The Moment of Letting Go

by J. A. Redmerski

  “They weren’t always happy?” he asks.

  I look away from the screen and glance over at him with a forced smile; his expression—the intensity of his hazel eyes, his unwavering focus—is filled with interest.

  “Whose parents ever are these days?” I laugh lightly.

  He shrugs, smiles faintly.

  “Did they fight a lot?”

  “No, it was nothing like that,” I say. “They just never had much time for themselves. They each worked two jobs when I was growing up. Sometimes my aunt would babysit me until I was old enough to stay at home by myself. I didn’t see my parents as much as they didn’t see each other.”

  Luke is quiet for a long moment, a little longer than what I feel is normal.

  “Well, believe it or not,” he finally says, “I can relate to that one hundred percent.”

  “Really? How so?”

  Luke uncrosses his legs and draws his knees up, balancing the weight of his body on his backside, his right hand clasping his left wrist as he wraps his arms about his knees. The muscles in his arms harden like rocks beneath his tanned skin.

  “Same story as yours pretty much,” he says. “But we were considered poor.”

  “So were we,” I say. “I lived in a trailer park for a long time before my parents were able to get a loan for a house—nothing wrong with trailer parks unless it was that particular one. And welfare wouldn’t help us because my dad made sixteen dollars more a month than what was allowed to qualify—just sixteen dollars. It was really hard. We didn’t starve or go without utilities that I can ever remember, but we didn’t see each other much.”

  Luke nods, thinking deeply, it appears.

  “Same here. We mostly lived in one-bedroom apartments. Landon and I slept in the living room. Mom was a waitress usually, or sometimes she worked as a cashier in a gas station. My dad was an underpaid mechanic for most of his life until he lost his job to someone fifteen years younger and who’d work for less money. So then my dad joined the wonderful and fulfilling career of cleaning toilets and mopping floors at a junior high school.”

  “Oh joy,” I say with sarcasm that matches his.

  I start to add to his sarcasm, but I’m stopped in my tracks with his next set of words.

  “But not having much money is not such a bad thing. Having been on both sides of the fence, I can without a doubt say that I’d choose no money over no passion or family any day of the week.”

  Taken aback by his admission, I absently set the laptop on the floor and look at him with inquiry.

  I agree with most of his views, but I just don’t want to struggle. I’ve seen it and lived it all my life and I can’t see not striving for something better.

  “What’s wrong with having both?” I ask.

  Luke shakes his head, his jaw tightening as he stares off at nothing.

  “Some people can pull that off,” he says, “but I’m not one of them, and I don’t think there are really that many people who can. It’s true what they say—money really does change a person.”

  “Is that why you called it ‘useless money’?” I point out, and when he doesn’t recall right away, I explain further. “Back in the car, when you were telling me about the business. You said there was a lot of useless money in yours and Landon’s accounts. Why was it useless?”

  He seems surprised I caught that, much less that I remembered such a small and seemingly insignificant detail. “Because it was a trade,” he begins. “One that I had no idea was a trade, or what I was trading for. Otherwise I would’ve dropped my millions like a bad habit and never looked back.”

  “What was the trade?” I ask with soft caution.

  He pauses. “Everything,” he answers, and suddenly becomes distant, staring toward the window, lost in his thoughts. “Absolutely everything.”

  Silence passes between us for what feels like forever, until Luke snaps back into the moment, smiles hugely, and jumps to his feet. He leans over and grabs my hand, pulling me up with him. Next thing I know, I can feel the heat from his body pressed to mine and he’s looking into my eyes so closely that I can feel the warmth of his minty breath on my lips. I want him to kiss me. I even find myself beginning to lean in to it, my eyelids getting heavy, but I’m also snapped back into the moment when he starts to walk with me to the door instead, and we leave the room and all of the paintings behind.

