Last Time We Kissed_A Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I get up, push through the narrow door, and walk into the main living space. Amy Kay lays curled up on the big leather sectional built into the ship, a gas fire going nearby for extra warmth. She looks so fragile asleep.

  Guilt stabs at my chest. Again when I see the faint salt lines left on her cheeks, the slight redness lingering around her eyes, obviously from crying.

  Ass. Hole.

  You pushed her too far.

  Still, I won't apologize outright. Drifting behind her, I put my hands on her shoulders, point my lips at her ear, and whisper as slow and careful as I can without waking her. “Didn't mean to come down so hard, Amy Kay. Leaving you in knots was the last thing I ever wanted. Yeah, you piss me off with your entitled, know-it-all crap, but you're a sweet girl at heart. Never change. Never. Not from Jace's antics, not for any guy, not for me. Stay forever precious.”

  Precious. The word echoes in my head over and over like a bad guitar riff.

  Only because it's true.

  She might be a thousand things in the years to come: actress, singer, scientist, wife, mother.

  To me, she'll always be the same playful Tinkerbell with the lush green eyes and the lips that never know when to quit. Precious.

  Presh to her very soul, too deep, and far too deep in mine.

  She murmurs, turning over, clutching at my hand. I freeze, wondering if she's heard everything, but her lips move in the sleepy sing-song way that only happens in dreams. “Trent...”

  I close my eyes. Hearing my name on her soft, tired lips – the same I want to taste again – is fucking torture.

  What's one more sneaky taste? Giving her little fingers another squeeze, I bring her hand up, and plant my lips gently on her skin.

  She stirs again, harder, my cue to get the hell back to my room for the night.

  The next twenty-four hours are a blur. I'm tossing and turning long after midnight, trying to fight the Chenocotts out of my head. Both Jace's BS and Presh's weird crush, now hanging out in the open, haunting me.

  I can't make a bad situation worse. I have to let her down easy. Best way to do that is pretending nothing happened here, in a boat we shouldn't have, on this island that might as well be at the end of the earth.

  I vaguely remember hearing Jace and Georgia going at it again, fixing a pizza in the kitchenette, then my best friend screaming in the rain, wild and high as a kite.

  Clearly, booze wasn't the only thing he snuck on board. I crack my window, smelling smoke from at least one joint.

  I'm the only one sober or awake the next day. Remembering what Amy showed me, I manage to get the ship back to the Chenocott boathouse. A hung over Jace slaps my fist on the way out. He's already giving Georgia the cold shoulder, and it just gets worse when he steps down, sees the huge scratch in the yacht's side, and belt's out the world's most panicked, “Shit!”

  We spend the rest of the weekend frantically calling repair places. I'm sure he pays off the family gardener to keep quiet.

  Amy Kay – Presh – treats us both like we're radioactive.

  Predictably shitty of her, but warranted. I can't avoid the damage my lips did forever.

  Sunday, while Jace is still busy racing to hide the damage the Wilkie took on that rock, I ease up to her door and knock. I have to smooth this over, one way or another. “Precious? Let me in.”

  “No.” Her voice is small. Angry. Bitter.

  “Listen, what happened yesterday...I fucked up. I'll admit it. I was drunk. You pushed my buttons, but it's no excuse. Didn't mean to lead you on, or worse, make you feel like an idiot. I put you in your place and got carried away. Hoping you'll forgive and forget?” Easier said than done. Even now, I'm craving another taste of her, and that's all I need to know who the idiot really is here.

  Silence answers me.

  “Presh? Come on!” My fist bangs against the door. I want to pound harder, but I hear Jace pacing upstairs, waiting by the front, swearing and muttering to himself. One more guy is coming to buff out the scratches in the hull, and we're not sure if he'll make it before his folks return by dinner. “Please. Talk to me.”

  I'm about to give the fuck up when I hear her little feet shuffling on the ground. They're slow, calculated, and when she rips the door open, I get the ultimate kick in the balls.

  She can't even hide the hurt. It's written on her face in messy red blotches and shameful, not-so-secret tears.

  “You're right about one thing,” she hisses.

