by Amy Knupp
“This is it,” Faith said under her breath.
“Fantastically amazing,” Nadia repeated as she stood.
“Hey, ladies.” Scott came up between Mercedes and Faith and put a hand on each of their waists. “Thank you for coming tonight. I’m blown away that so many people were here.” He didn’t look at Mercedes. This close, she noticed his eyes were slightly red and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Faith said. “Are you calling it a night?”
He glanced around. “Just about. Couple more people to say goodbye to.”
“Scott.” Mercedes had no idea how she found her voice.
He finally looked at her, dropping his hand from her side.
“I’d like to talk to you…afterward. When you’re done.”
She saw him swallow and hesitate for a split second and then nod. “Give me a few.” Not exactly enthusiastic.
Once he’d walked off, she leaned close to her friends. “I may be dead in a few.”
* * *
SCOTT HUGGED PAIGE and shook hands with her boyfriend.
“If you ever want to give a friend a cheap cruise, look me up,” Paige said over her shoulder as they left.
“I’ll do that,” he said, picking up the soft drink he’d set on their table and finishing it off.
He watched his colleague leave. Not for any reason other than he knew Mercedes was waiting for him across the way and he was experiencing the wildest mix of feelings ever. Among them was trepidation at facing her.
He hadn’t expected to see her again before he went to Galveston to board the ship. Hadn’t expected to see anyone but Rafe, of course, but yesterday, when she and Gemma had both left, he’d thought that had been the last of it. He knew he hadn’t handled Mercedes with any tact, but he hadn’t known what else to do.
Lucky him, now he had another chance.
He glanced toward the gulf and wondered what would happen if he just sprinted toward it, dived in and made a getaway. He scoffed and called himself a chicken. Not to mention, a liar. Though he was nervous about facing Mercedes, he also was thankful for it more than he was comfortable admitting. Just ten more minutes with her. Or an hour. Time to say a proper goodbye, but any way you looked at it, goodbye was going to suck.
He turned and walked to her and her friends.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Ready?”
“Faith and I are going to walk to Silver Sands,” Nadia said. “We’re going to crash there tonight so we don’t need to drive.”
They each hugged Mercedes as if they were going on a long trip, too.
“We have our phones,” Faith said pointedly to Mercedes.
And then he and Mercedes stood there alone. A few others were still scattered across the patio, some of whom had come for his party and some who were just bar patrons who hadn’t left yet. Derek Severson, a firefighter as well as the owner of the Shell Shack, was closing up the tiny thatched-roof structure for the night.
“Would you like to take a walk?” he asked, ready to get out of the bright lights.
Mercedes acted suddenly shy, averting her eyes and nodding. “Sounds good. Beach?”
“Of course. Have to have one last walk on the beach.” They started toward the stairs. “I wonder if I’ll miss the beach.”
“At least you know you won’t miss the ocean.”
They were quiet for a few minutes as they headed north. She’d slipped her shoes off and they walked at the water’s edge, the waves soaking them up to their ankles from time to time. Each time they did, the water was sucked through his beach shoes as it receded. He gave all his concentration to the sensation, too overwhelmed otherwise to sort through everything roiling through him. After a while, he took her hand without thinking about it, only realizing he’d done it when he felt her fingers squeezing his lightly.
As the time without conversation stretched, so did the tension between them. Things were going to have to be said, and soon. But he still didn’t know what or how.
“Tonight was unreal,” he said, choosing a relatively safe topic.
“You really were surprised?” Mercedes asked.
“Completely. I had no idea. Rafe is a sneaky dude.”
“Lots of people showed up. You’re a popular guy.”
He laughed, mostly because he wasn’t sure what to say. He got along with everyone at the station just fine, but to have them go out of their way just for him…that affected him like he wouldn’t have guessed. “You know…” Letting the words hang, he shook his head. “I’m actually going to miss this place a little.”
“You sound shocked by that,” Mercedes said, looking up at him as they walked along.
“It wasn’t part of the plan. At all.” He pulled his gaze from the sand in front of their feet to take in the dark but beautiful scene around them. They’d come farther than he’d realized. To their left and ahead a few hundred feet was the last hotel on the shore. They were just about to the city-limits line, to the deserted dunes, a few miles south of where he’d taken her crab hunting, among other things.
The gulf was relatively calm tonight, the steady roar of waves a familiar backdrop. The air was thick and damp and smelled of sea life. There wasn’t a soul in sight around them. He took a mental picture to save for later.
“I never realized there were so many decent people in my life here,” he said, having trouble explaining his thoughts. “If you’d asked me ahead of time if I wanted a goodbye party, I would have said hell no, because I wouldn’t be able to name five people I thought would show up.”
“Guess you were wrong,” she said with a tentative grin. She was acting odd tonight. Almost as if they barely knew each other.
“Leaving San Amaro wasn’t supposed to be hard.”
“No? Just drive across that bridge without any qualms? No looking back?”
“I’ve wanted to get away for so long. There was never any doubt how easy it would be, if I could just find the right place to go and thing to do. The scuba job is perfect. But…”
“You’ve lived here a long time.”
