by Emily Snow
Dropping like a brick, I sit on the soft grass along the water’s edge. This spot was always my favorite place in the whole world. Here, along this very pond, wrapped in someone’s warm embrace, I discovered plenty in my youth. I found an escape from my parents and the stresses of life as a teenager. I found my first love. I even made it for the first time right here. Of course, there were dozens of times that followed that first time, in this very spot, wrapped in a soft fleece blanket and showered by starlight.
I sigh deeply, losing myself in the solitude of the night. Crickets chirp and frogs croak in the stillness. No car horns. No traffic zipping by. No busy sidewalks with shoulder-to-shoulder people. And certainly not a skyscraper as far as the eye can see–and then some. Just peace and quiet and an opportunity to get lost in your thoughts.
A twig snaps off to my left and startles me. If this were New York, I would have had my pepper spray out and on the cusp of a scream at the first sign of danger, but here in the boonies, I know I don’t have to react with the same level of alarm.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The voice is gravelly and low, yet so soothing at the same time. In fact, if I were being honest here, that damn voice stirs something to life deep down inside me that I haven’t felt in a long time.
“It’s okay. I just thought I was alone.” My heart rate kicks up a few hundred beats per minute. I’m sure Aiden can hear it from several feet away.
“What are you doing out here?” In the moonlight, I see him walk through the tall grass about ten feet away and make his way over to me.
“I just needed to get away for a bit, and this was always one of my favorite places.” This pond technically belongs to Aiden’s family. It’s positioned about two hundred yards back where his family property meets ours. “You?” I ask as he drops down to the ground next to me.
Even in the darkness, I can see him shrug his shoulders. “I like to come here. That’s all.” His eyes evade mine as he gazes out at the still water.
We’re both quiet for several minutes. A shiver rakes over my body as the cool air kisses my skin. “You should have a jacket,” he says.
Before I can say anything, Aiden is removing his red flannel shirt and drapes it across my shoulders. The soft material warms me, enveloping me in his scent. It’s potent and intoxicating. It’s heaven.
“Thank you.” The words are quiet and come out choked, and I’m rewarded with a nod.
Having Aiden this close to me again after all these years is messing with my head. The first thing I want to do is lean over and rest my head against his shoulder, just like I used to do when we’d sit along the water’s edge. I long to feel his arm wrap around me, pulling me closer, moments before he’d tilt my chin upward and devour my lips with his. He stole my breath every time, and so much more, in the quiet of night beside the pond.
As a teenager, late at night, after my parents were off to bed and the house was still, I used to slip quietly down the stairs and out the back door. Aiden was always waiting when I made my escape to the pond out back, often with a worn red flannel blanket. The two-year age difference never mattered. It was always Aiden. He was the only thing that mattered. Together, under the moonlight, we would lie entwined and share everything from our dreams to our bodies. I don’t know if my parents–or Aiden’s–knew about our trysts, but no one ever said anything. In fact, Aiden was as much a part of my family as my brother Marcus, and I was a part of his as well.
“I know this is long overdue, but I’m sorry about your dad.” I let the sadness of Jack’s passing consume me once more. Staying away from Pleasureville, not running straight home to be with Aiden, had been the hardest thing. I longed to be with him, absorb his pain as if it were my own. And it was my own. I mourned him from afar that fall five years ago. Even though we hadn’t been together for three years at that time, I ached for Aiden and wanted nothing more than to help him cope with his father’s death.
“Thank you,” he says. “It was a hard time for my mom.”
“Marcus had told me that she found him?”
“Yeah, he went out to the north track to work with one of the new fillies they had just purchased. When he didn’t come back inside for dinner, Mom went out to check on him and found him. The doc thinks the massive heart attack killed him before he hit the ground.”
Without giving it a single thought, I reach over and grab Aiden’s hand. His skin is warm and calloused as I link my fingers within his, offering as much comfort as I can, letting them rest on the grass between us. “I’m sure it was hard on you, too.”
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t home when it happened. I should have been, but I wasn’t.”
“Aiden, you couldn’t have done anything even if you were home.”
“I know that now. I blamed myself for a long time, though.” His golden eyes focus on something off in the distance.
“He was a great man. I really loved him,” I tell him honestly, swallowing over the painfully large lump stuck in my throat. I fight the tears that burn my eyes, concentrating hard on a large rock not too far off in the distance. The emotions of sadness and grief aren’t foreign to me. I’ve been consumed by them for the last two days.
“He really loved you, too. We all did,” Aiden says. Did. That one word strikes me so deeply that I know I’ll feel it forever. So final.
I feel that intense gaze lock on my face. Turning my head, I’m suddenly breathless, caused by the look of longing in his eyes. He looks as if he wants to devour me with his lips and remind me of how talented he was with those strong hands. And I’m suddenly completely on board with that entire concept.
No. You. Aren’t!
Clearing my throat and desperately grasping for a redirect, I ask, “So, is there someone special waiting at home for you?”
Wait, what?
What in the hell would possess me to ask such as loaded question? Deep down I want to know, yet I’m terrified at the same time to hear the truth. Terrified that he has finally moved on. Terrified that it’ll be over once and for all. And that just makes me a selfish witch because it has been eight years since I left. Since I left him!
