A Thousand Starry Nights

by Addison Moore

  Kinsley and Stevie look to the door simultaneously. Stevie’s crimson lips curve into a delicious smile, but Kins frowns as if the devil himself had spread his wings among us.

  Carter. He darkens the room like a shadow. The heat from his countenance blisters over my shoulder as he makes his way in my direction. That familiar thick cologne of his permeates the vicinity, inching its way closer, so close it soaks over my tongue. My eyes close involuntarily as he takes a seat to my right. The wake of his breeze, the intense level of wanting emits from him like a current. My body straightens as if demanding to salute him in some simple way. We haven’t been this close in months. I haven’t shared two words with him since we’ve crossed paths all these unfortunate weeks at Jinx. God knows he’s tried to extrapolate a conversation or two like a magician hell-bent on pulling a never-ending scarf from behind my ear, but my vocal cords aren’t having it. Carter tied me up with those scarves a very long time ago, and there’s no way I’m about to let him cut me loose on a whim.

  “Aspen,” he whispers my name like an old poem he’s dusting off.

  In an instant all of those old memories come rushing back, both the beautiful and the damned. Together we were like a nuclear holocaust—explosively bright and beautiful for a moment before leaving everlasting scars across the landscape of each other’s lives.

  “Morning.” I glance past his gaze as my body throbs in rhythm to my heart. The entire right side of my body ignites in a blaze. It’s unfair after all these years, after this steady heartache he’s etched into my bones that he still commands the power to sear me with heat. I try to glance up, but those brilliant cobalt eyes of his are too much for me to look at. I catch his burnished dark hair in the corner of my eye, the full frame of his shoulders, those thick-as-tree-trunks biceps stretching his navy suit.

  My foot thumps heavy and nervous. If this meeting doesn’t get underway soon, I’m betting I’ll bolt from the pent up energy. Sitting next to Carter is like sitting next to a sexual landmine. You can sense the danger, but it’s so erotic that you want to jab at it to see if it really exists.

  “Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” Ford nods at the rows of bored faces. He heads into the minutia of corporate life that instantly turns my brain to jelly. Ford’s voice drones on and on as we go over stats and figures from the last fiscal quarter. It’s mind numbing. I’ve never been interested in business dealings. Give me a blank canvas and an arsenal of acrylics, and watch as my circuit boards spark to life.

  Carter passes me a piece of paper, discretely as if he were passing a note in class. Carter and I liked to play games, it was the psychological ones that eventually did us in. We did those things back at Sea Ridge, when we were kids, when we didn’t understand that every little head game had the ability to stack upon itself until we created a castle built from sand. All it took was one heavy wave of reality to sweep away what we worked so hard to build.

  My eye catches on the mostly bare notepad. He’s drawn a Tic-Tac-Toe grid with an O in the corner, and I bury a laugh in my throat. Carter always set it up so that I would win in the end. There are so many things I didn’t win at in the end. For a moment I consider tearing the paper into a million tiny pieces and peppering them over his head like confetti. We could start a whole new round of head games, a whole new castle made of sand. I could claw hearts out with the best of them. This time I could win.

  “And, on another note,” Stevie stands as she begins her soliloquy. Ford had remained seated while droning on about whatever it was he felt so pertinent to pull us each out of our respected caves, but Stevie demands our visual attention as well. Stevie is shockingly beautiful, like the kind of beauty women hate and men can’t help but hit the pause button on just to try and understand her features. My mother calls her a breathless beauty. “Teana, our beloved masseuse, has left for her maternity leave. In her absence we thought we’d switch things up a bit. Instead of hiring a replacement, we’ve arranged for a dominatrix to tide over the spa until Teana is able to come back. Enjoy the non-sexual services while you can. While Mistress Melee wields a mean whip, she wants it known point blank that she does not offer any happy endings. Her services are only of the deprecatory variety. Rumor has it the next three days are already booked, so act now if you so desire. Couples sessions are encouraged.” Her eyes lock with mine as that manufactured grin of hers bounces from me to Carter. “Before we break and head our separate ways, I’d like each of you to turn to the person to your left and say what you admire about them most.”

