by AJ Matthews
Her bright blue eyes darken, and tears threaten to spill. “Shay, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up your pain.”
“Don’t be sorry. My ma was sad for so long, and it was inevitable.” Again, her face screws up. “For many years, everyone said it was an ‘unfortunate accident.’ My mother wanted to commit suicide, and she tried to take us with her. Da found her note and admitted this to us about ten years ago. I was so angry with him for keeping this secret from me, from us. We all deserved the truth. It’s been hardest for my brothers. Liam was closest to her, and he still can’t talk about that day. Mac was too young to remember, but we all worry, because of his multiple diagnoses. So we keep a close eye on him and make sure he gets the treatment he needs.”
“You’re amazing. How heroic of you, to go back for your brothers. You were still a baby yourself and injured.” She kneels above me, her fingers circling the scars on my leg, the other on my arm. “Are these . . . ?”
I nod. I can’t put into words how wretched it is to carry around the physical reminder of the crash. The occasional aches, the ugly scars.
Thea kisses the puckered skin, her silky hair falling on my thighs, her hands gently caressing each mark with reverence. She brushes stray strands of hair behind her ears and gazes into my eyes, her own brimming with tears.
“What you did, what you saw, what you’ve been through—no one should go through that. Especially at that age. You’re a hero. Never forget.”
For the first time, as I see myself through her eyes, see the admiration shining there, I believe it. My heart swells and my stomach clenches. The bitterness I’ve carried for so long for my birth mother is slipping away.
I want to replace it with something else.
Something akin to love.
How the heck am I going to let this go?
Chapter Seven
Thea
How the hell am I gonna let him go?
Long distance shit doesn’t work. Leesh and Dev struggled with it; Dev swore the day he moved everything would be fine. For a few months, everything was fine, with each visiting the other once. The daily phone calls dwindled to every couple days, to once a week, to nothing by May.
It didn’t end badly.
It simply ended.
Leesh isn’t angry or bitter, just sad.
I’ve experienced enough sadness to fill a lifetime, and I don’t want to draw more sorrow into my life.
We’re walking back to the condo, at a pace slower than normal.
I told Shay I would get back on my own, but he insisted. He grips my hand, and I squeeze his fingers. We need to break this contact soon.
But not yet.
“Breakfast?”
We pause, and Shay tips his head at a small, rustic restaurant with a heavy wood door and hand-painted signs attached to a whitewashed fence. The door opens, and the scents of bacon and buttered toast entice my nostrils, but my stomach turns. I can’t even think about eating.
“No, I’m not hungry.”
Which is stupid. This thing with Shay has been fantastic. I got what I wanted—hot vacation sex from a guy with an Olympic athlete-caliber body, a model’s face, and mad skills in the sack.
I’m gonna miss the sex, nothing more. Being whole and desired. Not that I won’t be a whole person . . .
I discreetly glance at my boobs. I am so gonna miss these girls.
If they hadn’t been on such glorious display at Paddy’s a few days ago, this magnificent vacation fling might have never happened.
For this, I am grateful.
I move in tighter, my shoulder brushing his hard arm. The combination of sea and deodorant and mouthwash fills my lungs.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want me to take you to the airport?”
I hide my laugh, recalling the flash of hurt on his face when he asked the same question before we left his house. His compact hybrid, I told him, would not hold everything we brought with us, each with a suitcase, a carry-on, and a purse. And the extra suitcase for all the crap we bought here.
We’re better off on the airport shuttle, and it would give me the chance to say goodbye, collect myself, and be okay when I step on the plane.
If I let him drive me, I might never get out of the car, or leave Key West. My surgery is scheduled for three months out, so that’s not the best option.
All the things I love about this place are flying by in my peripheral vision: the marina, Paddy’s, the Duval Street experience, the museums, Truman’s Little Whitehouse . . . and Shay.
I feel him, smell him, but I’m trying not to look at him. If he stares at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes, framed by soot-black eyelashes, and asks me to stay, I’ll say yes.
A million times.
Yes.
We’re at the community gate much too soon, and then the condo door a couple hundred feet later.
I want him to kiss me goodbye. I want it to be one of those amazing, soul-churning kisses from the movies when the couple knows this may be the last time they’ll ever be together.
Shay props his elbow against the building, and I lay my head on his chest, his heartbeat strong in my ear.
“Thea, I’m . . . I’m not good with goodbyes.” He chuckles but doesn’t sound amused. “Heck, I’m not good with hellos either but I’m glad Paddy embarrassed me and called you over.”
I smile. I’m elated this happened too.
“You’ve got my number, and I’ll find you on Facebook and I’ll share those pics we took at the reef.”
I nod, a lump forming in my throat, making speech impossible.
“I’m going to miss you.” His voice cracks.
“Me too.” All other words fail me.
He slides his fingers under my chin, turning my face to his, to press his lips softly to mine. We hold the kiss for a few seconds. I break contact. I’m about to lose it and don’t want him to see these tears threatening to scald my cheeks.
“I need to go.” My voice is no more than a sad whisper.
