Waterdreamer (The Emerald Series Book 2)

by Kimberly James

  “Know what?”

  “You just couldn’t stay out of it, could you?” I charged forward and he sidestepped out of my way.

  “Caris, what are you talking about?” He held out a hand to ward me off, but I kept at him. His arms were up in defense, but he was looking over his head, a question dancing in his eyes along with a bit of amusement. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Erin said from behind me.

  “I asked you to stay out of it. To leave him alone.” I punched Noah in the arm and he cocked his head, narrowing his eyes to green slits. He was good. Acting like he didn’t know. Like he was innocent.

  “Maybe you should tell me what’s got you so riled up before someone gets hurt.”

  Yeah, like he hurt Derrick. I swung at him again, but he caught my arm before I could make contact. “Are you really wanting to fight me?”

  “Yes, you jerk. I wanted him. Derrick was mine.” I swung again, and I couldn’t seem to reach his face. He deflected every blow. Now it was pure frustration fueling me. I wanted to hit something. Somehow on my fifth try my fist connected with his jaw.

  “Owww. That hurt.” He grabbed me by both wrists, spun me around and pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He made a pretty decent straight jacket.

  “Now what is this all about?” His mouth moved in my hair over my ear.

  I squirmed against his hold, but his arms were like a steel trap. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Someone got to Derrick before the party. When we got there he was sitting on the end of the diving board of the pool, tied to a chair. No pants. No underwear. And someone wrote “lick a dick” across his chest.”

  Noah laughed, his chest vibrating against my back. He wasn’t the only one. They all seemed to find it humorous. I kind of hated guys in general in that moment.

  “It’s not funny,” I said.

  “I think it’s funny,” Noah countered, and for the first time I wished I could knock him flat on his ass. I’d been afraid I was going to have to punch someone in the face. Who knew it would be Noah?

  “You don’t know anything about this?” I ceased my struggle to get free and turned my head toward his.

  “Caris, I didn’t do anything to Derrick. I haven’t even seen him since that night we got pizza a week ago. Whoever got to Derrick, it wasn’t me.”

  “Then who was it?” I questioned the side of his face.

  “I don’t know, nor do I particularly care,” Noah said.

  My eyes scanned the amused faces by the fire.

  “It wasn’t me,” Levi threw up his arms. “I don’t even know a Derrick.”

  I set my sights on Jeb. Erin was in the seat beside him. She’d grabbed a beer and was clearly enjoying herself.

  “Seriously? You think I did it?” Jeb’s face was all wide-eyed innocence.

  “Not his style,” Erin quipped in his defense. Then they clinked their beers together in a show of solidarity.

  Not that I seriously considered it was Jeb. Erin was right. It wasn’t his style. Noah’s either for that matter. They were both more in your face than that. The only other person that knew of my complaints about Derrick was Sol, and he had an airtight alibi.

  “Can I let go now? Or do you still want to hit me?” Noah asked.

  “You can let go,” I said, feeling like a complete idiot. It could have been anybody and I’d assumed the worst, coming down on Noah like some crazy bitch. After suffering one of the most humiliating moments in my life. Derrick had spit on me. In front of everyone.

  “Sorry,” I said, finding it hard to meet Noah’s eyes.

  “Don’t be sorry. That could have been real entertaining if Noah had taught you how to throw a punch.” This from Levi. He was up from his chair and walked over to me, taking up position behind me. “Now when I go head-to-head with Noah, I might start off strong, but Noah’s fast, and he’s tenacious as hell. He wears you down. But I noticed something.” He beamed down at me. “You can’t swing for shit, but you’re faster than him.”

  Noah looked poleaxed at that observation.

  Well damn, that was some high praise. It made me downright giddy. “Really?”

  “She’s not faster than me,” Noah said with a little shake of his head and a crook on his lips, like he couldn’t believe Levi would suggest such a thing.

  Levi took a place behind me and said, “Let me see you make a fist.”

  I balled my hand into a fist.

