by Skye Jordan
“How old was he?” KT wanted to know.
“Two years older.”
“Why didn’t you stay with him?” Chloe asks.
“Because he lived in Wildfire and was a townie. His family was there, his life was there, he wanted to stay there.”
“And you didn’t?” KT asks.
“My parents didn’t.” My mind drifts backward, to the wrenching heartache of leaving him that final time, knowing our summers together and our friendship of eight years was over. “I was so programmed to deliver on my parents’ wishes, it’s hard to know what I wanted. They found me an internship with Le Meurice in Paris, and I went.”
“Sounds fancy,” Chloe says.
I smile and nod. “A thousand dollars a night. I discovered rich people can be incredibly difficult to deal with.”
“What’s Levi doing now?” KT asks.
“I don’t know. We didn’t stay in touch.”
“Hello,” KT says. “Social media?”
I shake my head. “I tried looking for him a couple of times, but didn’t find anything, which I think is for the best, to be honest.”
“Regrets?” KT asks.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly. “Maybe that I wasn’t strong enough to defy my parents. That even today, I’m heavily swayed by their opinions and their vision for my life. And, yeah, not staying in touch with him. He was my best friend for a long time, and I still miss that. But we all grow up and move on. We can’t stay kids forever.”
KT lifts her water glass in a toast. “To facing life in the future as the strong women we’ve proven ourselves to be.”
Our plastic glasses meet in a tap.
“And we should pinky swear,” Chloe adds, “that we won’t ever lose touch with each other after this is all over.”
We all smile and join pinkies much the way we locked elbows just hours ago in the storm, using our combined strength to lead ourselves to safety.
In unison we agree. “Pinky swear.”
1
Laiyla
Six years and 364 days later
I turn onto the drive leading to Wildfire Lake with so many emotions crawling through my body, my stomach aches and my skin feels a size too small.
I still can’t believe my grandfather won’t be waiting for me on the front porch of his home, a sweet log cabin he built himself decades ago, and the place I called home every summer from age nine to age seventeen.
He passed away three years ago, but it feels like I just spoke to him last week. It’s no secret I still haven’t quite figured out how to grieve his loss. Not to me and not to anyone close to me, which is, admittedly, not many people.
I’m the one who offered up the property for my reunion with KT and Chloe. Before we left Niue, we all swore we’d make this union to celebrate our thirtieth birthdays.
KT didn’t care where we met up, and Chloe suggested going back to where it all began, which was a big hell-no for me. So, I offered the lake and my grandfather’s house. And, okay, yeah, it might have been a bit selfish. I’ve been avoiding the property Grandpa left me, because I’m not ready to face his absence, and I thought having KT and Chloe here would help buffer the pain involved in coming back. But I was upfront with them, and they are more than willing to support me through this.
That is more than I could say for anyone else in my life, including my parents.
The bright blue summer sky and seventy-degree breeze flowing across my skin tell me this was a good call, despite the anxiety. June at this lake is magical.
My front tire drops into a pit in the asphalt so deep, my teeth click hard and my breath comes out in a puff. With overgrown shrubbery crowding the road and more potholes up ahead, I slow, and anger coils inside me. This road should be maintained. My father gave me the name and phone number of the caretaker he’d hired to look after the property until I could decide what to do with it, but it’s clear the caretaker hasn’t been doing his job.
Still, by the time the brush clears and the road opens, anticipation expands inside me, and I’m giddy when the lake comes into view.
I stop the car and soak in the sight of the big, beautiful body of water in a multitude of blues depending on the depth. The way the colors bleed and transition always reminds me of a watercolor.
Joy floods me, making it feel like my chest has wings. A joy that always came along with this lake and the freedom I enjoyed here, the unconditional love of my grandfather, and…Levi.
Melancholy slips in, but I accept Levi for what he was, a childhood crush. Puppy love. If only that kind of infatuation could last, this world would be a much better place. I have no idea if he’s still here or not, and even if he is, I doubt I’ll run into him, which is really for the best. I don’t need any reminders of how poorly my love life has turned out since I last saw him at seventeen.
My gaze skims the opposite side of the lake, property that was sold off by the owner decades ago, where homes dot the shores. Grandpa’s property, or rather my property now, includes half the lakefront and nearly a thousand acres of rolling hills dotted with huge live oak and wide swaths of meadow. This property cost my grandfather a few hundred thousand dollars all those years ago and its now worth millions. How many millions, I don’t know, nor do I care. Right now, all I care about is the way the sight steals my breath and pumps me full of joy.
