by Kacey Shea
“Blow jobs.”
“What?” I almost choke on my laughter.
“The inevitable.” He shrugs as if blow jobs are a norm amongst teenagers. Though, shit, maybe they are. “They’re gonna hook up on-site, if they haven’t already.”
“Ew.” I lean back onto my elbows and crinkle my nose. “I don’t want to catch that. Maybe I should give them the sex talk?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “They’re what, sixteen, fifteen? I’m pretty sure they already know how it works.”
True. “How old were you? The first time?”
His smile vanishes, disappearing with the last of the sun. I wish I could read his expression. He almost appears hurt, but I can’t imagine why. It’s not as if the subject is taboo. “Uh.” He scrubs a hand along his jaw. “Fourteen.”
“Same. It was horrible.”
“Why?”
“One of my brothers’ friends came home with him for the weekend. We’d been flirting non-stop and I guess I knew where it was headed. Anyway, we were out by the pool all day, and they’d been drinking. Okay, I was drinking too.” At the time it felt cool to have parents who didn’t care or notice their fourteen-year-old daughter spent the day drinking with college boys. Looking back, I’m filled with anger. I started abusing alcohol at such an impressionable age. If they’d laid out clear boundaries and held me to them, would I even be here? It’s not fair, because ultimately my addiction is mine—no one’s fault, it just is. Still, I hate that my younger self never really had a chance. “Anyway, later that night he snuck into my room and well, I was no longer a virgin.”
“Alicia,” Chase practically growls. His jaw is rigid, but his next words come out much softer. “Did he force you?”
He thinks—
“No.” My response is automatic. “I mean, I wanted it. Him. The connection.”
Chase watches me, his brow tight with worry. “But he was so much older, and you’d been drinking.”
I sigh, and blow out a long breath. “I appreciate you trying to protect my honor, but believe me when I tell you I wanted him.” No, that’s not quite right. “I wanted him to want me. I had already learned to revel in that attention, you know? I think I learned it from the time I was a little girl.” My parents’ approval or disapproval was the catalyst for that yearning. “I was so desperate to receive attention, affirmation, to be loved, and I went around looking for that in unhealthy places.”
“Yeah.” He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I get that.”
“What about you?” I’m anxious to turn the attention away from myself and those years of my life. “Please tell me all the awkward blundering details.”
“Oh, uh. It was . . .” He swallows hard, his gaze darting away. “You know, I’d rather not if that’s okay?”
I can’t imagine Chase being embarrassed by much of anything, let alone his first teenage sexual encounter, but there’s something in his body language that gives me pause. He’s actually uncomfortable. For that, I switch the subject to something lighter. “So, I don’t know about you, but I think we’re going to need more chocolate to get through this weekend.”
“Why?” He cocks his head, the teasing glint back in his smile. “You gonna miss the kittens?”
“I mean, obviously. But it’s the three-day weekend. They always feel so daunting, especially one where everyone parties and drinks. I’d volunteer to work, but the center is closed for the holiday. We have Monday off too.”
“Oh, right, July Fourth. Wow.” He gulps and glances away, his stare focused on the crashing waves. “This summer sure is flying.” He looks so sad, so lost.
I reach out and cover his hand with mine without thinking. Unable to sit here and ignore his suffering. “Hey, what’s up?”
His deep brown eyes flick to where my hand rests on his and then considers my face a beat before answering. “I’m not ready for next month. For when this is over. Will I stay sober? Can I find a job? I still don’t know, and thinking about it sends me into a panic.”
“One day at a time.” I’ll repeat it until he accepts that it’s how us recovering addicts survive. “One day. Break it down to one hour. One minute if you need to. You can get through this. Besides, you have my sexy ass in your corner.”
His eyes light up. If it’s possible, the flecks of gold in his brown heat with my suggestive comment.
