by Elise Faber
Hey, this is Brock Stephens. We still on for tonight?
Keely leaned a hip against the washing machine and bit the inside of her cheek. Her skin suddenly seemed flushed with heat, and the cold metal soothed the sensation away. Nerves? Over a dinner date? Quit being a baby about it.
Yes, pick me up at 7.
She added her address again just in case.
The response pinging two seconds later gave her heart a little flutter.
Looking forward to meeting you.
“I do seem to remember you having very smooth legs that night,” Brock whispered as he let one of his knuckles slowly drift up and down her arm. “I couldn’t keep my hands off them.”
She fought the smile. “I remember.”
“So you knew,” he said grinning wider, “even when I tried to play it off?”
Keely nodded, and her face glowed a soft pink. “Well, I’d come down on the side of being prepared, just in case, by the time you arrived.”
Brock laughed, a full shoulder-shaking sound that curled things in her stomach into tight knots.
“Now stop interrupting my story being all pilot-sexy.”
He smooshed a boob to his face so the “Yes, ma’am” was muffled by her skin.
Keely laughed too, but then the spark drained out of her eyes. “You don’t know how many times I replayed that night after…” she whispered, yet the rest of her thought never came out, as her fingers raked gently through his hair.
Brock’s eyelids fluttered a little at the amazing tingle of nails on his scalp. “You mean our first date?”
She nodded but kept stroking his head and staring at the ceiling. “Specifically, the moment I fell in love with you.”
“No way.” He blinked and twisted a little to see her face better. “I beat you fair-and-square that night there’s no way that you fell for me first.”
Her gaze flickered toward his face under the frown. “Still the worst joke you have.”
“Not a joke,” he said, wearing a widening grin. “Promise.”
She flinched as she remembered…
“We can’t have promises anymore, Brock,” she sobbed on their first anniversary together, right before the sun rose.
He stilled. “Sorry,” he said softly and cupped her cheek. “I didn’t mean to use the P-word.”
She made a soft humming noise and rested a hand on the top of his head. “I love you, Brock.”
“And I love you,” he said, but the cooler tone of her voice didn’t give him the same sensation of peace those words had in the past. “Tell me what’s taken your smile away so fast, cher?”
The knock on the door startled them. Brock moved up onto his elbow and glanced at the clock. “Can’t be the champagne. It’s not midnight. I didn’t see you order dinner too while you were at check-in. Did you go back downstairs?”
She nodded in a herky-jerky motion.
“Huh, I wondered what took you so long.”
“Higgins insisted, like always,” she said and raised one shoulder, seeming to shake off the sudden surge of tension Brock could still sense dancing along his skin. “You know Higgins, he never believes me when I say it’s not necessary and too much.”
Brock laughed halfheartedly. “Right.”
Brock planned on shooing the bellman as fast as possible so they could continue, but he also needed a moment to regroup. He didn’t want to let her see how much their conversation had opened some of his old wounds. “Oh, let Higgins have his fun.” He stood up and pulled Keely to her feet beside the bed then held out the robe for her to slip back on. “Maybe it’s that new bellboy who is scared of his own shadow. He’s fun to mess with.”
Keely didn’t smile but turned her back to wrap the robe around her body and tie the belt. “You’re a very naughty haint, Brock Stephens.”
“I try,” he said and reclined on the bed again and tucked his hands behind his head.
Keely half turned to twist her after-sex mess of hair into a knot. She grinned wide as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. His bare body framed by their nest of rumpled sheets reflected as pure need in her eyes. The flame licked at his skin with a heat that burned cold with its intensity.
“Save that thought for once he’s gone, and we’ll explore it more,” she said and raked her nails lightly along his thigh and circled the jut of his hipbone before moving to answer the door.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a groan. His fingers drifted down her arm as she moved away.
Higgins peeked around Keely’s shoulder as she opened the door. “Please preserve your modesty, Mr. Stephens.”
Brock scrambled to toss the covers over his waist with a grunt of frustration. “What are you doing pulling room-service duties?”
“I enjoy attending to my special guests,” Higgins said as he rolled the cart into the room, pausing for a moment to press a hand to Keely’s arm and give her a smile. He set the table carefully. However, there was an odd nervousness in each placement of utensil and linen, a cautiousness that seemed to make Higgins repeatedly cut his gaze toward the short hallway where Keely had disappeared into the bathroom.
“I hope you both enjoy the rest of your evening,” Higgins said as he smoothed the lapel of his jacket and turned to face Brock. “If there’s nothing else you need?”
“We’re good. And thanks. I’m sure Keely will enjoy everything.” Brock raised a hand as Higgins opened the door to go. “She usually does,” he added, and Higgins paused to glance at him over his shoulder.
“Brock,” Higgins said very informally, highly unusual for him to use a first name in any situation. So much so, that Brock pushed into a sitting position in alarm.
“What?”
Higgins glanced at the bathroom door again and lingered before turning back to face him. “I know your situation is… sensitive.” He nervously tugged at his cuffs. “But for her sake, I’d recommend extra caution when making decisions.”
