Into The Clear Water

by Celeste, B.

  Into The Clear Water

  B. Celeste

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Into the Clear Water

  Copyright © 2020 by B. Celeste

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Artist:

  RBA Designs

  Published by:

  B. Celeste

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Contents

  Playlist

  Other Books by B. Celeste

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Want to stay in touch?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Hey, Rebecca Shea –

  Here’s that dedication I owe you.

  Hi.

  Playlist

  Playlist

  “Bleeding Love” – Leona Lewis

  “Demons” – Imagine Dragon

  “Delicate” – Taylor Swift

  “Get Stoned” – Hinder

  “Slow Hands” – Niall Horan

  “Say Something” – A Great Big World

  “How You Remind Me” – Avril Lavigne

  “Good For You” – Selena Gomez

  “Bring Me To Life” – Evanescence

  “Apologize” OneRepublic

  Other Books by B. Celeste

  The Truth about Heartbreak

  The Truth about Tomorrow

  The Truth about Us

  Underneath the Sycamore Tree

  Where the Little Birds Go

  Where the Little Birds Are

  Chapter One

  The metal sound of a zipper pulling up is what stirs me from a restless sleep where my body is molded into the right side of the mattress. A pointless need to turn around plagues my body, but I force myself still and listen to his silent routine—the ruffled cotton of a worn tee against sculpted inked flesh, the scraping plastic of a scratched phone case against an old nightstand, and the slightest creaking of floorboards under his weighted feet.

  There’s a pause, a minor hitch in breath, before the full lips my body has become well acquainted with press against the side of my temple. Not once do I open my eyes to meet the baby blues that I know are studying my naked body barely being covered by the thin sheet. Instead, I let him sneak out of the bedroom without a word.

  No, goodnight.

  No, I love you.

  Just like we silently agreed.

  The door clicks softly behind him shortly before the one directly across the hall opens. Loosening a shaky breath, I sit up and try to ignore the heavy absence of his body heat. All that ever remains when darkness bathes the room is his Armani cologne that sticks to the bedding.

  Grasping the comforter that’s fallen off the edge of the bed, I examine the faintest glow of moonlight creeping through the busted blinds. My eyes focus on the little flakes of snow falling gracefully from the sky, locking my mind in the memories of tan skin and a bright smile that winter took from me three years ago.

  No longer do I hear the husky laugh that would poke fun of my many layers of clothing when the temperature dropped below fifty, or the gravelly voice that brought goosebumps to my arms despite his teasing when I cautioned him for driving when snow squalls hit. My heart no longer clenches over deep-set dimples or speckled brown eyes that made me blush whenever they paid me any attention.

  The hammering heart in my tight ribcage is no longer caused by the love I pined for, but for the love I’d never have again.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bedframe, I absently stare at the wooden picture frame resting six inches away. Jaw tight, I slip out of bed with the comforter wrapped around my body and think better of doing the walk of shame to the hallway bathroom I share with my roommates.

  There’s a soft knock on my bedroom door, too quiet and abnormal to be his. Still, my body freezes when it cracks open and reveals tangled strawberry blonde hair and big brown eyes tilted upward at me. She reaches out, her freckled fair hand squeezing my porcelain one.

  “Bad dream, Nugget?” I whisper, grabbing the oversized tee that had been stripped off me with careful precision hours before.

  After quickly slipping it on, I turn to find her tiny palms rubbing her eyes. Kneeling to her level, I brush frizzy bedhead out of her face and peck a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s both try getting some sleep, okay?”

  I pick her up and put her in bed next to me, her little body emphasizing the vast difference of who occupied it before her.

  Reaching for the picture frame on the nightstand, I place it facedown and crawl in beside her with no other choice but to brush off the suffocating feelings overwhelming my conscience.

  “I love you, Ainsley.”

  Another hand squeeze.

  The bedroom is filtered by a dull dawn light telling me it’s too early when the tug on my shirt wakes me from a partial state of unconsciousness. I see the red flashing numbers on my alarm first, then the round brown eyes mere inches from my face filled with anticipation as she tugs on me again.

  “Too early,” I murmur, tempted to bury my squinted eyes in my pillow.

  She doesn’t relent.

  Blowing out a breath, I note the early morning numbers again on my clock before sitting up in bed.

  Ainsley gestures toward the door.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Before I follow her out, I slip on a pair of pajama pants covered in candy canes from my floor and let her pull me into the hallway with strength nobody her age should have. I freeze when the door across the hall opens, and a shirtless lean figure appears in only a black pair of low-riding sweatpants.

