Fisher's Light

by Tara Sivec

  Bobby’s shout from across the room has Lucy jumping away from me guiltily, her eyes flying around the room to make sure no one saw us.

  Of course, every eye in the place is on the two of us, standing in the middle of the damn bar. I didn’t think about them, I didn’t care about them, I only cared about touching my girl, getting close to Lucy and reminding her that I’m still here.

  “I…I have to go…I have…” Lucy cuts herself off mid-mumble, turns and walks quickly out of the bar without a look back.

  Running my hand down my face, I blow out a frustrated breath before turning around and walking over to Bobby and the guys.

  “Nice timing, dick head,” I admonish him, punching him in the arm.

  “Hey, I was helping you out. Did you really want all of Fisher’s Island watching you kiss her for the first time in a year? That’s just depressing. And here I thought you had moves,” he tells me with a sad shake of his head.

  He’s right, and I hate that our first encounter had to happen in a public place, but it was probably for the best that I wasn’t able to go through with that kiss. If we would have been somewhere alone, there’s no telling what the hell I would have done. I’ve gone more than a year without her too many times to count since we’ve been together, but never once was she not there waiting for me when I came home so I could sink myself into her and forget what I’d done when I was away. It bruises my pride and hurts my heart that she wasn’t waiting this time, but I deserve her brush off and more. I want her to scream and shout at me and call me every name she can think of. I want her to remind me of every shitty thing I said and did to her so I can make it right and take it all back. I’m still a sick fuck, but only when it comes to her. I need to do this the right way for once. I can’t let my needs and my fucking dick lead the way and screw this all up before it even begins. I’m going to remind her why we’re perfect for each other. I’m going to show her that there’s no one else on this earth that can love her like I can.

  “I’ll give you this, though. Stanford definitely isn’t getting any tonight. Nice cock-blocking moves, my friend,” Bobby says with a laugh as he holds his fist up for me to bump. “Let’s get back to these darts so you can tell me what your plan is for getting her back. I seriously hope it’s better than the shit show you just put on for all of us.”

  Before heading over to the dartboards, I take one last look at the door Lucy left through. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to coming back to this island and all of the judgy looks I’d get from everyone here, it’s the best place for me to be. It’s where Lucy and I began, and I’ll be damned if it’s where we’ll end.

  Chapter 9

  Lucy

  April 30, 2014

  He’s been gone from the island for three weeks and one day. I know he’s gone only because everyone on the island got a front row seat of his breakdown after I walked into Barney’s and had to see him with Melanie, and that’s all they’ve been talking about since. They saw him trash businesses on Main Street, get into fights with people he’s known all his life and then witnessed Bobby drag him to the ferry and take him off the island. He hasn’t been back since.

  Bobby has stopped by to check up on me a few times, and as much as I want to ask where he is or what he’s doing, I won’t let myself do it. It’s bad enough that I spend every second going over our last words to each other, wondering if I could have said or done something differently to get a better outcome, but at this point it doesn’t even matter. I saw the truth of his words with my own two eyes. I don’t want to know where he is. If I knew, I might be tempted to hunt him down¸ ask him how he could have done what he did with Melanie Sanders, of all people, lash out at him and hurt him like he hurt me. I’m not that person. I’m not the kind of woman who screams and shouts and makes a scene. He kicked me when I was down and I know better than to try and stand up again right now. I don’t know where he is and I don’t care.

  There are rumors floating around that, even though he was honorably discharged with a Purple Heart for an injury he sustained on his last tour, the Marines called him back to active duty, that he met someone else and went to live on the mainland, that he actually had an entire other family in another town and he finally went to be with them, and that he checked himself into rehab. Every day there’s a new, outrageous rumor and I try not to listen, but it’s hard when everywhere you go, everyone is talking about what happened that night. He’d been drinking all morning when we got into it in the bedroom, and Lord only knows how much more he consumed after he left me. I can’t imagine him doing something so destructive and out of control, but the proof is all around me. The devastation Fisher wrought could be seen in everything from the boarded up front window of the Lobster Bucket to the black eye Randy Miller, the security guard at Fisher’s Bank and Trust, sported for over a week.

