Back to You (Don't Forget Me Book 2)

by Sia Wales

  “Ah.”

  I let the conversation fade to nothing. We both start looking around.

  “Anyway,” I begin again, hesitantly. “I meant, why did you call me Ella May?”

  Tyler seems confused. “Would you rather I called you Stella?”

  “No, Ella May is fine. I like it. But Scott, I mean your uncle, when he talks about me to other people. I think he calls me Stella. That’s all.” I try to explain, but feel like a total idiot.

  “It seems that everyone here knows you by that name except for me,” he replies.

  “In theory, I should remember you,” I begin, uneasily.

  “No, really,” he interrupts, “Don’t worry about it. Even if you were older than me.” He looks amused and offers me his hand.

  “Yeah, my head was probably somewhere in the clouds,” I reply, relieved, shaking his hand.

  “Right,” he laughs. “We’ve practically known each other since we were born. We used to go camping together in the summer. Then I lived with my mom in the Rockies in Wyoming, and you moved to Italy to Seborga with Monica’s family. I hoped I’d see you again one day,” he winks. He seems determined to wipe away all the lost years.

  As the minutes tick by, Tyler doesn’t talk about the party anymore and I start to relax.

  “You know, I haven’t seen you around in these past four years. Do you come to Medford often?” I ask, even though I can probably guess the answer. My right hand flickers involuntarily and he stares at the point on the index finger where J. bit it.

  “Not really,” he admits, distracted, his attention focused on my hand.

  “How come you’re here tonight?” I fake enthusiasm. “It’s a long way from Wyoming.”

  He smiles comprehendingly. “Would you believe me if I said that my uncle asked me to come to your anniversary party?”

  “Sure, I guess,” I sigh, patiently. “But why would Scott ask you to come here?” I’m not sure I really care to know. I can guess. Bryan recently left to work at The Rise in Boston, a bar on Stuart Street. I have just come out of the hospital and am about as full of life as a zombie. It’s been a lot for Scott to handle on his own. Tyler smiles cautiously and raises an eyebrow.

  “He thought it would be a good chance to spend some time together and to get to know you,” he says shyly, making air quotation marks. “I guess my old uncle needs a bit of a rest.” There is a trace of irony in his voice, as if he thought the exact opposite. I laugh along with him, indifferently.

  “Well, at least I hope you’re having a good time.”

  “Sure,” he says, looking around. “Weird scar there,” he spurts out, grabbing my wrist to examine it. He lightly fingers the wound on my skin with his warm fingers.

  “I know,” I mumble. I wait for the memory of how it happened to come over me, but, strangely enough, Tyler’s presence seems to hold me together.

  “How did you get it?” he asks cautiously, his finger circling the barely visible hole on my wrist. His skin burns hot as it touches mine.

  “Jeez, I can’t remember how I got all the scars I have,” I reply vaguely.

  As he moves his hand away, I reach out to touch it again. It is incredible how warm he is, and his body heat seems to have risen dramatically. But then he seems to be making fun of me.

  “You’re cold,” he sniggers. His face turns serious. It wasn’t a question. There’s a knowing in the way his eyes linger on me. I examine his face, suspiciously, then tear my gaze away and clear my throat.

  “So, have you seen anyone you like?” I nod toward a group of girls hanging around the stage.

  “No one yet,” Tyler admits awkwardly. “I’m with and old friend right now.” He lowers his eyes and then meets mine again. “For now that’s good enough for me.”

  “Jeez, Tyler, you’ve grown so much!”

  He breaks into another of his huge smiles. “Yep, I’m much taller than I was last time we saw each other. Over six feet, and skinny as a bean pole.”

  He’s bulked up, too. “How old are you now?”

  “I just turned 27.”

  “Really?” I reply, surprised. I didn’t think he was just a year younger than me. He must have been born in 1986. “I thought you were older.”

  “I’m taller than average,” he winks. Then his voice turns a little high-pitched. “So, do you like your car?” His breath-taking smile warms me like the sun warms the earth.

