by Sarra Cannon
There’s a tiny voice inside that tells me to panic. To run.
But there’s a louder voice that says this guy is different. He gets me somehow. And he has never once pushed me or made a move toward me that felt rushed or uninvited. I stare down at his discarded clothes and wonder just what in the world he has planned.
I hear rustling in the trees, then Knox shouts as he flies by, holding tight to a rope that swings out over the mirrored water. He lets go and before he hits the water, his eyes meet mine. I laugh and bring my fist to my lips, not sure I’ve smiled so freely in months.
He disappears beneath the surface for a moment, then breaks up, shaking the water from his head.
“Well?” he shouts.
“Well, what?” I shout back.
“You coming in or what?”
The rope is still swinging at the edge of the water. I eye it, bouncing slightly on my toes, unsure what to do. I’ve never been the impulsive type. I’m usually the girl who plans everything, which is probably why I have such a hard time when things go wrong.
“I don’t think I can,” I say, scrunching my nose. I want to, but it’s so ridiculous. Swimming in the lake in the middle of the night?
“Why not?” he asks, laughing. He’s treading water, and I’m glad there’s almost a full moon tonight. Otherwise, I’m not sure how well I’d be able to even see him out there. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I say, but I’m lying. I’m terrified. Not of the water or the rope. I’m terrified of what I’m feeling for him and how perfect he seems to be. I don’t deserve this. I don’t know what to do with this.
“If you’re not afraid, then what the hell are you waiting for?”
The sadness I’ve been carrying around for so long urges me to take a step back, away from the edge of this mountaintop. But there’s a growing hope that tells me to seize this moment with both hands.
What the hell am I waiting for?
Breathless, I jog toward the woods, slip out of my jeans and toss them to the side. I reach out for the swinging rope, catching it on its second pass toward the shore. There are several tight knots and I grip the highest one with two trembling hands. I back up the hill until the rope is taut, and with my heart beating fast, I hold on tight.
And I fly.
Chapter Eighteen
I am half screaming, half laughing when I hit the water. It’s freezing cold, but there’s no turning back now. I slip under, then swim toward the surface. When I break free, I am new. Reborn.
Knox makes a whooping sound that echoes across the lake and I splash him with a wave of water.
He splashes back, then swims toward me fast. I screech and try to swim away, but his hands slip around my waist and pull me back until my body is pressed close against him. Our faces are inches apart. Under the water, our legs move in unison to keep us afloat. It’s the perfect kissing kind of moment, and I realize I want it.
Bad.
He draws his bottom lip into his mouth and bites. His hand gathers the edge of my tank top into a fist and his fingers brush the bare skin underneath. This is nothing like the way I felt when Preston touched me. Was that really just a couple of hours ago?
I know I should pull myself together. Ask him to take me home. But I can’t move. All I can do is stare at his lips.
He breaks away, nearly dunking me as he swims back toward shore.
“Where are you going?” I ask after him.
He pulls up on the edge of the dock. “Again.”
I smile and swim after him.
We jump and swim and play for what seems like hours. We’re like kids on a summer’s day. Only it’s the middle of the night. And the way he makes me feel is not something I ever felt as a kid.
Exhausted, we both collapse on the dock and lean back, staring up at the night sky. I haven’t laughed this much in ages. We’re both breathing heavy, our chests rise and fall and our arms lay close against the wood. Not quite touching, and so very aware of it. The moon is nearly full tonight and the stars are out in force.
“I haven’t seen stars like this in years,” I say finally.
He brings an arm up under his head and inches the tiniest bit closer to me. “Yeah, you don’t realize how much you miss it until a night like this,” he says. “It’s impossible to get views like this in the city.”
“Did you grow up in the city?” I wonder again about Chicago.
“No, I grew up in a place a lot like this, over in Alabama,” he says. “I moved to Chicago when I was ten, though. No stars.”
“That had to be shell shock at that age,” I say, thinking of how long it took me to get used to the Boston area when I first moved away for school.
“You have no idea,” he says.
I want to ask more, but I don’t want to spoil our night with questions about the past. I like this feeling of being right here, right now, fully in the present.
His hand brushes against mine, and my mouth goes dry. My lips part and I swallow, my breath short. I feel his eyes on me, but I’m scared to turn and face him. After all my begging to feel something, anything, I’m afraid when it finally happens.
But this fear is a different kind of fear. It isn’t filled with panic and terror or with a desire to run away. What I’m feeling is a strong pull toward him. Pure desire.
The space between us is electric and I’m aware of his every breath, every movement.
Finally, I give in. I turn my head toward his. Our eyes meet and I shiver. We both lift up at the same time, our legs dangling off the edge of the dock but not quite touching the water. His hand comes up to caress my cheek and his skin on mine sends a rush of warmth through me.
He moves toward me slowly, our eyes locked together until the very last moment, when they close and we surrender ourselves to touch.