  I’ve tried so hard to continue hating him as much as I did the day he said all of those nasty things to me and I saw him with Melanie, but my brain and my heart are in an epic battle of wills. I know I should hate him. He broke my heart and said things he knew would tear me in half, but how do you turn your back on all the years you’ve spent loving someone, growing with him and building a life together? It wasn’t all bad. Actually, it was rarely bad; only when he returned from a tour were things a little dicey. I had to walk on eggshells the first few months he was home, but I was willing to do all of that and more to make sure Fisher was happy.

  Taking a break from dusting the counters in the registration area, I call upstairs to Ellie, who is changing sheets in the guest rooms, to let her know I’m going outside for the mail.

  As soon as I open the door, my nose is filled with the salty ocean air and my skin warms with a gentle breeze that floats in off the water. Even though the ocean is on the backside of the property and I can’t see it as I walk down the front sidewalk to the mailbox, I can still hear the waves crashing against the shore and the cry of seagulls as they skim the water looking for fish. So many times I’ve thought of moving off this island, selling the inn and doing something new and exciting. Those thoughts have plagued me every day for the last three weeks as I wondered how I’m going to be able to stand living in the place where everywhere I look, I see and remember something about our life together.

  Smelling the ocean air, listening to the call of the birds, feeling the sand between my toes and being woken up every morning by the sun rising over the ocean water is like nothing I’ve ever known. I lived on the mainland for sixteen years, surrounded by tall buildings and bustling traffic, everyone rushing past and shoving you out of the way because they’re always in a hurry. I go over there every once in a while for meetings or dinner with old friends, and there’s absolutely nothing that I miss about it. Island life is like living in your own piece of heaven. Everything is slower here, everything is quieter here and everything is more beautiful here. During the summer months, cars are banned from Main Street because of all the tourists. The only way to get around is by golf cart or bike, both of which every permanent resident on the island own at least a few of. I wave to a couple people as they bike or putter by in carts as I stroll down the long, bricked walkway to the mailbox.

  This island might be filled with ghosts and memories of things that I’d rather forget, but it’s also my home. It’s jam packed with all of the people I care about and the business I love to run, even if it exhausts me.

  I open the door to the mailbox and grab the letters from inside, taking a moment to breathe deeply, close my eyes and enjoy the sun on my face. Everything is going to be okay. My pride is hurt and my heart is broken, but I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. I have supportive family and loving friends and they will help me get through this. Maybe Fisher will find what he’s looking for away from this island, but maybe he’ll get better and come back to me. The damage that has been done doesn’t have to be permanent. Holding out hope probably makes me as weak and pathetic as he accused me of being, but I like to think of it as hav
ing a big heart that knows how to forgive. The Fisher of the last few months was not the boy I fell in love with or the man I married, and I know that person is still in there somewhere. He just has to want it bad enough to break free of the prison in his mind.

  With one last deep breath, I open my eyes and make my way back up to the inn, flipping through the bills, coupons and other items that came in the mail. As I walk up the steps and push through the front door, I toss all of the mail except for one large, white envelope on the registration desk. My heart starts beating erratically in my chest when I see the handwriting in the middle. Tracing my fingers over my name and address written in Fisher’s small, neat block letters, I try to ignore the words running on repeat in my mind. Forcing memories of the cold, empty look on his face as he told me he never wrote to me when he was overseas because he just didn’t want to from my head, my eyes fill with tears and I smile to myself as I flip the envelope over and quickly tear it open. He finally wrote me a letter. I almost can’t believe it. I knew I shouldn’t give up on him. I knew that no matter what, he would find that person inside I fell in love with and come back to me.

  I reach inside the envelope and pull out a stack of papers stapled together. Flipping them over, my smile falls and my hands shake when I see the computer printed pages with the words Grayson & Smith, Attorneys at Law.