  “Yeah?”

  “Forget it. Forget the kiss. Forget everything. There's no other way.”

  I swallow. It's harder than it should be. “Right. That's all I'm trying to say. Glad we're on the same page. I'm sorry, again. If it wasn't for the beer, the tension, the rain, nothing ever would've –”

  “Trent.” My name crackles off her lips, silencing the thousand and one excuses wanting to pour out. “Just...go. Go home. I can't have you here. Plus Jace deserves to stew in his own trouble, for once.”

  She isn't wrong. Stifling a reluctant growl, I turn my back, head past my best friend, and walk the hell out.

  Luckily, he's so preoccupied by the Wilkie he doesn't chase me down. I'll text him later.

  Mom has a nice steaming pot of chowder ready with fresh baked bread the second I'm through the door. Pops starts cracking jokes right away about my 'fishing trip.'

  I feed him fake memories. Happy things that never happened, tell him how we got lucky with a break in the rain, caught some big ones, and spent the evening watching harbor seals.

  I lie my ass off. Crafting stories and dunking my bread in that soup is the only thing that keeps me from punching a hole through the fucking wall.

  The mountain of homework to catch up on – mine and Jace's – is a welcome distraction.

  It'll take time to lick my wounds. To forget I ever flew too close to the precious sun, and walked away humiliated and burned. Maybe it's karma for trashing Amy Kay ten times worse, I don't know.

  And I shouldn't fucking care.

  That's still the scariest part. I need her to go back to being my wet dream, my best friend's little sister, and nothing else, like yesterday. Because if I can't bleach her from my memory, if we start sharing dirty, secret looks every time I'm over at their place, if we remember how goddamn good that kiss we had really was...

  There's no happy ending. It isn't happening. It can't.

  I'm not destroying myself obsessing over Amy Kay. I'm not that stupid or desperate or hellbent on leaving my dreams a smoldering wreck.

  I'll take my own advice: forget.

  Forget her crush. Forget the kiss. Forget fucking everything.

  If only I'd been able to follow through.

  We wouldn't have wound up with our hearts in tatters, egos drunk on hate, ready to spend our final moments lashing each other to pieces in a broken metal box suspended above the Seattle skyline.

  3

  The Twenty-First Floor (Amy Kay)

  Present

  I open my eyes, blinking back a pounding headache. Everything looks dizzy, the entire world flipped on its axis. Probably why it takes an eternity to remember why I'm in this predicament, and who I'm in it with.

  “Welcome back, Precious. Had me worried. Thought you'd never come out of it.” Trent's voice makes me wish I'd never woken up.

  I stagger backwards – as best I can with the elevator tilted at a crazy angle. Rubbing my eyes, I try to make this go away. But he's still there, the same beautiful bastard, scary and unbelievable as a ghost.

  He stands next to me in the crisp navy suit, a shade that matches his eyes, slightly more rumpled than before. My nose wrinkles.

  It's remarkable how gorgeous a man can look and still turn my stomach.

  “What's the matter? You ready to talk this out like grown ups?”

  Ignoring him, I try to slink away, putting some distance between us, pulling myself up the crooked banister. Of course, it doesn't work.

  My heels catch on the slanted angle. They c
an't hold my weight. I get three or four steps up before my hold on the floor-turned-wall gives way and I go careening right back into the devil's embrace.

  He catches me without so much as a curse, pinning me tight in his huge arms. Typical Trent.

  Typical and maddening.

  God. Were his biceps always this big? I've either forgotten, or he's become an even buffer beast since the day he tried to turn my family to ash.

  “Let go!” I snarl, beating at his shoulders, holding back my tears.

  For once, I'm grateful for the anger. It stifles the headache and gives me a new reason to fight.

  Tears are the last thing I want this animal to see. I can't be weak. Can't be vulnerable.

  Can't do anything with him.

  “Last warning, Trent. Whatever you're planning, I don't care. The second we're out of here, I'm calling the police. Turning you in.”

  “Aw, shucks. Must feel pretty goddamn divine to ram that criminal thing home, right? I guess that's the new 'orphan boy' for you. Just like old times, Presh. I missed them.”

