Spark

by Erin Noelle

  Shrugging, I trace my fingertip around one of the buds. “Another four to five weeks I think. I’m anxious to test the final CBD to THC proportions. I’m hoping to get something close to 50:1.”

  His head bobs as he steps up to get a closer look. “Have you named it yet?”

  “No, not yet. I’m nervous to get too attached,” I snicker, pretending as if I’m not already emotionally involved with these plants.

  He fidgets for a minute, awkwardly shuffling his feet around before whispering, “I’ve been calling them Lovesong.”

  “Lovesong? Where did you come up with that?”

  “Well, at first I was calling them The Cure,” he admits without looking over at me. “’Cause that’s what they are, right? Your attempt to develop something that will prevent seizures, and all but cure epilepsy?”

  My tight-lipped non-answer is all the confirmation he needs to continue. “But something about The Cure just didn’t sound right, and then something in my crazy, middle-aged brain made the connection between the musical group, The Cure, and their hit, Lovesong, and I thought it was perfect. It was because Caleb had epilepsy that their family came here in the first place, and it was their coming here that ultimately led you and Crew to find each other.”

  Tears spill down my face during his explanation as I struggle to keep my breathing regulated. “But Crew and I aren’t together anymore,” I choke out. “You know that.”

  Turning to face me, Doug wraps his arms around my quivering shoulders and pulls me into a tight father-daughter hug. “But you will be,” he says like it’s a predetermined fact while smoothing my hair down. “I saw the way you both looked at each other across the table the very first day he was here, and I knew then you’d end up together. The spark between you two was undeniable, and even though it’s been difficult here lately, I have faith you’ll rekindle that fire soon.”

  I squeeze his neck even harder while leaving wet streaks across his sweatshirt, and then I say something I haven’t said in a really, really long time. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

  After resuming my morning duties of preparing breakfast for the resort—a job Mel was more than happy to hand me back the reins to—I loiter around the office at the lodge, cleaning and reorganizing, anything to keep my mind off Crew. He was trying to apologize before Uncle Danny interrupted him—at least I think he was—and although I’m dying to know what else he was going to say, I have to wait for him to come to me. This is his wrong to make right.

  By noon, I’m wearing the wood off the floors, pacing out of sheer boredom. Without classes and studying to keep me preoccupied, I search out Brighton and Cheyenne, hoping they’ll want to go to the mall or see a movie with me, but they’ve already left to go skiing with some friends. Too bad the one friend I made in my first semester at college turned out to be a fake, manipulative piece of shit, or I’d call Beckham and see if he wants to hang out.

  I’m also still a little irritated with my older three sisters, not really wanting to do anything with them; although, I did talk to Juno this morning right before breakfast, and she told me she’d had words with Crew that night, and she felt he had my best interests at heart. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

  That leaves me ridin’ solo wherever I go, which, as I snag my keys and purse from my room, is still undecided. I just have to get out of this place. Too many memories of him everywhere I look.

  As I amble out to my car, I scroll my phone for movie times at the local theater, figuring watching Bradley Cooper for a couple of hours could never be a bad thing, no matter how pathetic I look going by myself. I almost miss the white envelope tucked under my windshield wiper, but just as I’m bending to slide behind the steering wheel, the edge of it flaps up in the wind, garnering my attention.

  With my breath held, I stretch around and grab the small package with my name printed on the outside of it, a lot nervous and a little bit hopeful. My trembling fingers tear into the paper, and when I get a good look at what’s inside—a single joint with the words ‘I’m sorry’ written on it in red marker—I damn near melt into a puddle of forgiveness on the pavement.

  Crew.

  He came to find me.

  Turning around in a complete circle, I comb the area with keen eyes, but don’t see any sign of him. I’ve got no way of telling when he put this here, and I’m not sure if I should text or call him to let him know I got it or not. My thumb hovers over the screen on my phone as my mind weighs the pros and cons of reaching out to him now, or waiting for him to contact me again.

