Where We Belong

by Shann McPherson

  Harley crouched down, holding a hand out for me, and I took it, allowing him to help me back up to my unsteady feet only for me to sway once more. “Whoa!” He steadied me, his hands gripping my shoulders, and then I watched as he leaned in a little closer, narrowing one of his eyes. “A-are you drunk, Murph?”

  I shook my head, and then I nodded, but then I started to get dizzy from all the rapid head movements. “I don’t know. I think I am.” I shrugged, clutching at the side of my spinning head. “But I don’t know how! I didn’t have any of the liquor from the kitchen. I didn’t have a beer from the keg. I think someone spiked my drink, Harley.”

  Harley’s eyes widened, his jaw tight as his cheeks flushed red and he gripped my shoulders slightly tighter, protectively. “What the hell?”

  “Well, yeah …” I shrugged. “All I’ve been drinking is the punch. There’s no way I—”

  At that, Harley’s hold on me loosened a little, his face deadpanning as he stared at me before a smile slowly began to creep onto his face, stopping me mid-sentence.

  “What?”

  “Kevin’s punch?”

  I nodded.

  Suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed out loud, still holding on to my shoulders.

  “What is so funny?” I glared at him, quirking a brow, which was a lot harder to do when I could barely feel my own face.

  “Murph!” He managed to collect himself just enough, chuckling once more as he looked down at me, his eyes still smiling so brightly beneath the dull light of the garden lights. “That shit’s at least three-quarters rum!”

  “Rum?” I shrieked, my nose crunching up in disgust. I didn’t even know what rum was, but suddenly my belly twisted again, and acid burned its way up the back of my throat. I slapped a hand over my mouth and turned away from Harley, bending over and retching once more into the already soiled bush.

  “Where’s Nash?” Harley asked from over my shoulder as he smoothed an awkwardly tentative hand over my back in a show of support.

  I finished bringing up whatever the hell was even left inside of me, and I turned to him, scrubbing my hands over my face and smoothing my hair back from my clammy forehead. I took a few deep breaths. “I don’t even know.” I shook my head. “He left a while ago to help John Portman fix his truck.”

  “He just left you?”

  I nodded, looking down at the vomit stains splattered down the front of my dress.

  Harley cursed once under his breath. “Here.”

  I looked up, watching as he unbuttoned the flannel shirt he was wearing, shrugging out of it before handing it to me. I took it from him, looking him up and down left in only his jeans and T-shirt.

  “You can put that on to cover your dress.” He nodded to the shirt before glancing out over the backyard, checking for what I wasn’t sure. I shrugged his shirt on, thankful that it covered most of the sick that had splattered on my dress. After tying my hair up into a knot on top of my head, I folded my arms around myself, shivering as the cool night breeze whipped through the air.

  “C’mon.” He held a hand out for me. “I’ve only had one beer. I’ll take you home.”

  I hesitated a moment before giving him my hand, feeling something unfamiliar flutter low in my belly when our skin touched. But I ignored whatever the hell that was, and I allowed him to lead the way through the dimly lit yard and around the side of the house, until we came to his beat-up old truck parked at the end of a long line of beat-up old trucks in the driveway. Harley stopped to unlock the passenger door with his key, opening it for me. But I hesitated once again, gripping his arm and offering him a wide-eyed look.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  “I can’t go home like this.” I shook my head. “Momma will kill me!”

  He rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a laugh.

  “It’s not like your house. I can’t come and go as I please, and I certainly can’t be drunk and covered in my own spew,” I continued, gripping his arm even tighter. “Momma will kill me, then she’ll kill you. And if Nash ever reappears from wherever the hell he disappeared to, she’ll kill him, too!”

  “It’s okay, Murph. You can just crash at my place.”

  I sighed heavily in resignation, knowing there was no other option as I climbed up into the truck as best I could manage. And as Harley and I drove through the quiet streets of Graceville in the middle of the night, I cursed two things that night. I cursed Nash Harris for leaving me, his girlfriend and apparent love of his life, at that stupid party. And I cursed rum, all rums, vowing never to touch the stuff ever again for the rest my life.

