by Daria M Paus
Once again, I stepped out into the corridor, ready to sneak back into the privacy of the guest room. I closed the bathroom door as silently as I could, then I turned—and ran straight into him. Hands grabbed me and I let out a little yelp from the sudden impact. Then I froze, and it took a long time before I dared to look up and meet his gaze. And by doing that, I couldn't stop another traitorous gasp from escaping my lips.
Johnny looked down at me with a startled look on his face. His hair was messier than ever, and he smelled like a walking bottle of scotch. Despite the obvious hangover—he still looked like he could win the sexiest-man-of-the year-award right then and there. It didn’t matter that his hair was dirty and his eyes puffy and bloodshot, he was stunning—even at his worst. I gulped, trying to keep my eyes fixed on his face. It wasn't easy, having already spotted the unbuttoned shirt and his toned body just inches from my own trembling self.
"Sorry," I whispered.
He nodded. “Did . . . did you sleep well?"
The awkward tone in his voice made me feel a bit better. I wasn't the only one who was nervous.
I nodded, all too aware of his hands on my arms. Almost as if he’d read my mind, he removed them, letting them drop to his sides. He gestured toward the door I had just closed, mumbling something I couldn't hear before slipping into the room.
Forcing myself to move, I headed in the direction of the only room I knew to be neutral ground—the living-room. There was no need to hide now, the damage was done. I'd seen him. Just a few minutes of looking at him and my legs felt like overcooked spaghetti.
The room didn't look as cozy without the romantic glow from the fireplace. I sat on the sofa, removing dirt from under my fingernails as I waited.
When he finally came back, wet strands of hair hung in his face and drops of water still trailed down his neck. I tried to smile but I couldn't even breathe. With a half buttoned white shirt and the wet hair, he looked like he’d been taken straight from my favorite movie. I couldn't even count how many times I'd watched the scene, and the image of him shirtless in the moonlight with water trailing down his body was forever imprinted in my mind. Just thinking of it made my heart skip a beat.
"Hungry?" he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah." No matter how stunning he looked in the movie—it was nothing compared to the reality.
When he passed the sofa, he threw an amused look my way, and my cheeks burned. It felt like he knew exactly what had been on my mind.
He headed toward an opening in the back of the room which I hadn't noticed before. On weak legs, I got up and followed. The opening led to another shorter corridor with a few doors to its right. We walked past them and turned right at the end of it. The kitchen looked like it could have been taken straight from a home decor magazine. White along with the dark wood gave the room a nice balance between the old-fashioned country home and modern luxury. In my opinion, it was perfect.
"Can I help?"
"No, sit.”
I nodded, heading over to a massive wooden table he’d gestured toward and sat. Smiling at nothing in particular, I tried to remind myself that this was real and not some kind of weird dream.
A little notebook on the far corner of the table caught my attention. I leaned in, trying to steal a glance at the words scribbled there.
Had to get away. The storm is bad. I didn't think.
The words made me frown. Hadn’t the storm taken him by surprise, like it had surprised me?
Guilt snaked its way into my heart, but it wasn’t enough to keep my eyes from wandering back to the journal that Johnny had no intention of letting me read. What was supposed to be his private thoughts lay exposed for me to see.
Can't go back. Wish I could end it all.
I looked out through the window with his words still running through my mind.
Palm trees bent under the pressure of the wind and the waves came crashing in with a force stronger than I’d ever seen.
Johnny spoke, and the sudden sound made me jump. With a pounding heart, I turned my head and he avoided my gaze by looking down at his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he began, scratching his head as he glanced up at me behind the strands of hair covering his face. “I didn’t plan . . .” he gestured toward the cupboards and the fridge. “I don’t know what to make.”
He looked so confused I felt bad for him.
“Let me do it.” I got up from the chair, heading toward the still opened fridge and peeked inside. My eyes widened. On the top shelf sat a box of eggs, and next to it, a plastic bag with something that was so covered in mold I couldn’t see what it was supposed to be. On the shelf beneath were a few sausages with a red label telling me they had expired over half a year ago. Other than that, it was empty.
I turned to Johnny. “Are you serious?”
He mumbled something I couldn’t interpret.
“You didn’t plan to eat?”
He looked away.
“This is all you have?” My voice was unnecessary sharp. “A rotten sausage and some old eggs?”
The miserable look on his face made me regret snapping at him.
“Ok.” I looked around. “Anything else? Dry food? Cans, chips, chocolate?”
Johnny went to sit, burying his face in his hands. I stood there, staring at him while my mind raced. Was he for real? How was it possible he’d come here without even bringing groceries? What had he planned to eat? As far as I knew, coming to the island had been a spontaneous decision. But no one could be that impulsive, could they? The only thing he seemed to have remembered was the goddamned liquor.
“How long are you plannin’ to stay here?”
“Don’t know,” he muttered into his hands,
I shook my head in disbelief. “When did you arrive?”
He sighed, leaning back and shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
I threw my arms out in exasperation and exclaimed. “How can you not know?”
