Fearless

by Abby Brooks

We let Morgan off the leash and Alex tossed a piece of driftwood down the beach, then turned to me as the dog sprinted off, dodging waves. “How come you don’t write? This is the perfect time to start a book, especially because I’m having such a hard time working on mine.”

  The memory of Drew’s smirking face chased away my voice. How could I answer a question on a topic I hadn’t fully processed yet? I stared at the horizon as I gathered my thoughts.

  “You sound like Amelia. She says my spirit guides are trying to send me a message. That by yanking me out of my old life and into this one, they’re leading me to my best self.”

  “And you don’t believe that?”

  “I mean, in the scheme of life implosions, mine recovered pretty quickly. Lost a job, gained a job. Lost an apartment, gained a house.” Lost a Drew, gained an Alex, though I couldn’t bring myself to say the last aloud. “When you stack everything up like that, it’s easier to believe her than it’s ever been.”

  Alex accepted the stick from Morgan and heaved it down the beach. “Do you like it here?”

  “So far, I’m a fan. The view’s amazing.” I risked a glance his way. “The company’s pretty good.”

  A secret smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Then maybe Amelia’s not completely wrong.”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that. I’ll never, ever live it down.”

  “If she’s been right about everything else, why haven’t you started writing?”

  I met Alex’s eyes, certain he could see every ounce of my helplessness. Part of me wanted to explain. After all, he understood the impossibility of coaxing a book into existence when your brain didn’t want to let it out. But how did I talk about the worst thing to ever happen to me with a man I’d only just met, respected so much, and fantasized about at night? I wasn’t prepared to be that vulnerable with him.

  “Come on, Evie. Let me into that magnificent mind.”

  I searched for the best way to encapsulate it all. “I guess I’m scared.”

  “That’s a valid reason.” He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s also bullshit.”

  My jaw dropped. “It’s not bullshit.”

  “It really is, though. Would you let fear keep you from going on this walk with me?”

  “Obviously not. I’m here.”

  His head quirked as he registered my response. “Then why would you let it keep you from writing?”

  There was no way to answer him without getting too personal, so I shrugged and hoped he’d drop the topic. When Morgan trotted back with the stick in his mouth, I took it from him and tossed it down the beach.

  Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. “Writing is terrifying. It’s opening yourself up and bleeding your soul onto the page. You have to tap into the best and worst parts of yourself. Explore all the reasons you are you and other people are who they are, then imbue characters and themes with all of it, twisting and shaping, caring and loving. Sometimes hating. Just breathe life into this thing that is at once part of you and nothing like you. And then, if you’re successful, you’ll publish this book and hundreds of thousands of people will ingest it. Months of work will be devoured in days, sometimes hours, and you’ll either be publicly revered or eviscerated. You’ll hear exactly what people thought, without punches being pulled because while they think they’re reviewing a product, they don’t realize they’re reviewing you. You have to be a little crazy and a whole lot fearless to do this. It’s not easy.”

  I slowed my pace as Alex spoke. He turned to me, his eyes swimming with so much passion and intensity I felt like I could drown. Standing beside him, with the waves whispering across the sand, the sun twisting through the fiery leaves behind him, everything grew so clear, so perfect, so precise. The meaning of life lived in his smile, I could feel it—I just couldn’t understand it.

  I slipped my hands into my pockets. “I mean, when you put it like that, I can’t believe I’m standing out here with you. With all that waiting for me, I should probably get home so I can start on my book.” I jerked my head back toward the house.

  Alex dropped his gaze to his feet, smiling sheepishly. “But sometimes, everything comes together and it’s the most perfect thing, Evie.” His eyes found mine and there was that feeling of drowning again. Of coming to life again. “There’s nothing like it in the world. When you know magic is spilling from your fingers…”

  The wind blew my hair across my face and Alex tucked it back behind my ear. A simple gesture. And a familiar one. His hand stalled at my cheek and all I wanted was to lean into his touch. To recognize that my life wasn’t as chaotic as I thought. To stop worrying about doing the right thing and explore whatever this was between us.

  About that…

  The thing between us? People called it a job.

  My life wasn’t as chaotic as it could have been because this man swooped in and gave me an income. What kind of idiot would risk that?

  Not this idiot, that was for sure.

  As Morgan came bounding back, stick in mouth, tail and ears flopping joyfully, I stepped away from Alex. Chemistry be damned.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alex

  One of the things that made me a good writer was my ability to read people. I could see a lie as easily as I could see a person’s hair color. When we were kids, Izzy hated that she could never pull one over on me. I didn’t let on that while I could see a lie was happening, I often had no clue what it was about. She eventually settled on being brutally honest with me and I appreciated the simplicity. But, while Izzy and I found a rhythm that suited us, the rest of the world refused to get on board.

  People lied all the time.

  About their age.

  Their weight.

  Their general sense of well-being. I’d meet someone new, shake hands, and while they said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I saw the lie tiptoe through their eyes.

  What I didn’t see was why they lied.

  Was it my hair? My face? Something I said? Or was I looking at the remnants of a bad morning? A fight with a friend? An asshole coworker? The worries would stomp around in my head, driving me crazy.

