Unafraid (Beachwood Bay)

by Melody Grace

  “Fine,” I answer cautiously. Juliet and I are friends now, but for years, I thought of her as the enemy: the girl who broke my big brother’s heart into a thousand pieces. It’s still hard for me to get used to having her around, a new big sister figure in my life.

  “Really? So what’s going on with this guy?” she adds.

  My mouth drops open. “How the hell do you know about that?” I demand. Beachwood gossip is one thing, but they’re hours away. “You’re not even in town!”

  “A little bird told Emerson,” Juliet laughs.

  “Garrett.” I sigh. “That guy doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

  “He’s just looking out for you,” Juliet replies. “But seriously, how’s it going?”

  “It’s… I don’t know.” I stop. What can I even say to her? Nothing about last night, that’s for sure.

  “Garrett says it might be serious.” Juliet prompts.

  “No!” I yelp. “Well, yes. No. I don’t know,” I finish, miserable.

  “Does the mystery man have a name?”

  “Hunter.” I say it, and even just speaking the name aloud brings a smile to my lips. “Hunter Covington.”

  “Ooh, I think I remember him.” Juliet’s voice rises, “Blonde guy, right, with a hot brother? They summered in Beachwood some of the years I was around.”

  “That’s him.”

  “He was cute.” Juliet draws out the word, teasing.

  “Yeah, well he grew up into a god. A rich, perfect, faultless god.” I can’t keep the edge from my voice: a note of bitterness and regret, and the reminder of everything Hunter is that I will never come close to.

  “I like the sound of this.” Juliet can’t have heard my tone. “What does he do with all that rich perfection?”

  “He trains horses.”

  “OK, now you’re just messing with me.”

  “I’m not!” I protest. “He’s taken over his grandfather’s ranch.”

  “A sexy, gorgeous horse trainer. I love it!” Juliet giggles. “I mean it, Brit,” she adds, her voice becoming serious. “I’m glad you’ve found someone. We both are.”

  “I haven’t…” I try to object. “I mean, we’re not… This can’t be anything,” I finally manage, my voice leaden. “It won’t last.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  I sigh. “I just know. I’m not like you, or Emerson. Things, they just don’t work out like that for me.”

  There’s silence for a moment on the line as Juliet pauses. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle and hesitant. “I know it can be hard to let go of the past. Going back to Beachwood, trusting Emerson again, it wasn’t easy for me. But sometimes, you have to decide to be happy, to give someone a chance.”

  I feel a lump in my throat, but I swallow it back. “It’s not the same, Jules. Trust me.”

  “OK,” she sighs. “You know you’re always welcome here, right? For a stay, or longer, whatever you need. This is your home too.”

  “I know.” This isn’t helping my emotions, so I clear my throat, and put on a bright voice. “Listen, I better get going. But say hey to Emerson for me.”

  “I will,” Juliet replies. “You look after yourself. And come visit soon, it’s been too long.”

  “OK.” I hang up quickly, cradling the phone to my chest.

  The house is silent and empty.

  I let out a breath. Emerson has said a dozen times that I can come live with them, Juliet too, but something in me always holds me back. They’re building their own life together, and as much as I know they want me around, I can’t help feeling like I’m intruding every time I drop by for a visit or pick up the phone. They’re still caught up in the thrill of being with each other, after spending so long apart. Even though I miss him, miss both of them, I know it would be worse if I was there: spending every day faced with the kind of world I’ll never know, on the edge of somebody else’s great love story.

  So I stay here in Beachwood, spinning my wheels, waiting for something to happen. Something to change.

  What if it already has…?

  The rest of the day is a total wash. I’m too nervous and edgy to pay attention to anything, so I clean the house instead: scrubbing the kitchen floors and sweeping off the porch as if I can sweep Hunter’s face from my mind. His words mix with Juliet’s advice, and my own whispering insecurities, so by the time I head out for my shift at Jimmy’s, I’ve talked myself into and out of dating him so many times I don’t even know where I landed in the end.

