Spark

by Erin Noelle

  Or both.

  Shifting the car into reverse, the sleeve of my shirt slides up on my arm a little, and I freeze as I catch sight of the bandage I woke up with this morning.

  Then it hits me.

  How the fuck does he know about what happened to my wrist?

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “In love with her?” I repeat the question, the L-word feeling different than the others as it spills from my mouth. I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind at some point in the last several weeks, but I’d quickly pushed it away, not ready to tackle that baby just yet.

  Grams waits patiently for my answer, leaning back in the cushioned wicker rocking chair out on the front porch, where she’s brought me for our chat. And with that first question, she came out firing.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure,” I slowly admit as I cross my arms over my chest, looking out over the resort property, lit up by twinkling white Christmas lights strung across the roofs of the lodge and all of the individual cabins.

  My gaze is immediately drawn to cabin number eight, and the memories of Hudson during that first week we stayed here bombard me. From the first moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was different than any girl I’d met before, and after our first kiss, I knew she’d be mine. The natural chemistry between us was undeniable…is undeniable.

  “Do I like her? Adore her? Think she’s damn near perfect? Definitely. I’ve never felt with anyone what I feel when I’m with her,” I continue, leaning my weight against the wood railing, “but I’m not sure we’ve known each other long enough to say we love each other, or even if we’re in love.”

  “Let me make it easy for you,” she says, her face softening. “Is she the last thing you think about before you go to sleep each night and the first thing you think about when you wake up every morning?”

  That’s a no-brainer. “Yes. Without a doubt.”

  Nodding, she chuckles lightly. “Right. So what’s your plan to get her back?”

  “Well, first, I quit my job at the bar, and Doug got me a job at The Green Halo helping Danny,” I reply, unsure if she’s aware I’m working there or not.

  “Yes, my son shared that tidbit of information with me. What else do you have?”

  “I’m crashing on a friend’s couch temporarily,” I drop down in the chair next to her and lean forward, bracing my forearms on my knees, “but his lease is up at the end of next month, so assuming we don’t kill each other and I’m able to save up some money, we’re going to get a two-bedroom place together. I also filled out an application at the local community college to enroll for the spring semester, which Mom has offered to pay for, since she moved in with Luke and her expenses are less. They said I’d know next week whether I was accepted or not, but I did pretty well in high school and on my SATs, so I’m not concerned.”

  She holds her hand up in the air to stop me from going on. “Everything you just said is great and all, but what does any of that have to do with Hudson?”

  “Once I get my life put back together, I can prove to her that I’m worthy of her, that I’ve healed after everything with Caleb.” The ache of emptiness in my chest still throbs every time I say his name, but my new therapist says the physical pain will gradually lessen with time.

  The disapproval on Grams’ face is unmistakable. “And how long is that going to take? Two or three months? Are you ready to repeat what you did tonight for however long it takes you to get all of your ducks in a row? ‘Cause I can promise you right now, she’s gonna try to drink or screw you out of her system until she’s actually able to let you go. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course it’s not.” Dropping my head, I grab fistfuls of my hair and tug hard, trying to erase the mental images she’s providing me. The jealousy I felt earlier seeing Hudson in the guy’s lap made me damn near homicidal. “What am I supposed to do though?”

  “Not wait two damn months, for starters,” she exclaims as she slaps her hands on her lap. “That girl inside that house—that girl you’re in love with, whether or not you want to admit it or not—she’s a fixer. Ever since she was a little kid, all she’s ever wanted to do was to fix everyone’s problems for them, never worrying about her own. When she found out about Caleb’s epilepsy, all she wanted to do was help him get better. When you were dealing with your loss of your brother, she swept aside her own time for grieving and focused all of her attention on you, doing everything she could to offer you support and comfort. It’s who she is.

  “Now she’s the one who’s broken; she’s the one who needs to be fixed, and you’re the only person who can do that. Are you going to leave her suffering while you try to work out all of your stuff by yourself, or are you going to apologize to her—on your damn knees, if that’s what it takes—and help each other heal?”

  Wow.

  When she puts it that way, I want to run back through the front door, shake Hudson to consciousness, tell her how sorry I am for everything, and plead with her to take me back.

  Then, I want to have out-of-this-world make-up sex. For hours. Days. Until I’m the only guy she’ll ever think about in bed again.

  Grams must recognize the desperate look in my face, because she stands up and offers me her hand, pulling me out of the chair. “Go home and think about what I said. If you’re serious about making it work, you need to show her how you feel. Just don’t wait around for the timing to be perfect, because there’s no such thing in life. You have to make it the perfect time.”

  The conversation with Grams plays on an endless loop in my head—during the drive to Rory’s apartment, through my attempt to sleep, and when I wake up the following morning and go to work. She’s right. I need to fix shit with Hudson, and I need to do it ASAP. The girl consumes my thoughts day and night, and I want her to be by my side as I attempt to tackle all of these goals. If that means I love her, well then, so be it.

  Fuck, that word is scary though.

  When we collide into each other in the back room at The Green Halo, her presence completely catches me off guard, and I end up acting like a tool throughout the short conversation. So badly, I just want to blurt out I’m sorry and want her back, and that I’ll do whatever it takes to fix everything, but I don’t.

