Lucky Charmed

by Sharla Lovelace

  I didn’t breathe. I closed my eyes but could feel his gaze as clearly as if I were looking back. This was why we shouldn’t have done this. This was the moment of clarity that comes rushing in after the post-orgasmic bliss to slap the crap out of you.

  “I don’t want you to go,” he said slowly, softly. He kissed my nose and then my forehead. “I’ll never ask you not to. But God, I’ll miss you.”

  Slap.

  There were things. Say something. Hovering on the edges of my logical thoughts were important things I needed to say. Things that mattered right this minute, and the clock was running out. My clock was running out.

  I swallowed hard and opened my mouth to speak, and then I heard the snap of twigs behind us on the bank. Sully’s grip on me tightened.

  “Who the hell is out there?” an old man crowed. “Whose clothes are all over my dock?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I cringed, and Sully let his head fall.

  “Damn it,” he whispered.

  “Really?” I whispered back. “This is how I meet Mr. Bailey?”

  I was all too aware that not only were we naked and soaking wet, but we were still joined at the—

  “I’m talking to you!” Bailey hollered, followed by a crack that sounded like a cane on stone. “More bee thieves trampling up my cove? Come out here!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the rock. “Think he’ll go away?”

  “Your boat is over there in his cove, and our clothes are all over his dock,” he said, chuckling. “I doubt it.”

  “So how are you going to protect my honor here, Lancelot?” I asked.

  “Well, for starters…” he began, pulling out of me with a crooked grin that tugged on my heart. “There’s that.” He dropped a kiss on my lips and backed away, out of my arms. I missed him instantly.

  “Hey, old man,” he said. “It’s just me. You didn’t see my truck?”

  Bailey scoffed. “Your truck is black. How am I supposed to see that at night? And what are you doing down here in the middle of the night? Don’t you know about all the trouble that went on out here?”

  Sully laughed and swam out of my line of vision, so I turned and pulled up on the stones with my fingertips just enough to peek over the top. All I could see was a flashlight beam swinging around and the form of a skinny old man.

  “It’s not even eight o’clock yet,” Sully said. “And don’t act like you’re so old you don’t know what I’m doing. You know you did the same thing.”

  “Not in my thirties, I didn’t,” Bailey said. “I was an adult, raising kids. When you gonna learn how to adult, Sully?” Sully strode out of the water. “Jiminy Christmas, get some clothes on, boy. You made enough of a mess with them.”

  “My mess, my cove, my dock,” Sully said, holding out his arms. “Your idea.”

  “If I’d known the whole world would be here every night, I might not have suggested it,” he said.

  “The bee thieves weren’t me, and that won’t happen again,” Sully said. “How about you stroll on back up that path,” he said, pointing. “So my lady friend can have some dignity getting out. I’ll be up to the house shortly.”

  “If she had any dignity, she wouldn’t be trolling with the likes of you,” he said. “Again.”

  Again? I pulled up a little higher and frowned. He knew it was me?

  “Just—”

  “I’m going, I’m going,” Bailey said, waving his cane as he turned to pick his way back up. “I’m not totally heartless. I’m not totally deaf, either,” he called back over his shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” I said under my breath, pressing my face against the warm stone. “Kill me now. An old man heard me come.”

  “Bring her up to the house with you,” he said. “I’d like to meet the woman that Sullivan Hart comes walking on water to defend.”

  * * *

  I’d worn white. So shuffling up a gravel path pulling wet panties out of my ass, while struggling to stretch out tight white shorts and an equally clingy white T-shirt, with a bra that didn’t want to play nice with anyone… well, I was just having all the fun. To be fair, I hadn’t anticipated swimming tonight. If I had, I might have worn something a little less see-through. Or brought a towel.

  I combed back my wet hair with my fingers. “God, we look like you’re bringing home your girlfriend to meet the parents.” I looked down. “Straight from a wet T-shirt contest.”

