Last Fall

by Alexis Anne

  That was me. I was that jellyfish, stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time, lured in by the soft sands and clear water only to captured by a piece of driftwood, unable to save myself when the tide I called Berlin Anderson left me behind.

  Also, apparently, making me into a philosopher of Mistletoe Key’s tidal symbology. Fuck. This is what coming home at Christmas did to me. It turned me into a sad, sappy sucker, wishing for a life he willfully left behind.

  My feet sank a little deeper and a part of my soul came back to life. The beach always fixed me. I thought for a while it would magically fix my marriage.

  No such luck there.

  “Jack! You dipshit! When did you get in?” The deep baritone of my ex-brother-in-law, Harrison, hit me just at the break between waves. Otherwise I might not have heard him. With the tide on the way out I’d wandered almost a quarter mile across the mudflats.

  I turned and braced my hand over my brow to cut out the glare of the sun. Harrison stood on a crumbling shell midden, barefoot—because no one ever wore shoes—and clutching a bucket. Probably had a couple fish in there.

  My stomach growled. I apparently missed the fresh seafood as much as I missed everything else.

  I carefully unsealed my feet from the mud crypt, shaking the sludge free before beginning the walk back to shore. Harrison waited patiently, setting the bucket aside for a big hug when I finally made it to him.

  “Long time. Long, long time.” He cracked my back with his big paw.

  “Yeah. Not long enough.”

  “Christmas with your mom?”

  I nodded. When I’d married Berlin it meant spending part of my life on Mistletoe Key. Her’s was an old Florida family, having settled several different areas around the peninsula including this island. They’d owned this house forever, her aunt being the most recent resident before Berlin inherited the house.

  She loved it here. I fell for it hard, too, and with my job coaching the Miami Pythons hockey team, it wasn’t too painful of a commute. My mom came to visit, fell in love with a bungalow on the town’s main square, and it was all over. The Cassidys officially became Mistletoe Key transplants, given extra rank because of my marriage to a legacy family.

  Then Berlin and I divorced, and everyone got the island except me.

  “I’m just here for three days. We’ve got a home game on Thursday.”

  Harrison grunted, grabbing the bucket and turning toward the house. “She know you’re out here?”

  I nodded again. “I texted her this morning asking permission. She said it was fine.”

  Our house—her house—stood a good ten feet higher than we were now, built on top of a shell midden before the religious group that settled the island in the late nineteenth century realized that what they were essentially destroying was a mound built by the real first settlers of Mistletoe Key centuries earlier. The sun setting behind it made the old house little more than a shadow.

  Probably better that way.

  “I miss you, brother,” Harrison said, a bit more wistfully than I expected. “Her new man, Ryker—who the fuck has a name like Ryker? Anyway, he’s a total bro. No fun at all.”

  Harrison was reserved on the outside, but he loved to get into trouble on the sly. He was a sneaky bastard and really great friend. I could only imagine how big he rolled his eyes when this Ryker asshole wasn’t looking.

  “Let me guess, he wears shoes?”

  “And polo shirts. Not even pink ones.” He made his eyes extra wide. “It’s like he doesn’t even know where he is.”

  The official dress code of the Keys was shorts, tank tops, and flip-flops. For dressy occasions women wore sundresses and men wore Hawaiian shirts. With flip-flops. If they wore shoes at all. Which was honestly a thing. You know how restaurants usually have signs that said “no shirt, no shoes, no service”? Not here. No one gave a flying flip about any of it.

  As long as you were happy.

  Happiness was the requirement around here. Which was why I was convinced the pina colada was invented. It made sad people less sad. What was it Jimmy—patron saint of the Keys—sang? Where we go I hope there’s rum!

  It was definitely one of the happiness ingredients here on Mistletoe Key.

  “So what are you doing down here, Harry?” The main Anderson clan called Calusa Key their home base. The island on the gulf coast was where Berlin grew up, but when she inherited her aunt’s house on Mistletoe Key she jumped at the chance to live on her favorite island—away from the constant attention of her sisters.

