by JL Mac
Sylas
17 years old…
I toss my keys on the table by the front door and I immediately notice something is wrong. I can hear mom’s muffled crying and dad talking softly to her. I hurry through the house searching for them. I find them on the back porch. Mom is in tears and dad is too. Both of them pale when they see me step outside.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately, my breathing coming out in choppy gasps. My heart slams in my chest with knowing. Something is very wrong.
“Sy, it’s Teddy—h-he’s gone…” Mom whimpers then dissolves into more tears, sagging against my dad’s shoulder.
“Oh my god,” I mumble. “Not Teddy.” I’m in disbelief; my mind scatters like the fuzzy bits of a dandelion. “I gotta see Rae,” I say firmly. Dad nods and then I bolt for my Jeep. Jesus, Snow. My jeep screeches to a stop in front of Rae’s house and it’s barely in park before I’m out the door, leaving it wide open. I’m running across the front lawn but her car isn’t in the driveway. There are multiple vehicles I don’t recognize but none are the red mustang my girl drives, the same red mustang that Teddy was so damn proud to be able to help Rae purchase. I don’t bother knocking. The minute I step into the foyer I see her dad sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, cradling his head in his hands.
“She took off,” he says in a tear filled voice before I can even say anything.
“I know where she went,” I blurt knowing in my gut that I am right. There is only one place I can imagine Rae going to hide.
“Can you bring her home please,” he chokes. “She’s in no state to be behind the wheel,” he says, his voice wavering.
“Yes sir.” I nod then race across town with my heart seeming as though it’s going faster than my Jeep. I’ve never felt so frantic in the name of someone I care about being in pain, whether it be physical or emotional. Still, I jumped into action, needing very badly to help her, to see that she’s okay, physically at least.
My shocks creak as they rock over the walking path behind the baseball fields then leaves ruts in the grass between the two thickets of trees. The minute the wooded area spills out into the grassy spread at the bayou I see her mustang and all but faint with relief while I simultaneously die inside at the thought of my girl out here hurting and all alone.
I jump out of the jeep and run down the slightly sloped terrain toward the water but she isn’t there. I whirl around, in search of her, my heart pounding, my stomach sinking. Sweat coats my brow. I’ve never been so freaked out. Rae’s car is empty and I round it to check the back. I run to the water’s edge and scan the calm waters but I don’t see her. I spin around to check her car again and that’s when I spot shiny black hair curtaining her knees. She’s leaning against the old magnolia I carved our names into, nearly hidden by the wide base of the trunk. Her knees are tucked tightly against her chest and her dark hair hiding her face. Without a second thought I sprint her way.
“Rae,” I breathe. “Baby, talk to me,” I beg kneeling before her with shaking hands. She looks up at me with red, puffy eyes. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot and the sight kills me. Her features crumple as fresh tears gather before lining tracks down her face.
“Teddy left us. He promised he’d be back but now he’s gone forever,” she accuses looking so sad and lost. “He left!” she croaks, her chin wrinkling as tears run uninhibited down her cheeks. My own eyes fill with tears, for my courageous friend, for my beautiful girl. “Don’t ever leave me,” she whispers, her sapphire eyes searching my face, pleadingly. She brings her shaky hands to my face and holds me in place, looking right at her. “Let’s never leave this spot, okay? I love you too much to lose you too,” she pleads desperately, her lips drawing down at the edges.
“I’ll never leave you, Rae,” I promise. “I’m so sorry.” I scoop her into my arms like a baby and whisper nice things into her raven hair, shushing her and letting her tears mix with my own and we both soak my shirt. I don’t know what to do and I want to do so much to take away her hurt. I’d trade places with her, I’d sell my soul to fix it… I’d be or do whatever it took. I’m desperate to help her, to make it all better because seeing her so destroyed is unbearable.
That was the exact moment I knew for certain I was then and would be for all time madly and completely in love with Raegan Kennedy Potter. Even if I hadn’t planned it back when I first laid eyes on her. Even if I didn’t want it my love for Rae is an inescapable truth. I don’t want to escape it, anyway.