  Really? I openly glare at my sister. Childish is what this is. Stevie is a longtime proponent of forcing Carter and me back together like the pieces to some misshapen puzzle. Something in my slightly egotistical heart tells me it was the underpinnings of this entire corporate takeover.

  “What is this?” I whisper. “A dysfunctional family Thanksgiving?” I glance to my left at the empty seat and smirk as the room breaks out into murmurs and bodies fly to the door.

  “I admire your tenacity.” A deep voice rumbles from over my shoulder. Carter.

  My what?

  I turn slightly as if to acknowledge his lunacy. I’m not quite sure what he means by tenacity, but I’m positive I’ll be ruminating over it long into the night.

  I stand to go just as Stevie and Ford come upon us.

  “If you don’t mind, there are a few details I’ve been meaning to go over with the two of you.” Her affect brightens as her hand runs absentmindedly over her burgeoning belly. My sister is stunning with her translucent skin, dark-as-night hair, a twin to my own. Stevie and Ford will be parents in less than three months time.

  “You look beautiful.” Carter rises and pulls my sister into a quick embrace.

  My, my, isn’t he all about the compliments today? I’m surprised he didn’t fit in the word tenacious.

  “Thank you.” She pulls back, holding his hands out for me to see like he were a prize. “And you look dashing as usual. Wouldn’t you agree, Aspen? Isn’t Carter so achingly handsome that you can hardly turn your eyes away?”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ford and I exchange knowing looks.

  My head cranes toward Kinsley and Lincoln as they migrate out the door.

  “Anyway”—my sister clears her throat in yet another ploy to grab my attention—“Ford and I have decided that we need a creative team to handle the upcoming launch of the J2 app.” Jeneration Jinx 2.0. After my father and his accomplices at Merlin hijacked the first one, Jinx needed to scramble to come up with something to lure back its fickle following.

  “I think that’s a great idea.” For once, Stevie and I are on the same page.

  “I’m glad you think so.” Her eyes brighten a peculiar shade of wicked. “I’ve put you and Carter in charge.”

  “Good.” I sigh past the obvious. “I’ll put together a team as quick as possible.” If Stevie thinks she’s got me pinned beneath his limbs, she’s wrong. I’ll buffer this little project with so many bodies, Carter won’t be able to see the hem of my skirt.

  “No team.” Stevie blinks a smile, serious as a skull fracture. “Just the two of you. I trust you can get it done.”

  And there it is, her cheap trick to glue me to Carter’s side in hopes of rekindling an errant spark. Nothing would please her more than to find the two of us locked in a compromising position, burning down this entire phallic-inspired building with our illicit love. My marriage means nothing to Stevie, never has, never will. It’s just an errant comma that needs to be deleted on the way to getting what she wants—my happy ending. Stevie is the author, and Carter and I are simply characters that need to be revised in order to achieve our true goals. We were Romeo and Juliet once. They didn’t get their happy ending either. If Shakespeare couldn’t do it, what makes Stevie so sure she can?

  She heads toward the door and pauses. “Oh, and, one more thing.” She tosses the words over her shoulder as if this were some supplemental thought, but, knowing my not-so-innocent little sister, she’s abo
ut to let a rabid hornet out of its nest. “Ford and I have decided to make it official in a month. Just something small and simple at the ranch. You’ll be my matron of honor.” Her eyes shine like river stones.

  Ford leans into his brother and taps him on the shoulder. “You’re the best man if you’re up for it.”

  “Of course.” Carter pulls him into a man-hug, and I can’t help but note that he was offered an out and I wasn’t. Not that I would ever refuse my sister, but given the circumstances I’m half-tempted. My ego insists that the only reason she’s marrying the father of her child is to see me dance with Carter at their wedding.

  Stevie gleams a wicked smile from across the room as if it were true.

