Adam glares at me, obviously not seeing the humor of the situation. After his evil eye stare quiets my laughter, he shifts his gaze back to Celia.
“You’re not my wingwoman. You’re my wingweirdo. That girl couldn’t get out of here fast enough. You freaked her out!”
Celia slumps her shoulders and pokes out her bottom lip. Oddly enough, her pouty lips are ten times more effective than Big Lips. Maybe it’s just me…
“Aw, come on, Adam. I didn’t mean to make her leave. I’m sorry…”
Adam shoulders relax somewhat, and he grabs the back of his neck while shaking his head. He turns to me and gives me “the look” while pointing at Celia.
“I got her, man. Go,” I say with a quick head nod.
“Wait, where are you going, Adam?” Celia asks, confused by our exchange.
Adam places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, hiding the beginnings of a smile. “Celia, I’m going in solo. No wingwoman—just me and my irresistible charm. And the tats, of course.”
“Christ,” I mutter under my breath, as I feel the shit getting pretty deep.
“Oh, okay,” Celia says, looking slightly dejected. “I really was trying to help, Adam. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all good, Cece. You’re still my girl, but let’s just consider those wings of yours clipped,” Adam says while giving me the universal man hug—half handshake, half back slap. “Cain will give you a ride home. Are you comfortable with that?”
He watches her expression to be sure she’s on board with the change of plans, and I bristle. I know he’s looking out for her, but the thought of her actually being afraid of me, or my intentions, doesn’t sit well with me. My chest loosens when I see her nod in agreement and wink playfully at Adam.
We watch Adam disappear into the crowd in silence, and then I turn to Celia and raise my eyebrows flirtatiously. She giggles and sips her drink, her eyes dancing with laughter.
“Who’s the Casanova now?” she asks, pushing my shoulder with her finger.
I roll my eyes and turn to the bar, signaling for another beer. She’s still nursing her first drink, so I just order one for me. This will be the last, seeing as I’m responsible for precious cargo tonight.
“So you’re gonna bring me home … and Adam’s just gonna hitch a ride with some random woman?”
“Well, I think he’s hoping she’ll hitch a ride on him.”
Celia rolls her eyes and bursts out laughing before I even finish the sentence.
“Ew! That’s … disturbing. Adam doesn’t seem like that kind of guy to me.”
“Truth?” I ask. She wrinkles her nose and gives a small nod. “Every guy can be that kind of guy, given the right situation. He’s not looking for deep conversation and long walks on the beach. He’s a dad with a random weekend off. He doesn’t need or want more than that right now, and that’s okay. Consenting adults and all, ya know?”
“When you say it like that, it makes complete sense. He doesn’t have any more to give. I get that. I understand it … more than you know.” Her mouth turns down in a small frown, and the mood darkens unexpectedly. I get tiny glimpses of sadness in her eyes, but in this moment, her sorrow is center stage. If there was ever a doubt in my mind, this seemingly innocent conversation confirms my suspicions. Celia is one hundred percent unavailable, even if I’m not sure of the circumstances behind it. I’d be lying if I didn’t say a small part of me wished that wasn’t the case. Maybe that part of me is bigger than I care to admit.
We drink in silence for a time, and my ears perk up when I hear a familiar tune. Not one to wallow, I step off my stool and tug Celia’s hand. She tips off her stool and lands at my side.
“Dance with me, Tink,” I say as I pull her across the floor.
“Oh, well … I—” she stammers as she shuffles behind me. “I’m not a very good dancer.”
Finding an empty spot on the dance floor, I whip her around to face me. I snake an arm around her tiny waist and hold her other hand firmly in mine. Her head reaches me right at the top of my chest, and she looks up to meet my gaze. I smile and give her side a gentle squeeze.
“Lucky for you, I make a pretty fabulous dance partner. All you need to do is follow my lead.”
