ANOTHER SKY

by Jayne Frost

  What Gelsey didn’t know was that I was prepared to surrender.

  This was her fight to win or lose.

  “I have a lot to tell you,” I said softly. “To explain. But you’re shaking like a leaf. If you don’t want to take a shower, at least put on a robe so you don’t freeze to death.”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Fine.”

  I watched her trot to the bedroom, staring at her ass the whole time.

  Yeah, I loved her. I was in love with her. But my body had decided it was the perfect time to show her in other ways. Lay her down and spread her legs. Taste that sweet honey between her thighs. Make her scream my name.

  Not yet.

  Maybe not ever. And wouldn’t that be a shame?

  Sheppard called it life. The human condition.

  “We never know when the last time will be the last time. Final goodbyes. A glancing touch. It’s the nature of being human. And you are human, Miles.”

  I pushed thoughts of Sheppard aside. They didn’t belong in the same head space as Gelsey right now. Especially since I was picturing her peeling off her clothes one room away.

  When I heard the shower, I took it as a good sign. She wasn’t exactly going to run out of here in just a robe. Which meant I had a little time.

  My leg bobbed as I flipped through the room service menu. Soup, that was always good when you were cold. Comforting.

  What are you, her grandma?

  “Fuck you,” I muttered, snatching the phone to place the order.

  Since I was also dripping water all over the place, I slipped into the bedroom to change into some sweats and a T-shirt.

  Only I couldn’t find my favorite pair. And I needed them. Since they were good luck. And luck was something I desperately wanted on my side.

  Wearing just my boxers, I dumped my suitcase, sorting through my clothes like a man possessed.

  I snapped my head around when Gelsey gasped.

  Framed by the bathroom door, my elusive sweats hung loosely on her slim hips, held in place by the drawstring. The T-shirt was also mine, but she’d knotted it at the waist showing just a little bit of her belly.

  Sexy as fuck.

  But the look on her face.

  “What is it, baby?” The endearment slipped out, a tiny infraction, or a strategic move. I wasn’t sure. We were still at war, after all. And I was taking no prisoners.

  She rushed toward me and I froze as she dropped onto her knees.

  Resisting the urge to tangle my fingers in her hair and make this something it wasn’t, I stayed still.

  Flinching when her fingertips traveled over my ribs, I watched as she lovingly traced the ink on my side.

  “It’s…a ballerina…” She peered up at me. “My ballerina.”

  The one from the cover of her book of poems. I’d taken the sketch to the best artist in Austin, and he’d worked his magic, bringing the rendition to life on my skin.

  Taking her by the shoulders, I lifted her up. She weighed nothing, even less than the last time I saw her.

  Tinted gloss clung to her lips and mascara trailed down her cheeks. She looked wrecked. And beautiful. And mine.

  “Not your ballerina, baby.” I ran a hand over her tangled locks. “It’s you.”

  Her small hand curved over the tattoo as she swayed. “Why?”

  So many ways to answer that question. But the best way out was always through. At least according to Robert Frost.

  I’d become quite an expert on poetry in the last month. Because I knew if I got the chance, I wanted to speak to her in sonnets. All the beautiful words that she deserved.

  But these words were all mine. Spoken straight from the heart she carried in her pocket. My heart.

  “Because I love you.” I stole a kiss. A tiny piece of ground. “Now come sit down. There’re some things I want to tell you.”

  Gelsey

  I watched Miles as I stirred my soup. His hands never stopped moving. Nervous fingers coasting through his hair. Tugging the frayed hem of his flannel pajama bottoms.

  His eyes found mine often, but never stuck, darting to the window like there were answers written in the sky.

  I wanted to help him. To crawl into his lap and comfort him. But our last conversation played on repeat in my head, keeping me rooted to my spot.

  You can’t fix me, Gelsey.

  Oh, how I wanted to try. I believed in Miles. The man he was. And more importantly, the man he could be.

