by JL Mac
“Thanks Lou. Rae this is Lou. Lou this woman is the biggest pain in my ass on the planet,” he announces as he thumbs through a clothing rack beside a drink cooler. “Rae did you bring a swimsuit?”
I furrow my brow looking at Sy while I thrust my hand toward Lou. “No why in the world would I need a bathing suit?” I ask Sy before turning my gaze on Lou with my tabloid smile in place.
Lou laughs breathlessly shaking his head in amusement. He shakes my hand gently and smiles showcasing his ill-fitting dentures. Somehow all of it makes him that much more endearing. “Well, she sure is a beautiful pain in your ass, isn’t she, son?”
“That’s the worst part Lou,” Sylas says smiling crookedly at me as he comes up to me, holding up a bathing suit fit for a twig. He holds it to my body and seems to be considering it for size. I bat his hands away. “Lou can you do me a favor and call up Miss Oppenheim and let her know I’ll drop off the supplies she needed later today if the weather holds. I would but you know how she gets to talkin’ and I’d hate to keep my pain in the ass waiting,” he jabs his thumb my direction.
“Sure thing,” he nods, laughing.
“See you in a while bud.” He tucks the Band-Aid he thinks is a bathing suit under his arm and slaps money down on the counter. Lou waves then we’re back out on the rickety looking plank that makes my heart pound. My muscles tense and I peer over the edge wondering how deep the water is beneath this dock. Sy glances over his shoulder at me and grabs onto my left hand. And I let him.
You’re an idiot, Negativity deadpans. Anxiety wipes her brow and nods her agreement with fervor.
“Come on, Snow. The ladies are waiting.” He wastes no time speed walking on his long legs down the planks. I have to semi-jog to keep up. If I know Sy, he’s doing it on purpose.
“What ladies?” I finally ask slightly out of breath.
“These ladies,” he says stopping in front of three impressive fishing boats neatly moored in boat slips at the very end of the Marina. “My ladies. My fleet.”
“Wow.” I withdraw my hand from his and step closer to one of them. “Those boats look more impressive than I had thought they would be.”
“First of all they’re vessels, and second of all, what d’you think, I take people out in, dinghies?” He laughs that infectious belly laugh of his making butterflies yawn and stretch to life deep in my stomach.
“No. I’m just trying to say that your fleet is impressive. That’s all.”
“This is Year Ten,” he declares pointing to the smallest of the three boats affixed to a slip with carefully knotted ropes. “Year Sixteen,” he notes with his hand extended out. “And Year Twenty Five,” he nods.
“Okay, Adele,” I snort and give him a dubious look, half expecting him to give some explanation for the names.
“Huh?” he says with a deep wrinkle between his brows. I laugh in earnest and shake my head. “Adele named her albums after the age she was when the songs were written, or something along those lines.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Anyway, I thought people name boats after women for good luck.”
“It’s pretty common but as long as it’s something important to the vessel owner it isn’t considered unlucky.”
“Ah. I see. So what makes,” I glance around the boats once again, “years ten, sixteen and twenty five important?”
“I was ten when we met,” he says with his voice dropping lower as he takes a step closer to me. “I was sixteen when I made you mine,” he says, his voice softer and lower still. I swallow hard and stand still as a statue as he takes another step closer. “… And I was twenty five when I woke up in the US and saw you peeking in on me at the hospital,” he says tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear as his intense eyes search my face for truths I’ll never give him.
“Why?” I whisper. “Why all this?” I wave my hand out weakly in no specific direction. I’m not entirely sure what I mean by it. All the boats? The fishing trip this morning? The mess that we’ve always been? The help he claims to need?
What? No! Why did you ask him that? Anxiety jumps to her feet.
“Well, I guess the common denominator aside from you is happiness, joy, relief, achievement. That’s what I felt at those times in my life. Sometimes the only thing that gets a person through all the bad is holding on tight to memories of all the good. And hope for more good to come. I want the people I take fishing to feel all the good things even if it’s only for a while out on the bay, having fun and reeling in big fish. They’ve felt enough of the bad.”
