by Cora Kenborn
Is she serious? How can she not know?
“You, Shy,” I tell her, risking everything. “It’s always been you.”
The only physical sign that she’s heard me is a rapid increase in her breathing. Her chest rises and falls at a hurried pace as she turns her back to me and walks behind the futon, running her hand along the cushions. I’m about to repeat myself when she stops, her back still to me as she faces the small wooden table.
“I’ve always called that night my favorite mistake, but now I realize it was just a fatal one.”
I watch her stare at the table, and a sense of urgency pounds in my chest. “Our story doesn’t have to end here.”
She lets out a heavy sigh before looking over her shoulder at me. “Our story never began, Cary. Don’t you see? I ruin everything that’s good in my life. You were a good person before me.” Casting another sweeping glance around the room, she lowers her eyes. “That was the night I ruined your life, not the accident. My poison got in your veins that night and turned the sweet boy I knew into someone he was never meant to be.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. Look at what you’ve done since I’ve come back! This isn’t you. The old Carrick would’ve never let Taryn have this much control over him. The hate I left you with has eaten at you for seven years and now, guess what? You’ve become me. Congratulations.”
I need to throw something, but there’s nothing within reach but a goddamn futon pillow. Grabbing it anyway, I hurl it against the wall. “Damn it, Shiloh, I won’t let you walk away from me again.”
Shiloh stares at the stupid tasseled pillow lying next to the wall, then slowly walks over to me. As crazy as this night’s been, I have no idea if she’s going to punch me or knee me in the nuts, so I brace myself for both. A sad smile tugs one corner of her mouth as she places a hand on my shoulder and lifts up onto her toes. The minute her soft lips graze my cheek, I know what she’s going to do.
“I won’t ruin you anymore, Cary,” she whispers next to my ear. “You deserve better, and you’ll find it. Once you find you again.”
Settling back onto her feet, she turns to leave, then abruptly stops. Without another word, she walks toward the table. I don’t think either of us breathes as she stares into it. Picking up the sterling silver angel figurine on top of it, she smashes the base of it against the mirror. The whole thing splinters as shards of glass fly everywhere.
I watch her walk out. My past. My present. My future. And when I can’t stand it anymore, I stare at the shattered mirror. It’s destroyed. Unfixable.
I know the feeling.
I want to break shit. I want to break everything in the room and grind it into dust. Just like she’s done to my heart, but there’s nothing left. From across the room, my cracked reflection stares back at me. An image split into a dozen pieces of a scarred man.
Mirrors.
They don’t lie.
* * *
Seven Years Ago
April – Prom
She stares at me like she’s surprised I’m still standing out here, but we both know better. Shiloh and I have perfected this dance. I chase her. She pretends we’re just friends. I act like I accept what she’s saying. Round and round and round we go.
Everyone says I’m crazy for thinking I have a shot with her. Maybe they’re right, but it’s not gonna stop me. I love Shiloh West, and whether she’ll admit it to herself or not, she loves me too.
The light clicks off in her room, but I’m not going anywhere. I promised her I’d stay here until morning to make sure she was safe, and I’m a man of my word. I don’t care if she knows I’m here or not. I know, and that’s all that matters.
Ten minutes later, I’m being pelted by a sheet of stinging rain when the backdoor swings open and Shiloh comes flying out of it dressed in a skimpy tank top and tight boy shorts. Immediately, the rain attacks her, soaking her thin clothes until they suction against her skin and cause my body to violently react.
“Why the hell are you still here? Go home, Carrick! How many times do I have to say it?”
“I can’t.” They’re the only words I can get out with her nipples poking through her transparent shirt.
In a twist I don’t expect, she shoves her hands against my chest, her chin quivering as her eyes fill with tears. “Why won’t you leave me alone? Why do you keep doing these things when I’m so horrible to you?”
“I told you. Because I love—”
“No! Don’t say it! Tell me bad things. Call me names. Call me Shallow like everyone else does behind my back.”
“You’re not Shallow. You’re my Starshine.”
“I’m your what?”
“You’re sunlight in a rainstorm, Shiloh, but you’re also unique. Did you know that no two stars are alike? That’s what makes you so special. Whether you become famous one day or not, it doesn’t matter to me. You’re your own star, Shy. You’re my Starshine.”
She just stares at me, her mouth hanging open like I’m some freak of nature. I curl my fists by my side, pissed at myself. Girls don’t like guys who say stupid shit like that. They want arrogant football jocks like that dickhead Ross who toss them over their shoulders and fuck them against a wall. Not the skinny geek who writes them love letters and kisses their hand.
Dumbass.
“Shit.” I run a hand over my forehead. “Never mind. I didn’t mean—”
The rest of my words are knocked out of my chest as Shiloh hurls herself into my arms. I don’t even get the chance to ask what the hell she’s doing before her lips are on me, pressing hard against mine until I can’t do anything but kiss her back.