“Not like that.” I roll my eyes and pull back my hand, but there’s a tension between us I can’t shake. If I’m being honest, it’s been there all along. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t go there with him. I can’t. Not with another addict. I clear my throat and chase away the awkwardness of it all with a megawatt smile. “What are you going to do without having to mop floors and scrape gum for three straight days?”
He chuckles and reaches for a nearby stick. “Probably hide out here. Real exciting stuff, I know.” He drags the stick through the sand, making little circles. “Growing up, we came here in the summers. Snuck beer when my dad wasn’t looking, though I’m pretty sure he knew and just didn’t care. I went out to the dune parties, found other teenagers to hang out with. Maybe score some weed. Find a pretty girl to make out with. Get to second or third if I was lucky.” He smiles, as if he can’t help but be fond of his past memories. He’s gorgeous when he smiles, uninhibited.
My lips move to mirror his joy.
“Young and dumb.”
“Your family doesn’t come down for the holiday anymore?”
He pins me with sad eyes. “No.” He laughs but it’s devoid of all humor. “There’s no way in hell my dad wants to be anywhere near his fuck-up of a son. I can’t even blame him, you know? ‘Cause I fucked it all up. I don’t deserve his time.”
“If it’s being alone you’re worried about, we can spend the weekend together.” The words race out of my mouth without thought.
His eyebrows raise with interest.
“Together. Alone!” I punch his shoulder. “Pervert. I’m sleeping in my own bed and you’re not getting any of the goods. This candy shop is temporary closed for business. Got it?”
“Noted. Shame though, what with it having my favorite lollypops, and you know how much I’d like to get a lick.” His smile tells me he’s teasing, though my body tingles with interest.
“You’re bad.” I roll my eyes and shake my head.
He just laughs. “Okay, okay. So what do you want to do on our Lame-o Independence celebration weekend?”
“No. No.” I wag my finger at his face. “We are going to have a Fucking Fabulous Independence weekend. Sober. We owe ourselves that much.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know what that is.” He chews his bottom lip, as if he’s in serious reflection. Smartass.
I blow out an exaggerated breath. “Chase, if you’re going to mock our plans, I won’t make them with you. I don’t need that negativity.”
He straightens his spine and his brows lift with surprise. “No, I’m not joking around. It’s sad, I know, but I don’t even know how to answer the question.”
“Just think of things you like to do.”
“Okay.” He blinks. His brow furrows. He seriously can’t come up with anything? “You first.”
“Oh, I know!” I clap my hands together as an idea strikes, mostly because it’ll probably irritate him. “Yoga!”
“Really, Alicia?”
“What, I like yoga! Besides, this is my weekend, too.”
“Fine. We’ll yoga.” He pauses, rolling his eyes when I clap. “But I’m going for a run too, ya know, because it’s manlier.”
“Oh, my God. Stop. Men do yoga.”
“And we run.” He flashes me a devious smile. “What else?”
“Oh! Fireworks! Wait. Sorry, is that a big no-no because . . . fire and all.”
“Fuck, yeah!” A grin takes over his face, his entire body radiating joy. I honestly think he wants to get up and dance. “Firemen are the worst pyros of them all. That’s a great idea. What else?” Excitement
takes over and we continue to joke around, trading ideas and making a shopping list to go with our weekend.
Holidays are the hardest. They’re not only filled with traditions that trigger past behaviors, but temptation is everywhere. The isolation of choosing not to attend parties mixed with the time off isn’t good for recovering addicts. Especially for Chase, who’s newly sober. But with each plan we make, my worries ease. I’m glad I can do this for him. I like that we’re doing this together.
40
Chase
I have to admit, I was skeptical about Alicia’s plans for this weekend. After all, how can you celebrate the Fourth of July without beer and drinking games? It turns out, it’s quite easy. With the kittens gone, we opt to sleep in a little and meet down at the beach just after ten for yoga. I try to convince her to join me on my run, but that apparently is too much. She heads inside to start brunch and orders me to return within an hour or else she’s eating my bacon.