  “You look nice,” Garrett’s voice greets me as I step into the building.

  “Don’t mess with me tonight,” I retort, joining him behind the bar and tying on my apron. “You’re still on probation for that fair stunt. And telling Emerson,” I add.

  He grimaces. “He mentioned that? Anyway, I wasn’t kidding. You look nice.”

  I glance down, self-conscious. “Oh, thanks.”

  “Plans later with loverboy?” he asks, teasing.

  I throw a dishcloth at him. “No! Shut up!”

  Garrett gives me a look, like he doesn’t believe me, but the truth is, I have no clue. Hunter said he’d come by at the end of my shift, but I learned a long time ago not to believe anything a guy says. Still, that didn’t stop me fixing my hair, and picking out a cute sundress instead of my usual slobby tank. Just in case, I told myself. But now, in the dim, down-home surroundings of the bar, it’s like my outfit is a blazing neon sign confessing my secret hopes to the whole world: Brit’s waiting on a guy! Brit thinks she stands a chance!

  “Hell, throw on a smile too, and you might actually make us some tips,” Garrett adds, pulling me back to reality.

  “Charming.” I throw back at him. “You get to slouch around here all scowling whenever you like, and it’s mysterious and brooding, but when I do it, I’m a moody bitch.”

  “Who said I was mysterious?” Garrett perks up. “Was it a girl? Was she hot?”

  I shake my head. “You’re impossible.”

  “And that’s why you love me.” He winks.

  My shift goes slower than molasses, time dragging past at a painfully slow pace. I told myself I wasn’t going to get my hopes up, but every hour that passes, my nerves twist tighter, until I can’t help jerking my head around to check the door every time it opens.

  “You’re gonna get whiplash, if you keep that up,” Garrett jokes, watching me.

  I laugh it off, but I still turn to check the next time the door ringer goes.

  Still no Hunter.

  Disappointment slices, sharp in my chest. I hate myself for feeling this way, like a fresh cut every time someone who isn’t him strolls into the bar. I can’t help it. I wanted to believe him when he said he wouldn’t quit on me. I wanted it to be true, that a guy like that could want a girl like me.

  I should have known better.

  The wounds keep coming as the minutes tick by, a dozen tiny paper-cuts across my heart. I tell myself at eleven to just quit hoping, but by the time the clock hits midnight, I feel numb, used up.

  It’s over.

  He didn’t come.

  The last of the regulars trails out, and Garrett bolts the door behind them. He flips the lights back on, bathing the room in a bright, neon glow. It always seemed sad to me, how the dim, smoky atmosphere could be banished with the flip of a switch: fun and revelry and seduction all wiped away in an instant, leaving nothing but empty tables and a lone beer bottle spinning across the floor. Now it feels like my hopes are lying there with it, crushed and broken.

  “Hey, can you grab the crates from the roof?” Garrett asks, as we’re stacking chairs. “The winds are picking up, and I don’t want stuff smashing all over the lot.”

  “Sure,” I mumble. “I can lock up, if you want. You don’t have to stick around.”

  “You sure?” Garrett checks.

  “You’ve got someplace to be, right?” I’m guessing there’s a girl waiting on him, and by the sheepish grin, I’m right. “Leave
it to me. One of us should get a decent night.”

  “The night’s not over yet,” Garrett points out, but I don’t stick around to listen to his pity. I let him out, and then slowly climb the stairs. Hunter. His word echoes with every step. After everything he said to me, the determined way he chased me down, I let myself believe his promises. That maybe, this time… But I was wrong. He might tell me I’m perfect, and that last night meant something to him too, but actions speak louder than words, and right now—

  I open the door to the roof and stop dead.

  “You took your time.” Hunter is standing there in dressy pants and crisp, white shirt, his golden hair glowing in the candlelight. “Don’t tell me Garrett actually made you clean up?” he asks, his expression excited and nervous all at the same time. “Bastard. He said he’d send you right up.”

  I take a tentative step out, still not believing my eyes.

