“I know it was.” I sighed, wishing we were on the same page, but knowing that this display of romance said something completely different.
“And I want everything with you to be perfect. So I brought it—the perfect night.” He crossed the four steps between us and wrapped his arm around my waist.
The smell of his cologne and mint gum invaded my space.
“Der, I’m really sorry about the other night, but—” Before I could protest, his lips landed on mine and his hands worked their way under my shirt. Tomorrow, neither of us would feel great when I didn’t return his affection. Maybe in some other world I could use him this way, but we had known each other too long, and I would always be in this place with him—not moving forward. I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to keep that promise to myself.
“Derek.” I shoved against him until I was out of his arm’s reach. “No.” I hated the confused look on his face. “We both agreed. It was the last time.”
He approached me. “But there’s something here. There’s always been a thing between us.”
If I told him I agreed we had great physical chemistry, it would only lead him on. He hadn’t read all the signals wrong. But it was too fucking confusing to sort that out.
I shook my head. “Derek, we have been friends forever.”
“Don’t give me that damn friend speech. I don’t want to be friends. I want to be with you.” His eyes blazed. “And you’re being stubborn about it as usual.”
“It’s not going to happen.” I crossed my arms. “I tried to tell you.” I realized then that I hadn’t done a good job of explaining my position. Every time I said no to him, it was accompanied by kisses. Kisses that led to other, hotter things. Shit. I could see how the guy was tangled up in the mess I had created.
“Nothing? You can honestly stand there and tell me you feel nothing?” His fingers reached for my neck, but I stepped away. The last time really had happened.
“I guess that’s my answer, isn’t it?” he whispered.
I didn’t recognize the look in his eyes. I had known him since we were kids and thought I knew every expression on his face. It hurt to see him look at me as if I were a criminal. The kind of criminal who picks up a knife and plunges it deep into someone’s heart.
“I am sorry. You know I care about you, don’t you?” I tried to explain.
This was the worst possible ending. I had to make him understand. I was trying to keep from hurting him more. He had to see that.
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “I don’t need to hear it. This probably has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with that.” He pointed at the guitar resting in its stand. I had dropped it there on my way through the door.
It was as if he had attacked my child. Protective instincts rushed through me, and I stepped a little closer to the instrument. I always thought Derek liked my songs. It didn’t occur to me until now that maybe he only listened to them so he could spend more time with me.
“You know what music means to me.” The realization that he might not understand or even like my music seemed like sudden betrayal.
“Yeah, I do. It means more than me, or any one else on this island,” he accused.
“You aren’t being fair. You know I could leave any day. I’m sending out songs every week. One of the labels is going to call me. I am leaving, and then what? You’re going to pick up your surfboard and follow me to Nashville or Austin? There’s no ocean in either of those places.”
“I took geography,” he snarled, leaning against the door. “You know there’s more to me than surfing and working at the store. There are things I want to do too.”
I studied him. I could name his favorite foods, his favorite bands, his beer of choice, but I had no idea anything else interested him. He was bluffing.
“Ok, then tell me. What do you want to do? Do you really want to pack up your life and leave Brees Island?” I had never asked because I didn’t need to. Derek was an open book. One that I had read repeatedly.
His groan filled the room. “No, I don’t want to leave. Why would I? Our families are here. The beach is here. Everyone we know is here. I wish you would stop thinking that you could be happier somewhere else.”
I folded my arms. “That’s what you don’t get. I have been happier somewhere else. I went to college. I went to grad school. I loved Carolina. Every single day I was in Chapel Hill was better than being stuck here. But you wouldn’t know anything about that since you refused to live life off this piece of sand.” I gritted my teeth.
He peeled away from the door. “I can’t believe you.”
“Der, don’t go like this. We shouldn’t be arguing about this stuff. It’s always been this way.” I pulled on his arm. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Believe me. I didn’t want this to happen. This is everything I tried to avoid.”
