Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8)

by Allison White

  “We have to go to Henry Armstrong to chat him up a bit, have a few drinks; he’s gonna show us around, but we’ll be back to our rooms at around five, sixish.”

  “Okay?” I say unsurely. Why’s he telling me this like I care? I hope he doesn’t expect me to wait by the door, just bouncing for the work we’ll do tomorrow morning. Our flight was longer than the one to hell—I’m just ball-parking for when it’s my time—and I am not about to do anything that doesn’t involve a bed and headphones.

  He chuckles. “There’s a party down by the beach, and I was wondering if you’d like to come along. We’ll probably stop there after getting something to eat.”

  “Can we order room service?” I avoid his question. I’m fucking starved. I’m gonna die if I don’t eat something, like, right now. And I am not being dramatic, just stating the truth.

  “Yeah, why? Not up for some normal human interaction?” he teases and nudges me as we enter the elevator and it shoots up.

  “Fuck human interaction when I can sleep the day away.” I breathe out heavily and lean against the glass wall for emphasis. “You’ll be glad to join when you realize partying with people older than fossils is boring as fuuuuck.” I smile to fill the silence as he bursts into laughter and says something back, but my body feels rigid and loose at the same time.

  My breathing wavers and my brain spikes, knowing exactly the reason my heart is screaming in my chest. I glance over at Noah and find him staring at me with some sort of unreadable expression. If I’m to guess and pick one, it’s…anger. But what the fuck? What would he have to be angry about? We’re the only ones in here, and I just said something rude.

  Now that we’re not a thing, does he not find my natural rudeness amusing? He used to secretly admire me cursing out a dumb fuck being a dumb duck or rolling my eyes or whatever. And now he’s pissed off because we don’t “hold hands” anymore? He is such a child.

  Our rooms are a few doors away from each other, mine in the middle of our trio. I try to catch Noah and tell what he’s thinking by his eyes—a talent I’m proud I wield most of the time since he’s like a walking, breathing, pissed-off brick wall—but he keeps them focused on the floor and silently follows behind his colleague.

  Anyway, the room is massive. Definitely better than my shoebox of an apartment in every single sense of the word. I walk around the living room and sitting area before dropping my bag and heading out onto the balcony. The view is breathtaking. The water is as blue as people love to emphasize, which annoys me to no end, like, shut the fuck up, Nancy, the ocean is supposed to be blue. But I get it now, Nancy. You can speak but please talk low; I have a slight headache.

  I close my eyes and smile softly, letting myself go for just a few moments. I lean on the wooden railing and tilt my head back, allowing the soft, warm breeze run across my skin, and then I let out a relaxed breath. I wish I could stay here forever with him.

  My eyes fly open when my heart stammers at my stupidly fantastical mind. There is no him in my present or future. He belongs on the other side of a white line; if he so much as touches a toe over the line, he is in for a rude awakening. Once you get involved in my life or are even in my presence, there is no telling how badly or when I will hurt you. It could be ten minutes from now or a year. I will hurt you, no matter how much you mean to me.

  Upset with my thoughts ruining the mood, as usual, I walk back into the room. I pull the glass doors shut and fall onto my bed. I should have taken off my shoes or unpacked something, but who fucking cares what you should do? Go after what you want, pussy.

  ***

  A string of brisk knocking has me on my ass the second I hear it. My heart is pounding, palms slick around the lamp I yanked from the wall as protection. I don’t know who the hell would be knocking on my door at…I squint at the modern clock on the wall and groan, even more pissed and ready to bash this fucker’s face in. It’s four in the fucking morning, and work starts in five more hours and—wait—fuck! I yawn loudly, mid-stride.

  I shake my head and blink groggily as it passes. Yeah, right…what the hell was I thinking again?

  A deafening knock followed by a murmur that kind of sounds like a whimper, and I say, “Fuck it,” and stride the rest of the way to the door. I don’t bother looking through the peephole, just swing the door open, lamp raised and ready to attack whatever murderer this island has. But I stop mid-swing and my breathing fails when I realize it’s no murderer, but…

  “Noah?”