  As a kid, I lived in this unsettled state, knowing people weren’t saying what they were thinking and wishing they would. After I aged into confidence, I realized I wasn’t the source of the entire world’s frustration. I was, in fact, not that important. I started using everything I saw in people to add depth to my characters. Years passed and my special ability affected me less and less…

  Until today.

  Evie was holding something back and it killed me not to know what it was and why she wouldn’t tell me. There was a reason she didn’t write, and it was bigger than, “It’s scary.”

  I tried to tell myself that was fine. We all had things we didn’t want people to know. I had secrets locked up so tight, no one would get to them. I’d be a hypocrite to dig into Evie’s when I wouldn’t loosen the grip on mine. Instead of obsessing over her interior, I distracted myself by focusing on her exterior.

  She had a freckle beside her lips. For as much as I loved the character it brought to her face, she covered it with a finger whenever she was nervous. I assumed she spent her childhood being teased about it and guessed she would call that freckle a blemish. I called it hers, and in that, it was everything it needed to be. Her blonde hair shimmered in the sun, like it had a light of its own. She played with the ends when she spoke, twirling them between her fingers, pausing to press it to her nose.

  Every time I got close, she stepped away. At first, I assumed it was accidental, a reflexive response to having me in her personal space, but it happened every single time. We were like opposing magnets, and my energy repelled hers. After the night at Cheers ‘n Beers, I assumed we were both attracted to each other but maybe I was wrong…

  Nope.

  No way.

  That was some of the bullshitiest bullshit that ever was.

  We were both equally attracted. No doubt about it. Maybe she’d been hurt by so
meone. Badly. Maybe that was why she held herself so tight. So closed. So private. Maybe that was why she pushed all that she was into a tiny box and refused to reach outside of it.

  Or, maybe she recognized what a shit-for-brains move it would be to date her boss.

  So maybe it had been a shit-for-brains move to offer her a job, because I’m tired of wanting her every damn day and doing nothing about it. I gave that selfish thought a mental one-finger salute. Helping someone in need was never a shit-for-brains move but making choices in one’s self-interest often was.

  As Evie played with Morgan, an idea for a scene popped into my head. I pulled out my phone and recorded as many notes as I could, as quickly as possible.

  “Do we need to head back?” Evie asked. “Get those ideas onto the page instead of a note on your phone?”

  I nodded without looking up. “Probably a good idea.”

  “Do you want to talk about it as we walk? I’m all ears if you want.” Her smile faded as I frowned.

  The thought of discussing a baby plot bunny made me uncomfortable. The idea was too new and just one micro-grimace on Evie’s part could kill it before it fully bloomed. “Sometimes talking about a plot before it’s solid makes it disappear.”

  Evie nodded like I hadn’t just spoken nonsense. “Totally understand. Just know the offer’s out there if you change your mind.”

  I whistled for Morgan. The beast turned, cocked his head, then barreled straight for us at approximately one thousand miles an hour, skidding to a stop long enough for me to click on his leash, then taking off again. The leash caught in Evie’s feet and she shrieked as she stumbled, which caused Morgan to barrel back to check on her, crashing into her with his considerable weight—all in the name of keeping her safe, of course.

  She staggered. I caught her. Her soft body pressed to mine…and mine grew very, very hard. “Dang, Morgan,” I said as I helped Evie to her feet.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make that happen, you magnificent beast. Morgan gave me a look like I was an idiot for not going in for the kiss as the possibility might not present itself so easily the next time.

  “Yeah. Dang, Morgan.” Evie tugged on her shirt and I relived the feeling of her boobs pressed against my arm.

  To distract myself, I opted to share the glimmer of an idea for the scene. In fits and starts, the details came out, in all its infant glory. Evie asked the right questions, got excited at the right parts, and generally said everything I needed to hear to bring the idea into crystal clear clarity. By the time we got into her kitchen, I was practically bleeding the story. My earbuds went in, and the words seeped from my pores and onto the page.

  An hour later, when I turned my laptop around for her to read, she grinned the entire time. “It’s perfect, Alex. It’s everything it needs to be…and then some.” The celebration in her eyes felt like victory, but when she got out of her chair and wrapped me in a hug, that felt like a whole lot more.

  Another week passed and somehow, everything that felt familiar and tedious just a handful of days ago, felt new and inspiring and fucking perfect when Evie was with me. She took my predictable life and, with her bright smile and insightful questions, turned it into magic. While I wouldn’t call my writer’s block cured, things were definitely moving, and that was a massive win.

  In the nights before I fell asleep, and the mornings before I fully woke, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to chase a relationship with her. After all, she understood what it meant to be lost in a project. She sat across from me as I wrote. She was with me, day in and day out, even if that meant sitting at her kitchen table with Morgan at my feet. How could I ignore her if she was part of the process? I wouldn’t do to her what Dad did to Mom, or what I did to Candace because Evie knew what it meant to lose yourself to work.

  On the days I couldn’t write, I bombarded her with questions. At the start, I called it character study. I dissected her mannerisms and her motivations to weave them into characters later. But as time went on, I realized it had nothing to do with fiction and everything to do with liking her. I wanted to know what made her smile. What made her sad. What made her laugh. I wanted to know everything about her so I could know all the ways her personality blended with mine.