  I chuck the rectangular device onto the passenger’s seat without opening the screen and beam down at the joint resting in my other hand. Dropping down onto the leather captain’s chair, I tuck the apology ‘note’ in a safe place in my purse then pull out of the driveway with a genuine smile on my face—the first one I’ve had in way too long.

  There is no contact from Crew for the rest of the day, but my spirits stay positive. I’m cautiously optimistic I’ll hear from him again soon. The following morning, I wake up before my alarm and bounce right out of bed, feeling almost back to myself again.

  Once my morning duties are complete, I discuss with Doug my idea to expand the current marijuana greenhouse or to have another one built. Traffic through The Green Halo steadily increases each week, and with the limited space we have, soon we won’t be able to keep up with the demand, which will only mean those buyers will move on to our competition. Thankfully, he’s onboard and agrees to run some numbers to see which option will be the best bang for our buck.

  Satisfied, I leave the lodge and head over to the house to change clothes. Earlier, I agreed to take Cheyenne and two of her friends to watch some boys they like at the snowboard park for the afternoon. It’s not really my idea of fun, but it sure beats sitting around doing nothing, and I bring a few magazines to browse through in case it’s worse than I imagine.

  An identical envelope is in the exact place on my windshield as the previous one, and before I even rip it open, my heart is fluttering like a giant hummingbird inside my chest. Snatching it up quickly, I’m a tad bit embarrassed to open it in front of Cheyenne, but there’s no way in hell I can’t not read it right now.

  Hooking my finger under the lip, I slide it across and peek inside, ecstatic to see another joint inside. He truly knows the way to my heart…and my lungs.

  “What does it say?” My younger sister, who I told about the message yesterday, urges me to roll it over in my hand and read the message.

  ‘I miss you’ is printed in the same red handwriting as yesterday’s note, and this time, I can’t help a satisfied smile from splitting my face. Luckily, Cheyenne keeps her typical know-it-all attitude in check and cheers for me, doing a little dance in her seat while singing her excitement.

  The next two days leave me with more message-laden joints, one that says ‘I need you’ and the other that says ‘I want you’, but on the fifth day—New Year’s Eve, no less—when I still haven’t received an envelope at nearly five o’clock in the evening, disappointment sets in. There’s been no other contact from him, and as sure as I was on the first day that the joints were messages from Crew, doubt begins to creep in and I start to wonder if Beckham is the one leaving them.

  The thought crushes me.

  I want Crew to be sorry and to miss me.

  I need him to want me, and I want him to need me.

  Crew.

  Because I’m in love with him, and despite everything that happened, I still think we have a chance to be good together.

  Raking my frustrated fingers through my hair, I check the clock again then go look out the front window to confirm what I already know. Nothing.

  I growl a string of curse words under my breath as I slog into the kitchen to get a couple special brownies, resorting to feeding my misery. Just as I stuff a big chocolaty bite into my mouth, Grams rushes inside the house, her expression falling somewhere between panicked and stressed.

  “Hudson,
thank God you’re here!” she exclaims when she sees me, relief washing over her. “I need you to make a delivery for me. One of our regular Green Halo customers couldn’t make it to the store today, and I promised her one of us would take her an ounce of Orange Krush. It’s for her young daughter, and they’re leaving early in the morning to go out of town and they—” She waves her hand in front of her pause, cutting her own thought short. “Never mind, that’s not important. Your parents are running behind in setting up for the New Year’s Eve Party at the lodge, so I need you to take it, please.”

  Unable to speak with my mouth full, I nod my head and give her a thumbs-up.

  “Great! I’ll leave the sack and the address on the table in the foyer,” she smiles brightly as she pats my shoulder, “and you can brush your hair and teeth, and maybe uh, change into whatever you’re planning to wear to the party. That way, when you get back, you can come straight to the lodge. It’s already seven-thirty.”

  I don’t get a chance to ask her what’s wrong with wearing the black tights and oversized YOLO sweater I’m currently sporting to the party, because she’s gone out the door nearly as hastily as she appeared. Shrugging, I gulp my glass of milk down then go to change clothes.