  He smiles, eyes heavy and laugh slow. “Hiiiiii, Red.”

  Great. And he’s balls-drunk.

  Chapter Twelve

  Noah

  She doesn’t see me, but I stare at her standing on the balcony of her suite. Her eyes are fluttered shut, a warm smile filling her face. Watching her be at peace and so full of color at full brightness nearly blinds me, her beauty too much to comprehend. It makes me smile. She makes me smile. But then her face falls and her eyes open. She’s frowning and looks as if something drew her back to the harsh reality.

  I wonder what it was that upset her…

  “Henry’s on his way now,” Ellis says, pulling my elbow lightly. I reluctantly look at him after she slinks back into her suite. He’s smiling knowingly, dark blue eyes watching me. I shift.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask him, kind of annoyed.

  But he just laughs and shakes his head. “Are you two a thing?” he asks, and I’m confused until he glances upward. I blush without looking.

  “Used to be,” I correct him gingerly. I look away from his inquisitive gaze; I don’t really feel like talking about this, how we aren’t a thing anymore. In all honesty, we were more than just a thing. We were so much more, so defined and natural, it felt—call me cheesy all you want, but—destined. And now…now I don’t know how to feel about her, me, us, and just everything.

  “Can I ask what happened?” he asks.

  We’re walking around the pool where kids are splashing and playing games. The sun is beating, making this suit I’m wearing a tad uncomfortable with each stride I take. I focus on the ocean whistling with each soft wave and the scolding of parents, to avoid Ellis’ curiosity. I’m not upset or anything, just pained…as I always am whenever Red is brought up, near me, glances at me, pops up in my head—just everything red. Always damn Red.

  With a hefty sigh, I shrug. “We fell apart,” is a lie, but it’s a lot less painful than going into descriptive detail. That and, who the hell can not pity the guy who had his heart stomped on by who he thought was his one true love? And who can not assume said guy is “soft” for calling her that, his true love? And how can I not believe that she was? Seriously, I’m asking.

  “I’m sorry, man.” He lays a hand on my shoulder, giving me an apologetic frown.

  “It’s okay.” Another lie.

  “I don’t understand, though?” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I look at his furrowed brows and do the same with mine.

  He looks at me incredulously. “How you act so—I don’t know—calm around her. In the office back home, here. I thought for sure something was going on with the way you always look at her—” Am I that obvious? “I didn’t know you guys weren’t together. And to work with her.” He lets out an amazed breath.

  “Yeah, it was a neutrally settled breakup. We’re good.” I can just hear my ticket for hell being punched, ready for when I die.

  “Wow. But why would you want to break up with her?” He glances over his shoulder and says in a low voice like she can hear us, “I mean, have you seen her?”

  “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth, not liking where this is going.

  He whistles and glances again, this time with admiration and something else. “Absolutely gorgeous. And incredibly feisty.”

  I. Want. To. Punch. Him. Hard.

  I smile. “I think I see Henry.” Then I roughly brush past him and walk over to the tropical-themed bar. I instantly feel bad because I shouldn’t feel
this possessive over Red. I give him an apologetic smile and dodge his confused expression as we reach the owner of this hotel.

  I’m not gonna lie, I’m one interesting fact away from dozing off. It’s been a few hours since we dropped our bags off in our rooms and met up with Henry for his little tour of his hotel. This is just to come off as polite and represent my father’s company well. If I ever admitted to Henry that this is a tad bit boring, he will lose his shit and drop our potential deal, and my dad will actually murder me.

  Each blonde in a tight bikini gives me bedroom eyes, but the only way I react is thinking about a certain blonde that blows these girls out of the water. What made her so gutted when she’d looked so peaceful hours before, on that balcony? Is she sleeping now? Lounging in the hotel pool with some guys?

  Why am I holding a broken glass? How the hell am I not bleeding? And can this waiter with the tray walk faster so I can dispose of the glass shards before either Henry, his colleagues, or Ellis see what I did?

