Accepting, as Amelia said.
Accepting that Charlie is never coming back, and I can stay committed to his ghost, weighed down by the heavy anchors of “what could have been”… or I can push through the high tide.
I can swim.
Parker settles into his seat, propping his ankle up on the opposite knee. He flicks his gaze over me, studying my idleness. “You good?”
Not yet.
But I will be.
I send him a reassuring smile and start the engine. “I’m good.”
The sun is barely peeking over the horizon when we arrive at the lake, coloring the rippled water in shades of apricot and blush. It was a relatively quiet car ride as my playlist serenaded us with a mix of Silversun Pickups and Cigarettes After Sex. Mood music, bordering on sensual. Probably not the smartest choice, considering my body already feels like it’s being firebombed every time Parker glances my way.
Heaving out a breath of personal encouragement, I exit the parked vehicle, relishing in the way the summer breeze skims my face and sends my hair into a tizzy. It’s a tepid wind, the kind that reeks of nostalgia and hidden promises. It’s the perfect evening to give my fears a worthy send-off and dive headfirst into the future I deserve.
With Charlie…
And without him.
It’s all about finding the balance—cherishing his memory and carrying those precious moments with me, while not allowing them to sink me and swallow me whole.
The water calls to me with quiet enchantment, compelling me to rush forward and kick off my sandals as sand and pebbles dig into my feet. My blood is spiked with giddiness, so I turn around, pacing backwards while I wave my arms at Parker. He’s perched idle at the front of my car, watching me with hooded curiosity. “Come with me.”
I know he said he wouldn’t, he’d only tag along, but I’m certain he’s riddled with his own fears, his own personal demons. We can wash them away together.
Parker shakes his head. “I’ll watch.”
“Are you sure?” I send him a glowing smile, my heart thumping as my feet continue their backward trek.
“Yeah.”
I try not to let my disappointment hinder this feeling. This release. My smile holds strong as I nod my head and twist back around to face the water.
As I approach the water’s edge, I’m flooded with a past memory of Charlie. The recollection burns me as I inch closer to the shoreline, the sand turning wet beneath my soles. We came to this very lake a week before my entire world turned to ashes and soot. He held me fiercely, his arms encircling my waist from behind while the stars reflected off the surface of the water.
“It’s almost our anniversary,” he said, tightening his grip on me.
“I can’t believe it. It feels like our story is only just beginning.”
He kissed the top of my head, just a delicate whisper. “Remember what I told you on our wedding day?”
“Hmm, I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of, I love this dress, but I can’t wait to get you out of it.”
Charlie’s chuckle rumbled through me, vibrating my skin. “Accurate, but not what I had in mind.”
I smiled knowingly. “I can’t wait to love you forever, Mrs. March.”
“That’s right.” He lowered his head to the crook of my shoulder, pressing his lips to the exposed crest. “Forever doesn’t seem long enough, does it?”
My chest ignites with a blaze of potent remorse, crawling upwards and singeing the back of my throat. A small cry slips out—the sort of cry that just hangs there, wretched and painful, contaminating everything within reach.
I feel him then, coasting up beside me.
Parker.
It’s a distorted comfort, one I want to soak up, like the way the water swallows the colors of the sun. But I want to repel it at the same time.
This is another man.
This is a man who isn’t my husband, isn’t my best friend, isn’t the love of my life.
This is a stranger, essentially, a stranger who is the opposite of Charlie in every way.
And yet, I need him right now. I need him to be my anchor.
Parker stares out at the darkening lake, stiff and rigid, his eyes dancing over to me when I peer up at him. He cases me, from my windswept hair to my parted lips, landing on my arm that is draped across my midsection, fingers latched onto my opposite elbow. His gaze glints beneath the dimming sky. “What did it feel like?”
His voice is low, throaty and almost tremulous. I blink up at him, processing his question, not understanding. Then I hold my arm out as I follow his stare. My jagged scar is on full display, bathed in dusk. “The knife?” I murmur, croaking out the words.
Parker’s eyebrows dip, but his gaze slides back up to mine. “To love someone that much.”
My heart seizes, my eyes stinging with fresh tears. I’m forced to look away as I pull my lips between my teeth, holding back another mournful cry.
“Sorry. You should go dance now.”
Swallowing, I glance back up at Parker, who has returned his attention to the lake. He teeters on the balls of his feet, his jaw clenching. I’m startled by his words as the chilly water laps at my toes—he’s never apologized for anything before, but he apologizes for this. For his brush with vulnerability, his tender curiosity. That’s nothing to be sorry for.
“It felt like completion,” I tell him, explaining it the only way that makes sense. “It felt like a pinnacle. Like everything in your life has come full circle, and this person is the culmination of every dream, every plea, every dandelion wish.
“And when your dreams dissolve, and the wishes scatter, it’s hard to find joy in anything else. How can you ever obtain completion again when you’re missing the biggest piece?” A ragged sigh escapes me, and I watch the emotions play across his face, a melancholy reflection pulling at his features. “I have to believe there’s still joy in the journey—this new journey—and that life isn’t all about the finished puzzle. There’s just as much fulfillment in putting it together.”
