Watermark (The Emerald Series Book 3)

by James, Kimberly

  “Four.”

  “It’s happened four times?” he asked in an incredulous tone, rearing off the bench. Luna went completely still at the sound of his raised voice.

  “Yes.” I felt the release of an unseen pressure with the admission. When I took a deep breath, the air flowed unfettered. Maybe it had been bothering me more than I was willing to admit.

  “That sounds like more than a prank. Someone is deliberately harassing you.”

  I shrugged again because I couldn’t argue with that. I’d avoided analyzing it too much. If Jamie hadn’t been what he was, maybe I could ignore it. But it did seem unusually cruel. Michael couldn’t know that part of it. Or maybe he did. I wondered if the fact that Jamie wasn’t exactly human was part of the stuff he’d heard.

  “Don’t say anything. I told you and for now that’s it. My dad would freak out if he knew.”

  Michael opened his mouth as if to mount a protest, but promptly shut it in response to my pointed look.

  “I mean, he would probably ground me, not let me go anywhere. No school. No dates. Nothing.” I let that sink in for just a few seconds.

  “Fine. But Erin, if it happens again…”

  “You’ll be the first to know, and I’ll decide from there what needs to be done, if anything. Understand?” I may not have inherited my dad's eyes, but I did inherit "the look." The one that commanded obedience. The one that said resistance was futile.

  “Yes ma’am.” His mouth quirked on one side as he tried to hide a smile. His hand slipped over the bench, finding mine, his fingers warm against my skin.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice too breathy to pretend the touch of his hand and the caress of his eyes didn’t produce pleasantly tangled and unwanted feelings. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and it felt as if he’d already done it. Put his lips there.

  “You can’t kiss me yet.” I pulled my hand free. Yet? What was I saying? That was tantamount to an invitation.

  “Why do I feel like I need to hurry things with you? Like we don’t have much time.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. Despite myself, I added in a flirty tone, “I’ll be here all year.”

  “Good.” He stood up and grabbed my hand, helping me to my feet. He let go as we walked back up the winding boardwalk.

  Monarch butterflies flittered around the scrub oaks, lighting with quick touches on the branches stubbed with tiny green leaves. Neither of us were in much of a hurry.

  “So what time should I pick you up Friday? We’re still on, right?”

  “Seven?” We reached for my door handle at the same time. I stepped back, letting him pull the door open. “I should probably warn you about my dad.”

  “What about your dad?” He eyed me suspiciously, seemingly aware of the barriers I kept trying to throw up between us. This was the last one I had.

  “Well, he’s kind of like a real life badass. Ex-military, Special Ops. Shit like that.”

  He looked at me as though he was trying to decide whether I was serious. I totally was.

  “So you’re saying he’s like that dad from the movie Taken?”

  “Pretty much.” I scooted onto my seat.

  He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that rolled out of his chest and filled the interior of my Tahoe with sheer pleasantness.

  “Somehow I’m not surprised,” he said, closing the door behind me. I was under the impression our date had already started. Maybe it had started the first day of school when he’d held the door open for me and every time since then.

  “Just giving you a heads up,” I said when he climbed inside.

  “Why? You worried I’m not going to make a good impression?” He leaned his elbow on the open window. Nothing I’d said had seemed to faze him in the least.

  “No,” I said emphatically. “Getting past my dad is your problem.”

  “Put your mind at ease. I’m very skilled with dads.”

  * * *

  I dreamed of him again. With the sunlight came the ability to keep thoughts of him locked safely away in that secret place in my heart that I didn’t even know the way into. But when night came, and sleep with it, sometimes that secret place opened on its own, and I was forced to remember. To feel. The dream fooled me this time. It was Michael beside me. It was Michael’s lips pressed to mine, and his lazy, confident smile that made my heart flutter in response. For the space of a few beats of my heart it felt good.