  Scanning through the pages, I see the words no-fault divorce and irreconcilable differences. On the very last page, in dark blue ink, is Fisher’s signature.

  I let the pages flutter to the ground and I brace my hands on the desk in front of me, holding myself up so I don’t crumple to the floor with them.

  “Alright, all the beds are clean and ready to go. Do you want me—”

  Ellie’s voice cuts off when she walks into the room. She rushes over to me, picks up the papers at my feet and I hear her flipping through them as I take deep breaths and hold back the tears.

  “That worthless piece of shit! I’m going to kick his motherfucking ass,” she curses as she clutches the papers in one hand and wraps her arms around me.

  Refusing to break down, I swallow back the tears threatening to choke me. The anger at how quickly he’s cut me out of his life simmers just below the surface and I let it take over, bubbling to the top and exploding out of me. I move away from Ellie’s arms and stomp around to the back of the desk, shoving folders, invoices, cups of paperclips and a stapler out of my way as I rummage around for what I’m looking for.

  When I find it, I hold the pen up in front of me as well as my outstretched hand.

  “Give me the papers,” I tell Ellie in a low, pissed-off voice that I barely recognize.

  “Sweetie, take a breath. You don’t have to sign these right now. Let’s go out and have a few drinks and come back and deal with this later,” she tries to reason with me.

  “Give me the fucking papers,” I growl at her.

  She quickly shoves them towards me, staring at me with her eyes wide and her mouth open. I snatch them out of her hand, flip to the last page and sign my name on the line right next to Fisher’s. When I’m finished, I thrust them back at her. “Send them back FedEx. Next day.”

  Tossing the pen on top of the desk, the fingers of my right hand wrap around the wedding and engagement rings on my left hand. It takes a little effort to twist and turn and pull them, but after a few seconds, I manage to tug them off and smack them down on top of the desk. “Throw those in the envelope, too, while you’re at it.”

  Walking around the desk, I head towards the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Ellie shouts after me as she chases me out the door and onto the front porch.

  “I’m going to Barney’s. I’m going to buy an entire bottle of vodka and sit there until I am completely fucked up wasted,” I inform her as I stomp down the stairs.

  “Well, Jesus! At least give me time to get my purse!” she shouts back.

  Chapter 10

  Lucy

  Present Day

  Stanford’s soft hands slide into the vee of my dress and move with confidence until he’s cupping one lace-covered breast in his hand. His tongue teases my lips and I open for him, letting him circle his tongue around my own. The fire he lit when we got back to the inn crackles in the hearth a few feet away and warms the chilly room. Even though it’s May, the breeze from the ocean when the sun goes down drops the temperature significantly, and with the windows open, the fire is a nice comfort in the room. I wish I could say Stanford is responsible for the warmth on my skin, but that would be a complete lie. Sure, it feels nice to be touched and held and kissed, but that’s the problem—it just feels nice. His face is too smooth against my jaw, his hands too soft. With my eyes closed, I can easily picture hands that are rough with blisters and callused from years of working with wood and holding firearms touching my breasts. I can feel the scratch of a month’s worth of stubble stinging the skin of my cheek as it slides against it down to my neck.

  My hands tangle in the hair on the back of Stanford’s head and I clench it between my fingers as he moves away from my mouth and kisses his way across my cheek and down to my neck. I’m sitting sideways on his lap and I can feel his erection pressing against my ass. I move subtly and hear him groan softly as he nips at my skin where my neck connects to my shoulder. His thumb brushes over my nipple and I squeeze my eyes closed even harder, picturing another thumb, another mouth, another voice whispering how good my skin tastes.

  I press his head against my neck and will him to open his mouth and sink his teeth into my skin, squeeze my breast harder, say something crude instead of something sweet. The feel of his hands and his lips on me, though different and not what I need, are enough to confuse my mind between the past and the present until I’m so lost in old memories and old feelings that I can easily imagine something else…someone else, doing all of these things to me.

