A Stone in the Sea

by A. L. Jackson

  I headed downstairs, unable to keep from taking it in, because studying the decor of Shea’s house had been the last thing on my mind when I followed her inside last night. I stepped down into the vacant living room, which had the same dark hardwood floors. It was situated with antique and modern furniture, a blended mesh of old and new that just seemed to work in this house that I guessed had to be at least a hundred fifty years old.

  It was gorgeous, too, the intricate crown molding painted a bright white, soft hues of colors on the walls, and the dark brown furniture the perfect contrast. I was no real estate guru, but I was betting the place had to be worth a small fortune.

  I mean, I was used to nice shit, but it was always a shallow luxury, cookie-cutter sharp lines in crisp whites, blacks, and grays that drew you into the illusion you had everything you could ever want, when none of it could ever amount to a home.

  Home.

  No doubt, that’s what this was.

  And God, it made me happy that Shea had it, the words she’d spoken about her grandmother who she obviously adored running through my mind. There was no mistaking the way Shea felt about her. I wondered if her grandmother had left this house to Shea before or after Kallie, if she’d been around long enough to witness Shea becoming a mom.

  The front door stood like a coward’s beacon in front of me.

  To my left, noises filtered down a short hall.

  I looked between them.

  Part of me wanted to bolt. Because shit, what the hell else was I supposed to do? But after last night? Couldn’t just walk out on Shea without saying goodbye. Sure, I could rack it up to me needing to know if her head was okay, if she was physically hurting after that piece of shit messed with her last night.

  But I knew—knew it was more.

  I didn’t make a sound as I cautiously moved across the super dark hardwood floors, the increasing sounds echoing down the hall serving as a guide toward my destination.

  I passed by a black baby grand set up behind the sitting area before I slipped into the short hall. Outside a swinging door, I paused, listening to the sounds coming through.

  Voices.

  Not just any voice.

  Shea’s voice.

  And she was singing, singing soft and low and throaty. It made me smile. I was right. This girl was country. Through and through. The way she was singing with all that southern soul was proof of that. Her voice pitch perfect. Like she’d been trained to sing that way. She was singing one of those old country songs that everyone knew, even me, about a girl being in love with a boy.

  I couldn’t resist pushing the door open enough so I could see into the kitchen, the smell of bacon sizzling on the stove enough to overtake every last one of my senses.

  All except for the one that couldn’t stop listening to Shea sing.

  Well, and the one that got caught up in the way she looked standing at the counter in that robe, hair all around her, face so carefree as she sang away while she whipped up pancake batter in a big, yellow ceramic bowl.

  And her little girl was singing, too. That tiny voice that knew all the words and had no problem keeping time.

  The child was propped up on her knees on a chair where she sat at the small table set up in the breakfast nook, separated from the long row of granite countertop and cabinets where Shea stood by a huge island in the middle.

  Shea peered over her shoulder at her daughter, pure adoration on her face.

  Light.

  Light.

  Light.

  None of the pangs of dark she let me slip into last night.

  Everything here was uncontaminated. Pure. Absolute.

  Swiveling her head back to the job at hand, her eye tripped over me and that incredible voice snagged in her throat. The spoon fumbled from her hold and clattered against the bowl.

  I felt like an intruder raiding on the tender moment.

  Recovering from the surprise, she resituated the bowl in the crook of one elbow, picking back up the spoon with her opposite hand and mixing again, eyeing me with just as many questions as the ones that had been eating at my brain since the second I’d woken up this morning.

  Shea’d shared something with me last night I knew she’d shared with few other people. And I was willing to put down bets those people hadn’t touched her the way I’d touched her. That the way she’d looked at them hadn’t come close to the way she’d looked at me. Like she could see straight through all the bullshit walls I erected around myself, right down to what mattered.

  Like somehow what she saw mattered to her.