  “She’s on her way.”

  Hearing Grams utter those four words ignites a livewire of nerves inside me, buzzing through every inch of my body. It’s happening. She’ll be here soon. Time to man the fuck up or lose my girl.

  “But I should warn you,” Hudson’s feisty grandma continues with a chuckle, “she’s in a mood. I found her stuffing her face with brownies a little while ago, so I’m assuming she’s stressing about not getting a package on her car today.”

  I’d hoped she’d be a little anxious when she got here, maybe even suspiciously optimistic, not pissed off, but no matter what mood she shows up in, I’m ready for her. Nodding, as if Grams can see me through the phone, I push up off the couch and begin to pace. “Wish me luck, and I guess you’ll know how it went based on if she comes home tonight or not.”

  “You don’t need luck when you’ve got love,” she corrects me. “Now go show her just how much. She should be there in about fifteen minutes.”

  After we exchange goodbyes, I inspect the cozy log cabin I’ve rented for the weekend for the umpteenth time in the last hour, ensuring every last detail is perfect. Over fifty lit candles scattered around the room. Check. Fridge packed with enough food and drink to last more than a week, including dinner ready to be served. Check. Bed covered with assorted-color sweet pea petals while music plays softly. Check. Jacuzzi filled, heated, and bubbling. Check.

  I’m pretty damn sure even Martha Stewart would approve of this set-up.

  Confident everything is in place, I glance at my reflection one last time in the mirror and second-guess my clothing choice. Again. The navy J. Crew sweater and relaxed khakis are definitely a step up from my usual faded jeans and thermal, and I’m afraid it comes off like I’m trying too hard. But fuck, I really need her to understand how important this is to me.

  How important she is to me.

  My fingers sift through my hair, attempting to bring some kind of order to the unruly brown mop on top of my head. Damn it, I should’ve gotten a haircut today. I knew I forgot something.

  The knock at the door paralyzes me for a brief second, causing me to forget about anything but the girl standing on the other side of that wooden threshold. My girl. Inhaling a deep breath in through my nose then blowing it out in a whoosh between my lips, I stride to the door and turn the knob, opening it to the most beautiful sight imaginable.

  Hudson. Stunning in all black with her hair swooped up in some twist thing on her head.

  Blinking hard, she shakes her head around as if to clear it out, and then pins me with her icy blue stare.

  “Crew? What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice heavy with confusion and disbelief. Stepping backward, her eyes flit around the exterior of the remote cabin before returning to mine. “What’s going on?”

  I swing the door open wide, revealing to her the great room behind me. My chest tightens when she gasps. “Waiting for you to get here,” I reply, unable to keep the corners of my mouth from ticking up in a silly grin at her stunned expression. “Come in. Get in out of the snow.”

  Grabbing her hand, I allow no time for her to protest as I tug her inside and close the door behind her.

  “Wait a minute!” She spins out of my grasp and crosses her arms over her chest, which frames the sexy cleavage she’s got working in her V-neck sweater. Shit, she’s fucking gorgeous. I can’t fuck this up.

  “Answer my questions,” she demands. “Does Grams know it’s you who’s here? Why are you here? Whose place is this?”

  My hands reach out and grasp her shoulders, undeterred by her superficial anger. “Hudson.” Her breath hitches and her pupils dilate as her name falls from my tongue like warm melted butter. She may damn well be upset with me, and for good reason, but her body can’t deny the effect I have on her. She still belongs to me.

  “Give me five minutes to talk. Please, just hear me out,” I urge. “If after that you don’t want to be here anymore, then I won’t ever bother you again.” That’s a bold-faced lie. There’s no way I wouldn’t—couldn’t—try to get her back again, but I want her to feel in control right now. The last thing I want is to make her anymore defensive than she already is.

  The resolve in her eyes fades as she detects the desperation in mine. “Five minutes.” She glances down at her watch, like she’s actually going to time me. “Whatcha got?”

  With my hands still on her shoulders, I close the gap between us a little bit more. The first part of my speech, I want us to be face-to-face so she can see the sincerity pouring from every part of me.