  But he was right. I couldn’t help him if he didn’t want to be helped. It was a losing battle. Me against the bottle. My father had taught me that.

  “How’s Blake?” I asked, bringing the spoon to my lips.

  He blinked at me, and I smiled. That look. Like he couldn’t believe I was here. I knew the feeling.

  “Oh…uh…fine.” Clearing his throat, his hand went to the back of his neck, brows drawn together like he was struggling to form a thought. “He’s getting better, I think. His parents are in the picture now. So that’ll help.”

  I placed my bowl on the table, the heavy soup not sitting well in my nervous stomach.

  “Do you want something else?” Miles hopped to his feet like he was on springs. “I can get you anything you want.”

  He blinked at me, chewing his lip. Waiting. Whatever I asked for, he’d give me. His eyes, sincere and stripped free of guile, told me that.

  Taking his hand, I gave his arm a gentle tug. He dropped down beside me, his gaze on our entwined digits.

  “What I want is the truth,” I said quietly. “You owe me that.”

  He owed me nothing. And I was prepared for him to tell me so.

  Instead, he nodded. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to volunteer any information, I took a deep breath.

  “Were you drinking the whole time we were together?”

  His eyes shot to mine. “No. It wasn’t like that. My drinking…drinking in general…”

  Pressing his lips together, he shook his head, a bitter laugh rumbling low in his throat. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. So defeated.

  Scooting closer, I pushed the hair out of his face. Beautiful and tortured.

  He leaned into my touch, and my heart squeezed, tears burning my throat. So many times over the last month, I’d replayed our moments together. Even convinced myself that I’d only imagined our connection. But this was real. We were real. And wrecked. And damaged.

  Pressing my lips to his forehead, I whispered, “You can tell me, Miles.”

  Please tell me. I needed to know.

  He blew out a shuddering breath, then eased back against the cushions, our fingers still loosely threaded.

  “You might not feel the same way if I do.”

  Doubtful. Impossible, really.

  I’d love Miles regardless of any dark truths he spilled.

  But I loved myself more. So I couldn’t—wouldn’t—sit by and watch him destroy himself. It’s the reason I’d left in the first place. If he wanted to drown in the bottom of a bottle, he’d have to do it alone.

  “I guess we won’t know until you tell me.”

  He swallowed hard. “I’m not an alcoholic, Gelsey. My problem isn’t booze.”

  I tried not to scoff. Or roll my eyes. Because I’d heard it before from my father.

  “So your stint in rehab?” I shrugged. “Just a way to pass the time?”

  His attention strayed to the window again, and I lost my patience.

  “Look, Miles—”

  “I didn’t go to rehab. Millwood isn’t…I mean it is…” He pressed the back of his head against the cushion and closed his eyes. “Millwood is a mental health facility. They treat addiction. Bi-polar. Eating disorders…and in my case, clinical depression.”

  His lids fluttered open, but his gaze stayed glued to the ceiling.

  “That ‘episode’ you read about in the tabloids? My ‘accidental overdose’? Not an accident. You don’t accidentally chase a hundred pills with a fifth of whiskey.” Our eyes final
ly met, and he smiled. Sad. Tragic. And so beautiful. “That’s called an ‘on purpose.’ Or a suicide attempt. Take your pick.”

  I blinked at him, waiting for the punchline. Because this was a joke, right? It had to be. Only I knew it wasn’t. Somewhere deep inside, it all made sense.

  “You tried to k-kill yourself?”

  He nodded, a kind of resolve washing over his features. “Yes.”

  “Because of the accident. Losing Rhenn and…” Her name coiled around my tongue. But it took a moment to force out. “Paige.”

  I didn’t realize we were still holding hands until his fingers moved north, grasping my wrist. He tugged. Not enough force to pull me on top of him. More like an invitation.

  I scrambled onto his lap, and he let out a breath, his whole body relaxing.

