by Nikki Chase
Except he suddenly turns his gaze on me, jump-starting my heart until the beats compete with the pitter-patter of raindrops all around us.
What’s wrong with me?
Those green eyes . . . I forgot how intense they are. It’s almost like there’s a source of light in that brilliant head of his. In this gloomy, damp atmosphere, they seem greener than the blades of wet grass underfoot, or the leaves on the trees lining the perimeter of this cemetery.
He gives me a solemn nod, a small gesture that somehow conveys the crushing weight of his sadness and sympathy.
I swallow my nerves, and without breaking eye contact, I return his nod. My vision blurs, and for a moment, I think some rain must’ve gotten into my eyes, until I realize the droplets rolling down my cheeks are warm.
For some reason, seeing the anguish in Luca’s eyes has taken me from “anger” and “denial” to whatever the next stage of grief is. For the first time since I heard the news, it feels real.
And so, as the minister drones on about the fleeting nature of life, I start to sob.
My brother’s no more, and I’m all alone in the world.
Sarah
As soon as the minister stops talking, I thank him and slip away, avoiding the crowd.
Ashbourne being a small town, everybody’s here, regardless of what they thought of my brother while he was still alive and regardless of how close they were to him.
Many of these people probably hadn’t talked to him in a year when he died, and they probably don’t have anything of value to tell me, other than the clichés. You know, “sorry for your loss,” or “you’re in my prayers.”
I don't need prayers or sympathy. I know exactly what I need, and it's nothing I can mention at a funeral. Hell, it's nothing I’ve ever said out loud anywhere.
It’s probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but who cares? This is, without a doubt, the lowest point in my life. I’m pretty sure I’ve earned the right to indulge in any vice I want.
Ever since I got back to Ashbourne, I’ve been busy making arrangements for Peter’s funeral. I never knew there was so much paperwork to be done and so many bills to pay when someone dies. When Dad died ten years ago, I was only thirteen, so Peter was the one who handled everything. Turns out dying’s pretty expensive.
Luckily, I’d been saving up while I was working in the city, so I had just enough money to cover all the expenses. Currently, my bank account balance is as close to zero as it’s ever been, but at least the funeral’s over, and my work is done.
I’ve been looking forward to putting this behind me, but now I don’t know what to do with myself.
All I know is I don’t want to be around people—not these people, at least. They're way too wholesome to be part of the depraved plans I’m marinating in my mind.
I open the door of my brother’s old, beat-up car. This car used to be Dad’s until he died, at which point it was handed down to Peter. And now, I guess it’s mine.
After the divorce, Dad had just enough money to keep the animal clinic running and buy this piece of junk. Dad could’ve said “no” to house calls and gone without a car, but he was the kind of guy who’d rather sleep in the clinic before doing that, so that was exactly what he did.
There were always plenty of farm animals in Ashbourne that wouldn't even fit inside our clinic, but it was roomy enough for the three of us—Dad, Peter, and me—to live upstairs.
As my butt hits the driver’s seat, the smell of burned nicotine fills my nostrils. This stupid car smells like Peter.
I pull on the door handle, but it won’t budge. As I lift my gaze up, I realize Luca’s got his hand on it.
“Sorry,” he says in a hair-raisingly familiar voice—deep, calm, peaceful. “I called your name, but you didn’t hear me.”
“Oh, I didn't hear anything. Sorry. There was just too much going on,” I say.
It’s a lie, of course. I had my eyes on him, and I definitely heard him. I just didn’t think I could handle talking to him.
Now that he’s here, though, I don’t have a choice. I have to entertain him for a few minutes, at least.
“You’re really hard to get ahold of. I called the clinic a few times too, but nobody picked up,” Luca says.
To people who don’t know him, it may sound like a rebuke. But knowing Luca, I know this is just a statement of fact.
“We were closed,” I say. I stop myself from adding obviously.
“Yeah, I wasn’t . . . ” Luca’s eyelids lower as rain rolls down his head past his dark eyebrows and into his eyes. He slicks his rain-soaked hair back with his fingers. “I wasn’t expecting it to be open. I just wanted to talk to you.”
When Luca opens his eyes again, I see something I dread in them. He needs companionship, someone to share his grief with, and he thinks that person could be me.
He can’t be more wrong.
“Well, I’m here now.” I give him a polite smile as I let him stand in the rain, fully aware of the mixed messages I’m sending.
“How are you holding up?” Luca asks.
“I’ve had better days,” I say vaguely.
I don’t like crying in front of people, and I’ve already done that during the funeral, thanks to Luca. I’m not about to do an encore now, not with someone I haven’t even heard from in five years.
“You’re staying at the clinic?” he asks again, seemingly unaware that I’m not interested in having this conversation, no matter how hot he looks up close.
Standing right outside the car, his abs are pretty much at my eye level. Thanks to his wet shirt, I can see every line and every groove. He’s all lean mass and hard muscles. He’s always been a runner, and it shows.
“Yeah, it’s not like I have any other place to stay.” I smile wryly. “It’s still better than living with my mom.”
