In Too Deep (Wildfire Lake)

by Skye Jordan

  Dunphy doesn’t stop until he’s a foot from Laiyla, which is way too close for me, but she still doesn’t back away. He uses a rigid index finger to jab the air between them, and my muscles coil, ready to spring if he touches her. But I’m also interested to see what she’s made of now.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself.” Dunphy doesn’t pull any punches. “Lettin’ your granddaddy’s land go. That place used to be something to be proud of. Now it’s just a wart on the face of our town. Otto employed a lot of people, like my boy. It could still be employing a lot of people if you’d taken care of it the way your granddaddy expected you to.”

  A lull falls. Dunphy is clearly waiting for her to react.

  “I am,” Laiyla says.

  I’m confused. So is Dunphy. “You are what?”

  “Ashamed of myself. Does that make you feel any better?”

  That rocks both Dunphy and me back on our heels. Then Dunphy goes back at her with even more venom. “Don’t you dare sass me. You’re a disgrace to this community and Otto’s memory. After all he did for you, you couldn’t even do the one thing he wanted most.”

  I’ve had enough. Laiyla can clearly handle herself, but Dunphy’s out of line. And if I were being honest, I’d say I didn’t want the old bastard to scare her off quite yet.

  “He loved you, and this is how you dishonor him?” Dunphy says, voice rising, clearly upset by Laiyla’s stoic calm. “By letting all he worked for go to shit?”

  I approach and set my groceries on a nearby shelf in case I need my hands free. When my presence doesn’t end the confrontation, I say, “Enough,” and they both look at me like I appeared out of thin air. “You’ve said your piece. Now move on.”

  Laiyla raises a hand, issuing me to stop, and turns back to Dunphy. “Mr. Dunphy, if you think the town feels the loss of my grandfather, how do you think I feel? It’s been difficult for me to return, and to be honest, the way you’re acting doesn’t give me any incentive to stay.” Dunphy’s taken aback again, and Laiyla ends the conversation with “Judge less, love more.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Tim,” I say, a warning in my voice.

  He deflates, shoots another glare at Laiyla, and stalks off, muttering shit I can’t hear.

  Laiyla releases a breath, and her expression shifts from ready for battle to chastised child.

  I lift my brows. “Judge less, love more?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Chloe says it all the time. I haven’t figured out what the hell it means, though she’s told me a hundred times.”

  “Is Chloe one of the girls you’re here with?”

  “Yes.” She lets out a long breath. “What are you doing here?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not following you.” I drop my hand to the beer clearly out of place on the shelf beside coffee. “Can’t run out of beer.”

  She closes her eyes with a shake of her head, then presses her fingers to her closed lids.

  I watch Dunphy disappear, and when I look back at Laiyla, she’s staring at the company logo filling the front of my T-shirt. Her dress has a deep wraparound edge, laced with a ruffle, and the V exposes the plump lift of her breasts that make me want to drop to my knees and worship. “Did you find a place to stay?”

  Her mouth tips, half smirk, half smile. “The girls want to stay at the lake, so we’re staying in one of the houseboats.”

  My brows shoot toward the ceiling again, and I can’t help but smile at that image. “Have you looked at those boats? I mean, really looked?”

  She nods. “And I talked to Mr. Artega. There’s one boat that’s livable—”

  “The Roxie Blue.”

  Surprise lights her eyes. “How did you know?”

  I don’t want to get into that, but the idea of these three women staying on that tiny boat makes me grin. “All three of you in, like what, three hundred square feet of livable space?”

  “I know, believe me, I know.” She shrugs and wanders down the aisle. Since she doesn’t seem to be trying to escape me, I pick up the shortcake and beer and wander with her. “But as long as we’re together, I’ll be happy.”

  The words hang between us. Words I’d said to her several times near the end of our relationship. I’d been willing to leave my family and go wherever she went, but in the end, she didn’t even ask me to come.

  Her gaze darts to the dessert in my arms, and she smirks. “You need shortcake to go with your beer?”

  “No, but Dad does.”