  “Berlin needed some help with a few repairs. We figured it would be fun to spend Christmas here for a change.”

  “London still won’t come home?”

  “Nope.”

  “The girls here?” Harry and Paris had two daughters.

  “Of course. I’ll bring them by your mom’s later when we get frozen yogurt. If you want?”

  I appreciated the way he asked. “Of course. I didn’t divorce them.”

  A pained look crossed his face. “Um . . . have you heard the news?”

  I didn’t like the way he asked that. Harrison Montague wasn’t the kind of guy who ever hesitated to say exactly what he was thinking. Not even when it was hard. The day Berlin announced she wanted a divorce? Harry punched me in the nose and told me it was my fault. Gave me a detailed list of all the ways I’d been a bad husband. Then he bought me a beer.

  Guys were like that.

  So if he was hesitating now, this news, whatever it might be, was big.

  “What news?”

  “Shit. She didn’t tell you. Shit.” He set his bucket down again. This time I got a look at the two very dead snapper inside.

  My stomach growled again. Why could my stomach be so happy to be back on Mistletoe Key when my head was clearly picking up on some serious warning signs?

  That warning beacon went into overdrive when Harry braced his hand against the wood railing and he looked me straight in the eye. “Berlin is engaged to Ryker. They’re getting married.”

  “Stop, Ma.”

  She fluttered around, shoving freshly baked rolls and butter at me as if food could solve a broken heart. “I thought you knew.”

  “How would I know that my ex-wife was getting married? We’re not friends.” Not for lack of trying on my part. “I don’t live here. There isn’t a divorce Bat Signal that goes up when your ex says yes to another man.”

  Mom whimpered and dropped into the chair across from me. “It was just such big news here. Berlin is an original—you know how people are about the locals. And Ryker Larson has become a big name here.”

  Yeah, yeah. Money does that. It gets you places you didn’t earn.

  “Well, I know now. Thanks for the butter roll.”

  At least that made Mom smile. “I’m sorry, baby boy. This has to hurt.”

  She called all her kids baby boy or girl. There were a lot of us. I used to joke she used the generic nickname so she didn’t have to remember our real names. I usually gave her a hard time because I was clearly no longer a baby or a boy, but at the moment I liked being “baby boy” because it reinforced the false idea that my mother was in charge and could somehow protect me from the very real pain I was feeling.

  Berlin was getting married.

  To a man who wasn’t me.

  Fuck that. Just . . . fuck that. “Where did I go wrong?”

  She slid her hand into her lap as she sat back and gave me her mom glare. “Do you really want me to answer that, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?”

  “They’re not the same thing?”

  She shook her head.

  Damn. Did everyone know I ruined our marriage except me? Was I seriously the only person who was clueless?

  I guess that answered most of my original question. “Give it to me, Ma.”

  “Well,” she said entirely too fast. Like she’d been waiting all three years to punch me in the nose just like Harrison. “You were selfish. You still can be, but not li
ke you were.”

  I grimaced, but nodded. “I know. I was young and cocky and stupid.” I thought landing the youngest head-coaching job in the NHL made me hot shit. Untouchable. My career was obviously the most important thing in the world. And Berlin was understanding.

  At first.

  Then she got pissed. At the time our fights seemed so unfair. I was doing something rare. It paid me a lot of money. Of course my schedule was more important than hers.

  It wasn’t until after I signed the divorce papers that I started to hear myself. More important. My career was never more important than her, but I sure acted like it.

  “Keep going,” I gritted out. As hard as it was to hear, I needed this. I wasn’t the guy I was three years ago. Divorce rocked me. Made me stop and take a long hard look at myself. I’d changed, but I also hadn’t had the courage to face what happened.