  But watching could only go so far, which led to questions. Lots and lots of questions. She answered them with grace and patience, and I liked her all the more for it.

  “What’s the real reason you won’t write?” I asked one afternoon as we sat at her table.

  The question came out of the blue. She had a pen in her hand and her eye on the pages I wrote the night before. Her hair was in a bun and she looked like a dream come true, sitting across from me, grinning as she redlined my work.

  All the joy slipped from her eyes as my question registered. Evie’s mouth worked without any sound. She put the pen down and exhaled slowly. “I had something happen and I haven’t processed it yet. The words dried up and…”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I needed her to say yes. To open up to me. To stop being so private and finally let me in.

  Evie shook her head. “I haven’t talked about it with anyone. Not even Amelia. She knows what happened, just…” She closed her eyes. “It hurt and it’s over, and that’s all I’m ready to say about it.”

  And that was that.

  She returned her attention to my manuscript, her finger covering the freckle next to her lips. Her eyes glazed over. Even though she stared at the page, I knew she wasn’t seeing any of the words I wrote.

  I stood, took her hands, and pulled her out of her chair so we were standing in a pool of sunlight in her kitchen.

  She looked away, but I sought out her attention. “Alex…”

  My hands were on her shoulders and my gaze held hers. Pain raged in her stormy eyes and I catalogued it all as I ran a thumb along her cheek. “Whatever happened, whatever it was, I’m sorry. And I know it seems like a good idea to keep it crammed into the back of your head where it feels like it can’t hurt you, but I promise you, bad things grow in the dark. You’ll feel better once you get whatever this is out of your head.” I tapped her temple and she leaned into my touch. “I’d be honored to be the one who helps you shine light on it all. When you’re ready.”

  Her eyes swam with emotion. Conflict. Desire. Pain. Gratitude. “Thank you.” Her voice cracked.

  And that was when I knew what would happen next. I saw it all, stretched out before me like some too-perfect plot point. I was going to kiss Evie, and it wouldn’t be because she was drunk or Morgan tripped her.

  It would happen because we finally chose to let it happen.

  She would lean in, and I’d close the distance, our lips would clash, and nothing would be the same ever again. Her walls would crumble. So would mine. We’d let each other in. My opinion on love would shift. Together, we’d claim the promise of happiness that had been made when she careened into my life.

  I cupped her cheek. Her hooded gaze caressed my mouth.

  The way she licked her lips said she saw the moment as clearly as I did—

  The doorbell bing-bonged.

  Evie and I sprang apart, blinking in the afterimage of what we almost let happen.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulling away, finger moving from her freckle to her bottom lip. “I should…uh…I should get that.”

  “Evie—”

  She disengaged and raced out of the kitchen. A loud bang had me jumping out of my skin. She cursed, then laughed. “I’m okay! Stupid socks.”

  I heard the creak of the door swinging open. “Alexander Prescott!” Izzy’s voice rang out. “I brought genius nuggets!”

  Of course she did.

  Obviously, this exact moment was the time my sister would choose to do something sweet. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to curse her name or bless her for interrupting.

  I came around the corner to find Evie rubbing her hip. I gave her a rueful smile before tur
ning to my sister, who held out a bag of jellybeans that rattled and clacked as she handed it to me. “Between these filling my belly and Evie turning every mediocre idea I have into something brilliant, this next book is gonna be a freaking unicorn.”

  “All your books are unicorns.” Izzy’s gaze bounced from me to Evie and back again. She’d never been as good at reading people as I was, but you don’t grow up in a household like mine and not learn how to read the room.

  Which she did. Quickly.

  A grin tugged at the corner of my little sister’s lips.

  I’d been busted. She saw how much I wanted the woman beside me, and if I knew Isabelle Prescott, I’d never live it down.

  “How’d you even know I was here?” I asked, while mentally begging her to have mercy on me.

  “Greta’s Facebook page. She checked you in with your laptop and messenger bag at nine o’clock sharp. She was disappointed to see you walking across the yard this morning because that meant you hadn’t stayed the night.” Izzy flipped through her phone to show me the post. “If you read the comments, sounds like most of Wildrose agrees.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Evie

  The day finished like it started, with me in the kind of mood Amelia would be proud of. She’d tell me I’d finally come into alignment with my spiritual mission, then pat me on the head and tell me to chase the feeling. I felt so joyful and filled with reasons to smile, I could see how she’d think that. It was the best kind of mood, and one hundred percent because Alex almost kissed me today.

  If Izzy hadn’t arrived with a random jellybean delivery, our lips would have touched, and I would have melted, and my friendship with Alex would never be the same…

  …and maybe things would have changed for the better…

  …or maybe…

  …everything would have blown up in my face like it did with Drew.

  With a week’s worth of chemistry floating through my mind, I dashed to my room, double-checked the curtains were closed, and Facetimed Amelia, flopping onto the bed with a sigh of contentment. Her rapturous smile filled the screen, tendrils of smoke curling behind her head. “I was just thinking about you!”