“Yeah.”
“So…” Mercedes stopped walking and turned toward him as he halted, too. Her gaze was pointed toward the ground as she pushed her hair behind her shoulder. Pursed her lips as she took a deep, shoulder-raising breath. “Why don’t you stay?” she finally said in a voice barely audible over the waves. Her unsure eyes sought his.
He was about to answer, when she touched his chest to silence him.
“I know you don’t love your job, but what if you could find something else around here?”
“I don’t—”
“Because I think there’s something kind of awesome between us. Something we haven’t given a chance yet.”
He wrapped his hand around hers, still resting on his chest, and he felt his own heart pounding.
“Mercedes—”
“No. Let me finish,” she said, determined. She took her hand away. “I know I’m kind of hard to deal with, since I spend a lot of time taking care of my grandma. That’ll probably get a little worse again when Charlie moves out. But Gram thinks a lot of you.” She shook her head. “I’m doing this so wrong. Scott? The thing is, I…love you. And I don’t want you to leave.”
She loved him?
Maybe he could love her, too, but…
He had to admit, what she offered, the way she made it sound was tempting.
Scott broke eye contact and took several steps away, his back to her.
Walking away from her now was tough. But if he stayed, he would never be happy. And maybe even more important, he wouldn’t be able to keep her happy.
The hatred and anger in Gemma’s eyes was still fresh in his memory. He never wanted to see that in Mercedes’s eyes, directed at him. Though walking away tonight was going to blow big-time, it would only be worse if he gave them both a chance to care more.
He walked back to where she still stood watching him.
“I can’t.” His voice ca
me out hoarse. Thick. “I’m sorry, Mercedes. I have to go tomorrow.”
She pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze. He counted the rises of her chest as she breathed…twice. Three times. She nodded.
“If anything could make me stay, it would be you,” he said, fighting the urge to take her hands in his, knowing touching her would only make it even harder for both of them.
As if she sensed his urge, she took a step back and nodded again. “Mercedes.” He kicked at the sand with one foot, his eyes downcast. “I spent the day on the couch, recovering from a bottle of whiskey. Again. You thought I was bad the last time? That was nothing. I went all out. Just about did myself in.”
Mercedes’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s okay, Scott. People make mistakes. You pick yourself up and try again.”
He shook his head. “No. I need to get away. Make a fresh start.”
She stared at him for several seconds and there was so much in her eyes, so much sadness that he didn’t want to see. “I’m not enough to keep you here,” she said, or he thought she said. It was so quiet he couldn’t be sure.
“No. I’m not enough.”
Her eyes popped open. “You could be,” she said sadly. “If you’d let yourself.”
If only it was that damn easy.
She stepped to him, rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Scott instinctively caught the back of her head and prolonged the touch of their lips for a few seconds before she ended it.
Mercedes stepped around him and walked in the direction of the Holiday Inn.
“What are you doing?” he called after her. “I’ll take you home.”
Without looking back, she shook her head. “I’m calling my sister to pick me up at the hotel. Goodbye, Scott.”
He watched until she disappeared around to the front of the building, the crushing pain in his chest increasing with every step she took. When she was gone, he turned back to face the endless, dark gulf. Standing there on the shore, he felt tiny, no bigger than a gnat in the general scheme of the universe.
* * *
MERCEDES AVOIDED GOING into the blindingly bright hotel, instead finding a bench outside, far from the main door and any street lamps, to wait for Charlie.
She couldn’t help thinking her life at this moment would make one heck of a country song.
That’s as far as she let herself go in thinking about what had just happened. She pulled out her phone and started an absorbing game of solitaire, her jaw clenched so hard it ached. It was mindless, and that was just what she needed. Keeping herself from giving in to tears was an all-out effort.
Headlights turned around the corner and came toward her, the only sign of life she’d seen. Strange for summer on the island, but she supposed this hotel was out of the way, being the last one on the beach. She was grateful for the privacy as she fought her battle.
Charlie pulled up to the main circle drive in Mercedes’s car. Mercedes’s hideaway was halfway down, toward the end of the hotel. She stood and stepped out of the shadows, waving at her sister. Charlie eventually noticed her and pulled forward.
When Mercedes got in the car and closed the door, Charlie stared at her expectantly. Still, Mercedes fought, though she wasn’t altogether sure why. Maybe she was afraid that if she started crying, she wouldn’t stop.
“Want to talk about it?” Charlie said in a gentle voice that said she had a pretty good guess of what had happened.
Mercedes shook her head, looking straight ahead. Several more seconds ticked by as if Charlie silently debated saying more. She didn’t, though. She put the car into Drive and headed home.
On the way, Mercedes sneaked a peek at her sister. Her hair was pushed back from her face with a cloth headband. She wore a long-sleeved tee and…
“You’re wearing your pajamas?” Mercedes asked. If Charlie slept in sweats and a tee it’d be one thing, but her sister was a pajama snob and always insisted on cute little sets. Mercedes could only see the bottoms—barely, because they were so skimpy—but she recognized the lightweight set.