He raised his downcast eyes and shrugged slightly. “I don’t remember. Yesterday, day before maybe, I’m—" His voice broke and he turned his gaze away. “I didn’t plan this.” He nodded his head in my direction. “I didn’t—didn’t think. Ok?”
My voice softened. “You haven’t eaten since you came here, have you?”
Without replying, he turned to look out the window, his eyes blank as if not really seeing.
“Only whiskey?”
A small nod.
“Geez.”
I looked around. “I’ll think of something.” I started to search the drawers, holding on to a small hope of finding something edible.
A smile of triumph came to my face as I laid eyes of a box of dry noodles and a package of rice. They had expired just a few weeks ago. After rummaging through his stuff, I came to one conclusion. Johnny Grey was worse than my sister when it came to organizing. A skill I had tried to teach her more times than I could count. Among the spaghetti and the noodles were an opened box of screws. They had spilled out and lay scattered all over the bottom of the drawer. An old piece of rope lay rolled up in the corner and on the side of it sat a chocolate bar.
I gave up on the mess and moved on to the freezer. There I had more luck.
Thinking of what I was actually doing made my cheeks flush. Here I was, in the kitchen of the guy I’d just seen on the cover of People magazine. The guy I’d lost myself reading about on the flight to Miami. The fact that I was now cooking old noodles and frozen vegetables in his kitchen was not just weird—it was a dream come true.
The result looked tasty, even though I could’ve done better with the right material. Making something out of almost nothing seemed to be another skill I’d developed.
My hand trembled when I set the plate in front of Johnny and went to sit opposite of him.
My stomach made a loud growl and I blushed. I’d lectured him about not eating, but the truth was, I hadn't eaten since before the accident, either. It felt like an eternity ago.
He ga
ve me a small smile, and I wondered if it was genuine, or just another act to hide the pain underneath.
"Let's eat,” I said.
He looked at me for a long time, and when he spoke his voice was just a whisper. “Thank you.”
4
Coffee & Conversation
When we’d finished eating, I helped him put the dishes away. I was busy rinsing a plate and far away in thought when his voice brought me back to the kitchen.
“Do you drink coffee?” he asked.
“I love coffee.”
His brows furrowed as he looked around in silence.
“Let me guess, you don’t have it?”
“I’m not sure.”
I’d seen a pack of instant coffee. It was in the bottom drawer next to a frying pan and a few old notebooks. If it was drinkable, I wasn’t as sure. I went to fetch it, holding it up for him to see.
“I knew it was there,” he said.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you even know how to make coffee?”
“What the fuck do you think of me?”
To be honest I didn’t have much trust in his culinary skills after seeing his kitchen.
“I can cook,” he said. “If I have the right ingredients.” He gestured at the fridge. “I haven’t been here for ages. I didn’t think of . . .” He let the words trail off as a sad look came over his face. “I guess it’s safe to say, you’re more skilled than I am. The kitchen is yours. Make the fucking coffee.”
I bit back a giggle, opened the package, and smelled the black powder. It smelled delicious.
We sat down with a cup each, and he studied me for so long that I started to tremble under his gaze.
"So, help me out here," he said. "By the obvious twang, you're . . . let me guess . . .” He paused, biting his lower lip as he was thinking. "Half . . . southern.” He shook his head and I got the feeling he regretted not being able to narrow it down more. "Half . . ." He left the sentence unfinished, waiting for me to fill in.
"Irish. I’m Irish."
He frowned. “Should’ve picked that."
"It ain't easy to hear anymore, I reckon," I said, and he surprised me by laughing. I wasn't sure if he found my accent funny or why he was amused, but something about it ignited a spark of annoyance inside of me. I crossed my arms, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
"You clearly still have that fake British thing goin' on," I snapped.
He raised a startled eyebrow in question.
"You're a pure Hollywood product," I said. "Doubt they speak like that there."
He grimaced, and a mix of amusement and confusion came over his face.
"And what about you? A woman like yourself—don't you have better things to do than stalk the net for gossip?"
I wasn't sure whether he was joking or not, but the fact remained. I knew more about him than what he wanted me to. And having said gossip in mind, I was certain millions of girls would've been green with envy if they knew where I was at this moment. So stop behavin’ like an idiot, my inner voice warned. What the hell?
I bit back a snarky reply and took a deep breath.
"You’re not, by the way."
"What?"
"Pure Hollywood bred."
He nodded. "That proves my net-stalking-point,” he said. “But you’re right."
I laughed nervously, but nodded, feeling no need to deny it. He couldn't be surprised or uncomfortable about such a thing. That was the downside of being famous. How you couldn't keep things private no matter how badly you wanted to.
"How did you end up here?" he asked, changing the topic.
"On the island? Or in the States?"
He frowned, then shrugged. "Well, both."
I let out a slow breath to calm my nerves. "My parents got divorced when I was twelve; I moved with my mom to Kentucky."
"Wow. Must’ve been hard?"
"I was the weird kid, you know?" I wasn't sure he actually did know, so I went on. "The one with the red hair and the strange accent. Who didn't know anythin’ about thoroughbreds or basketball. It's fair to say I didn't make many friends." My laugh sounded anything but real, and I was sure he noticed.