  “Why don’t you change?” he suggests, pointing to the bag on the coffee table with my new clothes and white flip-flops. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  While we were sitting together out on the beach, just before dark, Luke told me more about the money and the trade, elaborating a little on the wedge he mentioned that it drove between him and his brother. “I wanted to keep the money coming,” he had said. “But Landon, he wanted to give it all up. Literally give it up. I thought he was insane. Who does that? Who is poor all their life, then one day hits the jackpot and never has to worry about money again, but then wants to give it away?”

  I just sat there beside him on the sand, yards from his house and listened, feeling the intensity in every word as if he thought Landon were sitting there beside us.

  But as always, he seemed to tiptoe around any topic having to do with Landon. He has so much to say, so much to get off his chest, and I feel like he’s trying the only way he knows how to take that step, to reach out to someone, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

  Maybe he needs a nudge.

  “Luke?” I ask, now sitting on the lanai at a little round table. He looks over at me from the other side, the moonlight casting a shadow on his face. He smiles.

  “Yeah?”

  I hesitate, trying to make sure in my mind that it’s OK to open this door to him, and that I’m not making our inevitable separation more difficult by becoming the shoulder I sense he desperately needs.

  “What’s really bothering you?” I ask softly, trying to be comforting; it hurts my heart to see his hurting. “I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to.”

  Luke’s chin draws back, his smiling eyes eclipsed by hardening eyebrows. “Nothing’s bothering me, Sienna,” he says, and although it sounds entirely believable, I don’t believe it.

  He pats the table with the palm of his hand and a long, drawn-out sigh bursts through his lips.

  “Damn, I am such a clueless dick sometimes,” he says. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to give you any crybaby vibes.”

  “No, no,” I say, shaking my hand at him, palm forward, “you haven’t.” I follow that comment up with laughter, an instinctive reaction to combat what my question seems to have caused.

  And it doesn’t go unnoticed to me that I failed miserably at my attempt to open him up on the issue.

  Luke laughs out loud, tossing his head back, and then he looks right at me. “See what you’ve done to me?” He points at me with a crooked index finger. “This is your fault.”

  My mouth falls open and my eyes get big.

  “How is it my fault?!”

  His laughter fills the night air.

  “You borrowed my balls and never gave them back.”

  Now I’m the one rolling with laughter.

  Luke points to the back screen door. “Go in there. Right now. And get them before I start my menstrual cycle.”

  I cackle, throwing my neck back over the chair.

  “Hurry up!” he shouts and it just makes me laugh harder.

  Finally I manage to drop my bare feet onto the wood floor of the lanai and rush into the house, the screen door slapping against my heels on the way in, and I pretend to grab his balls from my purse. And when I run back outside I present them to him in one hand. He doesn’t seem to approve, cocking an eyebrow up at me from his chair beside the table. He looks at my hand and then up at me, down at my hand again, up at me again. Realizing, I roll my eyes and bring my other hand up so that it looks like it takes both to hold them, and slowly his grin begins to lengthen.

  “Y’know,” I say, “this is the stupidest t
hing I’ve ever experienced with anyone in my life.” I’m trying so hard not to laugh, but the huge smile on my face gives everything away.

  He goes through the motions of taking his balls back and then, to my surprise, fits his hands about my waist and pulls me onto his lap. I become breathless. My nerve endings stir and race, sending a tingling sensation like a wave through my limbs. He leans forward and grazes the side of my neck with his lips. My heart thrums behind my rib cage; my mouth feels dry, my lungs empty, my heart full.

  “Stupid, maybe,” he says and presses his lips against my neck, “but it feels right.”

  I turn a little on his lap so I can see his eyes and he looks deeply into mine, one of his hands fixed against my thigh, the other fitted at my waist just above my hip.

  “I’m glad you decided to stay,” he whispers, his eyes lingering on my lips for an intense moment before finding my eyes again.

  “So am I,” I whisper back.