I’m breathless as his lips find mine. At first, there is only softness, an inhaling. Time stands still and I lose all sense of anything but the pressure of his lips and the growing flush of heat in my core.
His fingers tense against my jaw and I lean into him. He exhales, his breath warm against my skin. His tongue teases my bottom lip and I open slightly, letting him taste me. Tasting him back.
When he pulls away, my heart is racing so fast, I can barely keep myself from trembling. I’m increasingly aware of the fact that we’re both in our underwear, but he makes no move to push me further. He keeps his hand placed firmly on the spot where my neck and jaw meet. He leans his forehead against mine and exhales, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
“God, I like you so much,” he says in a whisper.
I smile and reach up to put my hand on his wrist. “I like you too.”
It’s such a simple confession, but it’s real and honest. I want to sit here with him all night. I want to kiss him again, but the sun chooses just this moment to start peeking over the horizon.
He runs a finger along my temple, tracing a tiny scar. "What happened here?"
I break away and turn to look at the pink and purple coloring the sky at the edge of the lake. I close my eyes and my shoulders fall. I don't want to talk about that. “I need to get home,” I say.
We’re still holding hands as we walk over to our discarded jeans. I’m completely under his spell and wish this night could last forever. I don’t want to go home and have to answer to my parents, but I know it’s inevitable.
We dress and get back in his pickup truck. We don’t say much the whole ride home, but the farther we get from the lake house, the more the magic of the last couple hours fades away. He asks me if he should drop me off at my house, but I give him directions to Preston’s apartment complex instead.
“You never did tell me why you were walking home tonight,” he says.
“Bad party,” I say. “I’d had a couple drinks and didn’t want to risk driving home, but I just had to get out of there. It was a rough night.”
He nods.
“It got better,” I say, cheating a look at him.
“The party?” he asks, his eyebrows cinching in the middle.
“No,” I say. “My night.”
He smiles and reaches over to take my hand.
I want to ask if I’ll see him again, but now that the sun is coming up and reality is sinking back in, I’m confused and torn in two directions. I really like him, but he doesn’t need for me to drag him into my mess. And the closer I get to someone new, the harder it will be to keep secrets. Until I can be sure I’m ready to talk about what happened up in Boston, I can’t really allow myself to start something new. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of us.
Still, I want him. There’s no denying it. Is it stupid to push him away?
“Thanks for the ride,” I say when we get to the parking lot.
“It was my pleasure.”
I place my hand on the large metal handle of the old truck. “I’ll be sure to look for you next time I’m stranded in the middle of the night,” I say with a laugh.
He leans forward against the steering wheel. “I was hoping maybe we could see each other sooner than that.”
I press my lips together and close my eyes. I don’t know what to say to that.
“I really did have fun tonight,” I say. My heart is aching because I want to be free and tell him that yes, let’s see each other tomorrow and the next day and the next. But at the same time, I am still chained to my past. I can’t afford to get hurt right now.
“But?” he says.
I shrug. “But my life is really complicated right now.”
He studies me. “Maybe that’s why you should just say yes,” he says. “Sounds to me like you could really use more nights like tonight.”
I can’t help but smile. He’s definitely right about that. “The problem is that nothing stays fun and carefree like this forever,” I say. “Once emotions get tangled up inside it, everything becomes complicated. And I can’t afford another ounce of complicated right now.
His face falls and he swallows hard. “Whatever happened to you, I wish I could take it all away.”
The words sink deep into my heart and hot tears spring to my eyes. “It doesn’t work like that,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t make me wish it any less.”
We sit there, a heavy silence between us. I feel the weight of the words I wish we could say to each other. Words we might share in another place, another time, if things weren’t so complicated. If we both hadn’t been through so much that wanted to stay buried.
I grab my high heels from the floorboard of the truck and open the door. “Good night, Knox,” I say.
“Good night, Leigh Anne,” he says back.
I still feel our connection tugging on me as I step onto the pavement.
It lingers long after I’ve gotten in my car and driven away from him, wishing I’d had the courage to say yes.
Chapter Nineteen
My mother’s voice echoes across the hardwoods and I jump.
“Jesus, you scared me to death.” I turn and find her sitting in the formal living room. It’s a room we never use and I know she’s only there because she can see the street from here and she’s been waiting for me.
There’s a book open in her lap and she’s wearing her glasses and a long pink robe. She’s not wearing any makeup and I can’t remember the last time I saw my mother without her armor on.
“Leigh Anne, it’s six in the morning,” she says. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”
I start to apologize, but then I remember I’m not sixteen years old anymore. I’m twenty. “I’m not a child anymore, Mom,” I say. “I don’t have to tell you every time I go out, and I don’t have to be home at any certain time. I’m sorry you waited up for me, but I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?”
The look on her face is harsh and angry, and I know exactly what she means by those two little words. She blames me for what happened in Boston. She blames me for leaving Preston. A responsible, capable woman would never let such things happen.