  “I love it!” I say, emphatically. “Even if I haven’t actually seen it.”

  “Myco,” he whispers.

  “Didn’t people used to call you Myco or something like that?”

  “You used to call me that when we were kids. I think it’s short for amico, the word for friend in Italian.”

  “No way!” I exclaim. “You’ve got a good memory.” I look at his golden eyes with an incredulous smile on my face.

  Scott’s less than graceful comings and goings behind the bar catch our eye and I can’t help but laugh out loud. He’s not used to being overworked like this. He seems more like a bull in a Wyoming china shop than a bar owner. The work pace at the bar is not usually frenetic, as it would be in a big city bar, so when The Pats gets over-run, he goes into automatic overdrive and the results are comical.

  “I’d better go give him a hand,” smiles Tyler. “See you around, Ella May.” He winks as he wanders toward the bar.

  It’s no effort to ignore the music. Even though my mind isn’t as fogged up as it has been lately, I’ve got too many thoughts in my head to try to follow the lyrics of the songs. Vuk’s return, Jeff’s arrival, Tyler’s appearance. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten, but my head is spinning and I dizzily make my way to the nearest table. I sit as I glance around, then I close my eyes and slide down further into seat, trying to relax.

  I hear a chair at a nearby table being pulled out, but keep my eyes closed in deep thought. Then someone sits at the table. Maybe Jeff forgot to say something earlier.

  The chair pulls up next to me and I feel an arm around the backrest of my seat before a hand touches my shoulders, which feels small and fragile under that touch. The smooth, cold hand awakens my skin with a caress, the long fingers sliding down to the hollow of my shoulder blade. I open my eyes and turn quickly. I muster my strength not to hyperventilate. It’s amazing to feel so electrified. But the charge seems to come from somewhere deep within him.

  Time has not made me immune to the perfection of that face, and I’m sure I could never take the godlike quality of his looks for granted. Against my predictions, Donn Brooks is sitting by my side, as fixed as a statue turned in my direction, wearing a dark suit and a gray tie, with the usual white shirt.

  I look up, stunned by his presence, and see his smile, so beautiful that it knocks me off my feet. But I also see caution and an expression of restraint on his face.

  “Looks like a long night ahead,” he says as he stretches out his long legs, making himself comfortable. He slowly moves closer to me.

  “How are you?” he whispers tenderly into my ear. His eyes search my face, the question being more than common courtesy.

  My excitement subsides a little and I shiver, as his sweet breath makes me a little dizzy. “Not great,” I confess. “But getting better.” I swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat.

  His eyes narrow slightly. “Really?”

  I nod automatically. It’s not really a lie, I always feel good when he’s around. Better than good.

  I feel as if I haven’t seen such a striking face in an eternity. I’m strangely pleased to be contemplating the perfect contours of his face. Donn curls his lips.

  “I’m glad,” he says. No, no, I can’t believe my thoughts. I’m embarrassed by what I’m thinking. But his voice melts me. It has the consistency of velvet. But I don’t understand if he’s replying to my question or my unspoken thoughts.

  I study his face, holding my breath, saving his eyes for last. I know that gazing at them for too long makes me speechless. They are intense�
�–a warm, liquid turquoise framed by thick lashes and hooded eyebrows. He’s staring at my face, his eyes narrowing a bit. Looking at him takes me to a place I’ve never been. I feel so lightheaded I can no longer feel the seat beneath me. My head spins, maybe because, once again, I have been holding my breath. He seems determined to break down any boundaries that exist between us. I tear my eyes away from his. They are too hypnotic, mesmerizing. I catch my breath back and whisper, “Donn.”

  His smile fades. He’s obviously wondering if I’m all there. His arm falls from my shoulder, he sighs dramatically and sinks deeper into his seat. His hand unexpectedly caresses my back again and he grips my shoulder with more conviction. I study the smooth, white skin of his neck where it meets his muscular, marble chest. Shivers pervade my whole being, and I blush. Donn notices, and I feel his lips widen into a smile on my neck, right below my ear. His hand squeezes mine and I try to pull mine away but he holds on. How can he be so persistent after I have turned him down so clearly?