Chapter 15
Raegan
Lying here in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets, just staring at his handsome face, I feel like a junkie. I know he’s bad for me. He’s a walking trigger for me. I know going down this path will ruin my life and skew my judgment but I’m an addict and I just need one more hit. Sy’s rough fingers brush my hair away from my face and run down the nape of my neck and back again.
I let my eyes roam over his features, soaking it all in. He’s just so handsome. When I’m back in Cutthroatlandia, AKA Washington DC, I’ll revisit this day in my mind, in the quiet moments I steal for myself. In those moments I allow myself to ignore all my inner musings, and I pretend I don’t blame Sylas for how things ended up. I pretend he’s just the boy I loved who grew up to become the man I can’t—won’t have. I look deeply into his eyes, memorizing each little gold fleck in his irises. He narrows his eyes slightly and I stop my fingers trailing down his muscular chest.
“What?” I ask dubiously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I can see you preparing to forget me again, and after what we just had, I gotta wonder why? No person in their right mind could walk away so easily—not from this.”
“C’mon, Sy don’t start picking this apart.” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger with my eyes shut.
“You tellin’ me you don’t feel anything?” he asks almost shyly, and it slashes across my heart sending fresh hurt oozing out in hot, sticky, red rivulets that stain. I turn my attention away and breathe deeply as I begin scooting away from him in search of something to wear. My clothes are still damp so I grab a shirt and some pajama pants from his dresser and leave the room. I hear Sy opening and shutting drawers behind me and I walk aimlessly through his cabin. I pick up my wet clothes and shoes.
“Wait a damn minute,” he huffs. “Raegan!” He’s hot on my heels but so is my ratcheting up anxiety attack. I drop my sodden clothes and storm outside. I hurry down his porch steps and walk across his yard, rounding his cabin with my hands on my hips. The ground is squishy and wet under my bare feet and it feels gross but it doesn’t deter me. I can’t be here. I can’t breathe.
Abort, abort! Anxiety shouts.
“Goddammit, Raegan!”
“What, Sylas? What?” I yell over my shoulder as I keep walking aimlessly toward the rear of his property with no particular plan in place but feeling the urgency to get away. Huffing air in big gulps, I internally plead for my pulse to slow down.
Leaving the squishy yard for the gravel drive has my bare feet aching as I walk over tiny rocks that are digging into the soles of my feet. I come to a vehicle covered in a tan car tarp. I plant my hands on the trunk and gulp humid lungful after lungful of air, fully hyperventilating by now.
You know you’re the actual worst, right? Practicality directs her remark at Anxiety who I agree is definitely the actual worst part of me.
“You’re having an anxiety attack,” he says in a way that is neither question nor statement.
I don’t bother denying it. The cold sweat on my brow and the hyperventilating is pretty telling. “Breathe, baby. You’re okay, Rae. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re in control,” he coaches like a true pro and it breaks my heart that he knows about these things. Who has been there for his meltdowns? Anyone? He consoles me, touching me gently, talking softly in my ear for several minutes. He waits patiently for me to gain control again. I wipe my face and take a deep cleansing breath feeling sudd
enly exhausted. That’s one of the worst parts of anxiety attacks. Aside from the pounding heart that convinces me I’m dying once it’s over I am left completely ragged. Bone-tired exhaustion sweeps in like twilight.
“Why are you trying to run? Where are you going to go? Why won’t you just talk to me? Look at yourself. You’re a goddamn mess, Rae.”
“Sylas,” I warn balling two fists into the tarp under my hands.
“Why?” he asks and very simply but my defenses are locked in place. He can ask questions until he’s blue in the face and I’d give him nothing. He started this ball rolling all those years ago when he deceived me, betrayed me. “Why this? Why did things fall apart back then?”