“You can stay at my place,” Luca says as water drips from his hair down to the ground, joining the other raindrops. “I mean, that clinic is no home.”
“Well, it was home for Peter, and for my dad before that. And seeing as I’ll be working there as well, the commute happens to be great. Very convenient location.”
“You can still make a joke. That’s a good sign.” Luca chuckles softly, although there’s no humor in his eyes. “That place is not safe for a young girl like you, though, especially since you’re on your own.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that maybe I like the fact that it’s not the safest place in the world. I know I’m being too self-destructive for my own good right now. But the last thing I need is for Luca to limit my movements and make me feel even worse.
“Honestly, thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine,” I say, in an attempt to stop him from asking more questions. Above all, what I need is solitude and the freedom to do whatever the hell I feel like doing.
“I’d argue that you’ve been gone for so long you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, but I know you’ll disagree.”
“Damn right I will,” I say with a cordial smile.
I don’t want this conversation to drag on, but it’s been a while since I talked to someone who knows me.
It’s exciting. Terrifying. It’s a thrill, especially because I’m trying to hide my plans from him. Maybe the destructive thing within me wants to be found out, after all.
But today’s not the day.
“You’re so much like Peter sometimes.” Luca’s jade-green eyes study my features, and for a second, it feels like he’s seeing someone else, although he’s looking right at me.
Luca’s not the first person to have told me I resemble my brother. We both had honey-brown hair. We both loved animals and had chosen to work as vets, following in our dad’s footsteps. We were both stubborn and independent. We didn’t care what people thought about us.
That’s probably why Mom was never too fond of us. We were both too similar to her ex-husband, to the point where she didn’t feel like we were hers.
That’s a good thing, b
y the way. My mom’s a terrible human being, and I’d die before I become like her.
“How long will you be in town for?” Luca asks yet another question.
“Forever, hopefully,” I say.
“You’re staying for good?” he asks with a mixture of surprise and something else . . . something I can’t decode. I can’t tell if he’s happy to hear the news.
“Yeah. I’ve always planned on coming back and helping Peter at the clinic, but . . .” I let my voice trail off as I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat, to no avail. I’d better not start crying again. “Well, I’m here now, and nobody else can run the clinic, so here I am.”
“I’m sure everyone will be happy to hear that.”
I notice he doesn’t say he’s happy to hear that. It shouldn’t matter, though.
We’re the only animal clinic in Ashbourne. Without us, pet owners would have to drive about one hour to the nearest town, Dewhurst, to see a vet.
“I hope so.” I nod.
For a moment, Luca and I look at each other wordlessly, me itching to turn on the ignition and drive away, him seemingly still unwilling to let me leave. With him standing there, I can’t even close the car door.
“Do you still have my number?” he asks.
“Yeah, if you haven’t changed it in five years.”
“I haven’t,” he says. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Most likely, though, I won’t.
I mean, don’t get me wrong; Luca’s sexy as sin. Even in this quiet little town, women ogle him, giggle around him, and slip him their numbers. I’m pretty sure a big portion of Luca’s clientele is just women wanting him to touch them, mark them with his tattoo gun, and maybe even fuck them.
I mean, I used to be one of those women—sort of.
But to get involved with him would be trouble. I don’t need the complications.
There are two things I need to focus on: run the clinic and indulge in my secret vice.
Luca can’t help me with either.
“I mean it. You can call me any time,” Luca repeats, as if he’s been reading my mind.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t think I’ll be needing a tattoo, though.”
Especially considering the last time he inked me, I ended up spread-eagle on the tattoo table with his face between my thighs.
“It doesn’t have to be for a tattoo,” he says so earnestly I feel bad about making that remark.
“I know.” I smile and deliberately let an awkward silence descend upon us, knowing Luca’s running out of questions to stall me. He was never very talkative.
“Do you want me to sleep at the clinic?” Luca asks, all of a sudden.
What? How am I supposed to do anything with his watchful eyes on me?
“Uh, no, that won’t be necessary.”
“It’s not safe, Sarah.” Luca’s voice loses its calm quality. He seems deeply concerned.
“What do you mean?”
“Things aren’t like they used to be five years ago. You can’t be too careful.”
“Have there been more crimes lately?” I ask.
Luca averts his gaze for a split second. “Something like that.”
Is that a lie he just came up with?
But why would he tell me a lie?
I can’t bring myself to believe that he’d lie just to get in my pants right after the funeral of my brother, who was also his best friend. Luca’s not like that. I get the feeling he’s worried about something.
“Can you be more detailed than that?” I ask.
Luca hesitates, his bulging muscles tensing as he pauses. Slowly, carefully, he says, “There’s been a problem with increased drug abuse lately, and the clinic has . . . some of the things those junkies want.”
Great. Just the cherry I need on top of my shit sundae.
“Of course it does.” I sigh. “We had a similar problem at this big animal hospital I worked at in the city. They had this security system that . . . Ah, I’m actually not sure how it worked myself, but there’s this company that installs security systems specifically to prevent theft in medical facilities.” I glance at my watch. “It’s pretty late in the afternoon. I’ll call them tomorrow.”