His eyes narrowed. “Crazy, because when you were begging me for it the other night, I thought you wanted me.”
I slapped him across the face harder than I meant to. It was the first time I had hit anyone. My palm stung.
His eyes dropped to the floor before he opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him.
I went straight to the kitchen and inhaled the glass of wine. Maybe it could soothe me again. I opened the sliding door and tucked my feet under me as I sank into the hammock. I didn’t know when they started, but the tears were there, running down my face like the rain.
Nine
Ben
“Hey, there.” Alice waved as she placed her beach chair ten feet from mine. “This spot taken?” she asked, pointing to the open patch of sand.
She proceeded to bend forward from her waist. Today’s suit was a one-piece leopard number with big ovals cut from the sides.
I pretended to adjust my hat. I didn’t want an accidental peep show of anything that belonged to Alice. It was clearly her intention. In the past two weeks, she had worn every skimpy outfit imaginable, and I didn’t know how much more I could take.
“No, it’s free.” I limited my smile. It was one of my new habits on Brees Island.
If I smiled too much, someone might recognize my magazine-selling grin. I was certain a couple at the gas station had recognized me yesterday. They whispered nonstop while I filled the Jeep, but I kept my head down and my smiles short. Eventually, they had driven off in the direction of the ferry, and I knew I had stolen another day of freedom. So far, the paparazzi hadn’t descended upon me.
But that’s how the days were. Each one could be my last here.
“Good. I love this part of the beach.” She wiggled her bottom into the striped chair. “Want a chip?” She extended a bag in my direction.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You probably don’t eat stuff like this. Not with a body like that.” She pulled her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose.
I hated when she looked at me like that. “Well, I try to eat healthy.” I reached into my cooler, pulled out a beer, and twisted the top off. Maybe a few of these would help drown out her chitter-chatter.
“I saw you running this morning. What kind of workouts do you do?” she asked. She stuffed the foil pack of chips into her beach bag. “Do you need a workout buddy? I love running.”
I swallowed hard on the beer. I wanted to tell her to give up. I wasn’t going anywhere near the Pirate’s Booty or her. She had invited me over for drinks and dinner almost every night. I was running out of excuses.
“No thanks, ma’am. I like to do things on my own.” I dug a hole in the sand with my feet. The surf rushed in and filled the hole as if my heel had never moved the sand.
“Well, that’s too bad. Let me know if you ever need help, you know, with the workout.” She giggled.
“Will do.” I pulled my hat farther over my eyes and reclined in the chair. I didn’t have to talk to her if I was asleep.
It could have been two or three hours since I had drifted off. Sleep came a lot easier now. I didn’t bother with clocks anym
ore. My cheeks prickled with the first signs of sunburn. I swatted at a fly.
“Fuck,” I mumbled as I caught myself from tipping over onto the sand.
I looked over my left shoulder. Alice was gone. I was grateful for that. I flipped the lid on the cooler and reached into the container that was now more water than ice. I twisted the top off an icy bottle and chugged until it was empty.
The water was flat today and calmer than I remembered seeing it in the past two weeks. Usually surfers dotted the break line, but with quiet waves, I noticed a few kayaks floating close by.
Since I had moved into the Sand Dollar, I had managed to get an even brown tan, drink as much as I had in college, and remain completely anonymous as Jake, the writer from Georgia. I chuckled, knowing that so little had never been accomplished in two weeks. It took real effort to do nothing, and of that, I was prouder than hell.
I rubbed the scruff that had grown on my face. I had never had this much facial hair before. There were always actors who had to grow beards for roles or dye their hair, but my bankability was in my face. It was never a request I had to fulfill. Maybe next film. As soon as the thought entered my mind, my chest tightened and it felt like shards of glass had slipped under my ribcage. I struggled to push them out. No, no more films. It’s not happening.
I fished in the cooler for another beer. A fiddler crab waved its large claw near my toe before scurrying sideways into an open hole in the sand.