  “Good thing you didn’t land a solid hit or you might have broken your thumb. It goes here, over the knuckles.” Levi put one hand on my right hip and slapped the back of my left leg with the other. I stepped forward so my hips were angled at Noah. Levi’s hands came under my elbows and he pushed my arms up where my fists were in front of my chin.

  “Go ahead, hit him,” Levi said.

  “Hit him?” I looked at Levi over my shoulder.

  “Right in that perdy kisser of his.” Levi puckered his lips and made a slurping sound.

  I turned back around to face Noah and the fact that he didn’t look the least bit worried had me rearing back. I swung for all I was worth. Noah caught my arm right above my wrist and held it away from him. My fist didn’t get close to his face.

  “Yeah, you might as well of sent him a note. He saw that coming yesterday. Your arm isn’t a bat. Keep your elbows close to your sides and your fists in front of your chin. You want to jab. First with your left hand, then cross with the right,” Levi demonstrated a few times, punching at nothing but air. Then he said to Noah, “Put your hands up and give her a target.”

  Noah lifted his hands out in front of him, palms facing me. I practiced what Levi showed me. Left, right. Jab, cross. I alternated hitting first Noah’s left hand then his right while Levi threw in pointers.

  “Aim with your first two knuckles. The jab is the teaser, to test where the target is. The cross is the meat. That’s where the dirty work is done.”

  I kept at it, switching hands until I had a good rhythm going.

  “Good. Now roll your right hip on the cross. Put your body into it,” Levi encouraged. He was really getting into this.

  I worked through the combination a dozen and more times while Noah put his hands at different angles. I’d worked up a sweat. It dripped down the sides of my face and back. Finally, Noah dropped his hands and gave me this come hither look, daring me to actually try to hit him.

  “Body shots are best,” Levi threw out. “He’s taller than you, so go for the gut.”

  I questioned this strategy. I’d had my hands on Noah’s gut plenty of times. I wasn’t sure I wanted to slam my fist into it. As if Levi divined my thoughts, he said, “Trust me, his head is harder.”

  The first few attempts were futile. He blocked and shifted easily out of the way of my feeble jabs. If I went for his face, it was an easy duck to avoid my fist.

  “Come on, Caris. Try. He ain’t made of glass.”

  I picked up my efforts. I didn’t want to hurt Noah, but I did want to knock that cocky grin off his face. He didn’t think I stood a chance of touching him. I punched and jabbed. Noah dodged and feinted, his feet kicking up sand. He was having to work though, keep his guard up. And I wasn’t the only one sweating. He had a nice sheen going all over that glorious chest. The guy was gorgeous even when I was trying to beat the hell out of him. And he had those jeans on, faded and soft and molding to his legs and butt. I felt my concentration waning and decided on a change of tactic and went for two quick crosses and bingo. Contact. Right in his abdomen. It was like hitting a brick wall, but I’d gotten through his defenses. Jeb, Daniel, and Cree all hooted, and I heard a few high-fives exchanged. My hand throbbed, but I ignored it. I danced around on my toes, determined now. I started mixing it up more, adding a bit more pressure. Jab, cross. Jab, jab, cross.

  Noah angled his head toward me and pointed to his mouth. “Right here.”

  I eyed him, forming my plan. Right now, Noah’s biggest weakn
ess was that he didn’t think I could hit him, and maybe I couldn’t if I played fair. But all’s fair in love and war. I went after him in a flurry of, if not precise, quick coming jabs and crosses. I knew I’d eventually slide past his defenses again and when I did, it was straight in the gut. I pulled my hand up and let my face crumble under the pain. His face fell, too, like I knew it would. The second he dropped his guard, I went for the cross straight to his mouth. I missed and hit his chin instead. He went down. Flat on his back. He lay on the ground, eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Damn Noah, she’s also smarter than you,” Levi said, leaning over him. The guys were laughing and slapping hands, celebrating for me. I was so not a fighter.

  I fell beside him. “Noah. I’m sorry. You were supposed to block me.”