  As I think back to that night, I realize even to this day I still have no idea where Nash disappeared to. He just left me there, and it was Harley who rescued me. I remember being so angry about the fact that Nash wasn’t there. I’d kept Harley awake all night drunkenly rambling on and on about my inconsiderate boyfriend, when I should have just been thankful for Harley saving my butt, for letting me sleep in his bed while he took the hardwood floor. It’s funny how it can take years to see the truth for what it really is. I was always saving Nash, but it was Harley who kept saving me.

  “What?”

  I look up from my cup to see Harley’s curious green eyes watching me, a small hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips as one of his brows quirks.

  “I can’t believe you even remember that night …” I bite back my smile.

  His eyes widen as if he’s just realized something, as if he’s just said something he shouldn’t have, and I don’t miss the hint of a pink tinge flushing his cheeks. But instead of saying anything, he takes a big swig of his drink and moves around the island. Stopping by the sound system, he pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, plugging it into the dock. My heart is a flutter, and my mind is racing with a whole heap of confusing thoughts, but then the sound of a Florida Georgia Line song I love begins playing throughout the silence, interrupting my overwhelming thoughts. With a shake of my head in an attempt to snap myself out of my confusion, I turn to see Harley opening the big glass doors before disappearing outside onto the back deck.

  “You gotta get out here and see this, Murph!”

  With a steadying breath, I stand to my slightly shaky feet, walking outside with my drink, joining Harley on the deck, and immediately I’m rendered speechless by the sight laid out before me. The jet-black inky water glistens beneath the blanket of stars sitting high in the dark night sky, and it’s breathtaking, like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  “Wow,” I whisper under my breath, wholeheartedly captivated by the view.

  Harley stands beside me at the railing as we stare out over the small waves crashing onto the shore, the beach illuminated only by the glow of the moon. I don’t have any words. It’s all too perfect, and my words would simply pale in comparison to what I’m truly feeling. It’s pure bliss, like something you might see in a painting in an art gallery. I’m simply existing in this space right now. Between the sounds and the smells of the ocean, the view, and Harley’s warmth right beside me, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be, and I smile to myself as I take a sip from my pretend Long Island Iced Tea, basking in the moment.

  “So, about last night …” Harley says unexpectedly, subsequently ruining the moment.

  I almost choke on my mouthful of liquor before swallowing hard. Placing my cup onto the railing so I don’t drop it, I close my eyes. Tight. I knew last night would be brought up again, especially after I admitted I lied about not remembering anything. But now? Seriously? Can’t we just enjoy our companionable silence and the damn view?

  I force my eyes open because I can feel Harley watching me. His presence and his stare are heavy. I turn my head to find him right there, his gaze set on me and the slightest hint of a smile pulling at his lips, as if he knows the agonizing torture I’m being put through right now. But I don’t speak. I don’t say anything. Instead I just huff out a heavy breath, cocking my head to t
he side, quirking a brow at him, waiting for him to say whatever it is he feels he needs to say right now.

  “I just wanna know one thing …” he begins, pressing his lips together in an attempt to stifle the grin that is so obviously trying to claim his entire face.

  “What?” I snap abruptly, casting him a look of indifference I don’t really mean. It’s a defense mechanism. I don’t want to give myself away. But somehow, I think it’s too late. He already knows. “What?” I ask again, with a slightly less harsh tone.

  The lingering hint of a smile falls from his lips, and he suddenly appears so fragile, so nervous.

  “Harley?”

  “Can you kiss me? Again?”

  My jaw drops at his question, so hushed, so pleading, so desperate.

  He’s playing me. He has to be. But as I stare at him searching for even a hint of sarcasm, I come up short. He’s serious. He’s actually freaking serious. “W-what?” I stammer, my voice suddenly broken.

  “You heard me, Murph,” he says with a knowing look in his eyes.