  I understood exactly what she meant when she’d told me last night she couldn’t make sense of the way I made her feel, because I sure as hell couldn’t make sense of the way she made me feel, either.

  Physically?

  God, the woman had undone me. Time and time again. Hands down the hottest thing I’d ever been given the gift to touch. Perfectly soft in every place she should be, defined muscle everywhere else, a face that made me weak in the knees.

  Perfection.

  But it was that sweet willing heart that had managed to unravel something fierce inside of me, had me opening up and telling her things I hadn’t ever told anyone—even if I’d kept the details as vague as I could. Still hadn’t told her who I was, and I guess I planned on keeping it that way.

  Red, or Tamar like I’d learned was her name last night, had warned me if I didn’t tell her, then she would.

  But I couldn’t make it form on my tongue. For just one perfect night, I wanted someone to look at me the way Shea had. Knowing I had absolutely nothing to give her and still she wanted it all the same. Me.

  Knowing we were nothing and everything, captives to that connection she had blistering through me every time we were in the same room.

  And it was there.

  Still just as strong this morning as she caught me standing there like a voyeur with the door pushed open a mere inch.

  A welcoming smile edged one corner of her mouth and she tipped her head to the side.

  Inviting me inside.

  Inhaling deeply, I wedged myself through the door, thinking if I didn’t open it too wide maybe it wouldn’t draw so much attention. Then I could get in, tell Shea goodbye, and get out.

  No harm, no foul.

  My gaze got glued to my feet when Kallie’s head poked up in interest, grinning at me with too much sweet and innocence and childhood intrigue.

  Curious.

  Curious.

  Curious.

  Look where that had gotten us.

  I edged around the other side of Shea, feeling protected by the butcher-block island that took up a good share of the layout of the country kitchen.

  A smirk threatened.

  Country. Through and through.

  But now was not the time to go noticing how fucking adorable Shea was, her pint-sized twin pulling up a close second.

  “Hey,” I attempted, shifting on my feet as I dragged a shaky hand through the mess on top of my head.

  She chewed at that plump pink bottom lip, and a blush crept up her neck.

  God, it was way too obvious where her thoughts went traveling, and damn it all if my mind didn’t want to go along for the ride.

  “Good morning,” she murmured low.

  I jerked my head up when the swinging door flew open and someone came barreling in. “Hey, Shea, have you seen my—”

  The woman’s words clipped off and she stopped like she’d slammed into a brick wall. This plain girl with a brown ponytail, and even browner eyes. “What the fu…” Her mouth formed the words without her tongue vocalizing them, and Shea visibly cringed.

  The barely contained distress that had taken up residence in my stomach ratcheted up by a thousand notches.

  The girl who’d come rushing in looked weakly toward Shea before she turned to Kallie who’d started pounding on the table top. “Hungry…hungry…hungry,” she chanted. “Momma’s makin’ pancakes.”

  Irritation buzzed thr
ough me. This had to be the most awkward moment of my entire life.

  “Who are…?” The girl shook her head, looking to Shea for an answer.

  I shifted some more.

  Shea peeked at me, then turned to the girl who was her…sister?…and said, “This is Baz.”

  No. There was no resemblance. This had to be a roommate, or more likely a friend with the way she was looking at me in outright horror. A friend I was most definitely not expecting and a friend who I most definitely wasn’t prepared for. Not the worry that struck up in her eyes or the little pinpoint daggers that suddenly took them over, like she’d just summed me up and decided I was someone to hate.

  She wouldn’t be wrong, but it sure as hell didn’t make the situation any easier.

  Shea ignored her friend gaping at me from the door and cleared her throat.

  “Do you want coffee?” she asked me with just as much discomfort as I was drowning in. She gestured with her chin toward the coffee maker that was dribbling the last drops of a full pot into a metal carafe. “I’m making breakfast.” She began to ramble, it sounding a whole lot like a plea. “Are you hungry? I don’t know what you like…I can throw on some eggs if you’d prefer something different.”