  Her expression instantly goes soft. “Aw, you guys still do Sunday night dinner?”

  “Yeah, but it’s a lot more crowded now with kids and husbands.”

  “Yeah?”

  We’re walking along the back row of the store, past the butcher toward the produce. “All three of my sisters are married, and they’ve got six kids between them.”

  Her face opens in shock. “Oh my gosh. That’s a lot of family.”

  “And it’s about to get even bigger,” I say, setting up the real shocking news. “They’re all pregnant.”

  Her jaw drops a second before she starts laughing. Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, her face lights up, and her laugh rolls through my body like an earthquake.

  “Oh my God,” she says. “That’s got to be—”

  “Chaos. Complete chaos.”

  “How is everyone?”

  “They’re good.”

  “Your parents?”

  I nod. “Healthy, happy grandparents.”

  “I bet.” Her smile fades into something more subdued. “Are you married?”

  I snort at the idea to cover my disappointment over all my failed relationships. “No one will have me.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “You?” I ask, tightening my abs for the mule kick when she says yes.

  She smirks. “No one will have me.”

  I chuckle. “I highly doubt that.”

  Silence falls between us. She’s holding my gaze, like she wants to say something. Or maybe she’s just trying to read me the way I’m trying to read her. But the air between us is supercharged with electricity. I should walk away. I really should. But, God help me, I can’t. I just want to stand here in her sphere. I just want to look at her and catalog everything that’s stayed the same, everything that’s changed.

  She smells different, less flower, more spice, but those freckles still pepper her nose and cheeks, the ones that were almost invisible when she arrived at the lake in June and so dark by the time she left in September, I could count every one.

  I find my eyes drawn to a pale scar on her temple, and before I can think about it, my fingers slide over the imperfection. “What happened here?”

  “Oh…” Her gaze drops to my chest, but she doesn’t move away from my touch. “Accident. Cyclone, actually. Long story.”

  A loose strand of hair flutters with her shallow, quickening breaths, and widening pupils darken her eyes. I’m drunk on her reaction to me. “A story I’d love to hear sometime.”

  Her gaze darts to mine, then away. I can almost read her thoughts—she won’t be here long enough for that.

  Like a popped balloon, the moment deflates. The sounds of the store drift in right along with the pain that still gnaws beneath my ribs.

  Laughter draws our gaze to the other women, hovering over the berries along with one of the deputy sheriffs in uniform, holding what looks like a wrapped sandwich. Both of Laiyla’s friends are beautiful in their own way. The blonde is the kind that make men trip over their own feet. The brunette, her hair darker than Laiyla’s, is more of the strong, silent, sexy type.

  “Violation of penal code section 484a and 488 PC,” the cop is saying, his tone easy. The meetup doesn’t look like much of a true confrontation.

  “I’m sampling the fruit,” the blonde woman insists, and I can clearly hear the flirt in her tone. “It’s common practice all over the world. Believe me, I’ve been just about everywhere, and I can assure y
ou there’s no stigma over testing the ripeness of fruit before it’s purchased. It’s a well-documented and accepted cultural norm.”

  Sounds like she might have actually come from Tibet after all.

  “Good Lord,” Laiyla says. “I can’t leave them alone for a second.”

  “He’s new here,” I say, “but so far, he seems like a pretty good guy.” When her gaze returns to me, I know I need to move on. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other. At least until you leave. Again.”

  When we say goodbye, there’s something lingering in her eyes. I’m afraid to let myself imagine what it might be, because I already want to identify the wispy shadow as longing or disappointment or something equally detrimental to my emotional health.

  But between walking away from Laiyla and getting to my parents’ house, my mind torments me by mixing up today’s images with past memories. By the time I reach the house, already overflowing with family, I’m emotionally fried, and irritable that I’m emotionally fried. Pissed I’m letting her get under my skin. I’m also feeling a bit bipolar, swinging from anger to longing and back while suffering all the less intense emotions in between. And, yeah, that pisses me off too.