  Sully, on the other hand, looked mostly normal in his jeans and white T-shirt, with just a few damp spots here and there. His slicked-back hair was starting to dry and looked sexy as hell. Guys suck.

  And he was looking at me with a grin in his eyes that wasn’t necessarily on his face.

  “What?”

  “You called yourself my girlfriend,” he said, the smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

  Heat flooded my neck and face, and I cursed the timing.

  “Well, it was just—I mean—I said it looked like that—” I snorted. “You know what? After tonight’s activities, I’m borrowing the term for the night. Because—it wasn’t just—and I feel like I should sort of qualify—”

  Sully grabbed my face and kissed me into silence.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you babble when you’re nervous,” he said softly.

  “Occasionally.”

  “Relax,” he said, squeezing my hand and dropping another kiss on my lips. “He’s all gripe, but he’s a softie. And don’t shake his hand.”

  “What? Why?”

  The door opened, and the thin old man in front of me scoffed. “Get a room.”

  Great.

  Sully blew out a breath. “Quit ball-busting me, Albert. Be nice.”

  The old man gave him a snarky look, turned around and walked back into the house. We followed him. Tucked into the woods, from the outside, the house was pretty nondescript. Bare stone met brick and wood, with few windows and mostly scrubby bushes and trees around it. From the front, it looked very small, but the sides disappeared into the trees. It was easy to see why I’d never noticed it before. It blended. This was a man who wanted to be unseen, and he’d pulled it off.

  Inside, on the other hand, was something else. From the moment we stepped over the threshold, I was ensconced in warm light and honeyed earth tones that made it feel huge. Rich wood made it very much a man’s domain, but candles, clocks, books, and buttery leather furniture softened up the feel. Books were everywhere—on built-in shelves and random nooks, stacked on end tables and used as props for bowls or lamps or pictures. The bowls held random things, like paper clips and keys, and I had to lean over to verify that another held eyeglasses. Maybe eight or nine pairs. Assorted framed pictures, including family photographs to one of an old-fashioned ship sailing on a rough ocean, kept the eye moving around the room. It was interesting. Beautiful in an odd sort of way, and very homey, but so busy I couldn’t imagine relaxing in there.

  Maybe why that was why he was so cranky.

  “Have a seat,” he said, perching over a recliner and falling into it with a sigh.

  Sully landed on the couch, but I sank to my knees on the floor next to him.

  “My clothes are wet, so…” I explained. I gave Sully a look, waiting for him to introduce me, and then I rolled my eyes. “I’m Carmen—”

  “Frost,” he finished, nodding as he hooked his cane on the arm of his chair. “Yes, I know.”

  I tilted my head and looked again at Sully, who shrugged at me without surprise. Then again, I was a lawyer, I’d represented many Charmed residents over the years and there was a newspaper photo a while ago before I decided not to waste my money on ads.

  “You have me at a disadvantage then, Mr. Bailey,” I said. “Because I don’t recall us meeting before.”

  He looked up at me, matter-of-fact. “We haven’t,” he said. “But your friend’s aunt and I were close once—”

  “You knew Aunt Ruby?” I asked.

  “We g
rew up together,” he said. “The best of friends.” Something in his tone, though, said there was a story untold. “I’ve also met your mother a time or two. And you’re the spitting image of your father.”

  * * *

  I didn’t remember getting to my feet, I was just there. Sully even sat forward in interest from his laid back sprawl. The question about Lanie’s Aunt Ruby was forgotten with the mention of—

  “My father.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “I don’t have a father.” I felt dizzy, thinking about how many times I’d used that word just this week, when I’d maybe said it twice my whole life.

  “Everyone has a father,” Bailey said, chuckling as he opened a small wooden box and pulled out a pipe. “Do you think you just hatched like a little bird? Even they have fathers.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Mine doesn’t live here, sir. You’re mistaken.” So much for being psychic.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Bailey said. “He’s probably on the west coast somewhere, if I had to guess.”

