“Yeah, see ya.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks away and my heart aches a little at what Celia’s lost. Maybe Brice would’ve one day been my brother-in-law. He and my sister really would have the cutest babies. I’m strangled in sadness at the thought of Cece losing her chance to be a mother, a wife, a grandmother—life is so fucking unfair.
Afraid I’m going to start crying, I turn to head back to Celia’s cottage when I see Mrs. Jones staring over at Aden’s uncle’s place.
For a split second I panic thinking she’s staring over there because Aden is there, but from a quick glance I see the place is still dark and looks just as abandoned as it did before. “Everything okay?”
She eyes Cal’s cottage, her arms shaking with the effort. “Oh, yes, hi there, I’ve been trying to call Aden, there’s something wrong with my television.”
“I haven’t seen him.”
She frowns, the wrinkles around her mouth intensifying. “Oh, dear. He’s not answering my calls.”
I try to ignore the sinking in my chest at the reason Aden wouldn’t be answering his phone and cross the few yards that separate our front steps. “Maybe I can help?”
Her white hair is curled to perfection around her face, but when she turns to look at the cottage again I see the back is completely flat, probably the result of sitting in a high-back chair. Her hand is curled around the banister, her thin skin showcasing blue protruding veins as she braces her weight as best she can. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s not a bother at all. As a matter of fact, I could use something to do.” Anything that’ll take my mind off worrying about Jenkins and obsessing over Aden’s brushoff.
She grins and struggles to get herself turned around so I hop up and loop my arm under hers for support. “Thank you.”
I push open the door with my free hand and guide the woman into the living space of the small cottage. It doesn’t look any different than the others except for the décor that speaks of a long life lived in the tiny house.
“I don’t know what happened, it just stopped working.” She pats my hand and I release her to sit in an oversized chair that’s just feet in front of an old television.
“I’m sure it’s something I can figure out.” The screen on her TV has the green, red, and blue bars on it. I pick up the remote on the food tray to the side of her chair.
She grunts as she adjusts in the well-used and sagging seat. Her eyes almost disappear under her paper-like skin. “How’s everything going over there?”
Other than the fact that I’m living my sister’s life and screwing everything up by falling for a guy who doesn’t know who I really am? “Pretty good.”
“I don’t mean to pry.” She waves me off. “Mind your own business, Mary.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind.” I try not to stare, but can smell the sickly-sweet stench of rotting food from her messy kitchen. “Mary?” I kneel down to look her in the eye. “I’m trying to kill some time and I’d be happy to clean up a little around here if you’d be okay with that?”
Her blue eyes twinkle as if my offer is making her emotional, but there’s a hint of embarrassment there too. “That’s not necessary. You have more important things to do than tidy up after an old woman.”
“I really don’t. What I do have is a killer sense for organization and cleaning is my drug of choice.” I turn toward the TV and click through the channels manually, getting snow and static on every one. “You’d be doing me a huge favor.”
“That’s sweet, but you— Oh! You fixed it!” She grasps the remote and hits the buttons with a bony finger.
“I think you must’ve accidentally changed the channel on the television rather than the cable box.” I push up and pat her on the shoulder. “I do it all the time.”
I move into her kitchen, noting that she didn’t really give me permission to tidy up but I’ll go ahead and start and see how far I get before she tells me to stop. As it turns out, Mary has a family member that drops in once a week with groceries and clearly hasn’t realized just how bad off she is because there’s a ton of food to make anything from lasagna to tacos, but the only proof that she’s even eating is a trash can full of frozen dinner boxes.
After I finish the dishes, disinfect the counters and sink, and mop the floor, we’ve watched the evening news and an episode of Dick Van Dyke on some vintage rewind channel. Mary seems to have forgotten I’m even here as she dozes off and on in front of the TV. I throw together lasagna and while it cooks I sit in a metal folding chair watching Leave It to Beaver to the tune of Mary snoring.
I check my phone obsessively for missed calls, but outside of a few texts from my assistant back home there’s nothing. When the buzzer sounds that the lasagna is done, I pull it out and head to Celia’s for small Tupperware so I can divide the dish into single serving pieces and pop them in the fridge. It’s just after eight o’clock when I run out of things to occupy me at Mary’s. I place a slice of lasagna on her table along with a fresh glass of water and gently wake her.
She blinks and after a moment her eyes take focus on me. “Celia, I’m so sorry. Did I miss the end of Dick Van Dyke?”
I grin at the worry I hear in her voice. “You did, but it didn’t come as a surprise that they weren’t actually married so they decided to go get married that night but couldn’t because they didn’t have a babysitter.”
“Oh, dear . . .” She giggles.
“I’m sure they’ll rerun it.”
She spots the food. “You cooked?”
“I hope that’s okay. I put the rest in your fridge. You should have enough for a few more dinners and some lunches.”
“Smells delicious.” Her shaky hand grabs the fork to dive in. “Won’t you join me?”
“I can’t. It’s getting late and I have to finish up at my sis . . .” I clear my throat. “Have some things to finish up at home.”