  I raked a hand through my hair. “I…uh…” Over my shoulder, I looked to the door that I guessed had to lead out to the side of Shea’s massive house, to the cute little girl with too wide eyes that spilled over with innocence and joy, back to Shea who was watching me in a way I wished she wouldn’t.

  With a hope there was no use hoping for.

  “I think I’m just gonna…go.”

  Shea’s face crumpled and her jaw locked, as if she was physically trying to master whatever was gripping her inside, this sweet girl struggling to hold back tears that collected fast in her eyes.

  Tears I put there.

  Shit.

  “Shea,” I murmured. My hand darted toward her then halted in the air. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could handle touching her. I dropped my voice so only she could hear. “That’s not what I meant.”

  But we both knew that’s exactly what I meant. I had every intention of escaping out her door.

  And walking away was going to fucking hurt because standing here, we both knew we wouldn’t be seeing each other again. I was going back to Anthony’s, packing up our shit, and getting the hell out of Savannah. Anthony thought I’d be safe here, but I was in deeper than I’d ever been before.

  Trouble.

  Told Anthony that shit followed me wherever I went. More like I was a magnet for it, lured right to a girl who I knew without a doubt could turn my life upside down.

  She pulled her face out of my reach and her eyes slipped closed, blocking out the sight of me. Her voice was strained and deathly quiet, but I felt the impact of every word. “The last thing I need are lies from you. Please…just go. Don’t make me cry in front of my daughter.”

  Swallowing around the rock scraping up my throat, I nodded. I took a furtive glance at her friend and her daughter, knowing I was nothing but a bastard.

  I backed up slowly, then slipped out the door.

  Rays of light slanted through the lush leaves on the full trees that surrounded her lot, birds rustled as they chirped and danced through the branches, and the lawn glistened with dew. My boots dented into the earth as I stormed around to the front of the house.

  “Shit…shit…shit,” I cursed below my breath, gripping two handfuls of hair. I had the intense urge to yank it out because all that discomfort had shifted to anxiety. The thought of never seeing Shea again was completely rejected by every cell in my body.

  My car sat on the street where I’d left it. I strode toward it with all the purpose I had left, with every amount of sense I’d shored up and locked away in my twenty-six years.

  With all the things I’d learned to survive.

  Control.

  Control.

  Control.

  I rounded the front of my car and with each step felt slivers of that control being stripped away.

  I pulled my keys from my pocket and clicked the lock. I looked to the sky for some kind of strength. My entire being stalled in front of the car door, my jumbled mind twisted up and focused on the girl.

  Or maybe it was my heart.

  Just for a while, make me forget.

  “Fuck it.”

  All rational thought escaped me, and I turned and jogged back around the side of her house. I bounded up the three steps. Without a knock, I flung the door open.

  Shea gasped out a surprised sound and jumped back from the counter. With her hand pressed to her chest, she stood facing my direction, caramel eyes dulled with sadness.

  Hated that I’d put it there.

  I didn’t hesitate, just strode toward her and buried my hands in her hair and kissed her in a way I was sure was not appropriate for witnesses over breakfast.

  She yielded to it. A soft sigh parted her mouth and she opened to me, and I felt myself slipping a little deeper. I pulled back a fraction, our mouths a breath away. Squeezing the sides of her face, I dropped my forehead to hers. “Yes, I want coffee,” I whispered. “God yes, I want coffee.”

  God yes, I want you.

  A peal of giggles sounded to my left. Foreheads still pressed together, Shea and I looked over at the source to the tiny blonde-haired girl with a wild mane of tightly wound curls. Little hands were pressed to her mouth as she tried to mask her reaction as if she knew she was witnessing something private, but the way she had her chin popped up, she was doing nothing to cover the full-mouthed smile that showcased a row of bright white baby teeth.

  Fucking cute.

  “You kissed Momma.” She said it like it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen, her tiny shoulders lifted to her ears as if she were being tickled.