Maybe this is what I need. Confirmation that Aiden has finally moved on with his life. Maybe that’ll help me to finally close this epically long chapter in my life and start something new. Sure, I’ve tried dating over the years, but no one stuck. No one made my heart skip a beat or my toes curl from a delicious kiss the way Aiden always did.
“Naw, no one special,” Aiden says with a chuckle.
“Marcus said you were seeing Mary Ellen not that long ago,” I say, confessing that I had asked my brother about his best friend. On more than one occasion.
“Yeah, well, she’s a nice girl and all, but there just isn’t that spark. No heat.” His words are punctuated with desire, heat flaring to life deep in those golden hazel eyes. I suddenly become very aware of how near Aiden is. The air is sticky in my throat and my blood starts to pump recklessly through my body. I’m caught between reality and a memory as longing starts to take over. I look down at our linked hands, watching as he tenderly strokes his thumb over my flushed skin, completely enamored with his gentle touch.
“I remember her. She was a year older than me in school, and always seemed like a sweet girl. Class president, worked with rescued animals, volunteered for everything. Nice,” I whisper hoarsely.
“Yeah, well maybe I desire someone with a bit more of an edge. Someone who challenges me and likes to fly by the seat of her pants. Someone who is fearless and a bit wild. Someone who will jump naked into the pond in December after losing a bet or who talks smack for days because she is sure she can learn to drive a stick using my old man’s ’77 Chevy.”
My eyes cloud with unshed tears. I know exactly who he’s talking about. He’s describing me. He has always described me with the same adjectives. Fiery. Passionate. Reckless. Ten years ago, it was those traits that caused us to crash into each other’s arms. It was also the t
hing that drove us apart two years later.
Memory lane is a bitch sometimes, and right now is no exception. Being here–in Pleasureville–and damn near wrapped in Aiden’s arms makes me want and question everything. Every damn decision I’ve made over the past eight years. And right now, it’s just too much.
Wiping a stray tear that leaks from the corner of my eye, I turn to Aiden. “I should get back up there.” Standing, I look down at the boy I used to love. “Thank you for keeping me company.”
Aiden doesn’t say anything, just gives me a nod.
Turning and heading up the path, I only make it about ten feet before I look back. His head is down, his shoulders sagging. It’s as if the weight of losing his best friend is catching up with him. Hell, I’m sure having me back for the first time in nearly a decade isn’t helping either. Before I can chicken out, I ask, “Are you going to be here tomorrow night?”
Aiden turns and looks over his shoulder. Moonlight reflects off those beautiful eyes. “Do you want me to be here tomorrow night?”
“Yes,” I whisper honestly.
“Then I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
And with that, I turn and head up the path, back towards my house. I don’t look back, but I don’t have to. I can feel his eyes on me the entire way.
When I reach the back door, I realize Aiden’s flannel is still draped over my shoulders. It’s funny that I didn’t notice the extra accessory before now, but wearing something of Aiden’s, after returning from the pond, is like second nature. I frequently came home in his sweatshirt or flannel. Usually, I stole it. No, it wasn’t anything too devious. Aiden was well aware that he went home with less clothes than he arrived in. I used to sleep in his shirts. They always carried the scent of his deodorant and fresh air, and it was the only way to sleep with him through the night without physically having him beside me.
Oh well. All the more reason to make sure I revisit the pond tomorrow night to return the shirt and to express my gratitude.
But tonight?
Tonight I’ll wrap myself in comfort. Tonight I might actually get real sleep. The first real sleep I’ve had since Marcus died.
Tonight I sleep with the scent of Aiden wrapped around me.
Chapter Four
Aiden
Fours days. Colbi has been home for four days, and I’m just not sure I will survive the remaining eight.
Yesterday was Marcus’s funeral. It fucking sucked. The possibility of someday burying my oldest friend wasn’t even a blip on my radar throughout his military career. Sure, deep down, way in the back of my mind, I knew it was possible. Hell, even he knew it was possible. One doesn’t enlist in the Army without having it cross your mind a time or two, but ten years in and with an end date on the horizon from his third deployment overseas, neither of us really thought it would happen.
But it did.
I stood up with his parents, his sister’s hand firmly latched onto mine as if it were the very air she needed to breathe, while the entire town paid their respects. It was all a blur; three hours of condolences and shared stories. Everyone knew him and everyone loved him. A local hero taken way too soon by a roadside bomb.
During the eulogy that I was asked to give, I fought to keep from completely losing my shit. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done; far more difficult than enduring my own father’s funeral five years ago. I recounted a few stories from our wilder teen years and even finally shared the details on what happened the night the tractor ended up in the pond. Karen grinned and Scott’s eyes crinkled with laughter as I finally confirmed what they’d already known: two crazy teenagers took the ol’ tractor for a spin and drove it straight into the pond.