This is exactly what I need. A goal-oriented task with a measurable outcome.
I grab my phone and bend my head down to type a reminder to call the security company first thing in the morning. Cold, hard logic replaces messy emotions, and there’s order in the world once again.
“Luca, don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine,” I say, without taking my eyes off my phone. “I can take care of myself.”
“Are you sure?” he insists.
“Yeah.” I lift my gaze to meet his and give him a reassuring smile. I feel a lot better now. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to take care of at the clinic.”
Luca
“Luca, don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine,” she says. “I can take care of myself.”
As Sarah taps her short, unpainted fingernails on the screen of her smartphone, my gaze is drawn to the black dress that’s clinging to her body, tracing the curves of her seated form.
Nobody could accuse Sarah Ellis of causing scandal at her own brother’s funeral. Her dress is demure. Perfectly appropriate for a funeral.
And yet, I can see hints of the sexy body underneath, and that’s enough to fire up the neurons in my brain with excitement. My mind recalls a certain memory . . .
My rock-hard dick was drilling deep into her naked figure, which was bent over the faux-leather surface of my tattoo table. I wanted her to stop moaning before my neighbors started pounding on the door, demanding we put a stop to our dirty debauchery. I put one hand over her mouth to shut her up, but she sucked my thumb into her mouth instead, and . . . fuck.
I avert my eyes. I’m going to hell for this. It’s my best friend’s funeral, and here I am, ogling his hot sister.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She’s putting on that weird, fake smile again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to take care of at the clinic.”
A security system is the last thing I need. But it seems like there’s nothing I can do to change her mind.
“I’m sure you do,” I say, stepping aside to let her pull the car door shut.
Sarah appears different. Yes, she’s a full-fledged adult now and not the eighteen-year-old who left Ashbourne five years ago. But it’s not that.
She moves like water—not like these damn raindrops, but like a little, clear stream of water flowing serenely over mossy-green rocks, meandering gracefully around lush green fields. She has poise where there used to be self-doubt and awkwardness.
After turning on the ignition, she twists in her seat to wave me goodbye. Her long hair tumbles over her shoulders and somehow rearranges itself into yet another visually pleasant form. She’s just so . . . put together.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. She is a lot like her brother, but unlike him, she doesn’t appear to have given up on life.
I give her a nod, and she smiles before she drives away. I could be wrong, but she doesn’t seem too happy to see me.
I scratch my head.
Ah, women. I don’t know what I did to get her mad, or if she was mad at all. Maybe she blames me for how Peter acted in his last days. Or maybe she just plain doesn’t like me.
Sure, technically, I’m planning to commit a crime in her place of business (and home), but she doesn’t know that. As far as she knows, I’m just trying to look out for her.
I close my eyes, look up at the sky, and let fat drops of water pelt my face.
Don’t worry, Peter. I didn’t expect her to be an easy nut to crack. She’s your sister, after all. I’ll come up with something.
By the time I get home, it's dark.
My clothes no longer sweat rain when pressed, but everything’s damp. Almost automatically, I start toward the bathroom.
But as
I peer outside a window, I notice the skies have cleared. There's not even a drizzle, and the streets are quiet because everyone's huddling for warmth at home.
A deep longing jumps to the forefront of my mind and refuses to let go. My feet itch, and my leg muscles recoil in preparation for exertion.
Fuck it, I’m going running. I feel like shit, and that's the only thing that’ll help—if I rule out illegal substances, of course. It's been a while since I had some ecstasy. I’ll bet it wouldn't take much to make me feel like I’m on top of the world.
It's a tempting thought. I know exactly where and how to get any drugs I want.
But years ago, I decided to stop using drugs altogether. I don't even have weed in the house these days. And I limit my use of the three most beloved legal drugs in America: alcohol, nicotine, and caffeine.
I peel my black pants off my legs. It feels good to step out of them, and not just because they’re heavy and sticky with water. They just remind me too much of death. I literally never wear those pants other than to funerals.
Also, I’m usually more of a jeans-and-sweatpants guy. Luckily, I set my own dress code at my tattoo shop. I’d hate having to wear a business suit to work every day.
I take off my button-down black shirt—which I also never wear, except to funerals—and put on a pair of dry sweatpants. As I slip my feet into a pair of running shoes, my brain comes up with a good excuse to fuel my addiction.
The clinic’s a little out of the way, but that’s a good thing. On a shitty night like this, I need all the endorphins I can get. And the longer the distance I run, the more intense the natural high I get.
Also, I can check on Sarah while I’m there.
Two birds, meet my one stone.
The moment I open the door, the crisp night air fills my lungs with anticipation. My whole body tingles. I feel like a glutton at an all-you-can-eat restaurant. There’s so much for me to consume it’s almost overwhelming.
The clinic is three miles away. Six miles there and back. That’s going to take about half an hour at my usual speed. I expect runner’s high to hit toward the end of the run.
