The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk)

by Samantha Young

  Cooper sighed. “Doc, it’s not what you think.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I think this woman is coming on to you and you want her to go away.”

  “Then, yes, it is what you think.”

  The woman turned to look at me, her eyes growing round. “Oh. You’re the doctor.”

  “That’s me.”

  “So . . .” She gestured between me and Cooper. “You two are serious?”

  “Who are you?” I said.

  She grinned at me. “I’m Sadie Thomas.”

  I cut Cooper a dark look and he winced and scrubbed a hand over his face.

  I ran my eyes over her revealing shirt and big hair.

  She was attractive in a very obvious way.

  And my total opposite.

  Yet he’d had sex with her.

  Jealousy bubbled up and I hated it.

  “Sadie”—I stepped closer, hoping to reduce the number of people who’d overhear me—“in answer to your question, yes, Cooper and I are dating, and if you don’t get off his bar and keep those well-manicured fingers to yourself, I may have to forget that I’m a lady.”

  I heard Cooper snort and shot him a killing look.

  “Oh, honey.” Sadie shook her head, somehow getting off the bar with a grace I did not expect. “You don’t need to threaten me. I didn’t realize you two were serious, that’s all. Cooper and I flirt. No big deal. But if you two are together, then I respect that.”

  Surprised but gratified, I nodded. “I appreciate that.”

  “Sure thing. I’m going to go shoot some pool.” She waved her long red fingernails at me and sashayed over to the pool table to flirt with one of the regulars, Hug.

  I shot Cooper a look.

  He stood, bracing himself, it seemed.

  And so he should. “Archie’s gone home. I’m going back to the inn.”

  “Jess.” He darted his arm across the bar and stopped me as I turned to leave. “Don’t leave angry.”

  I narrowed my eyes on him. “Why didn’t you tell her we were dating and that she needed to get her hands off you?” I hissed.

  “I was trying,” he said through gritted teeth. “You walked in just as she was starting that shit.”

  With a harrumph of annoyance, mostly at myself for my jealousy, I pulled my arm away. “I need to go. We’ll talk later.”

  “Jess,” he called, but I was already halfway across the bar.

  I was lying in bed, reading—or trying to read—when my phone buzzed on the bedside table. Picking it up, I felt a flip in my stomach at the text from Cooper: I’m right outside.

  This flip was different from the usual.

  It was a sensation caused by worry.

  This man was tangling my insides up in knots, and sometimes I loved it, but tonight I’d found it unsettling.

  I’d been angry with Sadie for touching Cooper because I thought of him as mine. It had been a long time since I’d thought of anyone as mine. To feel that way meant that person was in my blood.

  There was no way to get people out of your blood once they were in.

  Even if you lost them.

  But I wasn’t going to avoid Cooper because I was scared of how he made me feel. The scariness was accompanied by an addictive thrill and a sense of connection I didn’t want to shake.

  Hurrying to pull on a pair of yoga pants, I moved quickly through the inn to reception, to open the door for Cooper. He crowded me immediately, his hand on my hip, and turned to take over locking up for me.

  Without saying a word, he led me by the hand to my room. He closed the door softly behind us and then pulled me into him for a hug.

  That was all I’d wanted earlier.

  Cooper hugs were all-encompassing and warm and safe, and I felt utterly cared for and protected when he hugged me.

  My arms tightened around him and I mumbled into his shoulder, “Not that I mind at all, but what are you doing here? You know I’m technically still working, right?”

  Cooper moved me back to arm’s length. He curled my hair around my ear and then trailed his fingertips along my jaw. I was utterly disarmed by the warmth in his expression. “I wanted to sort out our earlier misunderstanding. Also I needed to see you, make sure you were okay. I found out about Anita’s diagnosis. I know she has cancer.”

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  “One of her friends came in tonight to tell us.”

  “I’m sorry, Cooper.”

  “You’ve known for a while.”

  “I suspected. That’s why I insisted she see her doctor right away.”

  He brushed his thumb over my mouth and then leaned in to rest his forehead against mine. He sighed heavily. “Must be hard, Doc. Telling people they’ve got a battle ahead of them.”

  “It’s not easy.”

  He slid his nose along my cheek and pressed a kiss to my earlobe. “You know what, though?” he whispered, and shivers cascaded down my neck. “You gave her a better chance of survival by getting her to the doctor right away.”

  I pulled away to stare into his eyes and saw deep admiration.

  “Cooper,” I whispered, unsure what to say, “I’m sorry about the whole Sadie thing. I know you weren’t flirting with her. I guess I got a little jealous.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something and then immediately seemed to think better of it. Instead his hands slid under my shirt as he drew me back against him. “She doesn’t matter to me. You do. And right now I’m reminded how we should grab what happiness we have by both hands while we’ve got the chance.”

  When he kissed me slowly, in an embrace that was both sweet and hungry, I forgot about everything else but grabbing that happiness with him.