My world is spinning. I have Shiloh West in my arms. Her legs are wrapped around my waist and we’re kissing. I’ve dreamed of this moment. Jesus, a few kisses and I’m so hard I’m afraid I might come in my pants. Apparently, my response to her is evident, because she reaches between us and strokes me over my tuxedo slacks. I groan, shifting my hips into her hand, needing more.
Then I still.
Pulling her hand away, I lower her to her feet and stare at her. “What is this—some kind of joke?”
Shiloh shakes her head, her face a little pale. “I’m leaving in two months, Carrick, and I’m not coming back. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m tired of playing by rules.” Taking my hand in hers, she opens my palm and places it against her breast. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it’d be like to touch me?
“Every fucking night.”
Taking my hand, she leads me toward the pool house. I’ve seen it lots of times while cutting the grass, even looking in the windows a few times, but never daring to go inside. Shiloh lifts onto her toes and reaches around the ivy on the top molding of the doorframe, producing a key. The only things I can hear are my own heavy breathing and the click of the lock as she opens the door and leads me inside. Grabbing a remote control off a shelf, she hits a button and synthesized music suddenly fills the room.
“To drown out the noise,” she announces. “I’m kind of loud.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“One night,” she says, facing me as water drips off her chin. “No strings. No rules. We both get this out of our systems and never speak of it again. Agreed?”
“You mean…”
Grabbing the bottom of her tank top, she pulls it over her head and drops it to the floor. “How bad do you want me, Carrick?”
Her breasts glisten in the darkness—full and round, with puckered nipples begging for my mouth. I’m both anxious and nervous. My body is in overdrive, but I can’t disappoint her. Shiloh isn’t a virgin. She knows what she likes and expects it to be done right.
Stalking forward, I back her up against a wooden table that sits under a huge square mirror. Just as her ass slams into the edge of it, I cup my hands under her breasts and rake both thumbs over the stiff peaks of her nipples. She sucks in a breath just before I lower my head and take one into my mouth, sucking hard. Shiloh cries out, throwing her head back an
d reaching behind her to brace her hands on the table.
Giving her no reprieve, I grab the backs of her thighs and pick her up, dropping her on top of the table, her back slamming against the mirror. The sudden move knocks over a metal figurine, the tile making a cracking sound as it hits the floor. Without taking my eyes off her, I fumble for the button on my slacks. The minute I reach for my cock, she grabs my hand.
“Tell me you love me then fuck me like you don’t,” she whispers as Britney Spears’ Toxic plays in the background.
Forty
Shiloh
In the grand scheme of things, three days isn’t a long time. When all you’ve done is look out your bedroom window and stare at your pool house, it’s eternity.
Downstairs, I hear a faint ring for the fourth time in less than an hour. Since my phone has been silent since I walked out on Cary three days ago, the constant ringing is starting to worry me.
“Shiloh, answer your phone!” Bianca calls from the base of the stairs. “If I wanted to be a personal secretary, I wouldn’t have married your father.”
I laugh. Partly at the image of my mother working a desk job, but mostly because it’s true.
“I’m coming!” I yell back, taking the steps two at a time.
She’s in the kitchen when I get there, pouring herself a glass of chardonnay. “Good afternoon.” She smiles.
“Good morning,” I correct. “What’s the occasion?”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“It’s ten a.m.”
She shrugs and raises her glass in the air. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
Rolling my eyes, I grab my phone off the counter and notice I have four missed calls and a voice mail. I don’t recognize the number, so at first, I’m hesitant. However, curiosity gets the better of me and I listen. After the first few words, my heart starts beating so loud, I’m afraid it’s going to drown out the rest of the message.
“Hey, Shiloh, it’s Dan Goldberg with the Optimum Agency. I need to talk to you. It’s important. Give me a call at this number as soon as you get this message.”
My hands shake as I hit redial. I’m prepared to leave a message, but start pacing as a deep voice picks up.
“Dan Goldberg.”
I have to clear my throat twice before speaking. “Dan, hi. It’s Shiloh West.”
He lets out a sigh. “Shiloh, finally. Listen, there’s no good way to say this, so I’m not going to beat around the bush.”
“Okay…”
“Business is business, and you know as well as anyone that the higher ups are going to do what’s best for their image. Ten months ago, that wasn’t you. But things change. One day you’re the devil incarnate, the next you’re everyone’s angel again.”
“I know that better than anyone.”
“Right. Anyway, the suits upstairs got wind of that story about how you donated money to some at risk teens to save their center and saved some old couple from losing their shirts. You can’t buy that kind of PR. They want you back, kid.”
I stop pacing and sink into one of the barstools next to kitchen island. I had to have heard him wrong. “You’re joking.”
“I never joke about money, Shiloh.”
“But I have a sentence, Dan. I have over two and a half years left here. I can’t just leave without defying the terms of my probation.”
“Not an issue. I’ve already had your lawyer speak with the judge in charge of your case. He’s granting you a two-week furlough so you can fly to California and meet with agency executives. If everything goes well, he’s agreed to defer your sentence back to Los Angeles. You’ll have to continue your public service and not leave the country until it’s over, but we’ll work around that.”