  Swallowing, I give him a small smile.

  “Good morning,” I greet, voice raspy as it always is in the morning.

  Ainsley tugs on my hand and points to the stairs, where the decorated tree peeks out from the open hallway loft. My shoulders lift as I follow her down, only hearing a murmured Merry Christmas, Piper from behind us as we descend the narrow staircase.

  I flick on the lights just as Ainsley dives toward the multi-colored presents wrapped underneath the tree. Some of them I don’t recognize and wonder if Easton put them there after he left my room last night, making my face flush when footsteps sound from behind me.

  Busying myself with moving the coffee table out of the way and pl
ugging in the tree lights, I try to ignore the prickling awareness of the six-two tatted man watching us from the landing of the stairs.

  Clearing my throat, I brush my fingers through Ainsley’s hair to try controlling the way it sticks out everywhere. Eventually giving up, I press a kiss to the crown of her head and pass her the stocking full of candy and Barbie accessories to open first.

  Finally turning to meet East’s eyes, I note his own untamed bedhead that normally rests in a purposely unkempt messy ‘do. The sides of his nearly black hair are shorter than the top, with slight waves that make me wonder if his hair curls when it’s longer. He’s only lived with me for seven months, and in that time I’ve never seen it grow past what it is now.

  “Coffee?” I ask, not waiting for him to answer before walking past him. The downstairs of our three-bedroom townhome is all open space minus a half bath and coat closet off the entryway.

  I don’t have to look behind me to sense he followed, so I look through the cupboard for the can of coffee only to find it missing. My eyes wander along the countertops, searching for salvation with tired eyes and coming up short. Gripping the edge of the marble counter, I blow out a breath and drop my head.

  “We’re out?” he asks behind me, his voice low as ever. He never speaks loud as if broody and broodier are his only volumes. It works for him. The tan lean twenty-eight-year-old standing in the modern kitchen just feet from me is every girl’s wet dream from his looks and laid back but mysterious personality, to the way he talks. His right arm is covered in an intricate black tattoo sleeve of words and images that goes all the way up to his collarbone and edge of his neck. The back of his hand has small letters on it that forms a thought-out design, and I know he has other tattoos on his back and left side of his ribcage.

  Clicking my tongue, I brush hair behind my ears and nod, turning to face him. I’m grateful he slid a shirt on, or I’d be staring. My hip leans against the counter, but I don’t make eye contact with him. Our arrangement started just shy of two months ago after a little too much alcohol. One night turned into two, which turned into three, until I got used to chasing a high with his body that took me out of my head for a while.

  He’d always come to my room.

  And he’d always leave.

  And it works.

  “Need me to go get some?” are the next words from his mouth. He knows I need caffeine in order to function, especially this early. How he manages it is beyond me considering he’s usually out late at the tattoo parlor he co-owns with a friend in town. Yet every morning between five and six he’s up, in running gear, and ready to start his day on what I only assume is five hours or less of sleep. Usually less on the nights he comes to my room.

  As much as I want to say yes, I shake my head and grab a clean glass from the drainer and fill it with water from the sink. “It’s Christmas. Nothing will be open.”

  He simply makes a contemplative noise, as if he’s humming in agreement, before pushing off the wall he stands by and walking over to the refrigerator. We never speak about what goes on after dark and rarely make small talk about anything. The quiet between us is usually comfortable, not awkward, but he’s also never kissed me before leaving my room at night either.

  Jabbing my thumb behind me with my free hand, I give him a tired smile. “I’m going in the other room. Ainsley will want to start opening the other presents. So…”

  He just nods once.

  Licking my lips, I turn on my heel and walk away before saying anything else. Taking a seat on the floor beside Ainsley and setting my water on the table behind me, I cross my legs and reach for one of the smaller presents signed by Santa.

  Smiling as I watch her eyes brighten from the new dolls, dresses, and stuffed animals, I lean against the side of the armchair and listen to Easton take a seat behind me. “You’ve got some,” he notes quietly.

  Brows raising as I look where his chin gestures to in a single nod, I reach for a small silver square package. “I didn’t get you anything,” I admit regretfully, not knowing that we were exchanging gifts.

  My fingers tear into the paper until a black box appears underneath. I glance at East, who’s intently watching Ainsley play with one of her new toys, before looking back at the box and opening it. My lips part when I see a two-hundred-dollar gift card to an office supply store I like to go to.