  They take off, and soon it’s just Carter and me in the hollow boardroom with its rows of overpriced leather chairs, the smell of stale coffee lingering thick in the air.

  Carter turns to me, uncomfortably close, his eyes each alive with their own versions of nuclear fission, dancing, ready to detonate and turn me into a shadow of my former self. Here I am, his for the taking on a Stevie-shaped platter.

  He takes a full step in, his hand landing on the table, just shy of my hip. For the first time in months, in years, I take him in greedily like a full breath of fresh air after one stifling long decade. The curve of his face, his entire body is broad and beautiful like a character from a painting that walked right off the canvas. Carter is a Michelangelo. He bleeds radiant hues, I could paint Carter in red all day, in every rainbow of cool blue, in an entire forest of green, jealous—him for me, me for him. And I have. Somewhere buried in my studio is an entire shrine erected to Carter Cannon. The hard cut of his jaw leaves me breathless, as his dimples dip in without much effort. Carter has full powder-pink lips that he runs his tongue along with a naughty lash as if he were a wolf salivating over his dinner. What a big mouth you have, I said to him once, and he quickly replied the better to eat you with. It still sends a tremor between my thighs when I think of it. Although, in reality, Carter and I never got off first base.

  Carter Cannon still has me in so many indescribable ways. I wish he didn’t. I wish I couldn’t care less if his lips were parting as if asking mine to bless them. Our gaze is set in concrete as surges of electrical currents pulse from his to mine. There’s an undeniable charge between us. Our lives were a smoldering wire, burning to a dangerous finish. Soon we would erupt and take down half the commandments with us.

  Carter carefully brushes the hair off my shoulder with a simple sweep, the warmth from his hand straying precariously close to my cheek, and I fight not to press my flesh to his. His eyes never leave mine.

  My face fills with heat. I can smell the danger in this a mile away. My sister has found the key to unlock Pandora’s unfortunate box of heartache, the exact one I buried deep in the sea years ago.

  “We’re going to make a great team, Aspen,” he says it brightly with all of the charisma of a skilled politician.

  “We never have before,” I whisper as my feet move spontaneously toward the door, and I don’t stop them. “Why start now?”

  Tic-Tac-Toe.

  I win.

  Carter

  Tenacious?

  Obviously, thinking on the fly isn’t my thing—at least not around Aspen. Thinking in general around Aspen isn’t my thing. I’ve been known to spew random shit from my mouth just to keep her within earshot. I loved that girl with tenacity. Still do. We were a powerhouse. We could have eaten the world for breakfast. Together we were tenacious.

  I shake my head as I watch her walk out that door. The last time she stalked off that frustrated, that disappointed in me was the day I told her Cher and I were having a baby.

  My feet carry me out the door, and I meet up with Aspen just as she steps into the elevator. I hit the button for the lobby without hesitating.

  It’s just the two of us, yet that doesn’t stop Aspen from diving into the corner as if I were introducing some airborne contagion. We take a quick dip and the doors open up. I block the exit with my body until the doors clamp shut again.

  Aspen. Her beautiful features are turned up toward mine for the first time in so long. Her sheer beauty takes my breath away. That dark hair, those petal-poised green eyes I’ve wanted to dive into for so long. Here they are staring up at me with all the hope that I’d fall off the side of the building.

  She steps up incensed, yet not altogether surprised. “That was my floor.”

  “And those were the first decent words you’ve spoken to me in years.”

  “I just spoke to you in the boardroom.” Her lips twitch hiding the fraction of a smile. Aspen likes to smile just after knifing you with a barb. Damn I miss that.

  “I said decent.”

  “I can make this as indecent as you want it to be and not in any sexual manner.”

  It will be I want to assure her, but the curve of my lips says it all.

  As soon as the doors open to the lobby, Aspen bolts out, and I follow.

  “You’re coming with me.” I say it from the side of my mouth half expecting her to haul off and slug me.

  “I’m going nowhere with you.” She speeds out of the building, and I keep up with her frenetic pace.

  “Consider it our first official meeting.”