Parker’s eye twitches, his gaze lowering to the soggy sand, and when he finally looks back up at me, I smile.
I smile wide, I smile proud, I smile through the tears—because that’s what it’s all about.
“It’s time to dance,” I declare.
A squeal breaks free when I skip into the lake, my legs blasted with the ice cold water, my fears washing away with every step.
I spin to look at Parker. He stands at the shoreline, watching me dip deeper into the water until it skims my waist. I splash my arms up, the frosty droplets dappling my hair, tearing another squeal out of me, and I twirl in unsteady circles, my toes sinking into the murky floor.
More laughter, more releasing, more dancing.
I jump and hop and move and spin. My blouse sticks to me as the ends of my hair skate along the lake, spraying and misting with every inelegant rotation. I’m purging my sickness, exorcising my demons, with eyes closed tight and my heart thundering its cleansing beats… I’m flying free.
I’m swimming.
I’m about to dive in, to fully immerse myself in the dark water, when I make a final spin and…
He’s there.
My body collides with his hard frame, my palms planting against his chest as a startled gasp slips out.
Parker grips my upper arms to steady me, his eyes gleaming with something new. Something undiscovered—something reserved for only me.
“You came,” I whisper, wide-eyed and spellbound.
His hands slide down my arms, resting at my elbows. “I’m regretting it already. Wet jeans are a bitch.”
My smile blooms brighter, and I can’t help the delirious laughter from spilling free.
He’s here. He’s in the water with me.
For me.
There is something magically inconceivable about that.
“Dance with me,” I urge him, fumbling for his wet hands and holding them in mine. I swing his arms side to side, shi
mmying us in a ridiculous series of movements that don’t at all resemble dancing. But it’s joyful and fulfilling and fun, and for a startling moment, I feel complete again.
Parker doesn’t make any effort to move with me, but he doesn’t resist my attempts either. He just stands there, shaking his head, staring off over my shoulder and allowing me to turn him into my impervious dance partner.
And then I start to sing.
Don’t Stop Believing.
Because terrible lake dancing obviously calls for a hideous karaoke rendition of Journey’s greatest hit.
I belt the off-key lyrics, out of breath, still swinging Parker’s arms around with zero coordination and a lot of accidental splashes to his face.
He stares at me like I’ve gone mad, and maybe I have, maybe I really have, but when I force myself into the most awkward twirl ever, dipping underneath his arm that I’m holding high above my head, the unthinkable happens.
I complete my spin, nearly losing my balance, and face Parker just as he starts to smile.
He smiles.
An amused burst of laughter accompanies his grin, and I go still, clinging to his hand. “Oh, my God.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he mutters teasingly, looking down at me with eyes made of mint and mayhem.
Or magic. Maybe it’s magic.
Lunging myself at him, I almost topple us both into the water as I slink my arms around his neck and pull him down, murmuring into the crook of his shoulder. “You smiled… you smiled, Parker.”
His body stiffens in my hold, his own arms hanging rigid at his sides. The water tickles my waistline as I try to inch up on my tiptoes and hug him tighter to me, my lips lightly grazing the little water droplets that roll down the arch of his neck. I inhale a shuddering breath, my fingers curling around his nape, playing with the damp scruff of hair.
His words in my bathroom skip across my memory:
“Smiles should be saved for things that bring us real joy.”
I brought him real joy. Me.
Acting like a fool in a murky lake, singing off-key, and dancing like no one was watching.
But he was watching. And it made him smile.
My grip on him strengthens, and I can’t help but press a tiny kiss to the side of his neck, nuzzling my nose into the glistening skin above his collar.
Parker’s breathing shifts from slow and steady to uneven. “What are you doing,” he mutters, and I think it’s supposed to be a question, a blatant demand, but it comes across more like a whispered breath—something unwittingly vulnerable.
I lower my arms, skimming my fingers down his torso, feeling him shiver, then I reach for his hands. Hands wound so tight, his limbs must ache.
Cradling his fists in my palms, I lift them to my hips, dragging them underneath my wet blouse until his fingers uncurl and grip my waist. Hard at first, his tension palpable, causing me to bow against him with a little whimper. Then his grasp softens, so I sweep his hands up further, over my ribs, until his fingertips brush the underwire of my bra. The water ripples around us as he inhales sharply. “Tell me what you feel,” I say, my voice quaking, knees quivering.
Parker’s hands slide back down over my slick skin, trailing the shape of my curves, then he latches onto my hipbones and tugs me closer. “You say that as if you think I know how.”
My gasp meets the front of his chest. “You do.”
“I’ll never feel things like you feel, Melody. I’m not wired that way.”
“You smiled,” I remind him. “You laughed.”
His fingers dig into my hips, forehead dropping to the top of my head. The air around us crackles and shimmers with possibility as he drags his hands back up my body with a subdued groan. I teeter and sway, my balance stolen by the muck beneath my feet and the man touching me in a way no other man aside from Charlie has ever touched me before.
Parker lets out a hard breath into my hair. “This won’t end well.”