  “Not just that,” he finally said, looping his arms around my waist. “I’m sure it had something to do with it. The straw that broke the camel’s back. But it goes deeper than that.”

  Nestling closer, I drew my knees up and spoke into his neck. “How deep?”

  When he didn’t answer, I curved my hand around the fresh ink on his side. To remind him. I was part of him now. Under his skin. Just like his secrets.

  “My dad had it too. Depression. I was about five when I figured out he wasn’t like other dads. He stayed in his room a lot. Or in his office. He used to make all these pretty things.”

  “Like the flowers?”

  He nodded, his voice a little lighter when he said, “And other things too. Birds. And animals. Anything you could think of. He sculpted. And painted. My mom told me that’s the reason he was like he was. That he had an ‘artistic temperament.’” He chuckled. “I thought that meant he liked to sleep a lot. Because he did that too.”

  I traced a finger over his heart. “Was he mean to you?”

  “No. Just the opposite. He never raised his voice. When he wasn’t…when things were good…he paid a lot of attention to me. He showed me how to make things. Not just origami. Kites. And things with wood. That’s what he did for a living. He made furniture.”

  Something clicked, and my breath caught in my throat. I jerked back, blinking at him. “Furniture? Wait…Was he—?”

  “Mick Cooper. I take it you’ve heard of him?”

  I nodded, dumbfounded. Mick Cooper Creations were known throughout the world. More like art than furniture or decor. Mostly because they were so scarce. And after he’d died…

  “He killed himself.” Horrified, my hand flew to my mouth when I realized I’d said it aloud. “Miles…I didn’t mean to…I’m so sorry…I…”

  “It’s okay.” Smoothing a hand over my hair, he silenced my stammered apology. “It’s not a secret.”

  “Then why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “I never told anyone. Rhenn was the only one who knew.” He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger, seemingly entranced by the golden strands. “My mom said people would look at me funny if they found out. That they’d think I was crazy like him.”

  “But…he wasn’t crazy…” I propped up on my elbow, searching his face. “Was he?”

  “No. Just depressed. Chemically imbalanced or whatever.” He sighed. “But she was right. I was like him. I think she always knew it. I was the one who found him.”

  He said the last part so casually, I almost missed it.

  “Wh-what?”

  “That morning, he told me to come straight home after school. He was going through one of his productive periods. He’d spent all winter storing pieces for some collection…” He shook his head, frowning. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, I was the only one he let into his studio. So he knew it would be me. That I’d be the one…”

  A shudder wracked his body, and he threw an arm over his face.

  “He left me a note. Told me he loved me. It was attached to a printout of all the inventory in the storage unit. Neat little rows of prices and names of people to contact to sell off his life’s work.”

  “What did you do?”

  Peeking at me from under his arm, he shrugged. “What I was told. I called everyone on the list and sold everything. Then I crawled into bed and didn’t get up for about a month. It was the first time I’d ever thought about killing myself.”

  He rolled onto his side and took me along with him. We were face-to-face now, and I cupped his cheek. He smiled. Odd considering his confession.

  “What stopped you?”

  “My mom found out I was ditching school. It was easier to go than listen to her bitch. People grieve in their own ways, I guess. My mom was just…pissed. Anyway, a friend of mine had decided he wanted to start a band. I was the only person he knew with a drum kit. So he asked me to join.”

  A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek.

  I kissed the droplet away. “Rhenn?”

  “And Paige. Tori. It’s not that they cured me. That’s not how it works. But I had music and my friends. And then the fame. Fans. I was happy. I really was.”

  “And then…”

  “It ended. I don’t remember much about the time right after the accident. I just know I wanted everything to stop. It wasn’t until the overdose that they diagnosed me with depression.” He laughed. “I thought it was bullshit. But the pills worked. Took the edge off. I stopped thinking about killing myself, and just got on with it. The life I had left. I wasn’t happy. Or sad. I just…was.”

  “What about your mom?”