I ease the car forward, finally taking in the full sight of my grandfather’s side of the lake and the marina docking houseboats he used to rent out. For a long moment, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. Then a fist reaches down my throat and clamps my stomach hard.
The marina is a mess. The metal overhangs shading the houseboats are oxidized and dented, entire sheets missing in places. The exterior upholstery on the boat decks is faded, worn, and torn. The parking lot asphalt is cracked, and weeds and grass grow through, making the lot look like it’s filled with moss-covered rocks.
“What in the holy fuck?” Anger and bone-deep disappointment war inside me.
By the time I roll to a stop outside the marina office that doubled as a market and tackle-and-souvenir shop, tears burn my eyes. Tears of fury. The wood exterior is faded and worn, the windows cloudy from years of disuse. It doesn’t look like anyone has touched this place since my grandfather died, and I wonder what in the hell I’ve been paying the caretaker to do.
I am livid.
Livid.
I was so devastated by Grandpa’s death, more so than either of my parents, including my mother, who had been his daughter, that I couldn’t fathom making a decision about the land. When my father offered to find a caretaker for the property until I was ready to deal with it, I said yes.
I stand from the car and cross my arms tight, fingers digging into my biceps. This is the result of jealousy, pure and simple. My parents expected my grandfather to leave the property to them, and they’ve never stopped trying to get me to sell. They want to do what a dozen other developers want. To rip this place apart and create a “real” resort. Ditch the boats, the marina, the store, anything and everything that had my grandfather’s stamp on it.
I’m going to ream my parents. Absolutely ream them. But I have to calm down first. I have to collect all the data, take photos, write notes, because when it comes to my parents and their logical, scientific brains, disagreements are always an intellectual debate. The moment I show emotion, they dig in and exploit it.
“How in the hell could they—” My voice breaks, and tears fall, hot on my cheeks.
My grandfather has to be turning over in his grave. This place meant everything to him. He babied every inch of the front fifty acres of this property surrounding the lake. He’d run a robust and popular houseboat rental business, and all the locals came here for their fishing supplies. That’s how I met Levi, while working in the store.
This time, thoughts of Levi don’t stick. I’m physically sick over the state of this place, and I have to fight to collect myself so I can look around and get a handle on what I�
��m seeing.
Teeth clenched, mind spinning, eyes wet, I cup my hands around my face and peer into the store. It’s a time capsule, the shelves stocked and the refrigeration units along the walls full.
“Oh my God. Oh. My. God.”
My heart slides even lower, throbbing in my gut.
I cover my mouth and pace away from the store, toward the lake. There’s no sand where the beach should be. The metal container holding kayaks and paddleboards and inner tubes is covered in graffiti. Graffiti in this little town?
By the time I reach the water’s edge, I’m beside myself. I have an urgent need to address this. To fix it. I want to turn back time and change the way I handled Grandpa’s death. Logically, I know I can’t, but emotionally, I feel like a hole has been drilled into my stomach and a dump truck of cement dropped in.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Then another. Still, the tears come, and I let them. Within a few minutes, the release has steadied me. I’m tempted to channel Chloe, who has become a huge success in the spiritual community and now lives the life of her dreams. But truth be told, I couldn’t get through her last book. Not because it was poorly written, but because I’ve learned that training your inner spirit is one hell of a lot of work, and with my job, I just don’t have the bandwidth to devote to figuring myself out. And if I couldn’t gain meaningful insight into myself after years of therapy, I’m pretty sure further attempts are futile.
I open my eyes and release a long exhale. With the property behind me, I focus on the water and the whispering barely-there waves created by distant water activities. People Jet Skiing and boating and swimming on the public side of the lake.
And, yeah, now that I’m over the shock of it, I can turn all the blame on myself. I’ve been negligent. I should have known better than to let my parents handle this property. They’ve never valued it for anything more than the cost per square foot it could bring. Or the number of resorts they could build.
Situated a two-hour hop from Hollywood and just over a half hour from Santa Barbara, this was a prime location for an upscale getaway. Timeshares would be a huge draw. I get it. After two decades in the hospitality industry, I’d better. And my grandfather wasn’t dumb; he knew it too. But knowing what I know now, I think he kept it small because it was manageable. The popularity of this place would explode if there were a luxury hotel where people could stay.