It’s been awhile since I’ve run along this shoreline. It’s more challenging than I remember. My feet pound over the sand as I push a little harder. There was a time I could run twice as fast and go twice as far without breaking a sweat. I hate that I’ve let myself go. Exercise was always part of my daily grind at the fire station. I enjoyed the challenge. It’s not even something I had to give up. I stopped working out because my addiction took over.
This run feels a little like reclaiming my joy. Making my own peace and choosing happiness. Adding another tool to my survival skills. One I forgot I had.
When I climb the wooden steps to the deck on my return I’m out of breath and out of shape, but I feel the best I have in weeks. The scent of bacon grease wafts through the air, causing my stomach to grumble. The gorgeous woman, barefoot and dancing around the kitchen in her headphones, steals what’s left of my breath.
Damn. She’s so beautiful, not only in appearance but down to her soul. Without her, I wouldn’t be smiling. I wouldn’t be sober.
I knock on the back door so I won’t startle her, then push inside.
“Hey!” Her smile brightens and she pulls the headphones from her ears. “How was your run?”
“Horrible.” I pant, still catching my breath. “And the best.” I lift my shirt, wiping the sweat from my face, and catch my reflection in one of the decorative mirrors. Fuck. I didn’t think it was that bad. “My abs! Oh, God, my abs!” I step closer to the mirror, hoping they’ll magically reappear. I used to rock the rippled muscle look, but not only are they gone, my waistline is surrounded by fluff. “Look, Alicia, look!” I turn and shove the front of my T-shirt up, holding it over my head.
“What abs?” She laughs from the kitchen.
I drop the fabric and raise my hands to the heavens. “Exactly!”
She giggles, dishing out a plate of food and then sliding it in front of one of the empty barstools. “Stop complaining and come eat the high-fat, carb-loaded food I made.”
“Ugh,” I groan and walk to the kitchen. She made a feast all right. Hash browns, bacon, eggs, and pancakes too. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Motioning with my hands, up and down my body.
“Eat. You’ll feel better.” She grins and shoves a forkful of food into her mouth. “Oh, God,” she moans, talking as she chews. “I really outdid myself.”
I stare longingly at the tempting display of food. Fuck it. It’s not as though I’ll get my abs back today. I pile my plate full, intending to drown my sorrows with butter and syrup. “I’m too young to rock the dad bod. I’m supposed to be the really-in-shape guy. That’s my thing.” I pull out the barstool next to her and take my seat. “What am I now?”
Alicia reaches for her glass of orange juice and takes a long swallow before answering. “Someone whining about their long lost six-pack while trying to not get lost in another kind of six pack.”
“You just get me, Alicia.” My lips pull into a smile that mirrors her own. “You fucking get me.”
She giggles. “That’s what I’m here for. Well, that and supplying you with empty calories.”
“Is that how all sponsor/sponsoree relationships work?”
“You mean, full of sugar?” Her lips form a cute little pout and she swipes another forkful of pancake through a puddle of syrup.
I should answer with a smart-ass remark since that’s my usual MO, but for some reason the truth pounding around in my heart makes its way to my lips and honesty escapes instead. “No. Special.”
My words catch her off-guard and her gaze averts. “Oh, um.” She plays with her napkin, folding the paper surface and smoothing it out atop the counter space between us.
“Thank you, Alicia,” I say, reaching out to still her hand with my own. I want to touch more than her fingers. I want to touch every inch of her skin, to pull her onto my lap and claim her lips with my own, but I don’t do that. I want to, but I won’t. She deserves more than that. She deserves more than me.
Alicia finally meets my gaze again and in the depths of her onyx hued eyes I see nothing but openness, vulnerability, truth. She’s too damn good to me.
“Thank you for being here. I don’t deserve your time, but you give it anyway. I can never repay you. For the way you saved me. How you still save me.”
“No. I didn’t do that. Don’t lay that on me. You’re strong. You saved yourself. You made the decision to swim and not drown. I’m here to guide you the rest of the way to shore.”