“Okay.” He moves away, and little cracks edge around my heart.
“Bye.”
“Bye.” He pivots and walks away.
The keys in my hand rattle as I attempt to unlock the door.
“Thea, wait.”
His long legs carry him back to where I stand.
I don’t wait for him to reach me before I drop the keys and propel myself into his arms, locking my legs around his waist as he crushes his hot mouth to mine.
The bittersweet kiss is underscored by the saltiness coating our lips, from my tears, or his, or the sea air. His gaze stays fixed on me. I gasp at the fire in his eyes, and the sadness too. I breathe in as he breathes out, breathe out as he breathes in.
Though I’m leaving, I’ll take a bit of him with me in one of those precious breaths.
I unlock my legs and slide to the ground, my breasts tingling from the contact with his sculpted chest, electricity shooting from my belly out to my fingers and toes.
“Shay, I think I . . .”
He nods, releasing me from his arms, his own eyes shimmering with sadness. “Yeah, me too.”
He walks away, glancing over his shoulder, hand raised. I can’t bear to watch anymore.
Stupid, hot tears scald my face, tears I have no right to cry.
I snatch my purse from the ground and fumble with the door again, but Bennie and Leesh open it from the inside. The tears escape, and my girls pull me inside since I’ve lost the ability to move.
I let them hold me as I sob, the door closing behind me and shutting Shay out for the rest of my life.
Chapter Eight
Thea
Shay’s texted me a few times since I left Florida and even friended me on Facebook. Tried to friend me, I should say since I’ve been ignoring the request. He texted to say he wanted to share the pictures from our snorkeling trip, but I couldn’t bear to see him staring back at me on my Facebook feed every day.
I create a new e-mail account, texted him the a
ddress, and had him e-mail the pictures.
I downloaded the photos and deleted the account so he couldn’t send me any more e-mails.
It’s ridiculous I’m going to this much trouble to avoid him. He said he was going to medical school in North Carolina, but since there are five schools in the state, there’s an eighty percent chance he’s not here.
Even if he is here, the campus is massive, and I’m not on campus much since I’m not taking classes this semester.
I don’t want to run into him anywhere. I thought after a month the little stabs of pain in my heart whenever I thought about him would fade. Not a chance.
My heart hurts as much as the last day under the blazing Key West sun when we kissed each other goodbye. I cried and cried, and Bennie and Leesh took turns holding me and packing my things. I couldn’t even function to put clothes in a suitcase.
No guy’s ever had the iron-fist-to-the-gut impact on me.
I scan through the pictures, and the ones of the reef are gorgeous, the fish, the plant life, and the sea turtles as vivid as I remember.
The one I took of Shay and his dad is adorable.
Ugh.
Another punch to the gut.
Here’s one I don’t even remember. Shay lying on a large towel on the deck, and my head is on his stomach. I’m reading a magazine I borrowed from one of the other passengers. He looks like he’s sleeping, except for the small smile turning up the corners of his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. I’m smiling too.
I slam the lid of my laptop shut, the reminders of what I’d lost kicking me in the ass.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
If I’d opened my legs, but not my heart, I would be okay.
When he told me about the car accident and his mom and his concern for his brothers, I fell so hard and so fast I couldn’t brace myself.
When he told me how his family hid the truth about his mother’s death, and how that made him despise secrets, I felt like I’d been kicked in the head by a pair of Doc Marten boots.
He’ll never know I was hiding something monumental—not like my surgery affected him—and since we aren’t friends (on Facebook or anywhere) he’ll never find out.
My phone buzzes. I’d called Jen earlier and left a message.
Not Jen. It’s Shay.
I don’t answer, instead sending him a quick text.
Me: Going into a job interview. Sorry can’t talk. What’s up?
Shay: Nothing much. Did you get the pics? I like the last few of us. ;)
The last few? There were more photos after the one of me lying on him? Good grief.
Me: Got them. Didn’t look yet. Had to get dressed for the interview.
Shay: Hope you like the pics. I like you undressed, but I bet you’re sexy as sin all dressed up.
Cripes, how do I respond? Though a stupid cloud of sadness still hangs above me, I’m flattered by his compliment. It’s rude to not respond, right?
Me: Thanks. I bet you’re handsome dressed up too. Hope school is good.
Shay: Maybe one day we can see each other dressed up. School is insane. Good luck. TTYL
Yeah. Never going to happen.
Thankfully the exchange is done, and I run to my bedroom to grab a light cardigan and fix my hair. Since vacation, I pay more attention to my appearance, throwing on a smidge of make-up and doing more than pull my hair back into a ponytail.
You could say it’s Shay’s fault, but it’s been good for me, in a sense. I’m more confident, and I need that before my mastectomy.
The thought of having my breasts lopped off makes me appreciate other things about myself more.
I head out the door and jump in my little red pick-up truck, my high school graduation present from Daddy. The truck wasn’t new four years ago, and it’s showing signs of age, but she’s my baby and gets me where I need to be.
Today I’m having lunch with Leesh. She’s in her first week at her new job in the administrator’s office. She wants to dish on all the hospital gossip, which will be a pleasant distraction from Shay.