  He rolls his eyes as if to answer my silent question. “Just wait a minute, Stella, please.” His calm tone stresses the final word.

  “What?” I ask bitterly, and wait for an answer.

  He leans over me and unfurls his perfect smile. “Am I mistaken, or are you still angry with me?” A sliver of torment is in his voice. I let all the accumulated tension in me melt away when he plants an icy kiss on my cheek.

  I can’t be upset on a night like this, the night of my party. But I don’t want to let my guard down.

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” I say, irritated. I just want him out of my life, now and forever.

  Donn stiffens and frowns. He throws me a surly, reproachful look. He knows to what I’m referring, even if I’m not sure what has changed since the last time we met. But Jason’s flower on my windowsill, the hope that he would return, has definitely voided any other option.

  “Don’t say that, baby girl,” he says soothingly, drawing out each word slowly. “You still feel something for me.” He tries to reason with me, as if this was an obvious conclusion, by stressing each word he says.

  “No!” I cry instinctively. Then I fall silent for a moment, a brief moment. “This is wrong,” I whisper, shaking my head.

  Donn keeps staring without a movement, he never takes his eyes off me. He’s sure that with time and effort he can change my mind, but I’m equally sure he’s way off track, although I know I could be convinced to give him another chance. I realize too late that he’s reading my mind.

  A hint of a smile appears on his perfect lips, but he backs off as he reflects on my hesitation.

  “Is that other guy still around?” he asks, even though he knows it’s better not to make any reference to him, or to mention his name. He knows things about me I have not yet revealed.

  He waits for my reply, scrutinizing my face.

  Even at that moment, as I begin a new year, any mention of Jason is salt being rubbed into my wounds.

  I gasp at the question, surprised, unable to respond.

  “You don’t have to talk about it today, if you don’t want to,” he suggests cautiously.

  Another blow, another kick in the teeth. He’s reading me again. But in the end, I nod, reassured.

  We stare at each other. We can talk now. The tension has almost melted away, but it still floats there, noticeably, in the air like a multicolored feather. Donn is probably the one in control, thanks to his special gifts. It’s as if he can manipulate the feelings of those around him every time he pleases. It’s an obvious advantage for him, a dangerous disadvantage for me.

  But, at that very moment, a more pressing thought distracts my mind from him.

  His eyes narrow, setting off a shiver down my spine. I notice something different about Donn’s face. His expression changes. His eyes widen for an instant, a rare sight on a man like him. His expression seems to be a cross between amusements and incredulity.

  I turn my eyes from his face. Something in his look tells me to avert my gaze. Probably a thin veil of impenetrability and resolve. I follow his gaze, which leads to Tyler.

  He takes in his tight gray t-shirt, his shabby jeans, and the stiff way he is leaning on the wooden bar. His face is a mask of serenity, a calm veneer for his emotions.

  Donn turns to me again with the same tense look on his face. “It seems that someone doesn’t like me getting too close to you,” he jokes, wearing a gratified smirk. Then he looks behind me and suddenly bursts out laughing.

  I smile in confusion. “What is it?”

  Donn keeps penetrating me with those eyes. “Your new little friend seems to think I’m not treating you right,” he replies caustically, patting my hand as he throws a surly grimace toward Tyler.

  “I don’t think so,” I reply, on the defensive.

  “He’s wondering whether or not to come and break up our little disagreement,” explains Donn, irritated. “He thinks we’re fighting.”

  “You’re wrong,” I retort, but suddenly I’m not so sure. I can almost feel Tyler’s eyes penetrating my back.

  “You think?” asks Donn, with certainty. “I think he’s mad at me for stealing you from your party. And there’s no certainty that I’ll be giving you back.” Jealousy flashes in his eyes. Then his expression changes suddenly to something more thoughtful.