  My bed at the inn was smaller than Cooper’s, but we were cozy and satiated after Cooper’s tender lovemaking. I was happy.

  He lay on his back, staring up at my ceiling with his arms tucked behind his head, and I was on my side, my head resting in my hand, as I stared at him.

  I could never get enough of staring at him.

  “You never talk about life in Iowa,” he suddenly said.

  Surprised, and not in a good way, I didn’t say anything for a minute.

  The truth was that I’d hoped my telling him about my sister committing suicide would be enough to keep him off the subject of my past for good.

  He turned his head on the pillow to look at me.

  I tried not to shift uncomfortably. “There’s not much to say.”

  “Well, what was it like growing up there?”

  I knew there had been good moments in my childhood, but after everything my family went through it was pretty hard to remember them. There was one bright light back in Iowa. “Well, I met my best friend, Matthew, when I was eight years old.”

  Cooper turned onto his side to face me, relaxed, clearly happy I was sharing something. “Yeah?”

  Guilt suffused me.

  I was so closed off about this stuff. I worried it would start to bother him.

  “Yeah. His family moved in next door and we bonded over a shared love of Thundercats.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve been friends ever since.”

  “We’ve been friends ever since.” I smiled.

  His gaze turned curious. “Nothing more than that?”

  I shook my head and then laughed as I remembered something. “We were each other’s first kiss, though. We both had a crush on other people but decided to get the nervousness of a first kiss over with by kissing each other.”

  “Cute.” Cooper smirked.

  “It was weird. We’re too much like brother and sister. Although our friendship did cause problems. My date to junior prom dumped me because I got pissed he’d booked a hotel room. He said, in front of everyone, that I was an ice queen and we were over, and he walked out of the p
rom with Jessie Young, who happened to put out.” God, I’d been humiliated. “Matthew insisted we leave and his girlfriend at the time, who hated me anyway, dumped him for choosing me over her. Before we knew it, a rumor started that we were secretly having sex behind his girlfriend’s back. Then from there the rumor took life. By the end of the week I was pregnant with Matt’s love child.”

  “High school.” Cooper heaved a sigh. “Who the fuck would ever want to go back?”

  “I thought you had a good time in high school.”

  “It was good. But it was also filled with drama. I don’t do drama.”

  I snuggled closer to him. “That makes two of us.”

  He skimmed the back of his hand down my arm, following his touch with his eyes. “Tell me more. About home.”

  Damn.

  “There’s not much else to say.”

  His gaze flicked back to mine and his hand stilled against my arm. “What about your other friends? Your parents? Your kid sister?” He leaned in. “I know it isn’t easy for you, Jess, but you must have good memories, too.”

  I could feel an uprising of familiar panic inside of me, the kind of panic that turned to trembling, and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want Cooper to see how I reacted to the mere idea of him, or anyone, finding out the truth. “I don’t talk about them.” The words came out icier, sharper, than I’d meant. I hurried to warm the sudden answering coolness in Cooper’s eyes and said, “You tell me more about yours.”

  Instead, he sighed, dropped his hand, and rolled onto his back. “Actually, it’s getting late. We should try to get some sleep.”

  Shit.

  “Okay,” I said softly.

  As he closed his eyes, I felt the panic I’d been feeling transform into a new kind of anxiety. Usually we curled up with our arms and legs all tangled before we fell asleep.

  He was frustrated with me.

  Double shit.

  After a while his chest rose and fell in steady breaths as sleep took him. Sleep didn’t take me, though. Instead I watched him sleep, hoping that I’d get to watch him sleep for a long time to come, and worrying that it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

  I wished that I hadn’t spent years building so many defenses against the pain of the past that it was almost impossible now for me to face it.

  I wished that I were brave enough to tell him all about it.

  To tell him that once upon a time I did an extraordinary thing to save the one I loved.

  An extraordinary and terrible thing.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Jessica

  The music swelled up from the orchestra pit, sweeping the dancer onstage into the air. I watched her, my chest bursting with pride.

  Julia.

  The happiness, the relief, the overwhelming urge to rush up onstage and grab hold of her, surprised me. It was as if I hadn’t seen her in years instead of weeks.

  I felt tears in my eyes as she created beauty, and told a tragic story, with her whole body. She made an ethereal, compelling Odette.

  No one could look away from her.

  My urgent need to see her, hold her, pulled me out of the spell, and I sat impatiently in the audience waiting for the curtains to fall for the end of the first act.

  I found myself pushing rudely past people, ignoring their annoyed mutterings as I hurried backstage. Julia had left word to allow me access, and soon, though it felt like ages, I was trying to weave through the dancers in the corps to my sister’s dressing room.

  I took a huge breath when I got to it, my whole body trembling.

  Why did it feel like I hadn’t seen her in forever?

  “Jules?” I said softly, as I opened the door.

  “Come in.”

  Pain scored deep across my chest at the sound of her voice.

  I felt like weeping with agonized joy.