“When your sister calls in the middle of the night sounding like her cat got run over by a car, you don’t stop to pick the right outfit.” Charlie smiled sadly at her as she turned on to their street.
Emotion—more emotion—engulfed Mercedes. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
Faith and Nadia had told her to call if she needed them. She was eternally grateful she had them as friends, but right now, she just wanted family. And home.
They pulled into the carport and sat there in the heavy darkness. Mercedes tried to summon the energy to get out and climb the stairs to her bed. She opened the car door and moved before her sister talked more.
She didn’t want to talk.
She didn’t want to do anything.
Charlie seemed to understand that and they went up the stairs of the dimly lit house in silence.
Mercedes changed into her own pajamas. She pulled her blankets back and stood there, her stubborn strength wearing thin. Instead of climbing into bed, she opened her door and walked down the dark hall to her sister’s door. Knocked lightly.
The tears came before she could get the door open all the way, and they didn’t come slowly or easily—they rushed out of her, as did the sobs, and once again, she found herself curled up on her sister’s bed. Taking small comfort in her sister’s embrace.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AFTER CHECKING INTO a dirt-cheap hotel room, Scott had gotten back in his car without an agenda.
He’d ended up at a waterside park, just down from the busy harbor, where he and his father had come when he was a kid. Watching the ships come and go had always given Scott a thrill, and his dad had indulged him by driving him here frequently, even though it was a good thirty minutes from the neighborhood they’d lived in.
Scott hadn’t even been aware he’d still known the way, but here he was. He climbed out of his car, for which he still needed to arrange long-term storage, and strolled toward an empty bench by the water.
Though it was early evening—he’d gotten a delayed start from San Amaro this morning after such a late night—there was plenty of boat traffic.
Every single craft that passed, large or small, commercial or private, took him back in time. When he’d been six or seven, he and his dad had started a game of making up stories about where some of the ships were heading, what they were carrying, who was on board. They’d spent hours coming up with tales, getting so involved that they’d lose track of time and get lectured by Scott’s distraught mom when they finally got home. He and his dad had always weathered her storms as a team, hiding their amusement until she was done, then laughing silently when she’d run out of steam.
Nostalgia washed over him, lodged a lump the size of a cantaloupe in his throat. Those had been happy times. Scott had been a different person then. One who imagined tales of adventure and high stakes and yet who always had happy endings for his tales. So much so, his dad had ribbed him for it and often teased him by making his own stories contain pirates and explosions and sinking ships. He’d done it good-naturedly, as an ongoing joke between them.
He missed that man.
Over the past years, he’d been convinced that man had never existed, but sitting here now, remembering…it wasn’t so black-and-white. The father who had sat here in this very park next to him, whiling away hours at a time, laughing, questioning, sometimes teaching—that hadn’t been faked, Scott realized. The love and companionship had been as real as the tugboats that chugged by. It was harder to see his dad as the terrible person Scott had built him up to be since that moment when he’d learned the truth. His dad’s big mistake, as he’d called it.
People make mistakes.
He could still hear Mercedes’s voice from last night. He squeezed his eyes closed at the thought of her, at the memory of the look in her eyes when he’d told her he couldn’t stay.
He’d made a mistake two nights ago by taking a drink, a single first drink
that had snowballed into an entire bottle. And while that wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t be with Mercedes, she’d been willing and ready to overlook that mistake when he’d confessed. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she would have stood behind him and done everything in her power to help him not fall off the wagon again.
People make mistakes.
He’d made multitudes in his lifetime and had been forgiven countless times. And yet, he was still making his dad pay for his screwups.
Was it helping anything? No.
Had alienating his dad, cutting him out of his life for more than ten years, made anything any better for Scott? Hell, no.
His life had gone downhill since that day when he was eighteen. He’d let it. Let the anger and pain eat away at him day by day.
He’d been mired in negativity and determined to hold on to the anger for all this time…why? To make his dad pay for his mistakes? If Dale Pataki had paid, it wasn’t because of Scott’s being too mad to even talk to him. Scott was the one who had paid. Was still paying today.
It was time to make some changes.
* * *
EVIDENTLY, HIS OLD MAN hadn’t gone conservative in his driving over the years.
Not forty minutes after Scott had ended the call, his dad pulled into the parking lot in his black truck. Scott had moved from sitting on the bench to leaning his elbows on the chain-link fence that ran the length of the park along the elevated waterline. The park had just about cleared out, as it was nearing the dinner hour. He watched a private yacht that was big enough to house the entire San Amaro Fire and EMS departments and their extended families glide slowly by on its way out to open waters.
His dad eventually made his way across the grassy park grounds to join him at the fence.
“Thought you might be in some kind of trouble,” his dad said, wiping sweat from the back of his neck.
“No trouble. Didn’t mean to worry you.” Their conversation had consisted of him asking if his dad could meet him at the harbor park and his dad responding that he’d be there right away.
“What’s going on, Scott?”
Question of the hour. He’d had nearly sixty minutes to rethink things but had no qualms, or even wobbles of confidence, that this was the right thing to do.
