up. “Just one more thing.” Bringing my free hand up, cupping the side of her face, I bring my mouth down to hers. I kiss her gently and whisper against her lips, “Missed you.”
I walk into the house and throw my keys onto the counter. It’s quiet.
I wish Charlie was here.
I smile at the thought. It’s scary, downright insane, that she’s warped her little self into my life in a matter of months.
Over four months have passed since I first laid eyes on Charlie. She’s changed me, made me see the world from such a different perspective. I no longer get so consumed with me and my issues. Because as badly as I’ve been hurt before, someone always has it worse.
It’s taken me a while to realize that all Jodi put me through wasn’t for nothing. Yeah, I hate that she did it. I still miss Claire, but knowing she’s okay, taken care of, and loved, is all I could ask for. I have solace in knowing she’ll grow up to be happy.
What happened with Jodi was for a reason. I went into the bar that night for a reason. I didn’t know it at the time, but the reason was Charlie. I don’t think she was put in my path for me to save her or pick her up out of the darkness. She’s fully capable of doing that herself. I think, maybe, she was put in my path for me to help her see the beauty that is around her in spite of the ugly life has thrown at her. The most beautiful people go through the ugliest of situations. And Charlie McGee is the most beautiful damn woman I’ve ever seen.
I don’t think she realizes that she’s strong. She’s so damn strong. She’s fought almost two and a half years, going through life while having to learn and make new memories.
Making it through life in general isn’t always easy, but add the pressure of having no memory and heartache on top of it, it has to be nearly impossible.
But Charlie does it.
After taking a shower, I climb in bed. I try to fall asleep, but my mind keeps spinning, thinking about Charlie.
We’ve spent so much time together lately. So much time, yet it feels like it’s not enough. Last week, we went to Klyde Warren Park and just sat for hours, watching the waterfalls. It’s amazing how in a city with over a million people, it felt like we were the only ones around. Everything is easy with Charlie, which is a bit ironic for a girl who is about as complicated as they come. But it’s true. Nothing is forced between us. We just work.
I grab my phone off the dresser, and text Charlie.
What are you wearing?
The bubbles start flashing across the bottom of my screen.
I’m in bed, so you guess.
I groan, knowing it only means one thing—t-shirt and panties. Fuck.
Why aren’t you here? I’d love to rip that shirt and panties off of you.
I have a home you know?
I laugh at her diversion. Texting or talking about anything remotely sexual is not her thing. She does what she does best—deflects. She gets shy, like we haven’t already seen every inch of each other’s bare bodies. I think it’s the cutest damn thing. Her cheeks get flushed, and she draws her shoulders up, as if she’s trying to hide.
I punch in her number in my phone. The phone rings several times, and I think for a second she’s not going to pick up.
“Hello?” Her voice is hushed.
“What are you wearing?” I ask, smiling at myself.
She laughs lightly. I can see her now, covering her face. She’s embarrassed. “I’m so not telling you.”
“Okay. Okay.” I roll onto my side, propping my head up on my arm. “I called for a reason. Not just to embarrass you.”
“Reason being?”
“I missed your voice.” I smile.
She laughs loudly. “Smooth. But I’m calling your bluff, pretty boy.”
“Pretty boy, huh? I’ll show you pretty boy.”
“Tell me what you really called for,” she says.
I sigh. “Well…I just need you to help me get stuff for this going away party that Stetson insisted I have at my house.”
She giggles. “Lizzie told me about that. Such a sweet soul, inviting peopl
e into your home.”
I smirk. “I was coerced.”
“Sure you were.” She pauses. “I hear Abby is coming.”
I swear I can hear her smile as she says her name. “Yeah, well it’s a good thing I don’t want her.”
I hear rustling in the background just as she says, “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I was, uhm... I knocked some stuff off the nightstand.”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, I hear a rattling sound. It takes me a second to figure it out, but when I do, my stomach sinks.
I’m no stranger the sound of a pill hitting the bottom of a bottle. I’ve flushed more pills down the toilet so my brother wouldn’t overdose than I know what to do with.
Knowing Charlie takes highly addictive drugs terrifies me. Not that I think she abuses them, but because I know it can make a good person lose their way. Becoming an addict isn’t completely a choice. It happens before you even realize it, and once it’s happened, you can’t just walk away. You have to fight for it. Most people don’t even fight. Your loved ones can beg and beg until they’re blue in the face, but an addict will never get better—not unless they have the will to.
“Are you okay, Charlie?” My eyes narrow in concentration. I’m an idiot. It’s not like she can see me.
“Yes,” she replies. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice falters, and I know she’s nervous. Hell, I am too.
“Do you have a migraine?” I ask. If she has any hesitation, I’ll know that I should be worried.
“Yes.” Her answer is firm, no hesitation in her voice. My worry eases a little. It’ll never go away, though. I’ll always worry about Charlie, because that’s what I do with people I love.
Whoa.
People I love.
Do I love Charlie? I look over at the empty spot on my bed, and realize just how much I want her there. She should be in my bed every single night.
My chest aches at the thought, and it only tells me one thing…
I love Charlotte Blake McGee.
I hate company. I hate people invading my house. But my brother all but begged me to let him and Lizzie have their going away party here. I agreed, only because the dumbass already told Lizzie I said I didn’t care. I’m not about to look like the asshole, so that’s why there are twenty some odd people in my house. Most of which I do not like.