  “I thought the day Caleb was diagnosed with epilepsy was the worse day of my life,” I plant my feet, bracing to bare my raw emotions, “but nothing could’ve prepared me for what I felt the morning I found him on the floor. I was fucking gutted. Not being there to protect my baby brother? Shit, Hudson. How could I look anybody in the eye? It was…the worst fucking weight imaginable.”

  Stopping for a few seconds, I breathe myself through the memory, just as my therapist taught me to do. “I fucked up and I know it. I used you. Heartlessly. Callously. Repeatedly. I was a selfish fucking bastard, too blind to see you were hurting too. That you needed me too. And I needed to hurt somebody. I needed somebody else to feel the same crushing pain I was drowning in. And…you were there. So I hurt you. Took you down with me. Self-fucking-destruction.

  “And, Hudson, what I finally figured out was that hurt worse than Caleb’s death. ‘Cause his was an accident. But pushing you away? That was all me. All my fucking fault. And I didn’t think I deserved forgiveness. I’ll never deserve you. Ever. But, Caleb? He’d kick my ass if I didn’t try. If I didn’t swallow every bit of pride I’d ever thought I had and at least give the truth.

  “Being with you—even then, even when my world had fallen apart and I’d turned it into something ugly, some farce of what we’d had—you made me so damn happy. And I felt like I was cheating on Caleb’s memory if I stole any shred of happiness with you. So I had to destroy it. To punish myself.”

  I release her shoulders, lifting my hands to wipe away the tears streaming down both of her cheeks. She doesn’t flinch or back away. My heart pounds. “I want you to turn around and look at this place for a minute.”

  Slow to do as I ask, she gradually spins around to face the wide-open space, methodically taking in everything I have ready for her. I eliminate the distance between us, stepping up behind her to press my chest against her back, and slip my arms around her waist.

  “Hudson,” I whisper into her neck, inhaling the refreshing smell of her shampoo. “I’m sorry. I never want you to doubt how sorry I am for the way I treated you.”

  The tip of my nose traces along the shell of her ear. First up, then down. “I miss you. From the first day we hung out, all I’
ve thought about is you. Your smile…fuck, those lips, the things they do to me. Your spirit. You heal people, Hudson, and I wasn’t ready to be healed. To be whole. But I can’t live like this any longer. In pieces without you. I can’t be whole without you.”

  My mouth drops to the base of her neck, feathering over the silky skin to the exposed collarbone. “And, fuck, Hudson, I’m ready to live again. But I can’t do that without you. How I made it through my first nineteen years, I’ll never fucking understand, because my life didn’t start until you entered it.”

  Her cheeks lift in a feeble smile at my light-hearted comment, and mine follow suit. I draw her against me and she doesn’t pull away. Pushing my luck, I feather kisses down her neck gently, hoping to God I’m not moving too fast.

  “I want you.” Pressing my hips against her, my thickening cock nestles between her ass cheeks, which feel almost fucking naked covered by only a pair of thin black leggings. My hands grip her small waist, desperate to claim her fully. “Every minute of every hour of every day. All I want is you. It fucking consumes me.”

  “Crew.” My name sounds like something between a breath and a moan as it escapes her mouth.

  Raising my lips up to her jaw, I lazily kiss my way back to her ear. “Do you see this place, snow angel? This is to prove to you how serious I am about you—about us. If you’re willing, I’d like to spend the entire New Year’s weekend here. Just you and me. There’s a refrigerator full of food, a hot tub to relax in, a stocked DVD library, and a comfortable-ass king-sized bed.”

  She leans her head on my shoulder and tilts her head up to look up at me, her eyes wildly searching. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “I was afraid you may need a little more convincing,” I kiss the tip of her nose and release my hold on her to reach for the gift in my back pocket, “so I have this for you too.”

  Twirling back around to face me, her eyes flit down to the rectangular package wrapped in solid silver paper I’m holding out to her, then up to me. “Wha—what is it?”