  “He’ll survive,” I shrug.

  He flashes his crooked breathtaking smile. “At this moment, he hates me with all his heart.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “There’s no doubt about that look on his face,” explains Donn.

  I turn to look at Tyler, curiously. From the bar, he looks first at me, then at Donn. I have to agree with Donn. My old childhood friend is visibly tense. Then he looks at me again with searching eyes. I turn slowly to Donn.

  “He’s starting to get on my nerves,” he declares, his eyes becoming sharp knives. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he adds. All trace of good humor has gone.

  I swallow and take my eyes off his intense stare. Tyler is still behind the crowded bar, his face dark. I cannot tell whether Donn has realized that Scott is now also staring at him.

  Donn gives Tyler one last evil look before focusing on me as he smiles again, finally relaxed. But his less than friendly intentions still blaze through his eyes like a meteor through the night sky.

  I try to ignore him, but make the mistake of letting my eyes cross paths with his again. His magnetism confounds me.

  “You’re good at reading people,” I say, trying to break the tension. I see Tyler walk uncertainly to the end of the bar, searching in my face for an invitation to come over and join us. I just nod a reassuring smile at him, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Not usually,” Donn replies. “But you are too easy to read.”

  “My mother always says that it’s impossible to understand me.”

  “Not for me,” he says smiling, his eyes penetrating me once more. Charmed by his gaze, I smile back at him. The ebbs and flows of his crystal ice irises turn me to stone. The clarity of his gaze mesmerizes me, controls me.

  It’s impossible to doubt his words, so imbued with sincerity. He’s proved it on more than one occasion, each time showing his ability to read me even more deeply.

  “I can’t read anyone here or anywhere else,” Donn admits. “With one exception. You, baby.” He grabs my hand and studies my face. “And everything that you feel for me, I feel for you.” The warmth of his voice burns inside of me with overwhelming intensity.

  It’s not easy to know what to say. Should I risk deceiving him? I feel overcome by a strange sensation, as if he were putting my emotions to the test. I shake my head, confused.

  “How?”

  He looks pleased and his lips approach my ear.

  “I know you are happy to see me even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself.” He emphasizes every word, a trace of reproach in his voice.

  I look at his hand and try to take back my fingers, which he is determined
not to let go of.

  “As long as you’re not expecting anything else,” I whisper nervously. Take it or leave it.

  He smiles tenderly and pinches my hip with his free hand. “I guess this is enough … for today.”

  “Ok,” I mumble. “But don’t forget.”

  I lower my eyes uncomfortably. His hand is much colder than mine, even as I feel I ice water running through my veins.

  He lifts my chin delicately, so he can look me in the eyes. “That is if you like being with me? Well? Is it unpleasant to be with me?” He weaves his fingers through mine.

  “No,” I reply, and I’m not lying. It’s not an unpleasant sensation. How could being with him be unpleasant? I can’t deny it.

  That’s right, you can’t say it is!” Donn says, lighting up. “And I’m not giving up. I’ve got all the time in the world.” He squeezes my hand.

  This takes me by surprise, and something inside me explodes. It’s my deepest, darkest fantasy. And it hardly matters that what triggers it is Donn’s wicked desire to bring me to agree with whatever his heart desires. It’s also one of my most painful fantasies, after the one about Jason. It is part of a future that has slipped out of my hands forever, one that, in this past year, has never been within reach.

  I try to compose myself, but the pain I feel in my chest is my heart breaking just a little more. I take a deep breath and shake my head.

  “You shouldn’t waste it with me.”

  He’s willing to take me as I am. Damaged goods, with a complicated instruction manual.

  “It’s what I want,” Donn replies. “You’re not the one who is damaged goods, I am.” He jerks a thumb toward the bar counter. “And I don’t care what he thinks.”

  “I don’t suppose you do.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is what you want right now, and how.” He squeezes my hand again.

  “That’s my problem, right?”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” I suppress a laugh.