He nodded knowingly, and I went on. Once I’d started to ramble, there was no stopping me.
"Dad's a fisherman, he taught me everythin’ there's to know about the sea. I miss that, on the farm I mean."
"Can imagine," he said. "Who wouldn't?"
I smiled. One thing we had in common. "I learned to ride, horses I mean."
A look of amusement came over his face and my cheeks burned.
"Well, the rest you know,” I blurted, wanting this conversation to be over before I managed to embarrass myself further.
"Kentucky is quite far from here," he said, and I immediately knew he wanted to hear more. I nodded, forcing my voice to sound normal as I went on. “I was on a vacation. It didn't turn out quite as planned; the storm came out of nowhere."
He nodded. "Yeah."
As he made me talk about myself, it surprised me that he seemed genuinely interested in my life. I even found myself telling him about Bella, my mare that had died just weeks before I’d gone on the well-needed vacation.
"She was a racehorse?" he asked, and I shook my head.
"Gosh no! As much as I've come to fancy the Derby, I'm more of a cowgirl—without the cows and in the wrong state it seems."
He chuckled.
"Bella was a quarter-horse, but precious nonetheless." She’d been my friend for so long, and I missed her so badly I hadn't wanted to buy myself a new horse.
∞∞∞
The coffee was long gone, but I’d lost track of time. Somewhere along the way, I’d started to feel less self-conscious in his presence, allowing me to enjoy the conversation. A smile crept to my lips as I thought about the absurdity of the situation.
Just as I was about to open my mouth to ask for more coffee, a sound from outside broke the silence that had fallen between us. My mouth closed and my eyes shot toward the window.
Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, I turned my gaze to Johnny.
“Did you hear that?”
The moment I asked, I noticed that same frown on his face. Instead of replying, he looked out through the window as well.
We both cringed as the crashing noise once again reached our ears.
“That’s not natural,” I stated the obvious and he nodded slowly.
“Fuck!” He jumped up, the sudden movement making my heart leap into my throat. I stared at him with big eyes, not knowing what to expect.
He flashed me a quick apologetic smile, then gestured toward something out there.
“The boat. The lines must’ve come loose.”
During the few seconds it took me to understand, he’d crossed the room and stopped in the doorway.
He hesitated. “I shouldn’t be asking you, but—"
I got to my feet, expecting him to continue. When the words never came and he looked down at his feet, I felt like shaking him, but settled with a sharp, “What?”
“I guess I need your help.”
The smile that spread across my face made him scoff.
“Don’t look so happy, I’m fucking risking your life.”
I gulped, and the smile disappeared.
“I’ll help you,” I said, despite knowing he was right. "Of course I will.” And really, I would have agreed to anything if he’d asked me to. How could I say no when he looked at me with those deep, dark eyes begging for help?
"Let's go, there's rope in the shed."
I hurried after him as he ran back up the corridor and out the front door.
The wind stole my breath and almost knocked me down as I stepped outside. Struggling to breathe against the suffocating air pressing against my face, I grabbed the door frame for support, clinging to it as I hesitated. Images of the accident flashed through my mind and my pulse quickened. Johnny didn’t stop to wait for me, and as I saw him moving toward the beach, my belly twisted into a
tight knot.
5
The Storm
“Get off the boat!” I could barely hear my voice in the howling wind, but called out to him. “Come back! There’s nothing—" The spray of water cut me off, and I stumbled away from the surf.
Wiping my eyes, I tried to locate him. “It’s too dangerous!”
Why didn’t he listen to me? I’d warned him, tried to stop him, even. He’d ignored me, saying he would be fine. But as I watched the massive wave making its way toward the deck of the vessel, I knew he’d been wrong. The storm drowned my screams to get Johnny's attention and before I could think, the water rushed across the deck, knocking him down with its force.
The boat rolled uncontrollably with the wave, threatening to break the lines holding her—the lines we’d just secured.
I watched the water rush across the sea like an avalanche of foam sliding effortlessly with the wind. I stood, motionless and gaping while my mind tried to catch up with reality. The wave hit the shore, exploding upward in a violent spray of wetness. Scrambling to get away, I slipped and tumbled down onto my back. Sprawled like a starfish in the sand, I watched the black clouds swirl across the sky. The sound of something breaking, drowned out the thunder of my own heart and I rolled out of the way just in time to escape the falling palm tree, tumbling down inches from my legs.
I wanted to scream, to get up and run as far away as I could. All I could do was crawl away from the tree and wipe water out of my eyes while I waited for Johnny to give up.
The boat slammed into the pier, the impact making me want to press my hands to my ears.
It took a moment for my mind to grasp the obvious—Johnny was gone. Seconds ago I’d had my eyes locked on him, wishing he’d come back. Now I couldn’t see him. I sat frozen to the spot, frantically trying to decide what to do when I spotted him. My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat. Without anything to hold on to, Johnny wasn’t going to make it out of the water by himself.
