by Emily Snow
But then he touches my cheek, catching the tears streaming down my face. That touch, that single graze of his rough finger against my skin, sends ripples of calmness through my body, and maybe a little ripple of something else. I gasp at the touch, refusing to take my eyes away from his. If I’m going to lose this hallucination, I want to remember the way Aiden’s eyes look at this exact moment. Calm. Peaceful. Memorable.
I can’t stop the loud sob that slips from my throat. It sounds foreign and hollow as it echoes off the concrete walls. It startles me to know that piercing sound came from my small body. Aiden reaches forward, gripping me tightly, and crushes my body into his. His warmth and familiarity wrap around me, soothing me instantly. The scent that I can only associate with him fills my senses, rendering me speechless and defenseless. If this is a dream, I’m pretty sure I don’t ever want to wake up.
I don’t know how long we stand there as travelers come and go around us. When I’m sure there aren’t any more tears to possibly cry, I finally push away from Aiden’s chest. His shirt is soaked through leaving very little to the imagination of what kind of man he’s become. Strong. Powerful. I draw my gaze quickly up to his face. Bad idea. Those damn eyes are focused directly on me; consuming me, devouring me, eating me whole.
“Your dad was getting ready to come get you when Pastor Green showed up at the house. He didn’t want to leave your mom alone to talk about the services, so he asked me to come and get ya.”
I nod my acknowledgement because words seem to evade me. Wiping away the residue from my tears, I scan the crowd. Suddenly embarrassed by my emotional breakdown, I can’t seem to look at him. Of course I wasn’t hallucinating this whole thing and real Aiden would witness my emotional collapse in the middle of a busy international airport. Why not? The Universe hates me.
“Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me,” Aiden says as if sensing my mortification. His eyes sparkle, even through the crappy florescent lighting of the airport. It instantly reminds me of those nights so long ago spent wrapped up in each other’s arms under the glow of dashboard lights.
Aiden picks up my broken suitcase as if it didn’t weigh as much as a grade schooler. “It’s heavy,” I tell him lamely as he reaches for my hand. The contact causes little flutters deep in the pit of my stomach. Aiden hasn’t touched me in eight years. Eight very long, lonely years.
Together, we silently head towards the parking garage. Sunshine assaults my sensitive eyes as we step through the doors and into the warm day. Without another word, Aiden leads me towards a mammoth beast of a truck parked in the back row. Of course adult Aiden would have the biggest truck imaginable. His love for big diesels was acquired early in his teen years when his dad bought their first big diesel-guzzling truck for the ranch. He drove that truck everywhere, including a few abandoned country roads where we’d park and make out like only teenagers do.
Aiden releases my hand and I feel the loss instantly. He opens up the back door and tosses my broken bag inside before opening the passenger door for me. There’s a small step beneath the door, but before I can use it, Aiden wraps his warm hands around my waist and lifts, depositing me safely into the cab of his Chevy.
I look over at those familiar eyes. He appears to be assessing me. Or reading me, as if adult Aiden knows my tells as well as young Aiden did. Of course, he doesn’t know me that well. Not anymore. The realization must hit him as suddenly as it hits me because he quickly drops his gaze. Aiden shuts the door and heads around to the driver’s side without so much as a backwards glance.
Once inside, I still lack the ability to produce words, and apparently he’s in no better condition. After a few minutes of silence, Aiden starts the truck and pulls out of the garage. The roads are familiar, even if it has been a while since I’ve traveled them. One thing is certain though, as I inch closer and closer to my childhood home: there’s no escaping now.
Chapter Two
Aiden
The crew cab of my truck has never felt so small.
Familiarity spreads warmly through me like a shot of bourbon. Colbi is sitting in the passenger seat of my truck and the only thing I can think of is how right it feels. Her scent surrounds me, grabbing me firmly by the balls and refusing to let go. Gone is the image of her crying in my arms in the middle of the airport. Gone is the sadness of losing her brother–my best friend. Right now, the only thing I feel is contentment. Relief. Hope.