  “Well,” she repeated. As if the well somehow softened the blow. “You weren’t very romantic either. Watching your team play is not a date, Jackson. I taught you better than that.”

  Also true. You didn’t get to have four sisters and three brothers if your parents weren’t really happy. And trust me, my parents were really happy. They kissed and giggled like teenagers. It was gross but also made me hopeful. I always assumed I’d be just like them. I apparently missed the part where I’d have to act like them to get to the same destination.

  “What else?”

  “You never did anything Berlin liked to do. You never went to her lectures or her excavations. You never took an interest in her interests. A marriage is two people, not one.”

  “So basically I was an asshole.”

  “Yes. You were the king of the universe. You wouldn’t listen to me or your brothers. You knew everything.”

  I knew nothing. That lesson was the hardest of my life, but it was the one I needed most. “Anything else?”

  Mom looked away, chewing on her lip. “Maybe just one more thing.” She started fidgeting, her hands twisting in her lap.

  “Mom?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Fine. I wasn’t going to put my nose in your business or give you any false hope, but I can’t keep this to myself.”

  For some ridiculous reason the look of hope in her eye made my heart pound harder and faster. “The two of you were very young when you met, not much older when you got married. It was too fast. Too soon. But,” she took another deep breath, “it was right. You loved each other deeply, understood each other in that special way. You could communicate without speaking, you cared for each other until . . . ”

  “Until my head grew fifteen sizes.”

  She nodded once, my mom’s way of agreeing to something painful.

  “I fucked it up.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Says the woman who taught me how to swear.” She smiled. I continued, “I did. I messed everything up.”

  “The good news is that you can fix it.”

  “She’s getting married.” I was too late.

  But mom took my hand in hers and squeezed. “She’s engaged, baby boy. Not married. Not yet. There’s still time.”

  “Aunt Berlin is walking the dog!” Melly pronounced between licks of vanilla froyo from Ho Ho Ho Froyo. The best thing about being the favorite uncle was that it was also incredibly easy to bribe my nieces into telling me anything.

  Melly wore a patchwork Christmas pattern sundress that now had a good amount of vanilla froyo down the front. It was eighty-five degrees at six o’clock in the evening, after all.

  “She still take the walking path behind the Co-Op?”

  Melly nodded, mouth full. I ruffled her dark hair. “Thanks, girl.”

  “Anytime Uncle Jack.” She tucked the five dollar bribe into her red purse.

  The island had several walking paths that cut around behind the main buildings. They were nice in the summer because of all the shade provided by the towering pines and cypress trees. At this time of night, with the sunset and Christmas lights glowing from every possible direction, it was almost spooky. Shadows everywhere.

  I heard a yip I recognized and walked a little faster.

  And then stopped dead in my tracks.

  The marriage gods had somehow seen it in their hearts to smile down on me. At least that was how it felt to see Berlin under the mistletoe spotlight, sighing dramatically.

  “Anyone? Anyone?” she called over and over.

  Mistletoe Key had many quirky traditions, Christmas celebrated year round being the most obvious, but this one had always been my favorite. Mistletoe was strategically hung around the island. When you walked under it, a spotlight turned on. It was considered bad luck to leave the mistletoe spotlight without a kiss. Some say that was what happened the year the great flu took everyone out the week of Christmas. Sally Hawkins had very publicly walked away from the mistletoe on Main Street without a kiss. The very next day she fell ill, along with six others. The next day, half the town was sick. After day three the island was quarantined and all the businesses closed.

  Two days before Christmas.

  On the island that lived for Christmas.

  No one had dared walk away from the mistletoe ever again.

  Which was why Berlin was standing under the spotlight all alone. Well, Doug, her Australian Shepard, was sitting on the ground beside her, his tongue hanging out.

  “You look like you could use some help.” I stepped close enough so she could see me, but not close enough that she could kill me.

  She froze, her beautiful green eyes going wide. “What are you doing here?”