  “And where will this meeting take place?” She picks up her pace as we speed toward the parking lot.

  “Wherever you want. I’m at your beck and call. You name the place, I’ll be there early and stay late.”

  “Perfect,” she says as she strides toward her oversized SUV with the awful gold rims, all the douchebag bells and whistles that Henry O’Fool saw fit to procure for himself. No doubt he didn’t have his very beautiful, very petite wife in mind when he purchased this beast. I would never put Aspen in something this crass, something that screams asshole as it lumbers down the street while guzzling fossil fuel like water. Aspen deserves something sleek and elegant as a cheetah, something exotic and slightly dangerous like herself.

  “So where are we headed?” I ask as her truck chirps to life.

  “I’m headed to breakfast with my husband.” She snips the words out as efficiently as biting off my nose. “And you”—she pauses a moment, out of breath and her panting body so close to mine is arresting—“you can go to hell.” She hops into the driver’s seat. “Stay as late as you want!” She calls out as she rolls the window down an inch. “I won’t be joining you. Not now, not ever.”

  Aspen backs out so fast she narrowly misses the truck across from hers, ironically mine. She takes off like a woman on a mission, like a woman escaping her stalker, tearing away from the man she wants the least to do with while she speeds toward the one she’s matrimonially leashed to.

  Henry. I shake my head, sucking in her exhaust. How the hell did I let Aspen fall into the arms of Henry the Tool?

  The real question is how did I ever let her go to begin with.

  “Newsflash, Aspen”—I whisper as she takes the turn a little wild—“I’m already in hell.”

  * * *

  The Regency Montessori parking lot is sixteen cars deep in the pickup line so I head to a dirt patch nearby that butts up to a couple of pines and walk over to pick up the tiny princess that took my world by storm four short years ago, Abby.

  A small crowd of women quiet their conversations as I approach the mouth of the gated schoolyard. There’s a high school feel among the parents, mostly women in their late twenties and thirties, but there’s a juvenile air when so many of them congregate its undeniable in nature. They’re cliquey, over dressed and overly flirtatious as they stand in their huddles.

  I’m met with an entire choir of Hello Carter! And an even wider audience of stray eyes that roam free over my person. It’s safe to say I could have long since bedded my way through the interested single mothers, and a few of the interested married ones as well. It doesn’t matter though. I’m not entertaining any of them. Aspen is in my life again, and if this incremental, damning me to hell version of her is
all I’ll ever get, then I’ll quickly learn to be satisfied. Consider it penance for grievances I committed years ago, mistakes that echo through time like a fireball, burning me as efficiently today as they did way back when. That’s the glory of a single good boneheaded move. It has the power to alter destinies, destroy relationships, wrench your heart until you pray to God you can live without one.

  The gates open wide and an entire herd of miniature balls of energy pour out like jellybeans spilling from a bag.

  “Daddy!” Abby comes at me with her ponytail bouncing like the coiled tail of the cutest little piglet. She’s blonde like Cher, fair skinned, light eyes like her mother. But there is definitely some Cannon spunk hardwired in there, and I like to see that shine every now and again.

  “Who’s Daddy’s cookie?” I catch her in my arms as her limbs clasp onto my body, fierce and tight. This, right here, is what love feels like. This little girl here is what makes me glad to still be the owner of one beating slightly damaged heart. I press a hard kiss to her head because after that verbal FU Aspen offered up this morning I’ve been craving a good hug. Aspen has always held the power to reduce me to a pussy.

  “I Daddy’s cookie!” Abby shrieks before trying to take a bite out of my cheek, but I beat her to it.

  “Nom, nom, nom.” I growl playfully into her ear.

  “Mr. Cannon?” I spin with Abby still suctioned to my suit as Robyn, her preschool teacher, quickly approaches. Robyn is a longtime friend of Cher’s, and that’s part of the reason we were able to get Abby into this exclusive, extravagantly costly pre-school. You would think they had resurrected Einstein and summoned him to teach finger painting and the theory of relativity by the price gouging that goes on at this place.