  “Y-you want me to … what? To k-kiss you?” I clear the sudden bubble of doubt lodged in the back of my throat. I try to add a nonchalant laugh as if I’m not nearly as affected as I am, but it’s impossible. I’m a mess, and judging by the look in his eyes, he knows it. Before I can say anything, or do anything to further give away how completely and utterly crazy he makes me, Harley reaches out, cupping my jaw with his hand, and just as my mind attempts to catch up with my racing heart, his lips crash against mine in a kiss so all-consuming, I’m as good as done for.

  Chapter 25

  Somewhere between the feel of Harley’s tongue stroking mine, coaxing me so tentatively, so delicately it’s almost adorable how hesitant he is, and the painful pinch as his fingers tangle themselves within the lengths of my hair, I begin to come to my senses. Barely. Placing my hands against his chest, I’m momentarily lost in the feel of the tight muscles clenching beneath the smooth taut skin underneath the soft shirt he’s wearing, but I force myself to gently push him away with a little less conviction than I was hoping for.

  Harley stumbles backward with a grunt of objection, and I look up at him through heavy lashes finding his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen, and his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he fights to take. His eyes penetrate mine, looking at me incredulously.

  “Harley,” I manage through my own breathlessness. Placing a hand over my mouth, I close my eyes. I touch my lips, and beneath my fingertips I can still feel his lips on mine. I can still taste him. I still want him. But I shake my head, clearing those intoxicating thoughts from my painfully conflicted mind. “Harley, we can’t do this. It’s a lie. You said so yourself, last night.”

  Shut the hell up, Murph, my subconscious hisses at me. My own words leave a terrible taste on my tongue, and I watch as Harley seems to battle with his words, opening his mouth only to close it again, over and over as if he’s having some kind of silent war within himself. He presses his lips together in a firm line, looking up to the sky a moment, his hands fisting his hair. I stare at him, watching as he exhales a heavy breath of frustration before finally meeting my eyes again. But this time, there’s no look of lust or want in them. They’re blank. Indifferent. And I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting.

  “Harley, I—”

  “Is this about him?” He cuts me off, and I snap my mouth shut, my eyes widening of their own accord.

  “What?”

  “Nash,” he hisses, and he rakes his fingers through his hair, tearing at the longer lengths as he meets my eyes. “Is this all still about him, because … you’re doing my fuckin’ head in. One minute you’re kissing me like I’m the only guy you want to be kissing, the next minute you’re choosing him over me. Again. And, I can’t—” He snaps his mouth shut, pressing his lips together and closing his eyes momentarily before turning to looking out over the ocean.

  “Harley?” I take a step toward him, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder, but he quickly backs away from me, and I pull my hand away, flinching from his rejection.

  Shaking his head, a small smile tugs at his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. Smoothing a hand over his wayward hair, he offers me a curt nod, grabbing his cup from the railing ledge before turning and staggering ever so slightly. “I’m gonna go to bed.” He casts a fleeting glance over his shoulder, this time not meeting my eyes. Finishing what’s left of his drink, he tosses the empty Solo cup to the ground, causing it to bounce upon the decking, and he disappears inside with a murmured, “Goodnight, Murph.”

  And just like that, I’m left all alone with nothing more than the memory of his lips on mine, the lingering hint of his intoxicating scent, the painful sting of his words, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, reminding me of a moment ago when everything was almost perfect.

  A shiver runs through me, despite the mild night breeze blowing in from the ocean, and suddenly I’m stone-cold sober. I release the breath I’ve been holding, my shoulders sagging in defeat as I move to the railing. I stare out over the inky water, taking a sip from my drink, wincing at the suddenly bitter taste. Maybe it’s the drink; maybe it’s the vile aftertaste of what just occurred between the two of us. Closing my eyes, I down the whole thing in a few mouthfuls, cursing under my breath as the liquor burns the back of my throat.

  Sometimes I find myself wondering just how I can be so damn stupid. I’m so scared to be myself; hell, I don’t even know who I am, anymore. I’m so good at playing a part—the sarcastic tomboy I forced myself to be growing up because it was easier than being the slightly chubby dork no boy would ever want—I’m often shocked when glimpses of the real me show through. The girl who has a heart that’s been broken for longer than a heart should be broken at my age. The girl who believes in love and wants it more than anything. The girl who desperately wants her happily ever after.