She fumbles a bit at first, but catches on to my cues like a champ. A gentle shift of my hip or a tug on her hand is enough to guide her, and soon we’re gliding across the floor. She feels delicate in my arms, almost breakable. I tip my head forward and breathe her in. She smells of summer and honeysuckles, and I resist the tiny niggle in my gut that’s trying to make a comeback. One song floats into the next, and I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been dancing.
“Where did you learn to dance like this?” she asks, bringing me back from my trailing thoughts.
“Coach made me take lessons in high school. It started out as a joke. You know, a way for the basketball player to learn fancy footwork. It turns out I’m pretty damn good at it. I can two-step with the best of ‘em,” I explain with a shrug. I take that moment to swing her out, then tug her back into my embrace at the last minute.
She returns to me with a jolt and a giggle. “I must admit, Cain, this is even better than the bubble bath I had planned for this evening.”
My lip curls in mock disgust, and I scoff. “Well, I should hope so. It’s not exactly a glowing endorsement, saying you’d rather dance with me than bathe in your own filth.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks with a laugh.
“Bathing in your own filth. Sitting in your own stew. That’s just disgusting, Tink.” I make a gagging sound and shake my head for effect.
She slaps my arm and grins up at me. “Come on! Do you really get that dirty?”
She raises her eyebrows in question, and I nod my head solemnly. “Oh, believe me, I certainly do.”
“Oh yeah?” she challenges, leaning back in my arms to see me better.
“I’m downright filthy,” I whisper, my words filled with implication. I lean over into her space and feel the pressure of her spine curving into my hand.
“Are we still talking about baths?”
“Were we ever?” I ask, now nose to nose with her.
A smile spreads across her face, and her blue eyes tease me. She leans forward and buries her head in my chest, overcome with laughter. The sound pierces through me, seeps into my chest, and settles into my bones.
She exhales a soft sigh and rests her head on my chest when the music slows. While the storm in her slowly calms, replaced with contentment and peace, my soul has never felt more turbulent.
Feeling restless and uncomfortable in my own skin, I dip Celia in grand style, marking the end of our dance. We’re at the edge of the dance floor. I grab her waist and hoist her up to sit on a nearby brick ledge.
“Wait here and I’ll buy you another drink.”
I raise my eyebrows in question.
“Cranberry and vodka,” she replies to my silent question.
I snake my way through the crowd and try to sort out my head on the journey. She feels too good in my arms … too right. Her tiny waist that my hands nearly wrap around, her blue eyes deep as the darkest ocean waters, her addictive laugh that flows through my veins like electricity, lighting up every part of me; she’s creeping into my head, my heart, and my soul.
Her trained words and actions put up a steel wall, screaming to me I’m wasting my time. But when she lets go? When she forgets to be sad? She feels it, too.
What if I can make her forget?
I find an empty spot and sidle up to the bar, holding out a bill to get the bartender’s attention. I’m so lost in thought, trying with all I have to tamp this shit down before I go back and meet Celia, I don’t notice the brunette eyeing me from her barstool.
“A bit of friendly advice,” she croons, her full, red lips quirking up on one side. “You’re never getting in there. Don’t waste your time.”
I jerk my head back in surprise. “Excuse me?”
She shrugs h
er shoulders and chuckles, her brown curls bouncing over her shoulders. “The little blonde perched up on the ledge? I’m just trying to save you the effort. You are planted firmly in the friend zone with that one. I can see it from a dance floor away.”
“Maybe I’m in the friend zone because that’s what we are—friends.” My tone is insolent, and the brightness in her emerald eyes tells me she’s enjoying riling me up.
“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. I can see your puppy dog eyes from across the dance floor, too. Save yourself the heartache and take an easier path to humpdom,” she says while examining her nails.
“Aw, such a poet,” I reply sarcastically, and turn back to the bar. After placing my order with the bartender, I look back to my curly-headed naysayer. “I’ve never been known to take the path of least resistance. The easiest route isn’t always the best one.”
She scoffs and tosses her curls. “The easiest route is the only one I’m interested in. No fuss, no muss, no feelings.”
“Music to every father’s ears,” I say as I pick up Celia’s drink and toss a few bills on the bar for the tip.