“Sy,” I breathe, feeling at a complete loss for what to say.
How about say it’s the most poetic, thoughtful thing you’ve ever experienced and you don’t deserve the honor of being associated in any way with what he has done here! Optimism’s eyebrows are nearly kissing her hairline as her mouth hangs wide.
He’s a far better man than I could have ever imagined he’d turn out to be. Far better than anything I could deserve.
“All right. Let’s get out there before the fish hear I’m comin’ for them,” he says with a serious expression.
“What?”
“Just get your fancy ass on the boat, Snow,” he laughs.
“It’s a vessel,” I chide him playfully forcing memories us back then to the forefront of my mind. They refuse to quiet, though.
Raegan
16 years old…
“Gimme your keys,” Sy says quietly with his hand stretched out to me, palm upward.
“I literally just got my wheels days ago, and Teddy gave me a ton of money to help buy it. You definitely aren’t driving my car.” I shake my head.
“Not gonna drive, Snow. Keys,” he orders with his lopsided grin in place making my heart buzz around in my chest. I glare at him for a moment pretending to debate whether to oblige him but truth is I am just enjoying staring at his face and that damned grin. Those lips…
“Fine, Broussard. Only our third date and you’re already ditching the Prince Charming act,” I grumble but hand him the keys, anyway.
“I have never been prince charming, Snow,” he says winking. He snags my keychain and smiles as he slips them beneath the table.
“What are y—” I ask narrowing my eyes at him.
“Shush,” he orders bossy as ever.
“Sy,” I warn.
“I’m tryin’ to concentrate, Snow,” he says impatiently. I huff and lean back in my seat, taking a long sip of my soda while I wait for him to see fit to clue me in. Minutes pass as he fiddles with my keys beneath the table and I toy with my plastic straw, flattening it then reshaping it.
Finally he gently slides my keys back across the table. I look up and reach for them but he grips my hand before I can take my keys and my hand back to my side of the booth. He tugs gently, motioning for me to slide out of the booth. He guides me to sit beside him and like some zombie in a trance I do as he wishes.
Gah! This boy-man has way too much power over me.
He pulls at my hand forcing me to sit. I freeze when he takes my hand in his beneath the table.
Is he seriously going for a hand job in my favorite restaurant? I don’t even know how to give one! What the hell, Sy?
He frowns disapprovingly and shakes his head. “I see your head’s in the gutter, Snow. While the idea of your perfect, soft hand on my dick is enough to keep me awake at night for a week, your lack of faith in me is pissin’ on my parade here so why don’t you just sit tight and humor me for a sec, huh?” he whispers with the ghost of amusement twinkling in his rich brown eyes. The tension in my muscles immediately dissipates. He takes my index finger in his fingers and presses it to the bottom side of the table, tracing it along the edges of a roughly etched R + S. Though another portion of my heart melts for him in that moment, I scowl at him feigning irritation.
He guides my finger along then brings the tip of my finger to his lips and presses a soft kiss against the pad of my pointer finger. “It’s our table now,” he declares proudly with my now germy finger stil
l against his lips.
“That’s gross,” I mumble staring at his lips where they’re touching my finger. Little tingles buzz through my belly and… lower.
“Worth it,” he counters casually.
“Ya know, most boyfriends carve the initials somewhere people can see them,” I say quietly. He grins wide demolishing all my resolve to not fall for Sylas Broussard the pain in my ass, butthead, and proverbial boy next door.
“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and anyway it doesn’t matter at all who doesn’t get to see it, it only matters who knows it’s there without proof,” he says gently, his minty breath feathering across my cheek. One of his hands slides up the inside of one of my knees and stops high on my thigh. The warm feel of his palm so close to my center makes those tingly butterflies soar at supersonic speed down low.
“Okay,” I mumble absently, entirely too distracted by his face so close to mine, his hands on me and how right he is. Who cares who does or doesn’t see the carving? He didn’t put it there for them. He put it there for me—for us.