  Now it’s nightfall, and we’re headed to a party on the beach. I can hear the party before I see the red Solo cups and people making out on blankets thrown over the white sand. There’s a DJ playing one of the top hits and people grinding against each other and laughing. This is going to be a bitch to clean tomorrow, I think to myself as I look around at the crushed beer cans. Why couldn’t these people just locate the obvious trash bags instead of littering?

  “Would you stop with the brooding look, please?” Ellis laughs and hands me a lilac cup of some alcoholic drink.

  “I am not brooding,” I say, more harshly than I’d like, which just proves his point because he lifts his brows with a told-you-so grin. “Fine, I may be brooding a little bit. But only because people are loitering like assholes.”

  “Loitering?” His laugh is loud and teasing. “What, are you secretly a maid under there?” he says, playfully tugging at my ivory suit jacket. We came straight to the party after Henry’s hours-long tour and chatting. I swear, that man can talk a dead garden back to life, then death again because he is so boring.

  “And if I were?” I joke.

  He laughs. “Drink up and have some fun, you weirdo.”

  I roll my eyes and timidly look around, thinking. Why am I thinking about her when it’s clear we’re through? It was clear four months ago, and I don’t want to stay this sad for the rest of my life. A part of me wants to cling to her forever, hoping she stole the money to give to charity or something, but the logical side of me is too compelling; he knows as well as I do deep down that there is no chance of us getting back together, no chance of her having a just enough reason. And I can’t just sit around wishing she hadn’t done what she did.

  You can’t repeat the past, and you can’t shape the future, either. All you can ever do in this life is live in the present and at least try to outline what’s to come by working hard in the time you’re currently living in.

  “I hope you can keep up. I’ve had some practice over the last four months,” I say with a wide smile before gulping down most of the strong but sweet alcoholic drink.

  “Wait up, asshole!” he cries, and I laugh and nearly choke, but I’m too focused on the calming buzz shooting up through my toes to care. He grabs a drink for himself and fills my empty cup back up. “To tonight!”

  “To tonight!” I shout, clinking our plastic cups together before gulping down my drink. The taste is bitter, but the sweet aftertaste saves it from being shitty. He gets another for me, and this one tastes even better, more enticing.

  I get another, then another, and another, and a shot—and, in two hours, I am drunk AF. People still say that, right? AF? If so, this girl dancing around me is cute AF! I think. I can’t really tell in the dim strobe lights set up on the sound. The party has grown over the past hour, doubling couples getting it on the sand and loitering. I put it all in the back of my head, in a room where the lames in my head belong for tonight. Nothing can ruin tonight. Nothing.

  I look to my side and spot Ellis dancing with a tall girl with dark hair. Their heads are ducked, and all I can see is her head and shoulders moving. His hands are on her wide waist. He pulls back and gives me a nod toward the hotel, and I nod knowingly. I watch them leave hand in hand before turning and dancing like a lunatic on crack with this girl who finds humor in the fact that I can’t dance to save my life.

  I feel better, rid of the numb feeling that sits on my chest every day. I feel like I can finally breathe, but not fully. It’s never a breath of relief, of clarity. I think that’s what I really need to get better. To get back to normal. And as I look down at the girl shaking her ass against me, and my softness, I realize I can’t do it here, with her. She won’t give me the clarity I need. She doesn’t have the remedy for my eternal drought. But a girl that shone brighter than the sun today does.

  I find myself in the elevator with no idea how I got here. All I know is that there’s an elderly couple staring at me like I’m a rabid dog. I give them a meek smile and stumble to my feet. I sway and lean back against the spotless glass. Well, as spotless as it can get with me leaning on it.

  The second it rings, I find myself teleported in front of Red’s door. Seriously. Am I the freaking…wait, is there a superhero that teleports? You always hear of Superman flying in his diaper but never a cool-ass teleporting superhero.

  Anyway.

  I knock on the door a few times. I sniffle and lean my head against the door. I hear shuffling but then silence. I knock again and moan, whispering to myself, “Am I the teleporting hero?”