  I’m a fucking coward, afraid she’ll reject me. So I heehaw around my words, only drawing up enough courage to ask her about her arm as she’s walking out the fucking door.

  Then she’s gone.

  And I still haven’t apologized.

  Forgetting all about whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing for Danny, I sprint out the door to catch her before she drives away, pride be damned, and to my surprise, she’s stomping across the parking lot, headed directly for me. And she’s pissed.

  She pulls up just short of where I’m standing, with her hands fisted on her hips and an irritated scowl etched onto her face. “How did you know about my arm?”

  Shit! Why in the world did I open my big, fat mouth?

  “I’m the one who treated and bandaged your arm last night after I took you home from the party,” I reply quietly, knowing it’s time I start telling her the truth, even as I prepare myself for the angry outburst sure to follow. Knowing her, it’s inevitable.

  “You did what?!” she shouts, her eyes bulging out of her head.

  As I reach out to rest my hands on her arms, a futile attempt to calm her down, she side-steps out of my grasp with flared nostrils. “Don’t touch me! And you better start explaining what in the fuck happened last night. How did you even know where I was?”

  Dragging my fingers through my messy hair, I inhale a fortifying breath through my nose and slowly blow it out of my wind-chapped lips. “I’m not sure how much you remember, but Rory—the guy I used to bartend with and whose apartment I’m staying at now—was at the party, and he called to let me know you were there and that you were drunk and hanging on some other guy.”

  Shame flashes momentarily through her stormy blue eyes, but she quickl
y blinks it away and replaces it with stubbornness. “So? What business is it of his, or yours for that matter, what I do or who I do it with? I think somewhere between you calling me a whore and sleeping with trash from the bar, you lost that right.”

  “Hudson, please.” Swallowing up the distance between us in one stride, I lift a hand to her face and brush the pad of my thumb across her cheek, my heart swelling with hope when she doesn’t jerk away from my touch again. “Please, hear me out. I have so much to say to you. I need to apologize and—”

  “Crew!” Danny shouts with his head sticking out the backdoor, drawing both mine and Hudson’s attention to him. “I’m drowning in here, dude. I need your ass inside now. Oh, hey, Hudson!” He smiles and waves when he sees his niece, his eyes hone in on where I’m cupping her face in my hand. “Sorry to interrupt whatever’s going on, but we’re getting slammed. I need Crew inside.”

  “No problem, Uncle Danny,” she calls out to him while putting space between us. “I set that container Grams had me drop off just inside the room there.”

  He tips his chin in acknowledgement and thanks her, then slips back inside, allowing the door to close behind him. Our eyes lock onto each other again, but before I can continue on with my unplanned speech, she holds her hand up in the air to stop me.

  “You need to get inside, and it isn’t the time or place to do this. If you want to talk later, you know where to find me.” Her voice is thick with melancholy as she backpedals toward her car.

  Nodding in frustration, I watch her climb in the driver’s seat and start the car. Then, as she drives off away from me, the determination inside me spikes and I know exactly what I need to do to get her back.

  That evening, when I arrive at the apartment, I’m completely drained from the lack of sleep the night before, the unexpected run-in with Hudson, and working pretty much nonstop for ten straight hours. I think every pot-smoker in the state of Colorado hit up the shop today; I literally couldn’t keep the display cases stocked fast enough for the rate Danny was selling it.

  Tossing my wallet and keys into the bowl on the bar, I flop onto the couch with a groan, too tired to even get up and fix something for dinner. My stomach growls angrily with disapproval at my plan for a foodless evening, but I ignore it for the time being. Maybe after a nap…

  “Crew? Is that you, man?” Rory hollers from behind the closed door of his bedroom.

  I want to say something clever or funny back to him, but my brain has checked out. “Yeah, it’s me!” I shout back.

  His door swings open and he saunters out in a pair of sweats, an old beat-up t-shirt, and hair looking like he hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. Stretching his arms up in a big yawn, he shuffles over to the refrigerator and grabs the milk, drinking straight from the jug. I make a mental note to purchase all of my own drinks in the future.

  “I thought you were working tonight,” I state, not bothering to move from my planked position.

  He smacks his lips together and nods, shooting me a wicked grin. “I knew after being up all night and morning there was no way I’d have the patience or energy to put up with the rowdy day-after-Christmas crew, so I switched shifts with Dustin. Now I work tomorrow instead.”

  “Yeah, I noticed your Jeep was missing outside when I left for work this morning. I’m assuming you had a good time after I left last night,” I probe.

  Smirking, he circles around the bar and heads back into the living room, falling back into his favorite chair. “Dakota proved to be a little better than a good time.”

  I shoot up to a sitting position, suddenly wide awake. “Dakota?! Are you fucking serious?”

  “Shit, calm the fuck down, dude. We had sex. That’s it. It was cool. She was cool. Everything’s cool.”