  Luke’s lips part mine slowly, and it feels like my whole body sighs as his mouth searches mine, carefully, yet with passion and intent. The heat of his warm tongue tangles around mine, making my insides tremble and shiver. I feel like I’m going to come apart in his arms, lose complete control of my muscles and become mush on his lap. I inhale his breath, feeling like I need it as much as I need my own, and my hands somehow find their way to his neck, where I probe the muscles under my fingertips. Luke kisses me hungrily, one hand fitted underneath my throat, the other holding tighter onto my waist; I can feel the tips of his strong fingers pressing into my flesh, and his hardness beneath me, which practically sends me over the edge with need.

  Gasping, I pull away, breaking the kiss, and just stare into his eyes.

  I can’t let this happen.

  I could sleep with him. I could take advantage of this vacation and everything it has to offer. There’s nothing wrong with a brief sexual encounter every now and then as long as we stay safe about it. But that’s not what this is. And Luke’s not the kind of guy I could sleep with a time or two on vacation and then never see him again when it was all over.

  Luke is different. I knew that from the moment I met him. And I’ve never been so confused about anything in my life.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks, smiling faintly up at me with a heat in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

  His left hand squeezes my hip once.

  I smile back at him. “Nothing,” I lie again and lean down to touch my lips to his once more. “But I should probably be getting back to my hotel.”

  “Why don’t you stay here?” he suggests, and then adds. “Y’know, while you’re on vacation.”

  Surprised by how quickly and casually that came out—then again, I should be used to him doing that by now—I can’t find an answer.

  He pats my thigh. “You can sleep in my room and I’ll take the couch. No expectations. I swear.” He puts up both hands and his smile is bright and innocent, laced by mischief that I completely expected of him.

  “I don’t know,” I begin. “I mean it’d be kind of weird, don’t you think? You have a roommate. He might not think it’s such a good idea.” I know I’m grasping at straws here and that my excuses are lame, but it’s all I’ve got.

  Luke pats my thigh again and then lifts me carefully from his lap so he can stand up.

  “Seth won’t mind,” he says. “Besides, it’s my house, not his. And why would it be weird?” He laughs lightly.

  I shrug coyly. “I dunno.”

  He takes my hand and walks with me into the house and through the kitchen.

  “Think about how much money you’ll save on the hotel alone,” he says. “Two weeks in a beachside hotel in Hawaii of all places—what’s that costing you, a few thousand dollars?”

  I follow him down the hallway toward his bedroom while he continues to go on about all the reasons it would be better that I stay in his house while I’m here. And every single one of them is spot-on and I can find no argument. While I’m standing in his room, checking out his simple little bed with a simple nightstand and a chest of drawers and a clothes hamper pressed in one corner, Luke is stripping the sheets and pillowcases from his bed. He tosses them across the room with ease and hits the hamper almost perfectly.

  “But what about when you have to go to work?”

  Snapping a clean sheet open, he begins to make the bed, bending over to fit the corners around the mattress.

  “I work at the surf school when I’m available, for the most part,” he says as he gets on the bed and fits the sheet on the corner against the wall. “If Allan needs me one day, then we can head over and you can hang out on the beach for a few while I do my thing, if you want to. As far as Big Wave Surf Shop, Braedon won’t mind picking up my slack for a while—we own the place together.”

  “Oh, really?” I ask, surprised.

  He nods with a shrug. “Yeah, it’s nothing like the business I owned with Landon, but I like things simple.”

  He begins to slide the first pillow of three down into a green case, wedging the pillow underneath his chin.

  “So whadya say?”

  “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” I’m still trying to convince myself that this is a good idea.

  “Then it’s settled,” he says, and tosses the last pillow down. “You’re my guest while you’re in Hawaii and you might find your stay at,” he waves his hand dramatically across the room, “the Everett House pleasant and relaxing, not to mention free—you’ll have to give it a five-star rating on that alone.” One side of his mouth tugs into a grin.

  I try to hold in my own grin, but I don’t do so well.