  And then I heard it, coming from so far away I could almost ignore it. The crying grew louder, and my blood turned to ice. My heart took up a slow thudding beat, spreading the cold into my arms and legs. The cold made my heart hurt and my head pound. When I pulled away from Michael’s sweet kiss, it was no longer Michael’s face looking down at me. It was a different pair of eyes. Green eyes, so familiar and brimming with accusation.

  No. No. No. It’s not my fault.

  Crying filled my ears. It was her. My baby girl. Her soft mewling sapped all my strength. I curled into a tight ball, intent on escape. I wanted to cry myself because I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t help her. She was crying for me, and I couldn’t help her.

  I wrestled against the dream trying to wake up. My eyes refused to open. I couldn’t escape the feeling of Jamie’s crushing weight on top of me. I shrank in on myself.

  Leave me alone. Let me go.

  I jerked awake. Sweat trickled down my jaw and plopped on the covers. My chest heaved. I searched my room, imaging those green eyes in every dark shadow.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered into my empty room.

  7

  I was purposefully running late.

  It had been twenty minutes since the doorbell rang and I heard my dad’s gravely voice invite Michael inside. Methodically applying a coat of mascara, I imagined the interrogation Michael was being forced to endure. I didn’t know where this need to torture Michael came from, figuring if a guy was willing to put up with my dad’s pit bull tendencies, he was worth going out with.

  My hair hung loose around my shoulders, falling in big fat curls. Skinny jeans cuffed over my favorite suede heels boosted me an extra three inches, and a boat neck top with sheer draping sleeves made me feel like a butterfly. I applied another smear of lip gloss then headed down the stairs to rescue Michael.

  The scene that unfolded in the kitchen wasn’t what I expected—no water boarding, no missing fingernails or teeth, no begging for mercy.

  They sat casually at the kitchen counter. My dad clutched a beer and listened to an animated Michael recount a three-point buzzer beater to win the game. My dad was enthralled. No raised hackles. No warning growls coming from deep in his throat. I rolled my eyes and contemplated banging my head against the door frame. My one last defense against Michael evaporated in the affirmative nod of my dad’s head. He liked the guy. He wasn’t even wearing his gun. He always wore his gun when boys were involved, especially when boys were involved.

  It was nice though—seeing my dad smile, enjoying himself, reliving the glory days with my date.

  Date. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been on a date. With Jamie from the very first it had been so much more. I never considered us dating. From that first kiss it had simply been forever.

  I cleared my throat. They looked up at the same time, wearing the same rapt expression. Michael’s mouth dropped open, satisfyingly. I didn’t exactly go to school dressed like a bum, but I had taken the time to wand my hair, and I definitely had the smokey eye going.

  “Sh—" Michael slipped off the stool and slid his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “I mean, wow. You look really hot.” He was blushing and obviously flustered, and his eyes widened as if he’d just realized what he’d said. He looked askance at my dad, but my dad looked more amused than offended. “I meant that respectfully, sir.”

  “Thanks,” I said and walked fully into the kitchen. “Do you mind a change of plans?”

  “Okay.” Michael’s weight altered from one foot to the other, eyes darting between me and my dad as if I’d
posed some kind of test and he might get the answer wrong. “I’m up for anything.” His blush deepened. “Well, not anything. Nothing illegal. Or immoral.”

  My dad was trying not to laugh as was I. Michael was adorable.

  “Some of my friends are having a party at the beach. Nothing big,” I said. “They sit around a fire and hang out. I thought we might go.” Caris had texted me earlier about joining her and Noah and their usual crowd at the beach, which sounded better than a football game. “Unless you want to go to the game. I’m not that into football, and I’d like you to meet Caris. She goes to our school.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen her.” Michael nodded. “Sure. Sounds good.” He teetered back on the heels of his high-top Converse. His jeans were skinny without being tight, and his crisp white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up gave him a fresh, clean look. I wanted to hug him.

  “You sure that’s a good idea?” my dad interjected, placing his bottle on the table.