As much as I try to quash those pesky, unwelcomed feelings and brush them aside, I just can’t seem to do it. This girl–now a woman–has invaded my thoughts and dreams for eight long-ass years. She will forever be the one that got away. The one I just can’t seem to let go of. Maybe this is the Universe’s way of helping me move on. Maybe finally coming face-to-face with Colbi Leigh will help eradicate the ghost of what-could-have-been from my life. Maybe now I can bury the past and move forward.
As unsettling as that thought is, I know it’s for the best, and I grab a hold of it with everything I have. I can do this: I can move on.
Well, at least I thought I could until she speaks and those thoughts fly straight out the window along I-71. “Thank you for picking me up,” she whispers. Even in the silence of my truck cab, I still strain to hear her soft words.
“No problem.” It’s a lame response, but I just don’t know what else to say. My damn heart is pounding wildly in my chest, screaming at me to confess resurrecting feelings. Stupid fucking organ.
“It still seems so surreal, ya know?” I feel the heat of those mesmerizing blue eyes on me as I drive.
I try not to look her way, but eventually, the urge is too great. And holy shit! I feel those eyes all the way down to my toes. The sadness cuts me deep, and it takes me a few breaths to choke out my response. “I know.” Again, lame.
Silence accompanies us for the remainder of the trip. As soon as we near Pleasureville, our little dinky hometown, something stirs to life in Colbi. She starts to fidget with the long, blond locks of her hair, scraping at what little nail polish remains on her nails, and continually uncrosses and re-crosses her legs. The movement draws my eyes from the roadway to the long, shapely legs that used to wrap around my waist. I’m a bastard for sitting in the driver’s seat, lusting over my ex at a time like this. But that doesn’t stop my eyes from traveling upward until they catch a peek of that smooth, creamy flesh where her thighs disappear beneath her shorts. Damn.
As I head down the county road that leads to the Leigh house, Colbi rolls down her window. Soft wind whips at her hair, sending it flying around the truck cab the way it used to. I hear her inhale deeply over the noise of the wind. “I forgot what fresh air smells like.”
“They don’t have fresh air in New York?” I ask.
“Not like this. This air is clean. New York air is…different.” I nod, not trusting myself to speak, especially about such a sticky topic as New York.
“How are they?” she asks, turning and looking at me, after a brief moment of silence.
Exhaling deeply, I answer her honestly. “Not good. Your mom has done nothing but cry since she got the call, and your dad is trying to be brave and not cry in front of her. I suspect that when he goes outside to check on the dogs, he’s using it to get away for a few minutes and collect his thoughts.”
Colbi nods as she returns her eyes to the passing scenery. It doesn’t take long before we’re passing the unmistakable fields and pastures along the Leigh property. I pull into the driveway of the place that was always a second childhood home to me. Growing up with Marcus as my closest friend only ensured that I had an additional place to go for home-cooked meals and plenty of trouble. Damn, we got into some shit together back in the day. This place won’t be the same without you, buddy.
Parking my truck at the end of the endless line of cars in the driveway, I instantly feel the change in the truck. Tension and uncertainty radiates off Colbi like a furnace. Turning off the ignition, I wait to take a cue from her as she stares at the home she was born in; the hom
e she ran away from and rarely returns to.
“Why don’t you go on in and I’ll grab your bag,” I say, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know if I can go in there.” My heart practically rips in two all over again. Her words are like a knife thrust deep into my gut. Of all the things I wanted for Colbi, this was never one of them. Happiness. Laughter. Maybe even love someday, even if it wasn’t with me. Not this fear and sadness that seems to pour from her like a faucet in the wake of her brother’s death. I’d give anything just to see that beautiful smile on her face one more time.
“Sure you can; when you’re ready. You were always one of the toughest, bravest, and most fearless girls I knew, Rainbow.” The old nickname spills from my lips so easily that my breath hitches in my tight chest. Colbi’s wide eyes slam into mine as realization grabs hold. Her lips look soft and oh-so-fucking inviting as she gapes at me from across the cab. I’m a complete bastard, I know, but the only thing I can think about is kissing her; devouring those perfect lips the way I used to all those years ago.