  A warm, familiar zing shot through me. Just looking at her had me buzzing.

  Her dark hair hung over her shoulders. Hair I used to run my hands through because it was so soft. I would play with it while she lay naked on my chest. Over and over until my hand was tired. I itched to reach out and relive the way those quiet moments stopped time.

  But I wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. Not unless I fixed this mess.

  “I’m here to rescue you.”

  She threw her hands up between us. “Oh no you don’t. I’ll wait for someone else.”

  “You could be here all night. It’s Christmas Eve Eve. Everyone is in the town square. No one’s coming down this path any time soon.”

  “Then I’ll just leave.”

  “No you won’t.” She actually might. As much as Berlin loved the quirky rituals of the island, she was also very practical. She would absolutely leave if I didn’t convince her I was a viable alternative. “You don’t want to bring bad luck to the town.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a story and you know it.”

  “You’ve kissed me hundreds of times,” I said, walking a little closer, needing to see if being near her still did that thing to my stomach. “What’s one more kiss?”

  “Jackson Michael Cassidy, if you take one more step closer I will strangle you with my bare hands.”

  Yep. There it was. The fire I fell in love with. And now that I was close enough my stomach was indeed doing that Olympic backflip thing I used to love so much.

  I swallowed. “I just came down for Christmas with Mom. I heard Doug’s bark and came to make sure you were okay.” That was a little bit of a lie. I heard a yip, not a bark, and I heard it because I was following her.

  “I’m fine. Just stuck.” She stomped her foot.

  Fire and ice. That’s what people used to call us. Berlin was all fire and passion while I was the cool hockey player. She proposed all the crazy ideas and I made them all happen.

  Until I forgot that life was more than hockey.

  “And I can help you,” I offered. “Unless you hate me so much you can’t stand to be near me.”

  “I can’t stand to be near you,” she spit out.

  But I noticed she didn’t say anything about hating me. Maybe I had a shot. Maybe I didn’t. Only one way to find out. “I’m sorry, Berlin.”

  She went white.


  I stepped closer. “I’m sorry I changed. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good husband. I’m sorry I made you divorce me.” I took another step closer so that we were within touching distance now. “I understand that I gave you no choice.”

  “Hockey ruined everything,” she whispered.

  Pain shot through my chest. Hockey had given me the life I always dreamed of, but I wasn’t particularly happy living that life without Berlin. It was an empty dream come true. “No. I ruined everything. I let hockey consume me. I let the idea of success turn me into a grade A asshole.”

  The corner of her lip turned up at that. “I started calling you Jack-ass right before I asked you for a divorce.”

  She probably still called me that. “I’m sorry I ruined us.”

  She rolled her shoulders but didn’t say anything. I swear if, after hearing my apology, she still asked me to leave, I would.

  At least I thought I would.

  Now that I was standing so close that I could see how fast her chest rose and fell, how her cheeks flushed, could watch her chew on her lip, I was done for. It was just like when we were teenagers. My mind was a blank canvas that only Berlin could paint with her hands and lips.

  I felt alive again.

  Her lip sprang free of her teeth and she looked up at me. Big green eyes all wide and hopeful. “You’re sorry?”

  I nodded. “I am. I couldn’t see what a monster I became back then. I was too consumed by it. Thanks to your ass-kicking I’ve gotten to see things from a new perspective.”

  “And what perspective is that?” Her words came out all breathy.

  It did things to me. Things no other woman had ever done to me. “That hockey is only one part of my life. I miss getting into trouble with you. I miss this island. I miss . . . ” I searched for the exact right thing to say that would explain everything clearly. I wanted her to know I was serious.

  And then it hit me.

  “I miss opening up the sleeping porch on a breezy night and lying awake with you on my chest, talking all night while we look at the stars, getting drunk on a bottle of rum. I miss waking up a little hungover but with the most spectacular sunrise right in front of us. I miss bringing you coffee so we can stay a little longer.”