He lifts his hands higher until he’s palming my breasts through the lace of my bra, and a surge of white-hot heat sweeps through me, arousal pulsing in my core. I’m waist-deep in ice cold water, but I might as well be standing in an incinerator. “Parker…”
“Fuck,” he grits out, his thumbs dusting over my lace-sheathed nipples, taut and pebbled. “You’re fucking me all up inside.”
I arch back, squeezing his sodden shirt between my fists for leverage. “Parker,” I repeat through an achy moan, his thigh angling right between my legs. “Kiss me.”
—NINETEEN—
All this time, I’ve been wrong about her.
She’s not sunshine.
She’s glittering nightfall, pale moonlight, silver stars in midnight skies.
She’s that beacon of light when darkness threatens and consumes.
No, she’s not the sun…
Melody is the moon.
“Kiss me.”
She grinds herself against the front of my thigh with brazen disregard for anything else. Her skin is slick and wet beneath my fingertips as I palm her tits through gritted teeth, my cock rock-hard despite the cold water. I’m trying not to lose control because I know the moment this begins, there’s no stopping it. I’m in too fucking deep, and the only way out will hurt like hell.
But goddamn, all I want to do is wrap her legs around me and fuck her senseless in the middle of this dirty ass lake.
Melody moans again, pressing herself fully into me. “Please.”
Kiss her?
Jesus… no. I can’t do that.
I won’t.
She grips the back of my head and lifts her chin until we’re eye to eye, noses touching.
… But fuck, I kind of want to.
I want to know if that smile that has haunted me for the last few months tastes as sweet as it looks.
A growl erupts in my chest, and I tug her hair back, just as a crack of thunder pierces the silent night. Melody stares up at me, chest heaving, eyes glazed with lust. Her perfectly pink lips part, beckoning me to sample them, and her bottom lip quivers as I inch closer until I’m a hair’s breadth away from her begging mouth.
I think I’m going to—I think I’m going to kiss her right here beneath lightly falling drizzle, my shoes sinking into sludge while my body sinks into her.
But the moment shatters… just like that.
Melody’s hands dip beneath my wet t-shirt, her fingertips grazing along my hidden scars, and I don’t think she even notices because she’s too preoccupied waiting for my mouth to claim hers… but I fucking notice.
And I freeze, going ramrod still and releasing her like she’s my foe crossing over enemy lines.
Melody stumbles, hardly keeping her balance in the water, her eyes wide and wounded when she steadies herself and stares up at me. “Parker?”
“This is a fucking mistake,” I ground out, moving backwards, my shoes and soaked denim weighing me down. “Just… stay away.”
“What?”
She looks like she might burst into tears, and I’d be fucking lying if I said it didn’t do something to me. Pushing through the unfamiliar feelings, I shake my head, throwing daggers at her. “Stay the fuck away, all right?”
Melody wraps her arms around herself like a protective shield, trying to reject my venom. “What did I do?”
“What haven’t you done? You just keep poking me—you keep invading, intruding, trying to find a way in. You’re a goddamn nuisance.”
I sling my barbed wire words at her, and I think they cut us both.
But goddammit, this is for the best. It can end now, or it can end later, and it’s going to cut a hell of a lot deeper later.
Melody’s gasp of surprise mingles with the light rainfall, and she jerks her head away from my hard gaze, biting into her lip. “I don’t understand,” she says in a broken whisper.
“That’s the point. You don’t understand me. You never will, so it’s better if you just stay the fuck away.”
She shakes her head with disbelief,
still avoiding my stare. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah,” I bite out, continuing my backward trek to shore. “Looks like you dodged a bullet.”
I don’t wait for her response, and I can’t stomach anymore of her bitter tears, so I spin around and stomp my way through the lake until I breach the shoreline.
Then I remember I left my goddamn truck at the support meeting.
Fuck me.
Growling my frustration, I make a mental note to avoid dramatic exits in the future when I have no means of exit, especially while drenched in piss water and seaweed, fishing undiscovered lake species out of my boxers.
It’s a miserable four-mile walk to my truck, and I’d like to say it’s for all of the above-mentioned reasons.
But it’s mostly because I can’t get that damn look in her eyes out of my head.
Two hours later, I’m finally home, showered, pissed off, and pent-up. Walden lies at my feet, his chin resting between two hairy paws as he gazes up at me slumped on the couch.
I’m just kind of staring off into space, replaying the night in my head, wondering how I got myself into this absolute shit-show.
I decide to break it down by facts.
Fact number one: I’m attracted to Melody.
As much as I want to live in my fantasy world of denial and pretend that it’s all just a giant fluke, the truth is pathetically obvious. I’m fucking attracted to her.
My dick likes what it sees, and it wants to see more.
Fact.
Fact number two: I don’t like women.
Except… I like Bree and always have, and I sure seem to like Melody, and hell, even Amelia is growing on me. And fine—Ms. Katherine isn’t so bad either, especially today when she brought in little deli trays of assorted submarine sandwiches and a fruit platter.
So, maybe that’s not a fact. I’m going to skip that one for now.
Fact number three: I like people who feed me.
Fact number four: Emotions are garbage, and I’m incapable of genuine connection. Therefore, pursuing my attraction to Melody is a catastrophic mistake.
The Wrong Heart Page 16