  The rooftop has been transformed. Tiny Christmas lights are strung up around the railing and old chimney stack, twinkling and bright. In the middle of the space is a table set for two, laid with a white linen tablecloth and set with real china and silverware. He’s fixed up his iPod to play softly through some portable speakers, and there are candles everywhere, and roses in glass jars, not cheap red bouquets, but wild white and yellow and blush pink, wafting a delicate scent on the night air.

  “My favorite,” I breathe in amazement, reaching down to touch the delicate petals. Hunter gives a bashful grin.

  “I remember.”

  I frown. “I didn’t tell you…” my voice trails off as I realize: I did, not now, but three years ago. A passing comment, I barely even registered it myself.

  All that time, and he remembered.

  “You did all this, for me?” I look around, overcome. It’s like a scene from a movie, every detail perfect with the lights of Beachwood stretching out below us. “But, it must have taken forever.”

  “It was worth it.” Hunter moves closer, reaching to touch my cheek. “Just to see this look on your face.”

  I catch my breath, looking up into his eyes for the first time. Blue, and deep, and true.

  “You did this, for me.” I whisper again, still not quite believing it. Any minute now, I’m going to wake up, and find this is all just a dream. Any second now…

  “I’d do anything for you.” Hunter whispers, leaning in to kiss me.

  It’s real.

  The touch of his lips, cool and smooth on mine; the feel of his hand twisting in my hair; the solid mass of his body, pulling me closer. The details knit themselves together and wash over me in a wave of pure rightness.

  He’s for real.

  I sink into the kiss, unable to stop myself, unable to hold back a moment longer. He’s here. He came. For me.

  I reach up and pull Hunter closer, deepening the kiss until my blood shivers and I’m gasping for breath. I want to lose myself in his arms right here, up above the world where nothing can touch us, and I’m safe from all the whispers of pain and doubt. I want the kiss to last forever, but after a moment, Hunter gently pulls away.

  “Your food’s getting cold,” he grins, and guides me over to the table. He pulls out my chair for me, and I sink down into the seat, blinking in disbelief all over again.

  “What is this?” I ask, staring at the dishes as Hunter lifts their lid with a flourish to reveal waffles and bacon and eggs.

  “Breakfast.” He grins. “It’s pretty much the only thing I can make, so I figured I’d play it safe.”

  “You cooked?” My voice rises.

  He gives a bashful shrug. “It’s nothing fancy.”

  “Compared to cold pizza and a beer, this is fancy as hell,” I tell him.

  Hunter takes a bottle from the cooler, and pours me a glass of something light and bubbly. “Champagne,” he passes me a glass. “And a toast.” He pauses, waiting until I raise my glass to mirror his. “To you.”

  “Hunter—” I protest, still overwhelmed, but he speaks over me.

  “To you, Brit. For everything you don’t even know you do.”

  He taps his glass to mine, but as the delicate ring echoes, I swear I see a shadow in his eyes, just for a second. Something dark I’ve never noticed. But before I can even be sure it’s even there at all, the light returns, and Hunter grins at me, excited as a kid on Christmas day.

  “Eat,” he orders. “You must be hungry, running around all night. Did Garrett give the secret away?” he adds, drowning his plate in maple syrup. “I told him to cover for me. He left the back door open,” he explains with a smile. “I had to wait until you were out front serving customers, and then sneak everything up in stages.”

  “I never guessed,” I tell him truthfully, picking at my food. I look around again at the rooftop, lit up and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. “He kept your secret alright.”

  Hunter must have heard the note of regret in my voice, because he stops, his fork half-way to his mouth. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” His eyes look at me, suddenly full of insecurity.

  “No! I mean, yes, I do, I love it,” I hurry to say. “I just…” I swallow. “I didn’t think you were coming, that’s all.”

  Hunter frowns. “I said I would.”

  I look up to check if he’s for real, but his face is clear and sincere. “People say a lot of things,” I tell him gently. “It doesn’t mean they’re actually going to follow through.”