  Inside the small dressing room, she stood up from a chair. I stared at her feet, knowing that inside the shoes they were red and hard. I winced. I didn’t know how she’d put up with the pain over the years.

  Julia floated toward me.

  That was how it seemed to me.

  That was how it had seemed to me for years.

  Ballerinas walked differently from the rest of us, gliding, graceful, tall, straight backed. It was confident, regal, strong. So incredibly strong.

  My eyes roamed over my beautiful sister. She had soft features like me but hers were buttonlike. Button nose. Rosebud lips. The only similarity was our big hazel eyes.

  But the softness of her face, the vulnerability in her round eyes, was in opposition to the strength in her body. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on my sister’s body. She was incredibly slim, every limb shaped by muscle.

  Julia had the strongest body of anyone I knew.

  After . . . well . . . she became so focused on dancing and her body changed as the music made her stronger and stronger.

  But I only had to look deep in her eyes to know her soul was weak and hurting behind its steel cage.

  I pushed the thought out of my head and rushed at her. She laughed and immediately held me close. She was taller than me. Always had been, from the age of twelve. It was a running joke between us that I was technically her little sister and not the other way around.

  I felt inexplicable anguish choke me, and my grip on her tightened.

  “Hey.” She squeezed me back. “Are you okay?”

  “You’re beautiful up there, that’s all,” I said, pulling back to memorize her face. It was currently caked in stage makeup. I frowned. “You should take that stuff off as soon as your performance ends.”

  She grinned and nodded, pulling away to look into the mirror to check that her makeup and hair were still in place. Once her back was turned to me she asked, “Are Mom and Dad here?”

  Anger, hurt, and disappointment were not new feelings to me, but still those feelings chafed as I said, “No, sweetheart. Not this time. But Aunt Theresa is.”

  Our parents had never been very involved in our lives, but we both knew they were proud of Julia because they’d actually attended some of her performances. This night was the biggest performance of her life, the night that people from the School of American Ballet were in the audience. This was Julia’s audition for the school of her dreams.

  I wanted to tell her I was sorry our parents couldn’t get their heads out of their asses to be there to support her, but I knew that would only make her feel worse. At least we had Theresa, my mother’s little sister. She was always there for us, even when our parents weren’t.

  Julia turned to me, love shining out of her eyes. “Thank you for being here. I know how busy you are at school.”

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “I know.” She rushed toward me and hugged me hard. “You know I love you the best, right?”

  I held her tighter. “I love you the best, too.” I reluctantly moved out of her hold. “I better get back to my seat.”

  She squeezed my hands. “Do you think I’ll get in?”

  Hearing the anxiety in her voice always made me uneasy. Part of me hated that she was so consumed by dance, but the other part of me was grateful that it had been the thing to get her through her trauma. “I know it.”

  She gave me a shaky grin and I left her to prepare.

  Ignoring the scowls from the people I’d pushed by earlier, I took my seat in the audience again and waited anxiously for the curtain to go back up. I wished I knew who the heck were the representatives from the ballet school.

  My heart fluttering in my chest for my sister, I sat tense as the music rose up again and the second act started.

  Julia was a perfect ballerina.

  I had no doubt of that.

  So I didn’t expect it.

  I didn’t see it coming.

  I’d later lear
n from her teacher that she’d faltered on a sequence of steps, something I hadn’t noticed, and that had seemingly messed with Julia’s head.

  From what we could tell afterward, when we discussed it in the aftermath, the mistakes threw her completely.

  I watched with horror as she stumbled on the landing of her grand jeté. The people beside me gave little intakes of breath as she righted herself and pushed through into her next movement. My fingernails curled into the arms of my chair.

  And then it happened.

  Julia had a difficult move where she was supposed to lower her front outstretched arm while in arabesque until her hand was almost touching the ground in high arabesque. I knew from her talking about it that it took a lot of core control and strength.

  My stomach flipped as she teetered, lost balance . . . and fell.

  I wanted to cry as I watched my sister just sit there on the stage, looking horrified and broken.

  When she showed no signs of moving, one of the other dancers rushed over to her. She didn’t seem to hear her. Her dance partner, Micah, picked her up and hurried offstage with her.

  I was vaguely aware of the rumbling murmurs of the audience, but I was too busy hurrying out of the theater to pay attention.

  I had to get to my sister.

  Heart pounding, I rushed through the back hallways of the theater, pushing past people to get to my sister’s dressing room.

  I barged inside, the door slamming shut behind me, but she wasn’t there.

  Fear, this inexplicable fear, gripped my chest and I spun around, yanking the door back open. But as I stepped out I fell, my stomach dropping as I plummeted into darkness, screaming.

  My body slammed hard into something solid, but I didn’t feel any pain.

  Until I opened my eyes.

  I was in my parents’ basement.

  No.

  They’d never moved even though they should have.

  So I’d never returned to the basement.

  Until now.

  That fear I’d been feeling paralyzed me.

  But then I heard this ominous creak.

  Not wanting to, but needing to, I turned slowly around.