  “Yeah, Dad. I can handle it.” I knew what he was thinking. It was too soon for me to mix my new life with the old. Granted, I wasn’t sure how Noah would handle me bringing a date, but if I was serious about this afterlife stuff, it was time for me to test the waters, so to speak. Part of me—the part that shared those endless months of grief with Noah—needed his blessing to fully move on.

  “Thanks for keeping Michael company.” I leaned into my dad for a sideways hug and kissed his scratchy cheek. Standing a little over six feet, my dad and I were close to eye level when I wore heels.

  “It was nice to meet you, sir.” Michael offered his hand. Solid handshake. Good eye contact. My dad recognized a warrior when he saw one. Michael’s battles were simply fought on a basketball court instead of a dry dessert or a watery landscape.

  My dad escorted us to the front door with admonitions to have a good time and be careful. He didn’t mention a curfew. We didn’t get the "Don’t drink and drive" spill. Who was this man?

  “You didn’t tell me your dad was so cool,” Michael said when he opened the car door for me.

  “That,” I pointed over my shoulder, “was not my dad.” I scooted into the passenger seat of Michael’s black Volkswagen Jetta. His swagger, as he walked around the front of the car, was non-cocky and the roll of his hips confident. An air freshener hung from the rearview mirror, and I reached for it, examining the tree design.

  "It covers up the gym bag smell," he said as he crawled inside, his head nearly bumping the ceiling.

  “Sorry, I should have warned you about the party. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  The words had barely passed my lips when he leaned over and kissed me. No tongue, just the slight touching of lips. He drew away but not too far, his gaze intent.

  “I’m sorry. I had to do that or I would be a fumbling idiot all night. You look really beautiful. And I don’t care where we go so long as you take me with you.”

  “Thank you.” And because his kiss had been so sweet and my response to it so surprising, I pressed my mouth to his. His lips parted, and this time it was a real kiss, with the warm melding of tongues, the sharing of breath. I was the first to pull away, heart thudding erratically.

  “Fumbling idiot, huh?” I snorted, an unladylike sound. Fumbling was the last word I’d use to describe Michael. “Somehow I don’t think so. I’ve seen you handle a basketball.”

  “Only applies to mind-blowing pretty girls who I like. A lot.” He put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

  The moon already arched across the glowing sky. The beach would be incredible.

  “Well, are there many of these girls?” I let my window down. Michael waited for me to turn my attention back to him.

  “No. Just you.”

  And since there was no point in denying it anymore, I confessed, “Okay, Michael Bray. I like you too.”

  “Good. Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

  * * *

  “Right here,” I said, urging Michael to pull over.

  “Here?” He cast me a sideways glance, clearly skeptical. We had driven about three miles past the town of Seaside to a section of highway populated with fewer homes and businesses.

  “Yeah. Pull over anywhere,” I instructed as his foot eased off the gas pedal.

  “What is it with you and secluded places? First the lake and now this place.” He slowed down and pulled off the side of the road, careful not to park too far into the soft sand, though getting stuck wouldn't be a problem with the crowd we were going to hang with. Noah had easily gotten me unstuck before using nothing but his bare hands.

  This place was another state park where Noah’s house sat in the middle of a few thousand feet of unspoiled government-owned beachfront.

  Michael cut the engine and after a few seconds the headlights went out, leaving us under a spotlight moon and wispy clouds. The smell of salt was strong as I opened my door and stepped onto the cool sand. I'd ditched my heels on the way over.

  My back stiffened, and I waited for the feeling of despair to wash over me along with the breeze coming off the Gulf over the gentle roll of dunes. Relief flooded me when it didn’t, and I smiled at Michael over the top of his Jetta.

  “You sure this is okay? Are we early? If this is a party, where are all the cars?” Michael looked around dubiously. I considered telling him that the attendees of this party probably swam here. But then, their secret wasn’t mine to tell.