  Mind. Blown.

  I almost fall when the door is swung open. I lean against the doorway and stare at Red. Her hair is a tangled blonde mess, and she’s dressed in the same clothes from earlier. She even has on her shoes. Why didn’t she change before going to sleep? And why is she holding a lamp? Should I have brought one…?

  I’m about to look at my hands that feel alarmingly empty without a lamp when she says confusedly, “Noah?” Her voice is so raspy and full, I want to kiss it. Her, I mean. Or no. Shouldn’t. Should. Not. Kiss. Her. Voice.

  I smile broadly and laugh. It sounds slow. Am I laughing long enough, loudly enough? “Hiiiii,” I say clearly, so why is she frowning?

  She looks past me, eyes wide awake now, then back at me. “What are you doing here? Where’s Ellis?” she asks, setting the lamp down on the table behind me. When she turns back to me, her eyes are wide.

  “Banging,” I say, then clarify, “not pots and pans or something silly. No, no.” I laugh at my own silliness and whisper, “He’s banging his body with a lovely girl he met at the beach.”

  “Okay,” she says slowly, unsurely.

  I smile and look behind her. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “I was sleeping till you woke me up,” she says, and I burst into tears. “What…why are you crying?”

  “Because I,” loud sniffle, “woke you up!” I’m crying…nay!—Funny word, ha!—bawling my eyes out. The tears sting, and I’m a second from begging for her forgiveness when her small hand touches my shoulder. I stop instantly and smile against her touch.

  “Don’t cry, please. It’s okay.” Her voice sounds sweet, and so is her barely there smile. She is so pretty, but I want a full-there smile.

  “I’m gonna hug you now,” I warn her before leaning down and wrapping my arms around her. I love the way she smells, like the ocean and stale cigarettes and strawberries. I don’t think there’s a sweeter smell than the one lingering between her silky hair and long neck.

  “Noah? Noah! You’re lifting me off the ground!” she squeals, sounding upset but also like she’s trying to hold back a laugh.

  “Sorry!” I let her go, and she stumbles back. I gasp and rush forward to make sure she’s fine, but she just laughs as I cup her cheeks and check between her golden hair strands for injuries.

  “Stop. No, I’m fine,” she says, and I breathe in relief and smile at her nickname for me. I don’t think she’s ever given me one. I like this
one. I like her hands cupping the back of my neck now, my body curled down and pressing her into the wall. I hear the door softly shut and her hair slinking back to press against my shoulder.

  She’s pushing, but I don’t budge.

  “No.” I grab her hand, interlock our fingers. Mine are long and skinny, hers smaller but tall. I stare at them before bringing her pale fingers to my lips. I kiss them gently, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “I miss you so much.” My voice hurts, and so does my heart.

  “Noah,” she whispers, and I hear the pain in her voice. She and I are the same, different, but beautifully misshapen. I want to kiss her, and my lips hover over hers. I taste her cold lip ring and smile, floating in the memories of my mouth playing with it, discreetly watching her play with it in class.

  “You are so beautiful, Red.” My voice is soft, and my eyes drop shut. I rub my lips against hers, but they’re not kissing. I’m not kissing her. I want to, but something is holding me back. And I have a feeling that if it stops…I won’t be able to stop the things I want to do with her, to her.

  “No, we can’t.”

  “I like that nickname.” I smile and drop a hand to her hip. I lick her upper lip when her mouth falls apart and kiss it gently. She shudders, and I watch her through my lashes; her eyes are drifting closed, but she’s trying to hold back: trying being the keyword.

  “No, I meant no,” she says.

  “Mm-hmmm,” I hum as I focus on slipping my hand underneath her white V-neck. I push her shirt all the way up until I can see the bottom of her lacy bra. Her skin is so pure down here; she only has her right arm tatted colorfully and her ribs on the other side. I cup her soft skin and listen to her amusing moans. I smile lazily as I run my palm against her heated skin, stopping at the place above her round ass. I dip my finger in one of her enticing back dimples and rub, enticing another throaty sound from her mouth.