  Shea pulled away. Embarrassment had her gnawing at that bottom lip, and she glanced up at me from beneath the thick veil of her lashes, before she cast an adoring smile at her daughter who beamed right back.

  “He did, didn’t he?”

  Kallie just giggled more.

  Composing herself, Shea took a step back and ran her fingertips down my arm like she was issuing me some kind of thanks. She threaded her fingers through mine.

  It felt natural, too, this girl touching me in such a simple way.

  Didn’t mean things weren’t just as awkward as earlier when Shea looked over her shoulder, our hands still twined, to her friend standing there. The girl leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, outright disgust smeared across her face.

  “April,” Shea hedged quietly, “this is Sebastian. Baz.” She almost corrected the last with a reverence I didn’t come close to deserving. Shea tipped her head to the side like she was trying to convey something, and it became apparent this wasn’t the first time April had heard my name.

  April gave her a succinct nod, like she already knew exactly who I was. Yet she didn’t have the first clue who I really was, either. “Right. Baz.” Her voice was clipped and hard, before she braided it with a dense thread of sarcasm. “So nice of you to drop by so early in the morning.”

  With a sound clearly shouting Please don’t embarrass me, Shea cleared her throat. Warily, she looked back at me. “Baz, this is my best friend and roommate, April. April and I have been friends since we were seven. She’s…” Her voice lost its edge of apprehension, filled right up with fondness, though she said it like a joke. “She helps take care of Kallie and she thinks she needs to take care of me.”

  April huffed out a sigh. “Someone has to take care of you.” She turned back to me with all kinds of feigned pleasantries, each word oozing a warning. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian. I hope you stick around longer than to just enjoy the coffee.”

  Shea cringed and I bit back a laugh that came at my own expense, because April’s warm reception sure as hell didn’t do anything to make me feel welcome. But you had to respect someone who didn’t hesitate to say exactly what was on their mind.

&nb
sp; No doubt, Shea had the same questions running through her own mind. Five minutes ago, I was hightailing it out her door and the next I was running right back through it.

  Surely I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Oh crap!” Shea shouted. The smell of burned pancakes suddenly hit the air, and Shea raced for the burner, yanking the skillet from the flame. “Crap,” she said again, then laughed, slanting me an eye. “Guess I was distracted.”

  Right.

  “Ewwww! I don’t like burnt pancakes, Momma. They’re icky!” This from that same little voice that under April’s scrutiny I’d almost forgotten was there.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Shea tossed over her shoulder while she scraped the burnt batter from the pan and into the garbage. “It’s only two. Our big ol’ bowl is still full of mix. I’ll make new. Why don’t you set the table? We have a guest this morning, so set it for four. You think you can do that, my big girl?”

  “Yep!” Kallie replied, probably a little too enthusiastically for someone who’d just been asked to do a chore.

  Shea gestured with her chin toward the table. “Have a seat and I’ll get you some coffee.”

  Awkwardly, I stood there having no idea what to do. Run like I should have in the first place? Intervene on the mess Shea seemed to be making in the kitchen? Or maybe make myself right at home, hunt down a mug, and pour myself some coffee? Shea obviously had her hands full, but April jumped in on the breakfast, so I finally gave up and accepted her direction, heading toward the table.

  Caramel eyes went wide as that same curiosity was renewed. My chest got all tight, the little girl setting me on edge.

  This had to rank up there with some of the worst ideas I’d ever had, and I’d done some really stupid shit in my life. I knew it was wrong—being here when I knew I couldn’t stay—feeding that false hope Shea was watching me with, but I didn’t know how to make myself walk away.

  I wanted to float in it, just for a little while, in Shea’s good and light. Worse yet, I wanted to delve into just a little more of her dark. Wanted her to show me just how deep it went, somehow knowing it would drown me when she did.

  I touched the back of the chair to Kallie’s right. “Do you mind if I sit here?”