  “It’s fine. This is where Noah lives. It’s his beach.” It had been Jamie’s beach at one time too. It might have been easier to park in the Jacobs’s driveway, but while I’d moved on, I wasn’t ready to show up in Jamie’s driveway with another boy. I could see the lights from the front porch about a hundred yards away—beacons of light across the dunes, sea grass, and foliage.

  “Noah?” While the moon provided ample light, I couldn't make out Michael's features clearly.

  “Yeah. Noah Jacobs. He’s kind of my best friend.”

  “Ahh.” Michael nodded his head slowly.

  “Ahh what?” I asked as he made his way around the car and stopped in front of me.

  “This is like a tryout. To see if I pass muster.” He took my hand, his grip around my fingers light enough I could easily pull away.

  “No,” I said, gripping his hand back. “This is some of my friends getting together and me wanting them to meet you.”

  I smelled the fire and music floated through the air. Michael hesitated, a reluctance in his bearing, and I wondered again about the details of what he’d heard about me.

  “Erin.” His tone sent a shiver over my skin.

  “What?”

  “I don’t care about your past. I only care about your future, and I hope I’m in it.”

  One of the things I’d learned over the past two years was never count on the future. All that mattered was the present, all we really had.

  “Well, I can’t speak for the future, but I can speak for right now. And you’re in my right now.”

  “I like right now," he said as I tugged him onward.

  We exchanged a few shy glances as we made our way to the beach, and I was having a hard time keeping my smile in check. I was giddy with long forgotten feelings—the slight flutter in my chest and the extra effort it took to breathe when Michael's gaze fell on me.

  Noah was the first person I saw when we crested the rise of dunes, putting the beach in full view. I'd hoped to simply show up and blend in and avoid making a big entrance, ease into this without having to explain that I brought a friend. But with us on higher ground it was as though we were on display. Noah, Jeb, and Caris were tossing a football. Caris caught the ball Jeb threw and Noah ran over, grabbing her around the waist, tackling her to the ground. Her laugh carried over the beach as she pitched the ball back to Jeb. He caught it, and his face cracked into a smile when he spotted me and Michael. He must have said something to Noah because Noah turned, his smile dying when he saw me and Michael. I resisted the urge to jerk my
hand out of Michael's warm grasp.

  "Heads up," Jeb yelled and chunked the ball toward us. I was fully prepared to catch it as it sailed through the air, but something on Noah's face made me forget where I was, what I was doing. He looked shocked and mildly angry. Michael dropped my hand, catching the ball before it knocked me in the face.

  Caris jogged over and we walked down the slope to meet her. She at least looked happy to see me, if a bit hesitant to take Michael's hand when I introduced them. Noah stood frozen in place, his eyes glued to Michael. Jeb, Daniel, and Quinn all seemed accepting enough, offering an appropriate amount of greetings without being awkward. Cree offered us a beer but I declined, at least for now.

  My eyes met Caris’s in question as if she could provide a clue to Noah's odd behavior. I’d expected initial resistance to the idea of me having a boyfriend, which was understandable. But I hadn’t expected this open hostility. I was convinced I'd made a mistake. How could he react this way? He of all people had to know I wouldn't bring a guy around unless I genuinely liked him. Why was he making this harder than it already was? I had been counting on his support.

  "Noah, come meet Michael," Caris called to him and motioned him over.

  He glowered as he walked over and didn’t offer to shake hands like Jeb and Cree had done. His hand balled in a fist and for a second I thought he might actually hit Michael.

  "What's up?" Michael's greeting was met with a blank stare.

  Noah hadn't said one word, and Michael was being really cool about the whole thing.

  "I'll be right back," I said to Michael, offering a sheepish smile. I grabbed Noah's arm and dragged him far enough away we might have some privacy, purposefully facing so my voice would carry away on the wind. "What is your problem?” I whisper shouted.

  "Nothing," he said, yanking his arm out of my hold. I glanced in Michael's direction, relieved Jeb was engaging him in conversation.

  "You knew this would happen eventually," I said.