  My heart sinks. The painful throb in my temples instantly doubles.

  It's getting hard to see through the pain. Even harder to cling to any hope that I'll ever get a chance to spring the law on this prick.

  “I can't believe you!” I whisper, peering through the darkness. It's hard to make out his face. There's nothing but the glittery lights of the city outside streaming through the glass.

  A second later, everything is brushed in soft blue light. His phone.

  My heartbeat doubles, wondering if it can get us out of this mess. His strong blue eyes hang on mine, silent. “Did you...”

  “Sure did. I tried, Presh. Many, many times while you were out cold. Tried to see about getting you an ambulance for that blow to the head. Calls kept bouncing back. No connection. No reception in this shitty old building, or maybe it's just the shaft. So, we've got light, and nothing else. No help.” He pauses, cocking his head. “Hard to believe your bro wants to keep doing business here.”

  I turn away, staring out the window, trying not to get sick staring too long at the Seattle skyline on its side. “Well, keep trying. It's our only chance. I'm sure the line on the emergency intercom got cut when this thing went sideways.”

  “Brilliant. I'll drain the whole fucking battery so we have no power. Hey, and maybe if a lucky call goes through, you can turn me in like you promised. That's totally what I dragged myself up here for.”

  I whip around, glaring as hard as I can at his shadowy face.

  “Fuck you.” It just comes out, so harsh it scratches my throat.

  He smiles, cool and slow. “Have to say, I think I like this sexy spitfire thing, darling. You're meaner than I remember. What the hell you been up to? What made you this way?”

  “None of your business,” I snap. Every word out of his mouth just thickens the ice wall around my heart. “Why waste your breath? Our chances of touching the ground again in one piece aren't amazing, you know.”

  “Yeah, you never were much for small talk, except when you wanted to blue ball me. Then you were an expert.” He smiles, so broad and knowing I want to send my palm crashing across his cheek.

  “If you must know, I've been busy in eastern Washington the last few years. Hotels, inns, tourism.” I don't know why I'm telling him anything. It takes about half a second to regret it. “I wanted to get the hell away. Couldn't stay in Seattle. I wasn't as strong as Jace, not after you –”

  “You, Amy Kay, an innkeeper?” He shakes his head, wearing a wicked grin. “Serving up breakfast in the morning for guests? Doing mountains of dirty linens? I can't imagine, Presh. Stop screwing around.”

  “Owner, actually. I wear a lot of hats. It's good honest work that doesn't make me want to rip my hair out. Complete opposite of what I came back here for.”

  “I've been busy, too. Cryptic Energies, maybe you've heard of it? I'm the CEO and founder.” Smugness shines through his eyes. I don't know why he wants my approval.

  Maybe he just wants me to admit I gave him a second, a third, a thousandth thought after he took a sledgehammer to my heart. Well, good fucking luck.

  He's not getting an inch from me. Let alone a mile.

  “Am I supposed to be impressed? Guess the criminal record doesn't hurt much when you're the one doing the hiring...” I bite my tongue. If he wants to talk, then I'll make this as miserable as possible. “Congratulations, I guess. It's nice knowing you did something with the years you stole from us.”

  Trent smiles. “You have no clue. I really mean that, Amy Kay. I had to fight like hell for everything I've got since running from this town. I was happy to stay away, keeping my hands and mind busy, but Jace owes me big time. I never forgot, Presh. Karma is a bitch, but sometimes, she needs a little help delivering her sucker punch.”

  “My brother's an idiot, yeah. But he never torched us. Didn't stab us in the back when we least expected it. That was all you. He went along with your crap and almost got ruined!” My voice splinters, shaking. Trying to regain control isn't easy, but the last thing we need up here is a screaming match. “You, Trent Usher. Nobody else. Don't pretend you weren't the mastermind. I want to hear you admit it, just this once.”