My head is spinning, and if I wasn’t forbidden to drink, I’d grab Bianca’s wine bottle and chug the shit out of it right now. He’s offering me my life back. A chance to step back onto the catwalk where I know I’m wanted.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There is one other thing.”
Of course. There’s always a catch.
“The agency has found a plastic surgeon who’s confident your original doctor’s assessment is wrong. They want your verbal agreement that you’ll meet with them when you arrive in Los Angeles.”
I grip the edge of the island. “What for?”
“The offer is contingent on you having corrective surgery to reduce the scarring on your face.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come on, Shiloh. This business is about perfection. I’m offering you the chance to be perfect again.”
I try not look for hidden meanings, but it’s useless. All of the progress I’ve made with Cary’s mirror tough love goes out the window with one phrase.
I’m offering you the chance to be perfect again
My grip tightens as a circle of black rims my vision. “Can I think about it and get back to you?”
He lets out a low groan. “I need an answer by tomorrow, Shiloh, or the deal is void.”
“Understood.”
After disconnecting the call, I wander into the living room to find Bianca sprawled out onto the white leather couch. She’s draining the last few sips of her wine while flipping through the latest issue of Town and Country. The moment she sees me, the magazine drops from her hand and she sits up.
“Everything all right?”
Shaking my head, I drop down beside her and bury my head against her shoulder. She eventually strokes my hair—timidly at first, then with firm, comforting strokes. We sit like that for a long time before I let out a shuttering breath and relay the entire conversation to her. She’s quiet, absorbing everything before resting her cheek against the top of my head.
“You can have everything again, darling.”
I shake my head against her dress, my tears darkening the expensive material. “Not everything. I’ll have to leave.”
Although I never say his name, she knows.
“Do you love him?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then you need to tell him goodbye, or you’ll never forgive yourself. Chase your dream, my love, but give closure to the other before you do.”
* * *
Cary is outside his apartment under the hood of his car when Malcolm drops me off with a promise he’ll be right around the corner. The engine’s running, and he’s got his iPod cranked as loud as it will go. It doesn’t sound like the head banging music he usually listens to. The beat is slow, haunting even. I stumble as I step up behind him and recognize the song.
Praying by Kesha. A song about change and finality.
My eyes burn. I hope he finds his peace too.
“Did you make a wrong turn somewhere?”
I stop, unable to reach out for him, but unable to turn away. I’m stuck. My heart is about to pound straight through my chest, but Bianca’s right. We both need closure.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“I can feel you when you’re near,” he says, wiping his greasy hands on a rag and slamming the hood. “Always have.”
“I know the feeling.”
He turns around, and my heart slams against my chest. His white t-shirt is smeared with oil stains, and his ripped jeans are just as soiled. Sweat beads across his face, matting his dark hair as it hangs recklessly across his cheek. “Did you need something or are you here to twist the knife a little more?”
“I’m leaving, Cary,” I blurt out.
He chuckles and drops the rag. “Well, thanks for the info. See ya Monday.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I say, laying a hand on his arm. “I’m leaving for good. My agency offered my contract back. If all goes well, I’ll finish out my sentence in LA.”
A darkness flashes in his eyes, but he keeps his expression solemn as he gathers his equipment. “So, when do you leave? In a couple of weeks?”
“Tomorrow.”
Forty-One
Cary
Shiloh f
ollows me when I turn around and climb up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. Neither one of us have say much as we walk through the door. Hell, I’m still trying to process the word “tomorrow” without losing my shit.
But mainly I’m trying to process losing her to the world again.
I stare at her as she sits tucked into the far corner of my worn couch, her arms folded politely in her lap as she tells me she’s leaving and plans on letting a plastic surgeon’s knife carve out the soul she’s uncovered.
How the hell can she be so calm when it’s all I can do to hold myself back from taking her in my arms and refusing to let her go?
“Say something, Cary.”
“No surgery comes without risks, Shy.”
Her eyebrows pinch together, and I swear I see second thoughts in her eyes. “I know, but modeling is all I’ve never known. And LA is my home.”
“So is Myrtle Beach.”
“No, this is your home.” Unable to meet my eyes, she focuses on the hem of her black dress as she rolls it between her fingers. “Once my sentence is over, what’s left for me here, Cary? Marrying some rich asshole like my mother? Throwing tea parties every weekend so he can go out of town on business and fuck his secretary? No, thank you,” she huffs.
Sliding across the couch, I cup her scarred cheek, tracing the top of it with my thumb. “You’ve got it so wrong, Shiloh. About who you are and where you belong. Someday you’re gonna realize that.”
Closing her eyes, she leans into my touch. “I’m scared.”
“You always have been. From the very beginning, you’ve run from the things you want the most.”
“Tell me to stay, Cary.”
God, she has no idea how badly I want to say those words to her. But I’d be kidding myself to think she’s come here for anything other than a clear conscience. Shiloh doesn’t want me to tell her to stay. She wants me to give her the push she needs to leave.
“I can’t.” Pulling my hand away, I brush my knuckles across her chin “You’d end up resenting me for it, and that’d be worse than losing you.”