There was something settling about the beach. The longer I watched each wave roll toward me, unfurling in a smooth flutter over the bank of broken shells, the longer I wanted to stay and do nothing more.
Ten
Chelsea
“Derek, I didn’t hear the answer. Was Chelsea late this morning?” My dad peered at Derek. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand.
I tied the apron behind my waist and waited for the truth to be revealed. Of course I wasn’t on time. I was never on time. It was 5:45 in the fucking morning.
Derek gripped the broom handle tightly. His knuckles were white where they should have been flesh-colored.
“Dad, stop. Just stop.” I couldn’t stand the torture anymore.
He looked down the brim of his nose at me. “I was speaking to Derek.”
“Right, but he doesn’t need to answer for me. I was late, ok? I was not here at five thirty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Derek swept a path near the employee hallway.
“That fifteen minutes is coming out of your check or you’re staying late today.” Hayden Davis stood and observed the morning routine in his store, like he was a king. My dad was the farthest thing from a king.
“Whatever.” I huffed my way to the register. I watched him sip on the coffee. I wished it would burn his tongue.
“We can talk about this later, Chelsea. Derek doesn’t need to hear your tantrums.”
I clenched my fists as I popped open the register to count the till for the morning. He was condescending, insulting, patronizing, and my father. I would do anything to try to get through each encounter.
For the most part, I avoided him. If he walked in the front door, I walked out the back. If he needed help in the coolers, I raced to the kayak stand on the docks. If inventory in the storage room needed to be counted, I volunteered to run the register at the front. I calculated every way possible that I could be in the same store but not within earshot or sight of him.
Despite his failure to acknowledge I wasn’t ten years old anymore, there was a time when I loved being around my father. We used to close the store together, grab ice cream, and plot how we could get Mom to stop making that awful crab casserole. Or on slick days we would take the clam rakes out to the cove and load up the boat with a fresh haul. Days at the store and on the docks were a part of my life—a part of being Chelsea Davis.
But, three months ago, everything changed.
I heard it. I heard every scream and rhythmic thump. I heard a woman call out my father’s name. Then I saw Eileen Meeks leave my father’s office—hair in a rat’s nest, blouse half-buttoned, and her cheeks redder than Hester Prynne’s scarlet letter.
I panicked. Ran. Threw up in the women’s bathroom. I clung to the toilet until the heaving stopped. No one knew I was there, and Eileen hadn’t spotted me on her way out of the office. When I was certain I could stand without shaking so much, I washed my face and sprinted out of the ladies’ room and right into Derek.
“Chelsea? Did you hear me?” My father hadn’t moved from his spot.
“Yes, I heard you. I’m trying to count the register.” The quicker I started working, the quicker he might actually leave me alone.
“All right.” He sighed. “I’m headed to my office for the morning. I’ve got reports to run.”
I rolled my eyes as I counted out a stack of ones. I had forgotten it was Monday, and that meant my father would be in the store for the first part of the day. It was really the only time during the week when I had to interact with him.
“Have a nice day, sir,” Derek called from the corner of the store.
Once my father turned the corner, I couldn’t hold back. “Seriously, Der. Have a nice day? What is wrong with you?” I hissed.
“He’s my boss, Chelsea. Or do you still think the world revolves around you? Just because you hate him, doesn’t mean I have to.” He reached down with the dustpan and scooped up a pile of yesterday’s dirt.
I rushed from the register to face him. “What did you say?” This morning was progressively getting worse.
He straightened his stance, brushing the hair off his forehead. “Just leave it alone. We’ve got work to do.”
“Work? You think I can work with you glaring at me every chance you get? Now you’re teaming up with my dad like you two are best buddies? You know what he did—what he’s doing. You are the only person I’ve ever told.” I sucked in a big breath of air. “This isn’t work. This is torture.”