Anger boils up within me, and I clench my teeth together, holding back the things I want to say.
“Where were you?” She pulls her glasses off. “I know you weren’t with Preston.”
I stare at her. I’m not even going to ask her how she knows I wasn’t with Preston. I’m too mad to engage in this conversation.
“I’m going to bed.” I walk toward the stairs.
“Don’t walk away from me.” She stands and raises her voice.
I turn but don’t say anything. I’m afraid of what might come out if I speak.
“You may not be a child anymore, but you still live under my roof, which means you live under my rules,” she says. Her anger wrinkles her face and makes her look older than her fifty-three years. “You cannot go off for hours without even telling us where you are. Did you know that I had to hear it from Janine that you’ve gotten a job at Brantley’s? Really, Leigh Anne? What on earth possessed you?”
“What possessed me to get a job?” I ask. “Why do you act like that’s such a bad thing? People have jobs, Mom. Not everyone gets to be a social butterfly who never had to work a day in her life.”
She lifts her chin. “It’s not the job that bothers me, it’s the fact that you kept it a secret.”
“I knew you would act like this if I told you,” I say. “You’re always questioning my decisions these days, like you think you know better or something. I need to be able to make my own choices.”
“You did make your own choices,” she says, pointing her finger wildly. “Look where that got you.”
Her words are like a punch in the gut. I was right, she does think it’s my fault. I’m so hurt, I don’t even want to look at her right now.
“I’m tired,” I say, turning away. “I’m going to bed.”
I make it halfway up the stairs before she says my name.
I don’t stop, and I don’t look back.
Chapter Twenty
My phone rings too early. I roll over and shield my eyes against the bright sunshine streaming in through the windows.
I squint at the caller ID and groan. Sophy. I decline the call and cover my head with a sheet.
A minute later, the phone rings again. I think about throwing it across the room, but sit up instead. I look at the missed call log and see it’s the fifth time she’s called already this morning. Er, afternoon. It’s already one. I decide to answer the phone. If she’s called this many times, something’s up.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for bad news.
“Hi Soph,” I say. “I was sleeping.”
“It’s one in the afternoon,” she says.
“I’m aware. I was up late.”
“Well, I’m glad you answered the phone.” The relief in her voice is evident. “There’s something you need to see.”
“What?” My stomach dips.
She sighs. “Turn on the news.”
I reach over to my nightstand and grab the remote. I turn on the small flat-screen on my dresser and flip channels until I see it.
Her.
I watch as Molly Johnson is ushered into a black car. She’s wearing sunglasses and putting her hand out in front of the cameras.
My eyes travel to the ticker along the bottom. Redfield case takes a turn. Johnson admits to lying about assault in high school.
I feel nauseated.
“What is this?” I ask, pulling the phone back up to my ear. “What are they talking about, an assault in high school?”
“Apparently Molly accused some guy of sexually assaulting her in high school,” Sophy explains. “She later turned around and said she was lying about it.”
I close my eyes, my heart shrinking inside my chest. I can’t speak.
“Leigh Anne? Are you okay?”
I swallow and take a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry to surprise you with this, but I didn’t want you to be going about your day
and find out from someone else or right in the middle of something,” she says.
“What does this mean? For the case?”
She clears her throat. “It’s not good,” she says. “The media is crucifying her over this. If she lied once, she must be lying again, that sort of thing.”
My head falls heavy into my palm. I want to lay back down and crawl under the covers for the next forever.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“See, I told you something like this would happen. Especially with all the press involved,” I say, not lifting my head. I can’t feel my feet or my hands. There’s a ringing in my ears. “This is why it’s easier to just keep it locked inside. When you come forward with something like this, suddenly your life is ammunition against you. Every bad choice. Every moment you ever took a breath.”
“When did you ever make a bad choice?” she asks, her voice soft.
I collapse further onto the bed. The phone is pressed so tight against my face.
“The day I agreed to go on a date with Burke Redfield.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After the news, I want to stay in bed for days, but it’s my new job that gets me into the shower and out of the house.
The TV over the bar at work is usually set to sports, but of all nights, tonight they have it on CNN. Every time I leave the kitchen, I pass by and catch a glimpse of Molly Johnson’s face. Or worse. His face.
The news media is all over this case and every time I think about it, I want to run to the bathroom and puke up my lunch. It’s such a weird sensation to see something playing out on television and know that there are only a few people in the whole wide world who know I’m a part of it. I go back and forth between hating the whole thing and wishing I was brave enough to speak up.
I’m staring at the TV again when Jenna comes up behind me and loops her arm through mine. She follows my gaze up toward the screen. It’s too loud in here to actually hear what’s going on, but the closed caption is on and I can read some of it as it passes by. The press is looping her story, saying she’s a serial liar. A mentally unstable girl looking for attention.