  He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times before he was able to focus. He tilted his head toward me, his eyes finding mine. A smile broke out on his face. His lip was bleeding. Or maybe it was his tongue.

  “Tell me that wasn’t fun,” he said. Then he kissed me.

  Thirteen

  Derrick didn’t speak to me at school on Monday. He didn’t look at me. He sat as far away from me as he could in calculus, and I was fine with that. What I wasn’t fine with was that no one else spoke to me either. People looked right through me. Over me. Around me. I was suddenly invisible. One night, one party, and my attempt at having a normal senior year slid away like Derrick’s spit slid down my face. And everyone stood witness to something that wasn’t my fault. For the first time since school started, I felt like I didn’t belong. Like a fish out of water.

  The bell, when it finally rang, was like the opening bell of a race and I couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. I didn’t stop at my locker but went straight to the parking lot where my dad was waiting to pick me up. I hadn’t told him about the party and what happened with Derrick. He was still in the dark about Flores, and the last thing I wanted to do was bring any of that up now. This was his time. For a few more days I wanted it to be about him. What he wanted. What he needed. For months it had been me, me, me, and I was tired of all the focus being on me.

  Maybe invisible was good.

  I tossed my book bag in the backseat, closed the door, and rolled my window down, shutting my eyes when the warm air blew across my face. For the first time in hours, I was able to relax.

  “Everything all right?” my dad asked, pulling out onto Highway 98 and heading east.

  “Yeah.” I squelched my sour mood, decided to quit thinking about everything that wasn’t all right and concentrate on everything that was.

  “Is going to lunch with Thomas too much, too soon? We can wait if you want.”

  “No, Dad.” I rolled my head to the side so I could look at him. “If I tell you one more time this is all okay, will you believe me? Lunch sounds good. I’m actually starving.”

  “Okay. I’ll quit asking,” he said. “Sometimes I’m amazed what a good job I did with you.”

  Our plan was to meet Thomas for lunch before I went into work. This co-op deal had its advantages. It spared me having to eat lunch at school.

  Thomas owned an art gallery on the main street in Rosemary Beach, where he displayed some of his own work along with other local artists. The whole community had an old-world urban vibe with gas lit cobblestone streets lined with specialty shops and restaurants. Noah and I frequented the sushi bar on the corner, conveniently located next to the candy store.

  It was about a five minute drive from school, and while it wasn’t super crowded, it was lunch hour, and cars lined the street, the closest spots to the gallery already taken.

  “Why don’t you hop out. I’ll go find a parking spot,” my dad said.

  Once I located Thomas’s gallery, I stalled out front to browse the window. It was filled with watercolors of some of the more picturesque locales in our area. Seascapes done in oils and photo artwork of the beaches and lakes that defined the coast. Thomas was a minimalist artist and specialized in portrait art. An eight by ten portrait of Felix as a puppy hung on the wall in Maggie’s shop. Of course, I hadn’t recognized the artist’s name on the painting until now. He was that Thomas Nelson.

  I breezed through the open door and came to an abrupt stop when I saw Thomas with another man. They stood in front of a portrait style picture of the profile of a young girl, the delicate features of her face darkly penciled on a stark white background. Her hair flew behind her and the wavy ends gradually turned into butterflies, a hint of enchantment mixed with reality. The man had his back to me, his long hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, the cut of his linen shirt and pants formfitting. I instantly recognized his scent. He turned at my small gasp.

  “Caris,” Athen said, his face rising at my unexpected appearance. He took a step in my direction. “This is a nice surprise.”

  This was the first time I’d run into him in a truly public everyday place, and I’d never seen him in street clothes. He still looked extraordinary. We stared through a moment of awkwardness. Did we hug? High five? The compulsion was there, I just didn’t know what to do with it, if I should do anything.

  “Is this your daughter?” Thomas asked, his mind working behind his hazel eyes, piecing things together as the seconds ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace. My dad due to walk in the door in any one of those seconds.

  “Yes.” Something shifted in the depths of Athen’s silver eyes as he extended his hand, the pride in introducing me as his daughter evident in his tone, the softening of his features. His fingers grazed the small of my back.