“Sy, I don’t want to rehash things that happ—”
“I’m not trying to poke old wounds but don’t you think I deserve an explanation? I figure, hell, five minutes ago I was deep inside of you watching you fall apart with me and just that quick,” he snaps his fingers crisply, “you’re already shutting me out and I know you said you don’t want to talk about old shit but fuck it. You’re already walking away so I may as well ask, right? I deserve to know.”
I narrow my eyes at him then motion my chin toward his chest where the Marine Corps tattoo he got is inked. “You could start there,” I clip, turning away from him. My eyes catch on a red bumper peeking out from beneath the tarp concealing the car. I glance at him and pull the tarp back further. Sy groans and rubs his fingers into his temples.
“My car,” I mumble, glancing back at him completely dumfounded. I walk along the side of my old Mustang, pulling the cover off as I go. I stare mindlessly at the car for a long moment before looking back to Sylas. He has his hands propped low on his hips. He’s grimacing with his head tilted to the side. “Why do you have my car, Sylas?”
“First of all, it’s my car now. I bought it from your dad when he stopped driving the delivery trucks at work,” he says coolly as he plucks the tarp from my hand and begins folding it neatly.
“Why in the world… would Daddy… sell my car to you?” I stutter in disbelief. “And since when does he not drive the delivery trucks?” I wrack my brain for a moment searching for a memory of mom telling me this news. Perhaps I had not been paying attention or maybe I skimmed the text message containing this information.
Classic disinterested Raegan Potter, Self-Loathing snorts.
“Rae, he hasn’t driven a truck since he was diagnosed with diabetes two years ago. He’s insulin dependent. He lost his commercial driver’s license, so the company moved him to a dispatch position. He was able to keep a job, but he took a pay cut. He sold some stuff to help pay some bills,” he shrugs.
“Not possible.” I shake my head in denial. “Momma would tell me if Daddy was sick,” my accent seeps into my words much to Negativity and Self-Loathing’s horror.
“Would she?” Sylas counters tossing the folded tarp on the trunk of the car. “I’m not the only one you left in your dust, Rae,” he grumbles. I wince and turn away from him as tears collect in my eyes. I keep my back to him, my arms hugging my middle, too embarrassed to cry in front of him. Pea gravel crunches under his feet as he comes closer to me.
“Rae,” he says tugging my elbow, forcing me to face him. “They didn’t want to distract you from your big career. They made me promise not to tell you I bought the car. Apparently they know you hate me too but they don’t know why either,” he guffaws humorlessly. “And anyway, I didn’t want anyone else driving your car. We have some good memories in this baby, don’t we?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Come on, don’t be upset.” He says pulling me roughly to his chest.
How can I not be upset? My father is sick, and no one figured I would care enough to want to know. Sy said it’s because they didn’t want to bother me but I’m not an idiot. I can read between the lines. The things I have done, the way I have been in the name of self-preservation are not all things I am entirely proud of. Hurting my family even inadvertently—making them feel like they can’t talk to me or depend on me is high on my list of shame. Right beneath that on my list is my secret vilification of Sylas just so I can cope with my own ugly truth in my own twisted way while he’s here doing things to help my family. I am glad that he was here to help them.
“Sy, there’s plenty I hate but you aren’t one of them,” I declare firmly even through my exhaustion. “Thank you for being there for them,” I whisper with my forehead resting against the hard plains of his chest.
“Wanna pay me back?” he asks.
“What does that entail?”
“Stay here with me a while, agree to help me,” he states more than asks.
“I have to work,” I laugh humorlessly.
“When do you have to leave?” he asks with his lips in my hair.
Like, an hour ago, Regret rolls her eyes.
“Soon. I’ll probably catch a flight back tomorrow.” I yelp when Sylas tosses me over his shoulder again and tromps across the pea gravel then to the soggy yard. “Sy! Put me down!” I laugh breathlessly.
“Nope. After the little taste of heaven we shared you’re out of your gourd if you think I’m going to let you run back to the airport,” he says then swats my butt. “I’ll tie you to the headboard,” he promises darkly.