She takes one small bite and exhales out her nose. “This is good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I cross to the door. “Thanks for helping me kill some time.”
“Thank you, honey.” She doesn’t even look at me, but continues to stuff her fork with lasagna. “Such a treat.”
“If you need anything I’ll be right next door, Mary.”
I head out into the night and because there isn’t a cloud in the sky, the moon paints a path of light over the ocean so solid it almost looks as if it could be walked on.
As I’m heading up the stairs to Celia’s place my phone buzzes in my pocket. My heart leaps in my chest when I see it’s from my mom. Not Aden.
“Hey, Mom.”
“What happened, you sound exhausted?”
I slump onto the bed and blow out a long breath. “Nothing. I’m just about finished here. I think I’ll be able to get home in the next couple days as long as the movers can pick this stuff up.”
“Not a day too soon.”
I squint at the weird tone of my mom’s voice. “What do you mean?”
She huffs out a breath in a way that makes me think she’s trying to choose her words wisely. My pulse instantly pounds. “Celia’s vision is getting worse. I don’t know, I’m just worried.”
“I talked to her the other day. She said she was fine, that she felt better than she has in months.” Leave it to my mom to overreact and see things that aren’t there.
“She puts on a show for you—”
“Mom.” I sit up. “Celia doesn’t fake it for anyone, least of all me. She’s fine.”
“Sawyer—”
“Can I talk to her?” She’ll prove my mom wrong, and once I tell her Mom’s freaking out she’ll say something to make us all laugh and set Mom’s mind at ease.
“She’s sleeping.”
“Oh, well, I’ll call her tomorrow and check in, but I’m sure you’re blowing this out of proportion. You said the meds make her tired, and she’s probably bored out of her mind being stuck in bed all day.” There’s a throb
bing in my neck that matches my beating heart. “Have you thought about getting her out of the house? Maybe if everyone stopped treating her like she was already dead she’d start feeling like she had more to live for.” I’m practically seething now, the combination of worry for Jenkins, Aden’s rejection, my mom’s overprotective doting, and I can’t hear Cece’s voice to see if she’s okay and it has me wanting to punch something. And I’m not a violent person.
Ever.
“Sawyer, just finish up soon and get home, okay?”
I grip the phone so tightly I’m afraid it’ll crack. “That’s the plan.”
We say goodbye and I lie there for a few minutes wondering what the hell just happened. I’m spinning out of control and can’t seem to find a level head.
I want to talk to Aden. He’s been through so much, experienced loss, he’d know exactly what to say to help me deal with this, if only I could tell him the truth and lean on his strength. But I know if he knew the truth he’d hate me.
Still, just being around him would be enough. He makes me forget all I’m not and all I’m pretending to be. With him I’m someone different, not Celia or Sawyer, but just . . . me.
I’ve never missed a man this much.
Why won’t he just call!
I toss the phone to the rickety bedside table followed by the sound of something small hitting the hardwood floor. I push up on my elbow and right there staring up at me like an omen from my sister is that damn quarter.
Heads up.
Call him.
“I can’t call him,” I whisper to no one. “I’ll seem desperate.”
You are.
Am not!
For him, you most certainly are!
I sit up and stare at the coin. I chew my lip and grab my phone. If I call him he could just ignore it. Even Mary mentioned he’s not answering his phone.
I could just show up at the marina.
Jenkins was my friend too.
It wouldn’t seem weird for me to check in on him to see if he’s okay.
I swipe the coin and with a deep breath I toss it in the air.
It hits the ground with a loud thump behind me as I head out the door to confront Aden.
EIGHTEEN
SAWYER
The marina is dark except for a few lights shining on the dock and a handful of boats that are occupied and lit by their inhabitants. The gate is locked, as always, but it doesn’t keep me from gripping the cold steel and squinting to see if I can catch movement on the Nauti Nancy. A soft light in the back is on, but other than that the windows are dark. I dart my eyes to Jenkins’s sailboat and it is completely black with no sign of life. I pray that’s not an indication of its owner, and hope that he’s just in the hospital recovering.
The not knowing his condition is what’s making me crazy. How could Aden not let me know how he’s doing? I was the one who found him passed out for fuck’s sakes. The madder I get, the tighter my grip is on the gate. I deserve to know what’s going on! And fuck him for thinking I’d just walk away when he’s done with me.
I shove off from my snooping and plop on a bench that’s shrouded in shadows to wait for someone to open the gate. I’ll storm in and demand answers if that’s what I have to do.
My muscles quake, and even though it’s chillier tonight than the last few nights, I don’t think it’s from the cold. Jenkins could be dead. His last hour on this earth could’ve been spent in my arms and Aden didn’t even give me the courtesy of a phone call!
Time passes and as the temperature drops the heat of my anger increases. I cross my arms over my chest, my foot tapping frantically against the concrete. Every time someone passes matching Aden’s description I glare until my temples throb, sending even the manliest men to the far side of the sidewalk. Couples hand in hand, people walking their dogs, the occasional jogger, all of them pass and still no Aden.