  My mouth went dry. But that could have just been a good hunch, too.

  “Probably?” I asked. “I thought you were psychic.”

  Bailey looked up from fiddling with his pipe, and glanced over to Sully, eyebrows raised. “Quite the brazen one you have here.” His eyes settled back on me as he packed his pipe. “Who told you that malarkey about being psychic?”

  I crossed my arms, about two minutes away from walking out and back to my little boat.

  “Come see,” he said, holding out a hand. His knuckles were swollen.

  “See what?”

  He gestured again. I looked at Sully, who was being surprisingly silent and introspective, and shook my head. Men were useless. I walked over to Bailey, feeling like I was walking the plank. I stopped just short of his chair.

  “I’m here.”

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  Don’t shake his hand.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said.

  “Miss Frost,” he said quietly, watery blue eyes peering up at me. “Old isn’t contagious. You’ll get there on your own one day. I just need your hand for about five seconds.”

  I sighed, unfolding my arms and holding my hand out. “This is silly. This is—”

  The second his cool dry skin touched mine, my whole body went tingly. Like getting goosebumps that don’t go away. I could hear my breath in my ears and see everything the same around me, the room, the old man, I knew Sully was behind me on the couch, but it was like I was watching it from just a step away.

  Thoughts—like memories but not memories; more like home movies or a video—swirled around my head.

  A man on a motorcycle with dark blond hair. The same man talking on a bench. I couldn’t hear the words and couldn’t possibly know what he was saying, yet I did. I knew every word as if I had experienced them myself. Words about turmoil and indecision. A need to keep moving. Someone wanted him to go, but someone—there was someone wanting him to stay. Fingers through the hair and dark eyes looking around for something. Answers. Needing someone to tell him what to do. But God help him, he was already jacked up over this girl.

  Answers swam like they lived on the air, sinking into the solid things. No one could tell him what to do, because he already knew. If it was real, if he truly loved her, there would be no decision to make. The fact that there was—he’d already made his choice. But Gerry—

  I yanked my hand away, sucking in a breath like I’d been underwater for an hour. Sully was behind me, holding me up. When did he cross the room? Why were my legs not working?

  “What the living fuck was that?” I said. My voice was weird and gravelly, and I had a headache from hell. “What did you do to me?”

  “I told you not to shake his hand,” Sully said.

  “Seriously?” I said, trying to turn around but failing. “You sat there like a lump and let me walk over here and now you want to say that?”

  Bailey looked unfazed, sitting there with his unlit pipe in his mouth like any other weird eccentric old man.

  “What did you see?” he asked, as if I’d just peeked through a keyhole.

  I stared back at him. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Albert Bailey, Miss Frost,” he said, holding out his other hand in greeting.

  “Yeah, I’ll pass,” I said, feeling my feet come back. I took a deep breath and let it go, waving off Sully as the old man and I locked gazes. “I’m good.”

  I wasn’t good. I was confused and bewildered and more than a little freaked out. Good had left the picture. That had been—I couldn’t even put into words what that had been. I wasn’t one to believe in the weird and unexplained, but that had definitely qualified.

  “What did you see?” Bailey repeated, a quiet smile relaxing his face.

  Emotion crept over me, blanketing me in something sad and unfair. A sense of loss that ached deep in my chest. The random memory of the days after Sully left, when all I could do was cry, and my mother quietly took care of me without question. I thought she was clueless, but she’d not only been fighting her own guilt over causing my heartbreak, she’d lived it herself. When my father made his choice.

  “You know what I saw,” I said in a shaky whisper.

  “And what did it tell you, little bird?” he asked, glancing sideways at Sully.

  Bailey used to tell me I was a broken bird waiting for a little bird…

  No.

  “I have to go,” I said, backing up.