Bright blue eyes smile back at me, even though her mouth doesn’t. “Thank you.” The words are meaningful and firm. Colbi exhales slowly before turning back to the house. “I guess we better get inside, huh?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I reply.
Colbi has the passenger door open before I can get around to the other side. I help her climb down from my truck, careful not to let her body slide along mine, even though I crave it more than anything. When I purchased this truck, I knew it would be difficult for women to get up in it, but that didn’t bother me one bit. I saw that as an excuse to put my hands on them while I was gentlemanly enough to help them climb inside the cab. Little did I know that I really wouldn’t be helping too many women climb up in the truck. Not that there hasn’t been anyone interested in a ride, I guess I’ve just been too busy to give it my full attention. A couple of girls here and there, but none that stuck.
None like Colbi.
The slamming of a screen door draws our attention to the house. Mr. Leigh looks as if he’s aged another ten years in the few hours I’ve been gone to pick up Colbi. The lines around his eyes are more pronounced, his hair looks a bit grayer, and he appears as if he hasn’t slept in days. But it’s the smile that crosses his lips that has my attention now. It’s the first glimpse of happiness that I’ve seen in days, and it’s all directed straight at his daughter.
Without so much as a glance back, Colbi starts to walk. Her steps quickly turn into a run as she nears the front porch, flies up the steps, and launches herself into her dad’s awaiting arms. The tears I’ve witnessed Scott Leigh fight for the last few days finally pour, unchecked, down his cheeks. Their joint sobs echo off the worn floorboards and tired shutters. It’s agonizingly hard to witness, but I know that they both need this moment. They both need to find comfort in each other’s arms as father and daughter. It’s a harsh gut-check of a reminder knowing that I’m no longer a part of this picture. And I haven’t been for quite some time.
“Come on, baby girl. Let’s get you inside where it’s cool. Your mom really needs you right now,” Scott says hoarsely. Colbi only nods her acknowledgement as she wipes tears from her eyes. With a quick look back in my direction, Colbi turns and heads into the house.
When the screen door slams behind her, I turn my attention back to Scott. “Thank you for grabbing her,” he says, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“No problem,” I reply casually.
Scott looks at me long and hard before offering me a knowing smile. Okay, so maybe he’s not so oblivious. “You coming inside?” he asks as I carry Colbi’s broken suitcase towards the porch.
“Naw, I think I’ll head home and check on the horses. You guys need some time to yourselves.”
Scott nods once more. “You know you’re always welcome here, Aiden. You’re a part of this family, too.”
Emotions lodge in my throat and tears burn my eyes. Scott Leigh is a good man. He has always been a solid figure in my life, but never more so than these past five years since my own father’s unexpected death. “I’ll see ya soon. Call if you need me,” I state as I deposit the bag on the porch next to him.
“Thank you.” Those two words mean more than just a general statement of appreciation. Thank you for my help, sure, but thank you for caring for and looking after his family as my own. Thank you for loving his son and daughter. And fuck if I don’t realize as I stare back up at his light blue eyes that are the spitting image of both of his children’s, that I’m still gone. Eight years hasn’t changed a damn thing. Her smile, her laughter, her touch. It still consumes me. I’m still completely enamored with Colbi Leigh.
Damn it all to Hell.
Chapter Three
Colbi
Walking up the stairs of the small home I grew up in is a bit surreal. After a heart wrenching, and extremely tearful reunion with my mom, I find myself completely exhausted. Falling onto my bed and sleeping for the next two days is looking better and better with each step I take.
I’m sure the extra weight on my chest has nothing to do with one Aiden Hughes. Seeing him standing in the middle of the busy airport was both shocking and comforting. His strong jaw was more pronounced and dusted with dark stubble. His eyes were the same, though, and every bit as intoxicating as they were way back when. But it was his build that surprised me the most. Aiden was always a strong kid, working hard on his parents’ horse ranch, but he always had a lean build from years of playing high school baseball. Aiden today is thick and hard with bulging muscles that flex naturally beneath his tight t-shirt. He’s no longer the boy I remember. He is one hundred percent all man. Oh, the years have definitely been good to Aiden Hughes.