  I’ve always thought that maybe if I’d been the one to break up, losing her wouldn’t have plagued me. That maybe what bothered me more than her walking away was the fact that she’d taken the control and done it first. And here I am, twelve fucking years later, still feeling out of control.

  I grab dessert from the passenger’s seat and climb the stairs to the home I built for my parents five years ago when I returned to the States. The house is boisterous with kids laughing and running, sisters and brothers-in-law talking, family milling in the kitchen. Dinner smells amazing, and my stomach rolls, reminding me that I haven’t had anything other than two beers all day. Seeing Laiyla stole my appetite for lunch, and now, even starving, I’ll have a hard time working up interest in dinner.

  I shake it off, determined to enjoy my family. My oldest niece, Kayla, runs up to me and hugs my legs. I ruffle her hair in greeting, and she runs back into the fray with her cousins. I offer handshakes to my brothers-in-law, hugs to my sisters and my dad, a kiss for my mom. My two-year-old nephew, Will, reaches toward me with both hands, and I swing him into a seat in my arms and wander toward my dad, who’s talking to my oldest sister, Lucy.

  “Was that strawberry shortcake I saw you leave in the kitchen?” Dad asks.

  I nod. “Peak of the season. Should be good.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Lucy turns her sharp blue eyes on me. “Have you seen her?”

  I frown, not sure what she’s talking about at first. Then I roll my eyes. “This town, I swear.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Lucy says.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “I don’t want her hurting you again.”

  I can’t help but wonder if she’s more worried about me or herself. Lucy and Laiyla were friends from the start, but Laiyla didn’t keep in contact with Lucy after she left for Paris. In fact, she didn’t keep in contact with anyone but her grandfather after she left for Paris. I’ve always believed that Lucy’s ire toward Laiyla partially stemmed from her own issues. Valid, but separate. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown up now, Luc. I can take care of myself.”

  She huffs, looks at my dad and shakes her head. “No matter how hard I try to teach him, he just can’t get the hang of lying well.”

  That makes my dad laugh. “Leave him alone, Lucy.”

  Lucy has never learned to leave anything alone. I spot a bottle of bubbles on a side table. “Look, Will, bubbles.”

  I escape Lucy as she scowls at me and take Will out on the porch to blow bubbles and watch him pop them all, sometimes one by one, sometimes with one big sweep of his hand.

  After ten minutes, Dad comes out. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Okay.” To Will I say, “Last one.”

  He dances around until every bubble is gone, then runs into the house, and I cap the bottle.

  “You okay?” Dad asks with a gentle concern that never fails to get one of his kids talking about their problems.

  I stare out at the rolling hills beyond my parents’ yard. “Oh, you know me.”

  “I do, which is why I’m asking.” He pauses, his gaze studying the deck beneath his feet. “First loves are always the hardest to get over.”

  I huff a laugh. “Damn straight.” I stand and loop an arm around my dad’s shoulders. “I’m okay, Dad.”

  5

  Laiyla

  By the time I finish scrubbing the kitchen counter, I’m sweating, and my arms ache. “Done.” I straighten and wipe the back of my hand across my damp brow. “Manual labor has never been my thing.”

  “No shit.” This from KT, who agreed to tackle the bathroom for an extra slice of pizza, which should be here any minute.

  I turn a mock frown on her. “Why the hate?”

  “Done.” This from Chloe, who’s been picking up dirt and dust on every horizontal surface. “I feel like I’ve just completed another piece of my Eat, Pray, Love journey.”

  KT snorts a laugh. “I’m up for the eating part. Shouldn’t the pizza be here?” The sound of running water comes from the bathroom, then KT’s “God dammit.”

  “What?” I ask, stepping into the bathroom to find black water coming out of the showerhead. “Ew, what the hell is that?” When my gaze continues to the shower floor, I see the water itself isn’t black, but filled with black dots. I lean in. “What in the—” I gasp and jump backward, reflexively standing on my toes. “Ew, ew, ew. Are those ants?”

  KT starts laughing, then laughs harder, and harder, until she’s on hands and knees having a hard time breathing.

  Chloe comes over to see what’s happening and chuckles. “Oh, yeah, I’ve had that happen more times than I care to count.”