My chest aches, a part of me splitting open under her words. My mouth waters for something to chase it away, somewhere to hide. I need her more than she knows. I’m not as strong as she thinks.
“Come on.” She retrieves her fork and sends a pointed look at my plate. “Eat up. There’s sober fun to be had.”
41
Alicia
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I whisper as Chase leans over me, his hands tangled in my hair and sending tingles down my spine. My back digs into the ledge, my hands braced on the counter so I won’t be tempted to hold on to him for support.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me.” Chase meets my gaze. A crackle of lust shoots through my veins with that one look. “This is more pressure than a trust fall.” He reaches out, his arm grazing my chest as he grabs for the bottle of hair dye.
“My mother would kill you. Or me.” I force myself to laugh, though it’s the truth. “Probably both of us.” I’ve always wanted to do this, but never had the nerve. Until this moment, I’ve only dyed one strand of my hair a shocking, vibrant color. Today, I’m all in.
“She’s not into fun?” Chase squirts the last of the liquid onto his gloved hands, spreading the dye over my hair as I lean over the sink. I’m concerned we’re going to make a mess, but he’s not.
“She’s all about propriety.”
“And purple hair is her hard line?” He grins, stepping back to peel off his gloves. He reaches for the plastic shower cap and frowns. “I really hope I don’t fuck this up.” He helps me maneuver the wrap over my head and sets the timer.
I hop onto one of the barstools. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I have no doubt this color won’t last for more than a few weeks.
“Uh.” Chase stares back as if I’m crazy. “For one, your hair could fall out.”
“That’s not going to happen.” I narrow him with a glare. God, I hope not anyway. My phone rings from its place on the counter. I reach for it, but the number isn’t one I recognize. I pick it up, careful to keep the screen from touching my ear. “Hello.”
“Hey, Alicia! It’s Charlie.”
“Oh, hey.” I smile. “How’s it going?”
“Really flipping good. We have working water again!” There are a few cheers in the background before Charlie continues. “Anyway, we’re all ecstatic as you can imagine. I wanted to let you know so you could move back.”
“Oh, yeah.” I blink, not nearly as excited as I should be. I slide off the chair and walk toward the front room. “Sure. I mean, yeah.”
“Unle
ss there’s something keeping you where you are this weekend?” There’s a long pause. “Maybe someone?”
I force a laugh at Charlie’s inference, not wanting to admit to them—or to myself—how spot on that assessment might be. “I’m not sure.” And I’m not. About Chase. About going back to the center’s housing.
“Hey, don’t rush back on my account. I like having a room to myself,” Charlie says. “Just text me when you’re ready to come back. Cool?”
“Cool.” I swallow back the dread that threatens to steal my current mood. “Have a good weekend. I’ll be in touch.”
We say our good-byes and I end the call, walking back into the kitchen.
“Who was that?” Chase asks.
“Oh, uh. Charlie.” I frown at the phone and set it down. “The shower is fixed.”
“Oh.” Maybe I imagine it, but he almost sounds disappointed. “You probably want to get back, then.” He fiddles with the dishtowel on the counter, not quite meeting my eyes.
“You don’t think I’m bailing on Lame-o Independence Day do you?” I feign outrage, and settle my hands on my hips. “Because that’s all I’ve been looking forward to.”
He flashes a brilliant smile. God, he’s so handsome. He always was, but now that I know him better I’m having trouble finding reasons why I shouldn’t take notice.
“Good,” he says. “Because I didn’t gather all that firewood yesterday for nothing.” We chat about our plans for the day until the timer goes off, our reminder to wash out my hair. He waves me over to the sink, flicking on the faucet. “Now let’s wash that out and see if I turned you into a Troll doll.”
“Okay, got everything?” Chase pulls a lighter from one of the kitchen drawers. He has a blanket tucked under one arm and a bag of supplies hanging off the other.
“Yep.” I hold up the wire hangers we stole from one of the closets, and the iced chest filled with sodas and waters. “Let’s do this.”