  “Yeah, about that...” He pauses, clears his throat, looking away. His eyes are fixed somewhere in the distance, probably the top of the Space Needle leaning unnaturally on the horizon. “Forget it. I'll leave you to find out the truth soon enough.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  He turns, facing me again slowly. A new savage glint in his soft blue eyes makes my blood run cold. “Means I'm amazed how good you still look after all these years. Hell, Presh, you're like a nice ripe fruit. A forbidden apple that was already too damn tempting for your own good when we were kids.”

  “And you're about to get yourself slapped. Not kidding.” Flattening my hands against his chest, I try to use his body for leverage to put a few extra inches between us. It doesn't work.

  I'm just forced to feel those muscles I've tried like crazy to avoid. To escape. To forget.

  He's all hard edges underneath his suit. Raw masculinity. Powerful and potent.

  He's pure madness – all he ever could be – because just putting my hand on his stupid, sexy body eases the rage that should make me want to rip him apart.

  This can't be happening. Trent freaking Usher is not making my body respond like this after six years hating every chasm of his soul.

  “Relax, Presh. There's no time or interest playing catch up naked.” The bastard winks. “Hey, if you'd pull your mind out of the gutter for a second and stop groping me, maybe we could put our heads together and plot our way out of here. It's Jace I've got business with. Not you.”

  “Jesus Christ, Trent. Any business involving you and my brother is mine, and I think you know it. Hell, who do you even think runs the firm now?”

  He stares through me, shrugging. “I know who. He's the whole reason I'm here. Anything that's got his name on it is asking for a tactical nuke. I've brought a big one.” He nods toward the small briefcase in the corner.

  I go quiet, my heartbeat quickening, wondering how insane he really is. “A bomb?”

  He gives me a look that stops my heart. Oh, God, he's serious!

  “Sure, Presh. Only the very best from Acme, designed by Wile E. Coyote himself. I'm totally about to piss away my reputation and the fortune I've made with the biggest energy company in the Pacific Northwest just to blow up this office. Genius.”

  God, do I hate him.

  So sarcastic. So merciless. So, so prone to bringing a deadly heat straight to my palm, and I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to control it, listening to his voice stringing me along.

  “Can't blame me for wondering. Dad said you were no better than a common thug the day you left for Oregon. He thought long and hard about hiring guys to find you, Trent, especially after his campaign ran off the rails. But he was too afraid of getting Jace tie
d up in something that'd screw him up for years. You were lucky we left you alone.” I wish we hadn't.

  He cocks his head, an amused smirk forming on his lips. That's how I know every word I'm speaking is wasted. This asshole enjoys my misery.

  “You're clueless if you think I ever meant you or Maxwell or Ophelia any harm. Your family was good to me, Presh. Too damn good. So were you, right up to the bitter end. Whenever we get out of here, you have my word I won't let any of this sting your parents. I've done my homework. They were smart enough to disengage from everything before retirement, leaving the firm here in Jace's hands.”

  “They didn't have a choice,” I tell him, slapping at his chest again. His hands fly up, swiftly seizing my wrists. I gasp, shaking off the shock a second later. “You're full of it like you always were. If you knew anything, you'd know mom isn't doing the greatest. Dad threw in the towel early to look after her once her knees gave out.”

  “Shit.” His grip loosens. “That's a real shame, Presh. I'm sorry to hear it. Know how it goes with family. Ma's been dead for three years.”

  I blink, bat my eyes because the news turns my bones to mush.

  Martha Usher, his kindly old adopted mom, dead?

  My lips fall open. I don't know what to say.

  No words. He's done the impossible with this bomb he just dropped on my head, transforming into the boy he used to be right before my eyes. The one I trusted, who never would have ripped my heart out, until he did.

  “I'm...really sorry, Trent. That's sad. She was an amazing woman.” I'm not exaggerating that part.

  I try not to tear up, thinking how she used to serve us treats, always chasing after the pack of foster dogs she kept for an animal rescue place. It must have broken her to lose them. After they left town so abruptly, packing up their house and taking the dogs to other volunteers.

  He lets go, turning away, eyes back on the glass behind my shoulder. “Yeah.”

  Brutal silence hangs between us. Something hard and bitter forms in my throat. It shouldn't be there, so thick and painful, a blister grown fat off good times I swore I'd torn from my brain a long, long time ago.