  “My skin is crawling.” I rub my hands over the gooseflesh on my arms. “No way. Game over. Where’s my phone? I’m booking us the most luxurious oceanfront suite in Santa Barbara I can find.”

  Now Chloe’s laughing as hard as KT. “Relax. These kind don’t even bite.”

  I make a choked sound, unable to even address that comment. “Ick, ick, ick. I can’t even.” I go outside, letting the door slam. From the dock, I stare at the boat. “How can you stay in there with them? Come out before they eat you alive or something.”

  I’m shifting from foot to foot while I search my phone for beachfront hotels in Santa Barbara. “Found one,” I yell. “Are you two still alive in there? I just need to know so I can book the right size suite. It only costs my monthly paycheck per night. What a fuckin’ steal.”

  KT pushes the screen door open, and she’s got the biggest smile on her face that I’ve ever seen. Damn, she turns magnetic when she really smiles, something she doesn’t do nearly often enough. “Chill, city girl. This is common in underused pipes.”

  “I can’t take a shower in there now. What if there’s more? Oh my God, officially washing in the lake for the rest of this trip.”

  “Once they’re gone, they’re gone,” Chloe says from behind KT. “I guess I’m desensitized by all the crazy bugs I’ve come across throughout the world. I’d take ants over just about any other crawly creature. Just to be completely transparent, I did find a number of mouse droppings throughout the boat.”

  “Holy fuck. No. No, no, no.” I frantically tap the face of my phone as the webpage for luxury accommodations malfunctions. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”

  “Look,” KT says. “Pizza.”

  “Hello?” A male voice calls from the front of the main dock. “Anyone here? Pizza delivery.”

  Chloe bolts past me on the dock, yelling, “Here.”

  “Oh. Food.” My breathing slows. I know they think it’s funny, but I really am traumatized by the ants. “Yeah. Okay. That’ll help.”

  The pizza kid is maybe seventeen, and the way he ogles the three of us as we pay him
and take the pizza is adorable. With his dark wild head of hair and light eyes, he reminds me a little of Levi at the same age. We really were just babies back then. Our decisions just momentary attempts to keep our shit together.

  Chloe opens a bottle of wine while I pull out the paper plates, and KT sets the pizza boxes on a coffee table we made out of plastic crates connected with zip ties.

  I stand, staring at the floor, expecting to see a mouse pop its beady little eyes up at me.

  “Sit,” KT says. “They aren’t coming out while we’re here, and they’re probably long gone. There hasn’t been anything for them to eat around here in forever. I’ll set traps tomorrow, just in case.”

  My stomach wins out. I sit on the floor and lean back against the kitchen cabinets. The space is so small, I don’t have to move to grab my first piece of pizza from the box on the coffee table. “Oh, if my parents could only see me now.”

  “They’d stage an intervention.” KT is sitting on the futon, the cover of which needs to be removed and washed, and takes a piece of pizza.

  “No joke.” I lift my slice high and drop the string of cheese clinging to the tip of the triangle into my mouth, then follow it in with the pizza and take a luxurious bite.

  Chloe sits on the floor kitty corner to me and crisscrosses her legs in one of those yogi poses, closes her eyes, and brings her hands into prayer position. KT and I freeze mid-bite. Our gazes dart to each other, then Chloe, then to each other again before we stifle laughter.

  Chloe takes it in stride. Eyes still closed, a smirk on her face, she says, “Spirit guides of the highest truth and compassion, forgive these mere mortals for their mockery of your infinite powers—”

  “We weren’t mocking.” I look at KT. “Were we mocking?”

  “Absolutely no mockery.”

  “—and bless us all on our quest for light.” She opens her eyes, grinning at us. “Heathens.”

  “Amen,” KT says, stuffing her mouth with another bite.

  We all go quiet, devouring the pizza, which takes all of fifteen minutes. Turns out none of us has had decent pizza in years, and we are all starving. We’ve also finished off one bottle of wine and opened another. The ants and mice don’t bother me so much with wine in my system.