When I turn at the top of the stairs, I stare ahead at four doors. On the right, doors that lead to my parents’ bedroom and the bathroom. On the left, two identical doors: one for me and the other for Marcus. I bypass the first door, glancing in and noticing my beat up suitcase sitting on the bed, and head straight for the open door at the end of the hallway.
Time stands still as I enter my brother’s bedroom. The old Faith Hill poster still adorns the wall next to one of a scantily clad swimsuit model. A mess of CDs litter the desktop, and a pair of well-worn running shoes sits on the floor in front of the closet. But it’s the GO ARMY t-shirt that draws my attention. Thrown over the desk chair, it’s positioned perfectly as if just waiting for the owner to come home and toss it on.
But its owner isn’t coming home.
Taking a few tentative steps into the room, I grab that worn, green t-shirt. Gripping it tightly in my hands, I bring the soft material up to my face, inhaling the fresh scent of fabric softener. Wet spots litter the material of the shirt my brother used to wear. I can’t stop the sob that erupts from my chest, the shirt firmly locked in my clutches, as I take a single step towards the bed my brother used to sleep in.
I climb on the bed without even removing my shoes. Tucking myself into a tight ball, I cradle the shirt against my face and breathe in the sweet smell of Marcus. The material holds only the faintest scent of his cologne. Still, after many months of his absence, I can feel him, smell his presence in this room.
He can’t be gone.
I snuggle against the shirt as exhaustion finally starts to pull me under. Even though I’m in desperate need of a shower, I close my eyes and let the sweet memories of my brother lull me to sleep.
* * *
The sound of distant voices wakes me from a fitful sleep. My head feels heavy and my body lethargic as I try to get my bearings. It only takes me a moment to remember falling into a crying heap atop Marcus’ bed. As the start of a headache sets in, I can instantly tell this nap did me not one ounce of good. If anything, I feel worse. Still clutching Marcus’ t-shirt, I slip into the bathroom for something for the pounding in my head before going downstairs to face whatever lies ahead.
After two hours of chatting with visitors in my parents’ living room, it was ti
me to get away. Everyone has been very cordial–almost too much so–with their twenty questions about New York and my life outside of Pleasureville, but if I have to look at another pair of eyes filled with pity, over a homemade cheesecake, I was gonna snap.
I find my mom staring off into space in the kitchen, the water from the tap running over the glass she’s filling. “Mom?” I ask, startling her out of whatever memory she is lost in.
“Oh,” she says, pulling the glass out from under the running water and turning off the faucet. She pours a bit from the glass and greedily drinks the water. My mom has always preferred tap water over the cold bottled water you’ll find in the fridge right now. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.” Her smile is small, but warm.
“I’m going to head out back for a while. I need to get out of here,” I tell her honestly.
Mom’s eyes crinkle a bit with laughter. “I wish I could go with you,” she whispers with a wink. “If I have to eat another cinnamon roll, I might slip into a sugar coma.” We’ve had an endless stream of friends stop by, delivering casseroles and desserts along with their condolences.
As I head towards the back door, Mom adds, “Take the flashlight by the door. It’s getting late.” I grab the well-used flashlight and head out into the night.
Even with the mid-May humidity, the evening air is still cool and goose bumps pepper my exposed limbs. A sweatshirt probably would have been the wiser choice, considering I’m still wearing the jean shorts and wrinkled blue tank top I arrived to town in. However, I’m not risking getting sucked back into the vortex of drugstore perfume and mothballs from the gaggle of Thursday night church group ladies inside the living room just to grab a hoodie. I will power through.
I refrain from turning on the light, opting to find my way along the familiar path, guided only by the moon. What was once a worn trail leading to the small pond behind our property is now overgrown with tall grass and weeds. My legs itch instantly from the contact, but I keep going through the foliage until I see the reflection of the moon off the small pond.