  “Well, how’s the service around here?” I joke, crossing my arms and popping my hip. “Will there be a complimentary breakfast waiting for me when I get up?”

  He straightens his back, raises his chin importantly, and says sophisticatedly, “Oh, absolutely. I’m quite the cook, too, I should warn you in advance.”

  “Really?” I smirk playfully. “Why do I need to be warned?” He smiles with confidence. “Because once you eat one of my dishes, you’ll never want to leave.”

  I kind of already never want to leave …

  “So what’ll it be?” he says. “A hotel crammed full of tourists, a bagel and a tiny carton of orange juice as a complimentary breakfast, and six months’ worth of rent just to pay for the hotel? Or a free room steps away from a quiet beach owned by a guy who can make a tire taste good, and not to mention”—his grin deepens and he sweeps his hands from his chest downward—“who looks like this?”

  I burst out laughing.

  Luke is trying not to, but like me, he doesn’t do so well.

  I think on it a little longer, looking at the nicely made bed and, yes, the guy standing in front of me who is as sweet as he is gorgeous.

  “All right.” I finally give in, and his face lights up. “I’ll stay here—but no funny stuff!”

  He surrenders again, his smile the broadest I’ve seen it in hours. “Nope. I’m a total gentleman.” The smirk that follows sends a tickling sensation up the back of my neck.

  We share a quiet and serious moment together, Luke looking across the room at me now that I’ve found my way to his bed, sitting down on the edge with my feet barely touching the floor. Slowly he walks over and crouches down in front of me. He looks up into my eyes, and I feel like I’m falling deeper and deeper into them the longer he’s there. His lips are wordless, yet an unmistakable array of words flutter within his eyes. Words that I wish more than anything I could hear and understand so that I can once and for all unravel the mystery that is Luke Everett.

  He reaches up a hand and touches the side of my face lightly with his fingertips. It’s such an intimate gesture that it confuses me slightly, but I want it there and I can’t bring myself to do or say anything that would make him pull away.

  “Thank you for staying,” he says softly and then his hand slowly falls away.

  “Thank you for letting me stay.”r />
  Luke smiles and pushes himself to his feet.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” he says. “Do whatever you want. Eat and drink what you want. Watch TV. Play the stereo. Just make yourself at home.”

  He leaves me sitting on the edge of his bed with my thoughts as he disappears around the corner. I don’t know why, but I don’t want him to go and I fight my instinct to pull him back.

  What is happening to me?

  EIGHTEEN

  Luke

  I spend nearly an hour in the shower, letting the hot water beat down on my skin until it begins to run cool. I always do most of my thinking in the shower, and I always have things figured out by the time the water is cold. But not this time. I have more questions now than I did when I stepped in, and the only answers I have to any of them are the kind you can’t be sure are the right ones, or just the ones you want to believe are.

  I’ve never been this drawn to a woman before. I’ve never met a woman who I want to open myself up to in every way, and who I know—I think I know—deep down would accept everything about me no matter how deeply flawed. And I’ve never met anyone, no one, who has ever made me feel this … content, just hanging out and doing the simplest of things together. She makes me want to spill my guts, to get everything out in the open so she can make it all better. But I can’t. And I can’t let her. She tried. The attempt didn’t go unnoticed, or fall on deaf ears, but it did fall on a bitter heart that isn’t ready to heal and may never be ready. When I lost my brother, I lost a part of myself. Sienna … she scares the hell out of me, and despite that, I feel like I’m only growing closer to her instead of trying to push her away. I should push her away—for so many reasons—but I can’t. I want to ignore my conscience and see where this goes. Already I feel like … I need her. Just being around her, she makes me forget. Sometimes that’s what I want to do: forget. Sienna is the only person I’ve met since China turned my life upside down who makes me see light at the end of this long, dark tunnel I’ve been walking through for eight months, while hiding from everyone around me. So I don’t have to talk about it. So I don’t have to relive it.