A Twenty-One Gun Salute rang through the sky, followed by the playing of Taps. The symbol of our freedom–the very thing my best friend died protecting–was folded and presented to Karen and Scott. It was my first taste of a military funeral and there was nothing like it. Somber and respectful, tearful yet a celebration of a wonderful man, it was just the way it should be. Standing alongside my best friend’s final resting place, with my arms wrapped firmly around his little sister, I silently repeated the vow I made to him almost a decade ago: to always love and protect Colbi. I was finally able to let go of the tears I had been holding back since I got the call. I finally allowed myself to grieve his loss, and damn, will I feel this one deep in my gut–in my heart–for a long time. There will never be another Marcus Leigh. Not even close. Not by a long shot.
Colbi and I have met up at the pond every night. We share stories of Marcus, of her life in New York, and of mine here at home. I’ve been able to catch glimpses of what her life is like without me in it. Yet, we’ve been tiptoeing around the hard details. I don’t know if she has a boyfriend. I don’t know if she’s as happy there as I’ve always wanted her to be. I don’t know if she’s ever regretted her decision or wondered what could have been. I stay as far away from those topics as humanly possible as if they were live grenades with the pins pulled.
I can feel her presence before I hear her. It’s a calm Saturday night, with stars shining brightly as far as the eye can see, when Colbi makes her way down the worn path. I’m sitting on an old flannel blanket that I borrowed from my mom. The same one I used to carry with me back in school when I would sneak down here to steal a few kisses from her lush lips; and when I was extra good, I was rewarded with a bit more.
She drops down on the blanket. Without even thinking, I remove my zip-up jacket and drape it over her slender shoulders. Colbi slips her arms through the sleeves, covering her fitted blue t-shirt with my clothes. Tonight she has paired it with barely-there cut-off shorts that do amazing things for her mile-long legs. Those shorts also do wonders for the tightness in my own pants, which are suddenly three fuckin’ sizes too small.
“Better day?” The question is as natural as breathing.
“Better day,” she confirms. “It seems like the first day leading towards a new norm for Mom and Dad, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Oh, speaking of parents, my mom wants to know if you’d come over for dinner tomorrow night. She wanted to talk to you more yesterday, but it wasn’t the right time or place,” I say, referring to my mom’s maternal hovering over Colbi during the visitation.
“That sounds nice,” she says softly. After a few pregnant pauses, she asks, “Will you be there?”
“She’s making manicotti. Of course I’ll be there.”
“Manicotti? That’s my favorite!” she exclaims. “I haven’t had it since I left,” she says with that bright smile and warm blue eyes that make my dick twitch. Then, as suddenly as the smile appeared, it’s washed away and replaced with a look of uneasiness.
It’s not a topic we’ve talked about yet, but it’s one that needs broaching. There’s so much that has been left unsaid, but maybe actually voicing some of those thoughts might aid in the moving on process. Fuck knows nothing else has helped at this point. No amount of alcohol, women warming my bed, or time has done the job.
But tonight isn’t going to be that night.
“So, um, when we’re done with dinner, do you think you can show me around the farm? Your mom mentioned yesterday that you’ve made a lot of positive improvements in the last few years. She’s so proud of you for picking up where your father left off and continuing the horse farm.”
“It’s the only place I have ever pictured myself,” I tell her without giving it any thought. Then my words seem to permeate the lust-filled fog that only Colbi seems to induce. That picture for my life was the main cause for worry where our relationship was concerned. She saw herself somewhere else and I saw myself here.
“You fit here.”
Awkward silence ensues once again before I take pity on her. “Anyway, yes, you can have a tour of the farm. I’ll even show you my favorite part.”
“What’s that?” she asks, those crystal blue eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“A little place I built out behind the p
asture over there. Those trees?” I ask, pointing to the timber behind our furthermost pasture and smaller horse barn. Her head nod encourages me to continue. “It’s back in there about a hundred yards. You can’t see it from the barns. The timber is thick and shaded until you get to the clearing I made.”
“You built a house? That’s amazing.” Her sweet, honey-dripped voice holds so much wonder and awe that it practically stops my heart from beating. Longing races through my body, and is quickly followed by a hot case of desire.
And just like that, I want Colbi in my house. I want her in my bed. I want her embedded into every ounce of my life so fucking fiercely that it practically steals my breath along with my sanity.
“It took me a long time since I did most of it myself, but I’m happy with it. If you want to see it, we can go after dinner.” I give her a casual shrug, but my insides are anything but. I’m coiled and wound tight with anxiety and nerves at the prospect of having her in my space. The one person I thought would never set foot within my domain is asking for a tour. I shouldn’t care what she thinks, but suddenly her opinion matters more than anything.
Ain’t that the kicker? The one thing I did for myself after she left and I suddenly crave her approval.
“Thank you. I can’t wait to see it.” Her eyes reflect something I’m not prepared to dissect yet.
“Lie back,” I tell her, stretching the blanket out behind her.
Colbi looks over at me with hesitation and a bit of curiosity in her eyes. It’s as if she suddenly isn’t sure she can trust herself in my presence. Well, welcome to the fucking club, sweetheart. I’m not sure if I trust myself right now, either. “Trust me,” I find myself saying, despite the lack of it I feel.
When she lies back completely, I do the same. “Let’s see if you remember how to do this, Rainbow. What’s that?” I ask, point up to a cluster of stars in the sky.