Brock frowned. “Spit it out, Higgs. No games.”
He shook his head as he opened the door to leave. “Not my story to tell, Brock. Just be extra kind to her if she decides to share.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click as Brock tossed the covers off and moved across the room to the bathroom door.
No sound came from the room. He rapped lightly. “Everything okay, Keely?”
“No.” The one word hung heavy with pain in the air around him, even muffled by the door. The slightest shuffle of sound preceded the door opening only a crack, just wide enough that he could see one side of her face. Her half smile peeking out from behind the fall of curls seemed sad. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brock stood before her, bare as the day he’d been born, pale face pinched in a full-on puzzled worry of scrunched eyebrows, fists on his hips, and lips pressed tight as she pushed the door wider. She almost laughed at the sight. He favored an erotic Peter Pan standing that way.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked with a little more demand in his tone.
“Something happened, and I never told you,” she said and stroked the robe’s soft lapel. “Since we only had this one night, it never seemed worth wasting our only night on depressing things.”
“But you’ll tell me now.”
Keely nodded as a horrible flash of memory from the last time she’d seen Brock bare and pale, surged forward.
They’d laid him out on a gurney. Stark white sheet had been pulled up high on his chest to cover the fatal neck wound as she’d watched the small screen in order to identify his remains.
The third deep breath cleared some of the memory but didn’t help to steel her nerves any better. So she gave up on that exercise with a huff.
“Keely,” he said and moved toward her as if she were an animal he might spook. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“There are some things I bullied Higgins into keeping secret,” Keely said. She smoothed a fingertip over his brow, and he sucked in a quick breath. She hated to
see that line of worry on his handsome face. “Things from, you know, after.”
His eyebrows pinched together in a deeper frown. “What kind of things?”
“Let’s sit down first.” She took his hands and led him to the beautifully set table. Higgins really did know how to turn dishes, napkins, and food into a work of art. The crisp, white cloth accentuated the glittering silver utensils and bone china. Condensation slowed to a stop on its way down the sides of the pitcher of sweet tea in the colder air as they moved around the table to sit side by side.
His hand rested on her knee as she took a sip from her glass. “Talk to me.”
The liquid brimming with sweetness danced over her tongue, and she sighed. It’d been a very long time since she’d tasted anything this good.
“That first year,” she said but had to pause as her hand began to shake too much to keep on holding the glass. “It was very hard.”
Brock nodded and leaned closer, both hands moving to rest on her thighs, and squeezed lightly.
“I made some bad choices.” She kept her eyes on the light as it glinted off the amber liquid. “Did some things I’m not proud of because I missed you so much.”
“I’d never fault you for anything you felt you had to do to survive,” he said in a rush. “It was a terrible thing to leave you that way.”
Keely nodded, though she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing with exactly, or if even that was her whole truth.
“Things were just as bad for me when you left,” she said softly and finally met his gaze. “My mother was on my case, constantly harping about finding a man, trying to set me up on blind dates.” She waved a dismissive hand when his shoulders stiffened. “Don’t worry about that. You know how she is. Anyway, things went from bad to worse when she convinced me to come home for the holidays. I actually thought it was so we could spend some time together, like you see moms and daughters on TV, cooking Christmas cookies or shopping together.”
He nodded, and his face softened into sad lines instead of being pulled tight with tension.
“By the time Higgins called,” she said and threaded her fingers through his on her leg, needing the comfort of him to relive the second worst day of her life, “I wanted it all to end.”
December nine years ago
Keely switched off the radio as her mother’s nagging faded into nothingness behind the car, glad to be alone in her head again. This decision had been the other reason she’d taken leave. She needed to think everything through carefully and really be sure of her choice since there were no do-overs.
As a nurse, she knew the most effective ways to die. Some were faster, yet messier, than others. And the good girl in her couldn’t stomach leaving a slit-wrist scene for her mother to clean. Since she didn’t have enough pills on hand to do the job right and couldn’t stomach the idea of opening a vein, nature seemed her best option.
The lake won’t mind helping me go to Brock. I’ll just run the car right off this bridge. Her hands shook with the effort of holding the car between the lines as she gripped the wheel tighter. The water had turned darker the closer she’d come to the bridge. Sunset splashed gold, orange and yellow on the ripples of moving water. The first purple edge of twilight was close though, creeping out of the tree line.
It will be easy. I’ll lock the doors and close my eyes. The impact will probably knock me out. Then the current will take the car down fast so no one will be the wiser. It won’t be a bad way to go.
The first of the many stabs of guilt poked a little deeper this time. Keely had promised Brock she’d stay strong if anything happened to him. Now she knew he wasn’t the only one who had lied. She wasn’t strong, anything like brave or even courageous, the way she’d seen the other widows hold themselves together when bad news had come knocking on their door. They’d held their heads high, clutched their folded flags and children tight with barely even a flinch when the guns fired. Then they’d marched off the cemetery lawn to get on with the new and terrible thing their life had become. Keely had realized, the moment her feet hit the tarmac stateside, she lacked that kind of metal in her spine. Losing Brock had shattered her inside, so now every breath cut her up even more on the shards. She didn’t want to be strong. All she wanted was to be with Brock because nothing else mattered without him.
