Stay With Me

by Cross, Cassie

  Her face lights up when she sees us, and she makes her way around the bar.

  “Y’all here to see this girl’s hard work?” she asks, giving Ayanna a hug before moving on to Audrey. “We’re so proud of her.”

  “That and an engagement party,” Audrey tells her.

  Ruby releases Audrey from her hug, then looks at Jackson, giving him a happy slap on his bicep. “I knew you’d get your head out of your ass one day,” she says with a laugh, wrapping her arms around him. “Congratulations!”

  His cheeks heat, and we lock eyes for a second before I look at the floor, feeling awkward as hell.

  When Ruby lets Jackson go, he clears his throat. “Not me and Birdie, Miranda and Mateo. He’s outside; he’ll be in soon.”

  Ruby presses her lips together and gives me a sympathetic look before she smiles and crushes Miranda in a hug. “I’m happy for you two,” she tells her. “To celebrate, first round’s on the house.”

  She turns to me last. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispers, acknowledging her mistake. I’m anxious to move on from all the awkwardness in the air, so instead of dwelling on it, I give her a hug. “All’s forgiven if you throw in a piece of chocolate cake with those drinks.”

  She grins and pats my cheek. “Done.”

  She shows us to our favorite table, and we order all the things that we loved back in the day. It’s simple bar food that isn’t the best quality, but the company, camaraderie, and atmosphere makes it taste much better than it actually is.

  Audrey carefully monitors the karaoke situation, and goes up to the stage when the woman who was there before her goes off to get another drink. She sings an old Spice Girls song, managing to draw some people onto the dance floor. Three of those people are me, Ayanna, and Miranda, but Audrey doesn’t seem to care about who listens to her as long as she gets to sing.

  After the fourth song—when Audrey gets really bad—Ruby lures her off the stage with the promise of a cocktail, then has one of the waiters hide the karaoke machine. We tease Audrey about it as we dig into the ginormous piece of chocolate cake Ruby brought to the table.

  We reminisce for awhile, but soon pair off. Miranda and Audrey get deep into planning the wedding, Mateo and Ayanna start talking business. Jackson and I stay on the periphery of both conversations, adding what we can.

  Audrey slips out of her chair, I assume to badger someone on the waitstaff about the location of the karaoke machine. It isn’t until a ballad from the early aughts starts playing that I realize she went to the jukebox. I know I’m in trouble when she returns to the table with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face.

  Miranda’s joined in Ayanna and Mateo’s conversation, so it’s just Jackson and me against Audrey’s considerable drive to get us back together.

  I know what she’s up to. She never could just mind her own damn business, especially where Jackson and I were concerned. She was still so invested in the idea of us as a couple that she wanted to make our relationship work long after the two of us had proved that it wasn’t going to.

  Her dedication to the people she cares about is one of the things I love most about her, except for when she turns it on me like this.

  “Audrey,” I warn.

  “What?” she asks innocently before she takes a sip of her drink. “You guys aren’t strangers to that dance floor, it was kinda your thing. I just thought I’d give you some incentive to get back out there. For old times’ sake.” She glances at Jackson, who doesn’t seem put off by the idea.

  She’s a meddling busybody with good intentions, and if I didn’t love her so much I would strangle her.

  I can’t remember the name of the song, but something about it sends a tingling rush of anticipation out to my fingertips and toes. I look down at the table, just so I don’t look like I’m expecting Jackson to go along with Audrey, even though…I’m pretty sure he’s going to go along with Audrey.

  The scary thing is that there’s a not-so-small part of me that wants him to.

  Jackson’s brows knit together the way they usually do when he makes up his mind about something.

  “Dance with me,” he says, offering his hand.

  I stare at his fingers. I want to reach out to him, but my brain is holding me back, steadily trying to guard my heart.

  I’m almost positive I hear Audrey whisper, “Do it.”

  “C’mon, Bird,” Jackson says softly, eyes pleading. “For old times’ sake.”

  I take his hand. I can’t tell him no. I don’t want to tell him no. Despite the years and heartache between us, something about him still calls to me.

  I can’t help myself.

  I wish I could.

  His skin feels so good on mine, and as he leads me onto the dance floor, it feels like no time has passed at all. It feels like he’s meeting me for dinner on his way home from visiting his parents for the weekend. It feels like we’re still in love, still twenty-one, still living in bodies without scars.

  I put my arms around his shoulders and his hands find the small of my back, pulling me closer, like he’s done a thousand times before. I breathe him in as we sway to the music.

  “Remember our first dance?”

  “I bruised the hell out of your toes,” I reply with a grin.

  He laughs as he looks down at his feet. The sound of it is gorgeous.

  “I’ve gotten better over the years.”

  His eyes snap up to meet mine, blazing with something that looks a lot like jealousy. “You’ve been practicing?”

  “Here and there,” I lie. I haven’t danced in years.

  “Anyone special?” He tries to sound casual, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that reveals the question is anything but.

  It’s not that I’ve actively avoided dating other people. I’ve been asked, I’ve said yes a few times. But for all his faults, Jackson was a tough act to follow and so far no one’s come close to being as right for me as he was. It’s probably not healthy to hold him up as an ideal, and I know I should’ve moved on by now, but…here I am.