“Hey, I’m a realist. There’s nothing wrong with that. Happily-ever-afters are for chumps and fools … and apparently jolly green giants.” She eyes me from under her lashes and expels an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy,” I call out over my shoulder as I walk away from the nosy, red-lipped stranger.
“I’ll be watching.” Her voice has a singsong quality with a hint of laughter behind it, and it pries its way under my skin. I don’t know who the hell she is, but I’ll be damned if she’s gonna tell me who to pursue. It’s obvious she has no idea who she’s talking to either. Saying Celia’s off limits to me is the equivalent of waving a red flag to a bull.
Game on.
“Into the Ocean” by Blue October
The Past
“LUCAS, YOU WERE supposed to pick me up at the hospital over an hour ago. Should I call someone else to get me? Ugh, just call me back and tell me where you are.” I press END on the phone and drop my head into my hands.
It’s mind blowing how drastically the world can shift in a matter of days … hours … minutes.
The exact moment that threw my world into a tailspin is etched in my brain, never to be forgotten. It was the day I came home from school to find Grams in a helpless heap on the floor, barely conscious, with slurred words and sheer terror shining in her glassy eyes. I’ve never been more frightened in my entire life.
Between doctors speaking medical jargon I don’t understand, and Grams fighting to regain the tiniest bit of mobility and speech, I’m not sure which is more overwhelming. Watching her stumble to find the words, seeing her struggle to sound them out, wishing the tears of frustration in her eyes would disappear—it’s breaking my heart, piece by jagged piece. The doctors say her symptoms are normal for a stroke victim, and will probably improve, to some extent over time, but empty promises do little to comfort me.
I run the pads of my fingers across the blanket draped over Grams, softly so I don’t wake her. I brought it from home to help calm her—this orange one is her favorite. She made it with the most vibrant yarn she could find to remind her of a fiery sunset. The only sound is the gentle rise and fall of her breaths and the sharp ticking of the clock’s second hand, reminding me of Lucas and his recent inability to follow through.
If Lucas tells me he’s going to do something, he does it. If he promises to be somewhere at a certain time, I don’t question it. Whether it was pounding on Joey Ryder’s face in fifth grade for throwing dirt in my hair or driving me all the way to Shreveport for my SATs, Lucas always comes through for me.
Until the last few weeks, that is. Missed phone calls, forgotten pick-up times, and distracted conversations are the norm lately. When I catch up with him, he’s always in the same place. Locked in his bedroom, glued to his desk, furiously working on proofs, algorithms, theorems, or whatever they’re called in the physics world. Lucas has always lost track of time, lost track of himself, when he’s got a project going, but that never applied to me. I was the exception to the rule when it came to his absent-mindedness.
I just don’t understand why this is happening now. I need him more than I ever have, and he’s letting me down. The uncertainty of Grams’s health has left me feeling lost, and Lucas is supposed to be my constant, the roots that ground me when it’s all too much.
I swallow back the anger, the frustration, and most of all, the hurt, and scroll through my contact list, knowing deep down Lucas isn’t going to show.
“Hey sugar, you looking for a hot date?” Audrey catcalls through the passenger window after driving up to the hospital breezeway.
I toss my two-ton book sack over my shoulder and roll my eyes as I throw myself into the seat. “I think we’ve established that I was, in fact, looking for a hot date, but your jerk brother decided to stand me up.”
“Whoa, hold on just one minute, missy! I cannot be held responsible for the sins of the absent-minded professor.” Audrey points to herself and circles her face. “Innocent, albeit related, bystander over here.”
I shut my eyes and let out a huge sigh, wishing the tension would leave my body along with my breath. “I know, I’m sorry, I know that. I appreciate you picking me up, Audrey. What’s with him lately? Lucas doesn’t do this, ya know?”
“If it doesn’t have to do with his calculator or his textbooks, we’ve got a fifty-fifty shot of him remembering it. He’s just lost in the books, Celia. You know how he is,” Audrey says, reaching over to pat my leg.