The damn phone rang again, and she swerved off the elevated shoulder. Her car gave a groan as she jerked it back onto the pavement so quickly. She’d ignored the ringing the first time as traffic had backed up and slowed to a crawl. She wouldn’t be able to clear the railing yet anyway, unless she could build up some speed.
I should wait until dark. Keely wiped the tears blocking her vision on her sleeve before picking up the phone. She didn’t recognize the number, and the nurse-side of her personality wouldn’t let it keep ringing, in case it might be something to do with her mother. “Hello?”
“Is this Keely Stephens?” The voice on the other end tickled some memory, but she couldn’t place it immediately.
“Yes, who is this?”
“My name is Higgins,” he said. “Though, you may not remember who I am since it’s been a while. I manage the Toujours in New Orleans. I was the one who helped organize your wedding reception in the hotel’s ballroom.”
Keely’s heart stuttered. “Why are you calling me?” she asked sharply. The constant ache of missing Brock suddenly turned into a raging inferno of loss that threatened to burn her alive. She wanted to be angry at everything that forced her memories of Brock to the surface too fast, especially the man on the other end of the phone.
“I know this must be a very difficult time for you,” he said.
“Not that you’d actually know anything about it, but it is.” The sun had disappeared under the horizon while they talked. The traffic had finally started to move on, and the lane next the guardrail had cleared across the bridge to the spot she’d picked. “Look, I really can’t talk right now, Mr. Higgins.”
“I do apologize,” he said in a rush. “The Toujours staff and I want to extend an invitation to you to stay with us as our special guest this weekend.” Higgins paused to clear his throat. “It would be our pleasure to take care of you during your visit home, in honor of Mr. Stephens and his service.”
The crushing weight of loss and misery became a boulder on her chest again, despite how real the weight of Brock’s hands were on her legs. Tears flooded her eyes the same way they had that day. Brock’s face had steadily been growing redder as her story progressed, but he remained silent.
She lightly rested her hands on top of his. “Are you angry with me?”
“NO!” He said too loudly and immediately regretted how her muscles tensed. “No, cher,” he said in a strained but softer tone. “I could never judge you for anything that happened after my death.” He cupped her cheek and leaned in to press a gentle kiss on her lips. “But I’m glad you decided to stay.”
She flushed a hot pink across the bridge of her nose and turned away from his touch. “I didn’t decide to stay that night,” she whispered. “I only decided to wait until I could come back to the hotel one last time, like a final farewell to us.”
Brock’s nostrils flared. “So you really wanted to die?” He stood and slowly paced the room. “You wanted to be this?” he shouted and swiped a hand over his chest where the autopsy scars marred the skin that favored a patchwork quilt, all loose stitching and oddly matched designs.
“I wanted to be with you, Brock,” she said just as loud. “I couldn’t take being alone anymore!”
Brock moved faster than she could track through the tears and gripped her arms. “I’d never want this existence for you!” he said through gritted teeth. “I wanted you to live, Keely!” He gave her a little shake. “You promised me you’d live, and I needed you to do everything we said we would. The vacations, the hole-in-the-wall restaurants with secret dishes no one else knows about, the movie nights at home wearing our pjs and you beating me in burping contests, dancing until the band s
topped playing while every man in the room envied me for taking those mile-long legs home. All of it! I needed you to do all our things! That’s all that’s kept me from turning into a monster here!”
“And you promised me you’d be there when I got back,” she yelled and balled up her fists. “But you weren’t!”
“I didn’t promise you anything like that!” he said, baffled. “That would be the cruelest thing I could ever do to you. My job was too dangerous!”
Keely’s eyes widened, and she took a step back from him. The splotch of pink in her cheeks glowed brighter as if he’d slapped her. “You really don’t remember that promise,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the tears that poured down her face. “Do you?” Her voice echoed in the room. “It was a lie. The price does take things from you.” As the sound slowly died away, there was only their angry breathing left behind.
Brock blinked rapidly as if to clear the dark spots suddenly in his vision. “The hole in my memories grows when I’m upset. It swallows more and more of our life together as if my anger feeds it.” He went to his knees in front of her. “No more, Keely,” he begged. “Please, help me remember happier times.”
The terror in his eyes scared her more than anything, and she rushed into his arms. Her hands moved over him, shoulders, arms, locking tight around his waist.
Real. He’s real. She whispered the lie to herself. I’m real, and he’s in my arms. So we’re both real.
She pressed her lips over where the pulse should be thundering in his throat. “Do you remember our first date?” Her lips moved gently over the absent throb of his heart.
He made a muffled, terrified sound then hugged her tighter. “No.”
“It’s okay,” she said and brushed a hand over his cheek. “I remember.”
December, eleven years ago