  The smooth, clean-shaven face suddenly becomes rough and course with stubble and I moan loudly when I feel it slide up my neck and back to my waiting mouth. The gentle tongue that slides past my lips immediately becomes a punishing and forceful one, claiming my mouth and swallowing me whole. The manicured hand that has never even picked up a hammer turns into a rough touch, pinching my nipple between callused fingers. I’m so lost between fantasy and reality that it doesn’t even occur to me that none of these things are happening. My body is already ten steps ahead and the tingling between my legs is so strong, I feel like I could come without any help. I don’t realize how far gone I am when I quickly twist my body around so that I’m straddling thighs that are slimmer than the muscled ones in my mind. With my hands still clenched in his hair, I yank his head back roughly until he’s staring up at me. Even with his clear blue eyes looking at me in shock instead of the brown ones I see in my mind, it still doesn’t penetrate the haze of lust and need that has consumed me.

  With quick hands, I grab onto the front of his button-down shirt and yank it open, buttons flying off and falling clickety-clack all over the floor. I need this. I want this. I need to feel how much he wants me, how much he needs me. I need him to take me and claim me and bruise me with his hunger for me.

  “Whoa! Jesus, Lucy, slow down!” Stanford shouts in surprise and a little bit of irritation.

  His smooth, cultured voice is what brings me back to the present, brings me back to myself. It’s not the raspy Southern drawl I was hearing in my mind. His thin lips are not the full ones I was feeling against my mouth and his smooth hands are definitely not the rough ones I was feeling against my breast. My face heats with mortification and shame as I quickly scramble off of his lap and take a few steps back from the couch.

  Stanford stands up, holding his ruined shirt together with his hands as he looks at me like I’m insane. I probably am. Screw that, I definitely am. My total loss of control is a direct result of seeing Fisher tonight. Seeing him again, even though I knew it was coming, threw me for a loop, invoking feelings in my body that had long been dormant. He shouldn’t be
allowed to look even better than he did the last time I saw him. It was the stubble, that’s what it was. That fucking stubble and those damn dimples that popped out when he smirked at me. His face was covered in coarse, dark hair and it reminded me of that day in our kitchen when he came home from his last deployment. It made me think about everything that I dreamed about, fantasized about and craved that I kept to myself. I’d become a sex-starved, bumbling mess of hormones and I’d attacked Stanford like he had the magic stick that would cure what ailed me.

  “That was…unexpected,” Stanford says with an awkward laugh.

  Bringing my hands up to my heated cheeks, I try to cover the redness I know is there.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t…I didn’t.”

  I stammer, completely humiliated and having no clue how to talk myself out of this situation.

  “It’s okay, Luce. I just wasn’t expecting that. I thought you wanted to take things slow and you caught me off guard. You don’t seem like the type of girl to do something so…crazy,” he says as he runs his hand over his hair to flatten down the mess I made of it when I was practically ripping it out by the roots.

  He’s so busy trying to fix his hair and hold his shirt together that he doesn’t see the irritated look on my face. Why the hell does a woman have to be considered crazy because she wants a man and isn’t afraid to show it? Granted, it wasn’t Stanford I was so hot for, but that’s beside the point. Unless my hearing is as off as my mind tonight, the guy I’m dating just called me crazy.

  “I think you should probably go,” I inform him, crossing my arms in front of me and trying not to tap my foot.

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

  He closes the distance between us and kisses my cheek, running his hand down the top of my head, and I have to force myself not to jerk away from his touch. I’m being a bitch and I know it. Stanford’s right, I acted completely unlike myself tonight and I can’t really blame him for being a little shocked by my behavior. We’ve made out, we’ve done a little light petting above the clothes and I’ve always stopped him when he’s tried to go further. All of a sudden tonight, after running into my ex-husband, I practically maul him on the couch. In the middle of the sitting room at the inn. Where any of the fifteen guests in residence could have walked in.