I walked back to the register as I heard the jingle of the door. The early customers had arrived for their morning coffee and donuts. Quickly, I tallied the money in the drawer and returned it to its slot. Derek had disappeared. Good, I thought. We needed more distance between us.
It was almost impossible to be in the same room with him since our falling out almost two weeks ago. No more smiles, jokes, or flirty banter. It was like the history we had never existed. I knew I destroyed it the minute I let him kiss me. Regret was an awful roommate who had moved in the night I kicked Derek out, and like terrible roommates, it made everything messy and awkward.
Eleven
Ben
I stared at the phone. It didn’t ring as much as it had when I first arrived, but that was because I had talked to everyone but her. They all knew I was hiding out. Except for a few extra calls from Rick, my team seemed to respect my decision to take some time off. What they didn’t realize was that the time off wasn’t temporary.
I watched the steam swirl from the coffee cup and glanced back at the phone. When I woke up this morning, I hadn’t even thought about her. But once I settled into the camper’s red vinyl booth, she was all I could think about. I knew it was time. I opened the missed calls on my screen and tapped her name. It was at the top.
“Ben? Oh my God, Ben.” Her voice was frantic.
“Hey.” I sipped my coffee. I felt steady and calm, something I wasn’t expecting when I heard her voice on the other end of the phone.
“I’ve tried to call and I left messages and texts. Why didn’t you answer any of them? It’s been two weeks.”
The waves rolled onto the shore. These questions were bound to come up. I knew she would have tons of them along with excuses. “Because, Rebecca, I didn’t feel like talking.”
Words tumbled from her mouth. “I know you saw the pictures. And it was a mistake. I promise. Nothing else happened. I was in Hawaii, we had all this down time, and it didn’t mean anything. I swear, Ben. I didn’t know the paps were following me.”
I
found that hard to believe. When wasn’t she picture ready? Her explanations didn’t matter. I needed to get this over with.
“What you need to know is that I’m not mad at you. That’s not why I called.” I was already going off script. I had a planned speech, but given the circumstances, it seemed kind of stupid to use.
“But you don’t sound like yourself. I totally get why you’d be mad at me. You have to know the whole thing is a mis—”
“Becs, would you just listen?” I cut her off more harshly than I intended.
“Ok, ok, why did you call? I’m listening.” She exhaled into the phone. I knew her full lips were pouting wherever she was.
“I called to tell you I’m sorry. Sorry about everything that happened.”
“What? I-I don’t understand.” Her voice slowed.
I couldn’t expect her to know the layers behind my words. She hadn’t been along for my soul-searching journey.
“I can’t blame you for spending time with someone else when I wasn’t around. Ever. I checked out a long time ago, Becs. That wasn’t your fault.”
“But you were around. It is my fault. Totally my fault. I’m sorry you saw the pictures. Can we just talk in person? I’ll come to wherever you are. Let’s just talk about this. Please, Ben.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea, darlin’.”
If I even considered trying to put the relationship together again, it was always going to end up this way. I wasn’t in love with her, and I knew it was because I had never given her the time or the chance she deserved. Now with the pictures and the headlines, I wouldn’t be able to get past it long enough for a do-over.
“Now I’m really confused.” She sounded shaky.
I thought about the time we spent together. How the only reason we dated was to play up the romance in Wanted during the premiere month. Both of our publicists had pushed the idea. It was supposed to end there, but we had fallen into a pattern of going out together, posing for pictures, eating in hot-spot restaurants, and spurring the paparazzi frenzy until we couldn’t have pizza delivered without suspecting the pizza guy had a camera in the box. It was a relationship created to fuel our careers, and it had put us both in a fishbowl we couldn’t swim out of. The only difference was that Rebecca thrived in the fishbowl. She loved every flashing camera and autograph request. I only wanted to get a cup of coffee without women tearing at my jacket or giggling profusely when I said hello. It was all too much.
Double Mountain Trouble: A MFM Menage Romance Page 55