  His eyes rolled to the ceiling, a bitter chuckle parting his lips. “My mom told me I was weak like my father. And that she couldn’t handle going through it again. She didn’t want to be around when I finally fulfilled my destiny.”

  I struggled to sit up so I could look into his eyes. “You’re joking?”

  “Nope.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Bought her a house in Florida.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Now she pretends like I don’t exist. And I pretend not to care. She leaves me alone as long as the checks keep rolling in. I pay for everything. Her shiny new life. But I’ve only seen her twice since I was released from Millwood.”

  Miles held tight to my waist as I struggled to get to my feet, possibly to find the woman’s phone number so I could call her and tell her exactly what I thought of her.

  “Easy, killer,” he said, settling me on top of him like I weighed nothing. “I only told you so you’d understand.”

  “Understand what?” I spat. “That your mother’s a heartless bitch?”

  I pressed my lips together, fearing I’d overstepped. Miles just laughed. When he got himself under control, he said, “The reason I didn’t tell you, or anyone else, is that I believed it. I really thought that someday I might wake up and just…end it.”

  “And you don’t think that anymore?”

  He pulled me flush against him, so close I could hear his heartbeat and feel his breath. If I had a safe place, this was it. And nothing he’d told me would change that.

  “I can’t guarantee that the clouds won’t come for me again,” he said solemnly. “You don’t cure depression. But it’s not a death sentence.” He kissed the top of my head. “I don’t want to die, baby. I want to live. The choice is mine. I’m stable. I was just afraid. That’s why I pushed you away.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Feeling. I haven’t felt anything in years. Sheppard—that’s my doctor—he said that was the clearest indication that I was in remission. If I was afraid to feel it meant that I had something to lose.”

  Fear gripped me. I loved Miles. But I couldn’t be anyone’s reason for living.

  “Me?” I croaked.

  He tipped my chin with his finger and looked deep in my eyes. “No, baby. Me.”

  Miles

  I stood in front of the window facing the park and looked out at the city. Even at four in the morning, people strolled the sidewalks, darting in and out of the taxis idling at the curb.

  Could I really live here?


  My gaze found Gelsey’s reflection in the glass. Curled on her side on the king-size bed, she hugged her pillow, still wearing my sweats and over-sized T-shirt. Moonbeams shimmered over flaxen locks fanning the pillow like a river of spun gold.

  Yeah, I could live here. Or anywhere, as long as Gelsey was with me. Home wasn’t a place on the map.

  Not anymore.

  Home was lavender-scented linen and blue eyes and promise. And joy. So much joy.

  In the living room, I dug the poem from my backpack. Not one of Gelsey’s. This one was mine. Amateur at best. But she’d never read it. Maybe someday. But for now she’d tuck it away with the rest of my creations, unaware of the declaration hidden between the creases.

  And on my journey from here to there

  I learned that happiness is more than not being sad

  It is a smile in the dark when no one can see

  A glow from the inside in the absence of light

  And a voice above the chaos that speaks of a promise yet to be revealed

  You are my dark and my light

  My sun from another sky

  My everything

  I let my mind wander as my fingers worked the folds. Back to a place I rarely visited.

  You can make anything beautiful, Miles. Even scraps of paper people throw away.

  My father’s voice guided me as the flower took shape. It didn’t have a name, this bloom. It only existed in his mind. And mine.

  I finished right as the sky turned from inky black to gunmetal gray.

  Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, I placed the offering on Gelsey’s nightstand, jerking when her fingertips grazed the ink on my ribs.

  “Morning, baby,” I said.

  She gave me a sleepy smile and made room. So I eased down beside her. Face-to-face.

  “What time is it?” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Early.”

  Her leg slotted mine as she scooted closer, her hand cupping the back of my neck. “Sorry I fell asleep last night. Before…you know…”

  She pressed a kiss to my mouth, her lips curving when my tongue darted out.

  “Let me brush my teeth,” she said, tipping away. I shook my head. “But…morning breath.”