“Into kink now, Sylas?” I tease slapping his firm ass. He tips me back, setting me gently to my feet, our bodies firmly pressed together. My nose grazes against his on my way to my feet. His breath tickles against my cheek. We just stare at each other for a long moment. Maybe his mind is racing like mine. Maybe he’s memorizing me like I am memorizing him.
“You used to be my whole world then you vanished overnight. All these years… What do I have to do to convince you to stay a while longer? Just a while, and while you’re here, give me a little help on a project?” The edge of desperation in his voice breaks something inside me where I once had a heart—the same heart that loved him so much it destroyed me.
Do it! Do it! Do it! Optimism chants.
“What’s the project?”
“A fundraiser for my nonprofit. I have big plans for Buzzsaw Charted Fishing but they require that this event bring on some donors with deep pockets. You have connections. Your presence alone at the event will drum up publicity…” he trails off.
“Hmm,” I hum nodding my head.
“Tell me what I have to do to convince you to say yes,” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind one of my ears.
“I don’t think you can afford me,” I tease running my fingertips across his jaw, enjoying the way his short beard scratches against my skin. Feeling it sends a tingling wave of lust south between my legs where I feel chaffed from the short hairs scratching along the inside of my thighs.
“I can barter. Maybe services,” he offers wickedly. “Tell me what you need.” The way his voice has turned husky and raw makes desire collect in my core.
“Are you asking my terms?” I raise an eyebrow.
“I am.”
“Okay, first off, we must continue more of what we did earlier.”
“Done.” He smirks, pressing his hips against me.
“Second, I need you to take me to momma’s to get my rental car and suitcase.
“Done.”
“Third, no judging me. I am who I am Sylas. Take it or leave it.”
“Done.” He nods.
“Fourth, no dredging up the past. There is nothing from back then I am compelled to talk out. It wouldn’t end well.” I watch him carefully. “Finally, when it’s time for me to head back to DC, you can’t fight me on it. I have a home there, a career, responsibilities, and I can’t ignore them for very long.” He purses his lips together and crinkles his eyes a little.
“Okay, Snow.”
“Do we have a deal Sylas Broussard?”
Sylas leaps down the porch steps and tromps over sodden earth to his truck.
“What the hell,” I mutter to myself as I watch him dig around in his truck. A moment later he’s back. “What in the world are y
ou doing? I asked do we have a deal Broussard?” I feign impatience.
“Wait a damn minute woman,” he says holding up the latest model iPod. My throat immediately clogs. Sy seems to find what he’s searching for and he hands me an ear bud to listen.
“Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours)” by Stevie Wonder.
“You got a deal, Snow.”
Chapter 16
Raegan
17 years old
“Hey Sylvie, is Sylas home?” I ask still confused by him not answering any of my calls or texts.
“Hey, Rae! He still isn’t back from Shreveport.”
“Shreveport?” I ask my confusion ratcheting up even more.
“Yeah, his Marine recruiter said it was best to just leave his phone at home so he wouldn’t lose it while he was there. Are you back from California yet?”
“Uh—no. No, I ended up changing my flight so I could stay another day,” I lie. “Do you know when he’s supposed to be back?”
“Yeah, he’s going to be back this evening according to Sergeant Hollis.”
“Okay. Listen don’t tell him I called. I want to surprise him later.”
“Aw! Y’all are so cute. I can’t wait until you’re my for real sister-in-law,” she coos, and the wounded animal in me howls at the knife twisting in my back.
“See ya, Sylvie,” I mumble then hang up.
I send him a text hours later once I’m pretty sure he’s back home. I tell him I’d like him to meet me at our spot on the bayou tomorrow for lunch. An hour later I get a simple text back in response.
K. Miss you, Snow.
I miss you too.
By the time noon rolls around the next day I’m fuming mad from simmering in my own thoughts for over twenty-four hours. I hop in my mustang and peel out of the driveway headed for the bayou. I snake my way around the perimeter of the baseball facility headed for our spot. I can already see his Jeep parked there. He’s sitting on the hood facing the water. I jam on the gas then come to a skidding halt by his jeep. I throw my car in park and jump out leaving the door wide open.