  I couldn’t be his bird. I couldn’t be his anything. Yes, I got the damn message. Yes, I had a choice to make, but you know what? Damn it, he had a choice back then, too. And he might have done it for all the right reasons, but he still left. And now it was my turn. A turn that had been calling to me my whole life, and if I didn’t take it now I might never get the chance again.

  “Carmen, you okay?” Sully asked.

  “Not really,” I said, a breathy chuckle escaping my throat as I moved toward the door. “I just—nice to meet you. Don’t move, stay here and visit with Yoda.” I held up a hand when Sully moved to follow me. “I’ll take the boat back. No biggie. Great night. All that—”

  I turned and was out the door into the night air before I finished speaking. I couldn’t get away fast enough, like gravity was pulling me back, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. Like I was clawing my way out of a hole that only I could see.

  It was too much. I’d seen my father. I knew it was him. I knew it like I’d known him my entire life. Even though it was fuzzy and weird and not totally clear, it was like I’d been there having the conversation. But there was no explainable way for me to have seen him. Holding an old man’s hand? Yeah, not my version of explainable. Aunt Ruby had had some interesting, possibly other-worldly things going on, but it damn sure was nothing like that.

  “Carmen!” Sully called from behind me. I was speed-walking blindly up the path we’d come, not even using the flashlight on my phone. The moon was bright enough through the trees. Hell, for that matter, my state of mind was amped up so high it would probably light my way. “Hey, would you wait?”

  “I told you to stay,” I said, not slowing down. “I’m a big girl. I know how to row a boat back the direction I came.”

  Footsteps jogged up behind me, and Sully circled around in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. “I have no doubt you can row all over this damn pond,” he said. “But if you think I’m gonna let you just float away tonight without—” He stopped, rubbing his jaw. “I’m taking you home.”

  My heart was still racing, so I took a slow breath. I needed to calm down and process. Process what, I had no idea. But something. I had to make sense of something. Tomorrow. While I was driving.

  “My car’s at your trailer,” I said.

  “Then I’m bringing you there.”

  “Okay,” I said, gesturing toward the path. “Let’s go.”

  We didn’t talk the rest of the way, and after making sure the boat was secure
, we headed toward his truck. It was odd, him bringing me home like two people on a normal date. We’d never had a normal date. Dinner out with a movie. Sex in a bed. A kiss goodnight.

  We didn’t talk as he maneuvered the twisty road out of the woods, or as we passed the houses that framed the east end, or when he pulled into the parking lot next to my car. The closer we got, the more my panic built. It was getting real. I wasn’t ready. I was ready to be gone, just not to do the going. I didn’t know how to do the going. My eyes filled with tears when he turned off the engine, everything going quiet as we sat and absorbed the silence. I wanted to leap over the console and bury myself in his arms. Kiss him two or three or a million more times. Memorize his smell and his taste and the way his hair felt when it fell against my face.

  Who was I kidding? I’d done that fifteen years ago.

  “If you hadn’t run into me out there,” he said softly. “Would you have said goodbye?”

  “You mean like you did?” I asked.

  He looked at me. “In spite of it.”

  “I was planning to stop and see you in the morning,” I said, hearing how stupid that sounded now. So lame and impersonal. I whisked away a tear before he saw it. “I still can. I can come by. I want to.” He shook his head, and my stomach clenched, like when you’re falling or lose something important. “Or—we could stay together tonight. Either place—”

  “No,” he said softly.

  “Sully, please,” I said, taking his hand. It was so warm, and calloused, and perfect.

  “I can’t,” he said. “Not after—” He shook his head. “I can’t keep doing this.” The park lights reflected in his eyes. “Saying goodbye to you. I feel like every time I see you, it’s one more last time, and… if you’re moving on, then it needs to just be the last time.”

  Moving on. My heart felt like it was turning inside out at those words. I saw the image of my father as a young man, moving on, tormented by it. Did my mother physically ask him to stay? Sully said he never would.

  Ask me to stay.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, shocked by the thought, by the words that echoed in my brain. My heart took off double-time.