  “Caris and I have met before,” Thomas said.

  And then my dad walked in, and the fingers at my back turned to ice, stiff and unyielding. Athen’s pleasant expression vanished, replaced with a forced blandness.

  “You know Patrick,” Thomas said as my dad and Athen faced one another. The last time they were together we’d been on an open beach, and I’d thought it not big enough for the two of them. Thomas’s gallery certainly wasn’t. My dad had punched Athen that night. Surely we were past that now.

  “Look, this doesn’t have to be weird,” I said, my eyes darting between them like a pinball. Athen and my dad continued to stare, upping the awkward factor a thousand percent. “Okay, I admit, it’s weird. But no one’s hitting anyone.” I scooted between them, acting as a buffer.

  “Thomas, this is…” My mind choked on the introduction. Did he even know my dad wasn’t my real dad? Did he know Athen and I were both more than what we appeared? It was pretty obvious to anyone with half a brain that my dad and Thomas were a couple. Was that any of Athen’s business? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything?

  Athen’s expression remained unreadable. The air simmered, a low boil of heat under his gaze. I knew my dad and Thomas couldn’t feel it but I could. It wasn’t a violent energy. Nothing would come of it. Athen appeared stunned, almost hurt.

  My dad stood under Athen’s quiet scrutiny, his expression stoic, daring him to judge. Like I had been, I think Athen was confused more than anything, trying to make sense of what he saw. Make sense of how it fit into the context of our history. It was apparent he couldn’t. I might have missed it, if I hadn’t been watching, the way he flinched as if something cut deep. I never would have thought the word vulnerable would apply to Athen, but it did in that moment. My heart ached for both of them in equal measure.

  Athen spoke first, his voice not so much accusing as it was a demand for an explanation. “You took her from me. You didn’t even really want Rena, and you took her anyway.”

  “No, Athen,” my dad said, his voice unusually cruel. “Rena didn’t want you.”

  My hopes of being the bridge that would bring them together were dashed. Neither of them were ready to take even that first step at reconciliation. My mother would always stand between them.

  “Dad.” His name was a reprimand on my tongue as I came to Athen’s defense without thought. My dad’s eyes flew to mine, softening when he saw my twisted express
ion. Fortunately there were no other patrons in the gallery, and Thomas walked over to the door and closed it. I wished he would leave it open, offer some escape for the emotions that continued to churn in the air. But I understood. This was his place of business, and people walked up and down the sidewalk, peering into the window.

  “That was out of line,” my dad said, stopping short of apologizing. He ran one hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?” He addressed Athen first then turned to Thomas when Athen wouldn’t answer. “What is he doing here?” As if the answer to that question could explain all that was wrong between the two of them.

  “He’s here about a piece of art. He’s a client.” I saw the subtle shift in Thomas’s eyes, the display of consonance, the way the index finger on his right hand stroked my dad’s as if to calm him.

  It worked. The set of my dad’s shoulders loosened under his collared shirt. His blue eyes lost some of their intensity as his expression eased into one less combative.

  “You didn’t tell me his name,” Thomas said in a gentle tone.

  So my dad had told Thomas something of our circumstance.

  “I didn’t think it was important. I never imagined our paths would cross.”

  “This was bound to happen, Patrick. At least we could remain civil.” Athen had corralled his emotions, no longer the man who’d been happy to see me when I walked in. “Maybe it’s a good thing our paths did cross. We have things to discuss.”

  “What things?” my dad asked, his gaze razor sharp.

  Athen’s eyes fell on me. “You haven’t told him.”

  “No,” I said. “The time hasn’t been right.”

  “Time is something we don’t have. The sooner we’re rid of Flores, the better.”

  “Who is Flores?” My dad’s gaze skated from Athen’s to mine. I’d hoped for a few more days with my dad to reassure him his recent revelations hadn’t changed anything, knowing mine would. “He’s doing it, isn’t he? I’m gone a few days and already he’s insinuating himself into your life.”