Us. There’s an “us”.
“More importantly,” he goes on. “You said I’m your boyfriend,” he says slipping his other palm up the column of my neck, coming to a stop at my jaw.
“Nuh-uh,” I swallow hard.
Yes! I did!
“It was implied,” he argues inching closer to me. “So,” he brushes his thumb back and forth across my cheek so softly I feel the need to close my eyes and lean into him, “here and now on our third official date, I Sylas Broussard accept that title—thank you by the way,” he teases and tightens his grip on my thigh, leaving me dry mouthed and oddly… needy for more of… something I can’t quite name. “… And as Raegan Potter’s newly appointed boyfriend, I declare that today, right now, right here will be our second kiss.”
“Okay,” I breathe completely hypnotized by the smell of him and his crazy stupid words and backwards philosophies and his hands on me and just all of… him. His ridiculously soft lips press and move against mine in a kiss so unfairly perfect and sweet.
“One of many,” he whispers against my lips.
Damn you, Sylas Broussard.
Chapter 12
Sylas
Two-and-a-half hours into our day on the water, thunderheads begin growing off to the east. I don’t mention it to Rae but I keep an eye on it. She fluffs the fancy material of her shirt away from her skin repeatedly in a pitiful effort to cool off.
“All you gotta do is put on the damn bathing suit.”
“I absolutely refuse to wear that god awful thing you bought at the bait shop.”
“You can always just wear your bra and panties. I’m good with that.” I smirk picking the bird’s nest out of the reel she just abused.
“No thank you,” she scoffs. “And can you please put a shirt on,” she says through flattened lips.
“If you want to be hot suit yourself but I’m not interested in burning up in this humidity so no I‘ll remain shirtless, thanks.” Rae rolls her eyes and plucks at her shirt encouraging a breeze to slip beneath the fabric. “This puppy is done for the day,” I say setting the rod and reel aside to be doctored up later. “Choose another rod and reel,” I instruct nodding my chin toward the rod holders on the starboard side of Year Ten.
“Don’t think the fish like me,” she says wrinkling up her nose.
“Fine with me.”
“Who is Miss Oppenheim?”
“A widow lives down the road. I help her out around her place.” I shrug.
“Why?”
“Why not? When I get free time, I just check in and see if she needs anything. She doesn’t have anyone else,” I explain. Rae nods and focuses her eyes out on the horizon where the storms are brewing.
Unwilling to let my girl off the boat just yet, I spend the next hour wiping down the inside of Year Ten and organizing tackle and rods while studying her as discreetly as possible. Rae spends the same hour trying to pretend I don’t exist. Her moods seem to visibly shift just about by the minute. Finally with nothing left to mess with on Year Ten I face Rae with my hands on my hips. “Are you going to tell me what you need help with? I can’t imagine I can offer anything useful to this operation,” she says looking around Year Ten.
Instead of answering her I wipe the back of my hand across my brow. “It’s hot,” I state the obvious then promptly jump right off the bow of Year Ten. I swim down until my lungs pinch under the pressure and my breath begins to run out. I break the surface as quietly as I can then press myself tightly against Year Ten.
“Sylas? Sylas! Sy, come on this is not funny,” I hear her snapping from the deck. I silently move closely along the hull of Year Ten so she can’t see me. The sound of her small feet tromping back and forth from bow to stern has me swallowing down my laughter. I quietly climb up the ladder at the rear of Year Ten. The moment my feet hit the deck she whirls on me, glaring.
“You’re a dick!” She charges at me her small fists balled. I laugh hysterically and grab her by her waist, haul her over my shoulder, and over we go. The minute we come up from beneath the surface she shoves and kicks away from me, cussing like a sailor as she goes. I think it’s hilarious. It’s far better than sitting around awkwardly with one another. Rae isn’t as entertained judging by the ticking muscle in her cheek. She’s so stuck up her own ass these days. Makes me miss the girl I fell in love with like never before. The Rae I knew liked to pretend to be a stick in the mud, but she knew how to relax and have fun. The woman she is today? She’s closer to a stranger than she is my Rae, the one I loved all those years ago. The one I miss.