“Not with me, though, Aud. He never forgets anything with me. And I just … I need him right now. Everything with Grams.” My voice cracks as I shake my head in despair. The tears well up, and there is no stopping them now.
“Hey, don’t cry, Cece. You know we’ll do whatever we need to do. You’re gonna be fine. You’ll both be fine. Grams is getting the best care available.”
On that point, I know she’s right. With the help of Mr. Gene, Grams prepared for this kind of thing. Supplemental insurance, long-term care policies, cancer add-ons—you name it, Grams had it. Once Grams is discharged from the hospital, she’ll be transferred to a top-notch facility for therapy and rehab until she’s ready to come home.
If she ever is ready to come back home.
I curse myself for thinking it. I won’t accept that Grams will never sit on her porch swing again, drinking coffee and saying her rosary. I refuse to believe she crocheted her last blanket for the church bazaar. I can’t fathom the idea of never hearing her curse like a sailor at the television when she thinks I’m out of earshot.
You have to stay positive, Celia. For Grams.
“It’s a lot to take in all at once. Grams, my living situation, the finances … and now Lucas? What if there’s something going on, Audrey? What if there’s someone else at school, someone as smart as he is—”
“I’m stopping you right there, because that’s crazy talk. Lucas never has and never will want anyone else. That’s a fact. Just talk to him and he’ll tell you the same thing. Got it?” Audrey stares expectantly until I nod my head. “Now, as far as your living situation, you’re my new roomie, and what could be cooler than that? I’m pretty amazing.”
Her antics earn a slight smile from me, but that’s all I can muster. “I’m so grateful to you and your parents for letting me stay with you. I know I’m technically and legally able to live on my own, since I’m eighteen, but I don’t want to be alone right now. I’m just worried I’ll wear out my welcome.”
“How in the world could you wear out your welcome? Celia, between school, the time you spend with Lucas, and staying with Grams until bedtime everyday, I hardly ever see you. We’re living in the same room, and I feel the need to schedule girl time,” Audrey says while turning into the driveway.
My eyes instantly flick to the second floor window to see bits of light filtering
through drawn blue curtains. I slump my shoulders in defeat and stare at my fidgeting hands. He’s been home the entire time.
I grip the straps of my book sack and put one foot out of the car before turning to Audrey. “Once I give your brother a piece of my mind, there may be oodles of girl time to be had. You should wish him luck.”
“Let him have it, girl. He totally deserves it.” She turns away from me, then changes her mind and grabs my hand. “I can promise you one thing, though. There’s no one else. I’m sure of it. The only thing Lucas is guilty of is being completely oblivious. There’s nothing wrong, Celia; he just lives in his own world a lot of the time.”
I huff and shoot her a sarcastic smirk. “Well, you’ll have to excuse me while I barge right in. Our two worlds are about to collide.”
.
I bang my clenched fist on the door a second time, resolving to stand here all night, if that’s what it takes. After what feels like a lifetime, I hear some rustling from inside the room and a frazzled Lucas flings open the door.
“Celia, hey,” he says with a smile, opening the door wider to invite me in. He notices my grizzly stare, and his brows furrow in confusion. “Wait, wasn’t I supposed to pick you up in…”
He walks across the room and swipes his watch off the bedside table. When he realizes the time, he drops his head in defeat and runs a hand over his unshaven face.
“Shit.”
“You can say that again,” I reply, my tone flat and stilted. “It’s the second time in a week. What the hell, Lucas?”
He crosses the room in two paces and folds me tightly into his arms. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that. I just … I lost track of time. This project for school is taking everything out of me.”
“I called you.” I slap both hands on his chest. “I set an alarm for you so you wouldn’t forget!”
“I had to turn my phone off, Celia, I’m so sorry.” He drops his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “I’m competing for a summer internship, and the other students are distracting me, trying to … never mind, it’s not important. You’re the only thing I want to focus on right now. Tell me about Grams. How is she doing?”
Storms Over Secrets Page 4