  “No,” I admit. I could easily tell him otherwise. Maybe it’d be better in the long run if I did, but I can’t. “What about you? Anyone who would be upset that I might possibly step on your toes tonight?”

  His fingers twitch at the base of my spine, and he pulls me almost imperceptibly closer.

  “No,” he whispers. “It was only ever you for me.”

  I surge up on my toes and rest my forehead against his, his pretty words and honesty drawing me in. His nose brushes against mine, we breathe each other in, and every good reason I have for not kissing him momentarily disappears.

  I press my lips lightly against his, testing the waters. They’re a little chapped, just like I remember. He sighs into me, content, nipping and sucking my bottom lip the way I always liked.

  His fingers curl against the small of my back, and I grip the hair at his nape the way I used to when kissing each other was as necessary as breathing. It still feels that way. His lips on mine feel vital to my continued existence. They make my nerves zing, make my blood rush, like a reminder that yes, yes, this is the reason I’m alive.

  Being with Jackson like this is invigorating, comforting, completing.

  It’s like coming home.

  His tongue brushes against mine as he deepens the kiss, and my hands start wandering, wanting to touch every available inch of him that I can. I’m completely lost in him, and only come crashing back to reality when my fingertips brush a scar on his neck, just below his shirt collar.

  I pull away quickly as the reminder of what led us here brings me back to my senses. I shouldn’t keep kissing him despite the fact that I desperately want to. It takes everything in me not to say screw it and dive back in.

  Following this path could lead to heartbreak again, and I don’t know if I could bear it. At the very least we have too much to work through to pretend like there aren’t a whole mountain of issues between us.

  I take a step back, needing a
little more distance to think straight.

  We stare at each other, breathless.

  “Birdie, I’m sorry. I—”

  I give him a forced smile. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for.” I can’t blame him when Audrey practically peer pressured us into dancing, and I practically jumped his bones right here in public.

  I escape to the bar, where Ayanna’s waiting for me with a shot of whiskey.

  She slides it over.

  “Figured you could use this,” she says. “For the record, I told Audrey she needed to back off, to let y’all just be for a little while. But you know how she is.”

  I down the liquor in one shot, wincing as it burns my throat. I should take it easy because I’m a total lightweight. This could get out of control fast, but I don’t care.

  I just want to forget.

  I slam the shot glass down, and the bartender’s waiting with another.

  “Cheers,” Ayanna says, clinking her glass with mine.

  I tilt my head back and drink.

  Chapter Eight

  My head is throbbing.

  My mouth feels and tastes like someone stuffed a dirty sock in it.

  The room is too bright. I think this is the first time I’ve ever hated sunshine.

  There’s a gaggle of birds chirping so loudly that it sounds like they’re in the room with me. And there’s this smell…

  I slowly sit up, resting my weight on my elbows. I’m in my cabin, on my bed, lying on top of the covers, wearing the same clothes I had on last night. The only things missing are my shoes. I sit up a little more so I can rest my aching body against the headboard.

  “Good morning.”

  I startle so badly that I bang my elbow against the nightstand, knocking my funny bone.

  “Ow! Damn it.” I squeeze my eyes shut as I rub my arm.

  “I brought you a hangover remedy,” Miranda says with a sympathetic smile as she sits down on the edge of my bed. She motions to a tray beside her, holding a plate with what looks like the greasiest options from this morning’s breakfast and a glass full of something that has a sickly greenish tint to it.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” I tell her, pressing my hand to my chest to keep my heart from beating out of it.

  “Sorry.” She winces. “I knew you wouldn’t feel good this morning so I thought I’d bring you something. You woke up before I could get out of here undetected.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, rubbing my pounding head. “I’m sorry I snapped.”

  She huffs out a laugh, then offers me her hand so she can help me swing my legs over the side of the bed.

  Ugh. Being upright only makes my head hurt more. “Oh god,” I sigh, massaging my temples, desperate for anything that will make this go away. Miranda starts rubbing a soothing circuit up and down my spine. She always was the most motherly one among us, exactly the kind of person who wakes up early to bring her irresponsible friends hangover breakfasts.

  “The drinking. I’m out of practice.”

  “You said that. Multiple times last night, in fact.”

  “I did?” That sets my senses on high alert.

  With a laugh, she replies, “Oh yeah. You didn’t used to be a drunk talker, so…that’s new.”

  I groan. “What else did I say?”

  “Nothing too embarrassing, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says, like that’s supposed to reassure me. “Although, I was only with you for a little while. Jackson carried you in from the car. I don’t know what you said to him.”

  I give her a look of abject horror. “Stupid whiskey,” I mutter.

  “If it makes you feel any better, he seemed himself when I saw him this morning. So if you said anything, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “Yeah, that…that really doesn’t make me feel any better,” I tell her. Of all the thoughts I’ve had about Jackson since we arrived, there isn’t a single one that I would actually say aloud in his presence.