“I take it you’re done fishing?” I call to her as she climbs aboard and plops herself down. She doesn’t say a word to me. “S’pose we ought to go, anyway. Might get rain,” I say still smiling as she glares at me peeling the wet fabric of her clothes away from her skin.
Sylas
17 years old…
“Come on, Rae!”
“I have to read this chapter, Sy!” she pouts flopping her chemistry book down in front of her on the blanket.
“I’ve got something you can study,” I tease wagging my brows at her.
“You are not helping. We have a big test Friday. You should be studying too.”
“You’re right,” I say softly, nodding my head with my hands up in surrender. Rae pops a piece of gum in her mouth and narrows her blue gaze on me. I trudge slowly out of the bayou pretending to reach for a towel. Instead I lurch for Rae and toss her over my shoulder. She squeals and laughs while slapping my ass and back.
“Sy, no! Put me down,” she gasps, laughing loud as hell.
I pull her back in front of me and hook my hands under her arms then toss her back, deeper into the bayou. She breaks the surface of the dark water shaking her head but smiling all the same. I swim to her and gather her in my arms. God, she feels amazing. I’m the luckiest bastard in the entire school.
“How’s this for chemistry?” I whisper, grinning like a lunatic.
“My new favorite subject,” she breathes against my lips.
“Pop quiz. Think you’ll pass?” I ask brushing my lips lightly against hers as my hands explore her waist then hips then her perfect ass.
“I’m pretty confident I know the material,” she breathes seductively and I feel her legs tighten around my waist urging me onward. This is what we do. This is the magic we make, and it comes so easy. Conning Raegan Potter into falling in love with me is my greatest achievement to date.
The sound of radio chatter steals my attention from the memory of the raven-haired girl that used to love to swim with me.
“This is Year Ten to Lou, come in.”
“Sylas best get your tail off that water, son. Nasty storm bands comin’ in from the southeast. Radar looks awful bad and growing worse by the minute.”
“Roger that Lou. Headed to the marina now.” I hang the mic back in its cradle and fish a dry shirt out from beneath the c
enter console. I tug it on and toss another dry shirt to Rae. “Put this on. And put this on,” I instruct tossing a life vest into her lap.
“Is this entirely necessary?” The look of trepidation in her blue eyes makes my stomach knot. Raging bitch-zilla or not, she’s still important to me.
“Hope not.” I shrug.
“That’s reassuring,” she mutters with her face turned toward the churning sky then to the water, which is growing choppy and rough. Rae wastes no time turning away from me and peeling off her wet shirt to replace it with a dry BCF T-shirt.
I slip the throttle forward and put Year Ten’s three outboard engines to work. They scream to life and put us on plane skipping over the surface of the water in no time. Rae’s white-knuckled grip on the edge of her seat doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You’re okay, Snow. I got you,” I shout over the motors. Rae’s azure eyes find mine but she’s silent and expressionless. The water grows choppier as the storms outflow wreaks havoc on the bay and though I cut through it as best I can Year Ten still rocks and hits heavily against the rough seas.
By the time we arrive at the slip we’re both soaked to the bone. The rain pelts down on us as I secure the dock lines and fenders to the sides of Year Ten. Rae just stands there on the dock, shivering and staring at me. I hop off Year Ten and loop my arm in Rae’s all but dragging her back to my truck.
“I have a place here. We can go get dry there and wait for these storms to clear out.”
“Just take me home Sylas,” Rae says nothing more than that. No insults, no jabs, no snide remarks. I’m immediately on defense. A quiet Rae is a scary Rae. My truck carries us the four miles to my cabin in no time. Only a few minutes after pulling out of the marina parking lot, we are driving down the pea gravel driveway leading to my cabin. I park the truck and hop out headed for Rae’s door but she’s beat me to it. She jumps down and slams my truck door shut then crosses her arms over her chest in the pouring rain.