I would walk if black clouds weren’t hanging over the city because parking stinks. I’m happy to find a space.
As I exit the garage and cross the pedestrian bridge, my phone buzzes again. I check my text.
Leesh: Was taking notes in meeting for boss man. Ran late and need to type and send before leaving. 20 minutes?
I respond “yep” and make my way to the lobby coffee shop to grab a cappuccino while I wait. I lean against the wall by the elevator, tapping my toe in time to the easy listening song playing in the café.
One that played on the boat the day out on the reef.
ugh.
Why can’t someone like Agents J and K from Men in Black come erase all memory of the entire vacation from my head?
Someone’s behind me, asking for directions, saying, “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for the neuropsych offices. Can you tell me how to get to that floor?” The words bleed together, and I turn to find out if I’m hearing things because this guy talking sounds an awful lot like him.
“Oh fuck!”
Shay
I’m going crazy. Given my family’s history of psychological disorders, it could happen.
Schizophrenia can surface in young adulthood as a result of trauma or the unprecedented stress of a radical life event.
These first weeks at NCU mark a sweeping change, and I must be hallucinating. Cause, meet effect.
I swear Thea’s everywhere I go. I’m disappointed when the short, curly-haired blond is not her. I shouldn’t expect to find her on a college campus. She’s not taking classes this semester, and she mentioned she was from Georgia, a few hours from here.
My internship interview with Dr. Sykes, head of neuropsych, is thirty minutes out, which is good because I’m confused about which elevator to take to get to her offices.
For a guy who can maneuver a boat in the dark, I suck at on-shore navigation. A woman is leaning one shoulder against the wall in the hallway, the purse weighing on her thin shoulder. Her bag is familiar.
I shake my head. Another crazy hallucination.
I walk up behind her.
And here come the olfactory hallucinations. She smells of raspberries.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for the neuropsych offices. Can you tell me how to get to that floor?” Her torso shoots from relaxed to ramrod straight.
I continue. “And the numbering of the floors here is confusing. I mean, what building has a floor zero?”
She’s mumbling something. Is it “No way, no way, no way?” Her head shakes, and she turns in slow motion.
She’s gaping at me.
“Oh fuck!” She spits the words out.
Yep. It’s Thea.
“Holy . . . what are you doing here?” I slide my finger into the collar of my dress shirt, which just shrunk two sizes on my neck.
She continues to stare at me, mouth open, cocking her head to the left, wrinkling her forehead.
I reach out to touch her. I want to make sure she’s real.
She flinches.
She’s real.
My hallucination wouldn’t shy away from my touch.
“Thea? Thea? Are you okay?” Her non-reaction concerns me.
“Oh, yeah, God yeah, I’m fine. A better question is what are you doing here?” Her eyes narrow and her jaw tightens.
“Um, med school? The group of buildings behind the hospital where they keep the cadavers and teach us how to stitch up people?”
“Here?” She points her free hand, the one not holding the enormous coffee cup, to the ground. “You’re attending NCU Medical School?”
“Uh-huh. What are you doing here?”
Her eyelid twitches and her forehead wrinkles again. “Meeting Leesh—Felicia—for lunch. She works here.”
She doesn’t elaborate, but I assume one thing: she lives nearby.
“You told me you lived in Georgia.�
� I rub the bridge of my nose.
“I told you I was from Georgia, which is true. You assumed the rest.”
Right. She never told me where she lived. But it’s here. Where I am.
On the outside, I remain calm and collected. On the inside, I’m doing the Snoopy dance.
A quick glance at her clothes tells me she fibbed earlier. Was she avoiding me? “There’s no interview, is there?”
“No.” She flushes bright red from her hairline to the exposed skin at her neckline. As usual, once my eyes find her breasts, I find it difficult to drag them away.
“But you do.”
“Sort of. An informal meeting about a possible internship.”
She nods.
My heart is in my throat, and before I’m rendered mute by excitement, I take a chance like I did that night weeks ago at Paddy’s.
“Go out with me tonight?”
She breathes, sighing loudly on the exhale.
I smile. She once told me she loved my smile.
She crosses her arms over her chest, her head moving from one side to the other.
Then she turns her head to the open door of the coffee shop, relaxes her arms, reaches into her purse, and pulls out her phone.
“All right. Here’s my address.” She furiously taps at the keyboard with her free hand and my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Meet me at seven.”
She darts off in a blur of swirling blond hair and twirling blue skirts, like a fairy flitting away or a gypsy on the run.
I grin as I punch the button on the elevator, hoping it’s the right one as I whistle a happy tune.
Thea
What. The. Fuck?
I’ve spent a month immersing myself in meaningless television and eschewed happy romance novels, which I love, for grotesque horror and true crime. All in the name of getting over the beautiful boy from the Keys.
Then he up and shows his face in my neck of the woods. Apparently for the next several years.
years.
I could have said no, lied like I lied about the job interview earlier via text.
When I stared into those honeyed hazel eyes, lying became impossible.
Saying I didn’t want to go on a date would be a whopper.