  “East…” My body turns to him, blinking at his casual stance in the raggedy chair I’d bought secondhand from Craigslist. “This is too much. I didn’t get you anything.”

  His shoulders lift. “You said the school didn’t have money in the budget for supplies, so I figured you could use that before the year starts back up. It’s not a big deal, Piper.”

  He…? “You got me this for my class?”

  Another incoherent noise sounds from his throat as he slides to the edge of the chair. “If I make cinnamon rolls will you two eat some? I even bought frosting the other day.”

  I blink.

  Ainsley turns and nods enthusiastically at the sound of sugar, leaving me absentmindedly doing the same. His eyes go from my face to the card I’m holding before standing and walking away without another word.

  My mouth goes dry.

  Ainsley tugs on my shirt, showing me the Barbie that Santa got her. I just smile in praise and look down at the gift card again.

  Chapter Two

  Stuffing the last plastic bag in the backseat of my beat-up green Toyota Highlander that I bought dirt cheap from a family friend, I feel the vibration of my phone in the back pocket of my skinny jeans. Closing the door and pulling out the cell to see my best friend’s name across the screen, I smile and climb into the front.

  “Hey, Jenna.”

  There’s loud music in the background that I know all too well from Ainsley’s favorite Disney movie. She insists on listening to it when she doesn’t feel well. “The kid blew chunks. Don’t worry, she did it on the kitchen floor.”

  Wincing, I blow out a breath. At least it’s on the hardwood and not the beige carpet that covers ninety percent of the house. “It’s probably from all the candy she’s been eating this past week. Is she okay now?”

  “She’s laying on the couch under her favorite blanket,” my bestie explains, moving until the background noise fades slightly. “I gave her some ginger ale, which I can only assume is your roomie’s since you hate soda. Tell him I’m sorry.”

  I doubt Easton would care. He may keep to himself, but I’m pretty sure he has a soft spot for Ainsley. Especially after seeing the additional Christmas presents he gave her consisting of new coloring books and a play food set she’d been eying whenever we went to the store together for groceries.

  “I’ll get him more,” I say, just to be on the safe side. I wasn’t planning on making another stop to the store, but it’s close to Staples. “I was going to stop by The Inked Lotus before I came back, but I’ll drop by the store and then—”

  “No.” I blink at her firm words. “We’re fine here, Piper. Ainsley looks like she’s going to fall asleep any minute and I have a book to read on my Kindle. Go do your thing. And by thing, I mean—”

  “Stop,” I groan, dropping my head back onto the headrest. “I’m just going to thank him for the gift card. I got all my classroom supplies. I need to return the favor somehow.”

  Her chuckle makes me roll my eyes. “I can think of a few ways you can return the favor. You could let him pierce you if you know what I mean. Maybe let him mark your skin.”

  My cheeks heat over her innuendos. “I hate you sometimes.”

  “Lies!”

  I start the car. “Whatever. If you’re sure you’re fine, I’ll make a quick pitstop. Call me if you need anything.”

  After hanging up and finishing my errands, buying a new six pack of ginger ale like the ones Easton likes and keeps in the fridge, as well as some crackers for Ainsley to nibble on, I make the short twenty-minute drive back to the development community we live in.

  The Inked Lotus is a smal
l brick building right on the outskirts of the residences, surrounded by a few dining establishments and a tiny post office that all share a parking lot. I pull into a free parking space in front of the parlor, lucky since the rest of the parking lot is packed.

  Slipping my purse over my shoulder and locking the car behind me, I walk toward the glass door with an open sign hanging just below the printed store hours. I know he’s open later since it’s a Saturday, which means he won’t be home until close to two in the morning.

  The bell on the door signals my arrival, making Jay, his friend and co-owner, look up from where he’s working on some beefy guy’s back. “Hey, Red.”

  I smile at him and his unoriginal name for my naturally auburn hair. It’s better than when he called me Red Velvet all the time though. Since Jenna convinced me to add copper highlights, the color isn’t as intense. It still doesn’t stop the tall, skinny thirty-something-year-old from calling me whatever he wants.

  My eyes travel to East where he’s bandaging a platinum blonde girl’s upper arm. He glances up as soon as Jay mentions my nickname, nodding his chin at me in greeting. I give him a small wave and lean against the front counter where the register is.

  Pulling out my water bottle from my purse and taking a sip, I all but spit it out when Jay says, “Finally going to let me pierce you?”