  “Oh. Brit…” Realization dawns. Hunter reaches across the table and takes my hand, holding it tight between his. A delicious warmth rolls out from where he’s touching me, up my arm, enveloping my whole body. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I didn’t think.”

  I swallow, self-conscious. He must think I’m such a messed-up kid, not even being able to believe a simple promise. “It’s fine.” I try to pull away. “This is amazing, Hunter. Really. Worth the wait.”

  I give him a weak smile, mad at myself now for even bringing it up. Hunter works like crazy to set up this amazing surprise, and I go drag the mood down with all my stupid insecurities. Talk about a buzzkill, Brit.

  “It’s not fine,” Hunter tells me, holding tight to my hand. His eyes are creased with concern as he watches me. “You need to know, I’ll always come through for you. If I make you a promise, I’m going to deliver.”

  This time I do pull my hand free. “You can’t say that,” I reply in a small voice, stabbing at a piece of waffle. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. Things get in the way, all the time. It’s better just not to promise, that way…”

  I trail off, not wanting to finish.

  That way, I don’t get my hopes up. That way, I don’t wind up feeling like a fool.

  When I look up again, Hunter is watching me with a crooked smile.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, feeling a flash of defensiveness.

  “Nothing.” Hunter replies, his smile broadening. “I just figured out how I’m going to make you believe in me.”

  “How?” I challenge.

  He smiles at me, so confident and cool, like he’s discovered the secrets to the universe. “I’m going to prove you wrong.”

  I blink. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s simple,” Hunter says, eyes full of certainty. “You believe that people let you down, that they leave you, and break you, and lie. I won’t. I’m going to be there for you, Brit. No matter what, I’m going to keep showing up, and proving you wrong, until you accept it. I’m not like the rest.”

  My breath catches, a painful knot aching in my chest. When he talks like this, saying such sweet promises, I want to believe him, God, I do. Then I remember, every other broken promise, every other man who lied.

  “It’s OK,” Hunter says, as if he can see my inner battle. “I’ve got plenty of time. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But, why?” I can’t help the plaintive question that slips from my lips. I look at him, so perfect and sweet, and I just can’t understand. “Why me? All of this,
the planning, the chasing… Why do all of this, just for me. There are hundreds of other girls—”

  “I don’t want them. I want you.”

  “But why?” I have to ask again. Maybe if he gives me a reason I can understand. “You just showed up here like some Prince Charming, trying to sweep me off my feet. But I don’t believe in fairy-tales, or handsome princes, or happily-ever-afters. Those things aren’t real.”

  “Sure they are.” Hunter says. I glare at him, but he smiles. “Magic is real. It’s the way I feel when I look at you.”

  I roll my eyes, but Hunter gets up, coming around the table and pulling me to my feet. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, gently tracing his fingertips down my cheek.

  I shiver, closing my eyes to breathe in the sensation of his hands on me, pulling me closer; the crisp, clean citrus scent of his aftershave, laced with something deeper and musky. All him.

  “See?” Hunter whispers, close to my ear. He drops tiny kisses down the arch of my neck, making me tremble and setting my body alight. “Magic.”

  I waver. When he’s holding me like this, touching me, it’s easy to be seduced by the words that spill so easily from his lips. And maybe I should let him. As long as I know, deep down, I can’t trust him in the end, then what’s the harm in playing along, just for a little while?

  The idea is tempting, and so, so easy. Because even though I know it’s right, I don’t want to be stuck like this, so bitter and negative. I don’t want to keep shutting him down. Not with the candlelight dancing all around us, and Hunter’s eyes watching me, eager and hopeful.

  I can pretend. I can give him that much, at least.

  “Magic,” I say softly, and Hunter’s smile is like a bolt of lightning in the dark skies: bright and true, and enough to take my breath away.

  He pulls me into his arms, resting my head against his chest, and begins to sway; slow-dancing softly to the song playing on his souped-up iPod, the same Incubus song he was playing in the truck on the ride back from the fairground.

  “How do you do it? Make me feel like I do?”