  I’ll never admit it out loud, but sometimes I think Nash broke me. I don’t even know who I am without him. It was always him and me when we were growing up. Then it was the two of us when we were together. Then, after our breakup, it was just me, but I seemed to lose myself in the memory of what I had with Nash and, when I lost him, I’d lost the person I thought I was. Because of the love I felt for him for such a long time, it’s almost as if I’m broken for any man who isn’t him. Because of the way I fell so hard for him, I’m scared I’ll never love again. Because of him, I can’t even lose myself in a drunken kiss with Harley. I shake my head at the memory of the way he looked at me just now before he disappeared inside. He seemed so incredulous, confused, and possibly even a little hurt.

  Why? I have no idea. This is all a lie. He said so himself just last night when he was rejecting me in the most humiliating way possible. Yes, maybe my feelings have become confused somewhere along the line, but I can’t let that get in the way of whatever the hell it is I’m doing. It’s Harley Shaw, for Christ’s sake. If I let my feelings become tangled within his infamous web, I’ll only end up hurt.

  But it’s just a kiss, my subconscious argues. Yeah, and kissing leads to God knows what else. Just one kiss, she continues relentlessly, and I just know she’s not going to give up without a fight. One kiss is all it takes. But imagine how good his hands would feel caressing your skin …

  “Dammit!” I curse out loud. Damn my subconscious. She’s always getting me into trouble. Making me do stupid, unimaginable things, like lacing an entire cake with laxative.

  The memory of the feel of Harley’s lips on mine comes flooding back to me, and I stifle the shiver threatening to run through me as I trace my lips with my fingers. I glance up at the house, to the big window on the right. Our room. And a million conflicting thoughts begin racing through me. He’s probably naked up there. Is he in the armchair? Maybe he’s in the bed. I wonder if he’s thinking of me. Is he up there waiting for me? My heart is racing so fast I can feel the thrum of my heartbeat bang heavily against my eardrums. What’s goin
g to happen when I go up there to bed? What will he do? Will he pretend as if I don’t exist? Will he offer one of his smug smirks, knowing I was going to eventually give in and go to him?

  Suddenly, my skin pricks and I feel my cheeks flush as I imagine him lying in the bed, dressed only in his boxers, his hand dipping beneath the waistband … But at that thought I blink hard, shaking my head, realizing just how dry my mouth is when I try to swallow the ball of nerves pulsating in the back of my throat. God, I need to calm the hell down, or grow a set of proverbial balls and go the hell up there. Last night I was ready to jump his bones. Tonight, suddenly I’m too chickenshit. I’m just as drunk as I was last night. Maybe even more. So, what the hell has gotten into me?

  I walk a little unsteadily back into the house, stopping in the kitchen, and I move to the island, gripping the marble counter with my hands. As I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart, I notice my knuckles turning a stark shade of white. That’s when I catch sight of the bottle of tequila, and I consider it for the briefest of moments.

  “Sleep on the couch,” I hiss under my breath, closing my eyes tight. “Or else you’re gonna make a damn fool of yourself! Again!”

  Opening my eyes, my hand moves of its own accord, grabbing the tequila. And as I take a swig straight from the bottle, it’s like I’m an outsider looking in, and I have no control over my actions. At least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  With the bottle in one hand, I smooth my hair back from my face with the other, taking a deep breath as I turn and head toward the stairs. Climbing each step one at a time, I stop halfway to take another swig from my comfort tequila. I don’t even wince at the burn as it trails down the back of my throat, and I’m worried I might be too far gone, further than I had originally anticipated. I pause at the landing, and in an unexpected moment of clarity, I look left to my bedroom door. A voice deep down at the back of my consciousness pleads for me to go back downstairs to the living room and sleep it off on the couch as far away from Harley as I can possibly get. But that voice is fleeting, fading into the background noise of my racing heart and heavy breaths.