It’s after one in the morning, my butt is numb from sitting, and I’m contemplating the possibility that he may not show up tonight. Where else could he be? I shove away thoughts of him with another woman when the door to a nearby bar swings open. Music pours out along with a man and a woman. She’s talking fast but I’m too far away to hear exactly what she’s saying. A drunken lover’s quarrel? Hidden in the dark I watch as she pleads with the man for something and when he finally gives in she ducks under his arm and they head toward me.
As they get closer there’s something familiar about the man, the way he holds his shoulders and his gait that stiffens my spine.
Then I hear him mumbling. It’s deep and dark, a voice I’ve come to know all too well.
“I told you I’m fine, Syd.” He releases the girl and she seems disappointed. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Colt, wait.”
He stills and drops his chin.
“If you need to talk—”
“No.” He shakes his head and I’m immobile watching this all unfold before me and hoping to God I don’t end up seeing something I can’t unsee. “I already told you—”
“I know. Just . . . I’m here if you need me.” The woman, Syd, turns and disappears back into the bar.
He nods and passes right by me as he stumbles up to the gate.
But seeing him brings all my nerves to life.
Feelings explode behind my ribs—anger, hurt, sympathy, as well as something deeper that I wish I understood.
He punches in a code and his big body sways like his boat on the open sea. I stand silently, holding my breath and ready to catch the gate once he passes through it.
He freezes.
His shoulders square.
Spine straight.
It’s as if every bit of booze he’d ingested has dissolved instantly. He doesn’t move a muscle and neither do I. “I know you’re there.”
My eyes dart around us, trying to figure out whether or not he’s talking to me or some drunken figment of his imagination.
“I can smell you.”
I warm as his words roll over my skin like a sweet seduction. God, what is wrong with me?
He drops his chin to his chest. “Why are you here, Celia?” He still doesn’t turn to look at me, so I approach slowly. “Stop!”
My feet grind to a halt. “Aden—”
“Leave. I don’t want you here.”
His words slice through my chest. What he’s saying might be true, but I can’t overcome the urge to comfort him. I move with my hand out to soothe him with a touch.
He spins on me faster than I’d think possible for someone in his state. “Never come at me from behind, understand?! Especially when I’m drunk.” He’s growling he’s so angry.
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
With his face under the light it looks like he hasn’t shaved or showered since yesterday. His eyes are masked under the shadow of his strong brow so I can’t tell how he feels at seeing me. With a slight tilt of his head I feel his eyes run the length of my body and I wrap my arms around my waist. “How long have you been out here?”
“Not long.” Lie.
“It’s the middle of the fucking night, Celia.” He runs a frustrated hand over his hair. “What do you want?”
I lick my lips, nerves pricking my skin, but I move a step or two closer until he jerks his head for me to stop. “You never called.”
His gaze tangles with mine and now I can see the war that wages behind his eyes.
“You told me you’d call. I’ve been worried about Jenkins and wondering if—”
“He’s dead.”
I gasp and stumble back a step. Dead. “No . . . when?”
“On the way to the hospital. They couldn’t revive him. He had a massive embolism.”
My jaw is so tight it hurts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He doesn’t answer, but only stares with a blank expression that makes him look inhuman.
“He died and you didn’t tell me! Why?” My voice cracks with the force of my anger and sadness that I lost a . . . well, a friend.
&n
bsp; “Go home, Celia.” He turns to head through the gate.
Panicked, I grab his bicep.
He whirls, grips my forearm. “What did I fucking say about that, huh? I don’t want to hurt you . . .” Anymore is unspoken but communicated through the regret that shines in his eyes.
My chest rises and falls faster and faster. My head gets light with the hold Aden has on me along with his hot whiskey breath panting against my neck and the news that Jenkins’s last hour on this earth was spent in my hands.
“If you hadn’t . . .” I choke on emotion as it bubbles up in my chest. “Made me go on that kayak.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” He pulls me close enough to get my full attention. As if he didn’t already have it. “You think I don’t blame myself?”
I let out a cry and he must think it’s from his grip on me because he releases me and puts distance between us. My knees fail to hold me up and I drop, cradling my head in my hands. God, what is happening to me? Why does it feel like my chest is being ripped in two? Tears burn my eyes and my throat tightens with emotion. I just don’t know why. The logical side of me tries to convince me that Jenkins was old, that he’d lived his life, that this kind of death sneaks in when it’s least expected and no amount of medical intervention could’ve saved him.
But none of that helps.
Because it’s not so much Jenkins’s death that hurts.
It’s the thought that Aden is hurting and he’s thrown up some kind of impenetrable wall between us.
I’ve been nothing more than some plaything that he can cast aside without concern when he’s become so much more to me.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” The mumbled words fall from my lips. I wasn’t supposed to become attached. I wasn’t supposed to get close enough to get hurt.
ADEN
This is exactly why I didn’t tell Celia that Jenkins died.
By the time I’d gotten to the hospital it was too late to even say goodbye. I waited as they pumped his chest, shocked him with enough volts of electricity to light the whole city, but he never responded.
Wrecked Page 21