  “But that’s Hudson’s sister,” I argue, scrubbing my hands over my face. “What if she—”

  “Nothing,” he cuts me off. “What if she nothing. What happened between Dakota and me is between us. We’re both very clear on what it was and what it wasn’t. Neither you nor Hudson has anything to do with it, but I do hope that your caveman rescue mission last night helped earn your way back into her good graces.”

  Swallowing back the shock of his Dakota news and the concerns I have about it one day affecting me and Hudson, I shake my head. “I wouldn’t say I’m in her ‘good graces’ by a long shot, but we’re at least speaking…I think.”

  He laughs hard. “You think?”

  “Well, after I took her home, I talked to her grandma for a while, and she really helped put some things in perspective for me,” I admit. “Then this morning, Hudson unexpectedly stopped by the shop, and although she didn’t remember anything about last night, nor was she too happy to learn I’d taken her home, she did tell me if I wanted to talk, I knew where to find her.”

  “So what the fuck is your ass doing here? Go get your girl.”

  “I can’t just barge into her house and demand she accept my apology and take me back. I’ve gotta show her how sorry I am—grovel a bit and prove myself to her. Ya know?”

  Nodding, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s your plan then?”

  I lift my hips off the couch cushion and dig inside my pocket, retrieving the plastic bag of weed and pack of papers Danny sold me after hours. Lobbing them onto the coffee table, an optimistic smile spreads across my face, stretching from ear to ear.

  “This,” I announce proudly.

  He stares down at the items on the table then looks back up at me, his forehead crinkled with confusion. “You’re gonna get her so high that she forgives you?”

  “Nah, much, much better than that,” I chuckle, “but I am gonna need you to teach me how to roll a joint.”

  I don’t bother going to my sisters’ place after I leave The Green Halo. I’m not sure I want to know any more details about how I acted like a fucking idiotic whore last night. Plus, I’m pissed at them for allowing Crew to haul me away from the party like I’m a small child who can’t take care of herself. It was their idea I go and try to drink and flirt him out of my system anyway.

  Traitors.

  Sleep is my only friend right now. My body is revolting against me. My mind is refusing to process information. My heart is an unrealistic bitch. And everyone else can go screw go themselves.

  Clicking my phone into the off position, I throw it and my other stuff onto my nightstand and face-plant onto my bed, even passing up smoking. Maybe if I sleep for twenty-four hours, I’ll feel better. Maybe I’ll wake up to find out the past couple of months have all been a dream. A beautiful, heartbreaking dream.

  Dark silence blankets the room when I finally open my groggy eyes, and as I twist to read the alarm clock, my jaw falls open, shocked. Three-fifty-five! I’ve slept for almost sixteen hours straight, not even bothering to eat or go to the bathroom.

  I untangle myself from the knot of sheets I’m twisted into as the palms of my hands push down and back into the mattress, thrusting me up into a sitting position. I blink hard several times, clearing away the translucent film, and allow my vision to come into focus.

  Clenching and releasing my fists, scissoring my legs on top of the blanket, and rolling my head around to pop my neck, I discover the sleep immensely improved the way I feel physically, though my head is still a bit foggy. As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, an incensed growl echoes inside my neglected stomach, causing me to move food to the top of my list, right after I brush and flush.

  Fifteen minutes later, my now-satisfied belly is full of yogurt and granola, and I’m changed and ready to head out to the greenhouses. It’s been a long time since I’ve been awake early enough to enjoy a morning 4:20 spark-up. And I’ve neglected my babies for way too long.

  With the first blissful intake of smoke into my lungs, I lean back in the lone office chair and scan the crowded contents of the glass-framed building. The efficient system Doug and I devised a couple years ago for growing and cultivating the plants continues to work per
fectly, even now that our garden has grown tenfold, but we’re at production capacity for the space we have. And I want more green babies.

  “Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you up this early.” My dad doesn’t bother to hide the surprise in his voice as the door closes behind him and he walks over to me. “Is everything okay, sweetie?”

  Rotating around in the chair, I extend my arm to offer him the joint. “Mornin’, Doug, and yes, everything is fine. I missed the girls, so I thought I’d come out and give them some love,” I reply with a hint of a smile while standing up to hug him.

  “I’m sure they’ve missed you too,” he accepts the smoke, tipping his head in silent appreciation, “especially since they’ve been stuck with me for the last few weeks. I don’t quite have the gentle touch that you do with them.”

  “Now that finals are over and I’m not dealing with—” My voice fades as the image of Crew at the dispensary appears in my mind, which reminds me that I’m upset with Doug. Propping my fists on my hips, I lift my eyebrows at him and grunt, “Wait a minute! I forgot I’m mad at you! Gimme my joint back.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head, holding the weed high above his head so it’s out of my reach. “No chance. Not until you tell me why you’re mad at me. What did I do?”

  Not wanting to talk about it, not wanting to talk about him, I stomp away from my dad, down one of the aisles. He follows, but doesn’t ask again, not wanting to press the issue, ‘cause he knows exactly why I’m cross with him.

  Unaware of where my feet are leading me, it’s not surprising I end up skulking in front of my special project plants, causing me to think about Crew even more. I’m turning into some sort of emotional masochist.

  “How much longer are you gonna let them flower?” he asks after several silent minutes, his voice soft.