  And then it hits me. I kissed him. I bring my fingers to my lips, trying to remember whether or not it was real.

  “Yeah, that definitely happened,” Miranda answers for me.

  “Oh god,” I groan.

  “Did anyone see?”

  Miranda’s gives me a sympathetic look. “Only most of the bar.”

  “Oh god.”

  “Well,” Miranda says with forced cheer, “what’s done is done, and you’re gonna want to drink that while it’s still cold.”

  I squint at the beer glass full of what looks like lake water. “What exactly is it?”

  “The bartender whipped it up for you. You probably don’t want to know what’s in there. Ayanna swears it’ll make you feel better.”

  I pick up the glass and give it a sniff, then purse my lips together as I flinch. It looks like lake water and smells like lake water, but Ayanna’s never played a prank on me, so I guess this must be legit.

  “It’s for drinking, not for smelling,” she says, fully entering peak Mom mode. “Just hold your nose and gulp it so you can eat the good stuff.”

  I look at her with trepidation, then do what she says. I manage to get the whole thing down without puking it back up, so that’s a win.

  I put the drink down and reach for the plate, desperate to get the grassy, gross taste out of my mouth.

  “What’s going on today?” I ask before popping a piece of sausage in my mouth.

  “Mateo and I are meeting with a wedding planner, Ayanna and Audrey are working on some last-minute touch-ups to the property, and I don’t know what Jackson’s doing apart from playing fetch with Sam and running himself into an early knee replacement. But it looks like you’re on your own for most of today.”

  “I’ll ask Audrey and Ayanna if they need help with anything.”

  “No!” Miranda says suddenly. “They already left on a trip to the Home Depot in Charlottesville, and you know Ayanna will probably be lost in there for hours. “No, just relax. Find something to do with yourself for the day.”

  “Okay.”

  If I can somehow eradicate this headache from my life, I can pull out my laptop and stare at the blank screen for a few hours as I will my fingers to type something. Anything.

  Miranda looks at her watch. “I should probably go.” She reaches over and picks up the glass from my homemade hangover concoction. “Eat up. You’ll feel better in no time.”

  As she makes her way to the door of my cabin, I say, “Miranda?”

  She turns. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  “Always,” she replies with a soft smile.

  Chapter Nine

  After taking a nap to sleep away the remnants of my headache, followed by a shower to wake me up again, inspiration strikes as I’m shaving my legs. I’m just sliding the razor along my left calf when I bolt upright with a gasp. The shower spray sends conditioner streaming into my eyes, but I don’t care. I’ve finally come up with a way out of a gigantic plot hole I’ve been struggling with for months.

  It’s been a major contributing factor to my writing issues. Not all of my issues, but one of them.

  I don’t even bother rinsing out my hair, I just fumble for the faucet, hop out of the shower, and grab a towel on my way out of the bathroom. I frantically dry myself off just enough to not fry my laptop when I flip it open. I have to get this out before I get distracted and forget it. It has, sadly, happened to me before.

  As I pull up my novel’s outline, I make a mental note to find some way to record my shower writing ideas so I don’t have to drip all over the place every time I have a good one.

  I type the gist of my thoughts in a rush with trembling fingers and smile once I get everything down. It’s then that I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging over the dresser. An absolute nightmare is staring back at me: stringy hair with conditioner still in it, last night’s mascara streaming down my cheeks.

  I absolutely do not care. I feel like some of the weight I’v
e been carrying on my shoulders has been lifted. I laugh giddily, only moving when a clump of shaving cream plops onto the hardwood floor, reminding me to finish my shower.

  * * *

  I spend most of the morning relaxing in the hammock at my old writing spot. The sun is bright, the breeze is warm and I’m feeling happy and inspired. My laptop is balanced on my stomach as I flesh out my next book’s outline, filling in the gaps that have plagued me for the better part of a year.

  I try not to think about the fact that I still have to write the story I plotted out. A quick check of my recycle bin shows—ouch—157 deleted attempts at the first chapter. I sigh as I shut the window, not really wanting to think about that right now.

  I’ve made progress. Progress is what matters.

  With a sense of accomplishment that feels foreign to me at this point, I ease my way out of the hammock and stretch, relieving the ache in my tired muscles. I walk back to my cabin and drop off my laptop so I can head back out to the main house, where I’m hoping I’ll find something delicious and terrible for me that’s made out of chocolate.

  I stop short on the porch when I see Jackson crossing the distance between our cabins. Sam happily runs alongside him, his tags clanging against his collar.

  “Hey. Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  The door creaks as Jackson pulls it open, and Sam trots up the steps. He makes a beeline for my knee, nudging me with his wet nose and hoping for pets.

  “Hi sweet boy,” I tell him as I rub behind his ears. He lets out this soft groan as his eyelids close, and I can’t help but laugh. I take a seat so I can give him some more focused attention, and push the ottoman over for Jackson. Sam plants himself right next to me, strategically placing his head under my hand so I can keep up the good work.

  Jackson sits, smiling softly at Sam and me. “I wanted to come by and check on you earlier, but I saw Miranda walking over with the hangover special. I figured I’d give you some time to rest.”