A boat trolls around a bend in the lake, and I struggle to reset my perspective. My thoughts turn to KT and Chloe. They would be here soon, and, judging by the state of the marina, I expect the house will need a good cleaning and airing out. And, hell, I don’t even clean my own apartment, but for KT and Chloe, who have both been constant and dedicated friends since Niue, I’d scrub every inch of the floor with a toothbrush. It had taken an act of God to finally get us all together in one place, and I’m not going to kick our week together off on the wrong foot with a filthy house.
The boat makes an abrupt turn, veering toward the property, a fishing pole secured in the back. The man driving the boat is shirtless, wearing a ball cap and sunglasses. I hope he’s coming to check out a couple of the coves for fish, because I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.
I stroll onto one of the docks and look over the railing. The wood is worn and rotted and rickety, but the water is still as crystal clear as it was when I was a kid, and seeing the smooth pebbles beneath the surface makes me smile. I used to love to skip rocks. I wonder where that girl went, the carefree, unassuming, genuine kid who took everything at face value.
The sun feels good on my face and shoulders, and the breeze is heaven against my exposed legs.
The boats engine cuts out, and I look up. The man behind the wheel stands, one hand at his hip, the other around a bottle of beer. “No fucking way.”
Oh God. I’m really not ready to face locals just yet. I lean an elbow on the railing, trying to figure out who he could be. But after twelve years, he could be anyone, and I sure as shit didn’t know anyone here with a body like that. Wide shoulders, muscled chest, abs, biceps. Some kind of tattoo encompasses the ball of his left shoulder.
“I must be hallucinating.” He lets the boat drift toward the dock. “Because you look a lot like a girl I used to know, but you can’t be her because she’s some world-traveling hot shot who would never deign to set foot in Wildfire.”
“Deign? Are you serious? Where in the hell did you pick up a word like deign?”
“Why is that a surprise? Because I’m a backwoods small-town hick?”
“I don’t know who or what you are, nor do I care.” I turn to walk off the dock, but the boards shift under my feet. I tense, sip a breath, and grip the rail.
“You made that clear when you walked away and never looked back, Ladybug.”
Ladybug.
A cascade of fiery tingles bombard my body. There is only one person who has ever called me Ladybug.
I swing back to face the man, my heart throbbing hard and fast. He pulls off his sunglasses and smiles, but it’s not a so-happy-to-see-you smile. It’s sharp, maybe even a little disgusted.
I search for Levi’s face, Levi’s body, anything that resembles the boy who’d once been my sanctuary, my heart, my world. But this man has days’ worth of stubble on the lower half of his face and a cap obscuring the top half.
“I guess it’s true,” he says. “You really did put everything about this place behind you. Otto, the marina, your friends, all the memories.”
His use of my grandfather’s first name throws me. Levi always called him Mr. Gibson, never Otto. As does the mention of memories, which seems way too sentimental coming from a stranger. Levi might have been the only person to ever call me Ladybug, but all his friends knew that was his nickname for me.
“If you’re going to insult me,” I say, forcing annoyance into my tone to hide the swirling unease and anticipation, “take off your goddamned hat so I can see who’s slinging arrows.”
He swipes the red ball cap off his head, drops it on the seat, and runs a hand through his brown hair. It was that motion that confirmed his identity, not his face, not his body, but that one push of his hand through thick chestnut-colored hair.
My stomach seizes and my heart skips. “Levi?”
I still don’t quite believe it. I’m not prepared to face him. Not in the least.
“I’m touched you remember my name.” He lifts one bare foot to the lip of the deck, leans forward, and braces his forearm on his thigh. “You’re looking good, Laiyla. I guess that jet-setting lifestyle suits you.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or sarcastic, and I’m instantly self-conscious, as if one of the managers I oversee has caught me at the gym in my messy-hair, don’t-care, off-work status. I automatically inventory what I’m wearing—black-and-white skort that looks like a miniskirt with a little ruffle, a white cropped halter fitted to my breasts, and untied black patent leather combat-style ankle-high boots. Realizing that I’m presentable shaves off an edge of stress.
But holy hell. I mean, ho-ly hell. I can’t form a thought, let alone words. He’s…he’s… My heart turns over, and longing the likes of which I’ve only ever known with one man swamps me.
The rush of emotions flips a switch in my brain, signaling danger. I shut down and kick-start logic. This is how I deal with my parents. This is how I function at work. This is how I get through my goddamned life, and it’s now going to be how I deal with my past too.
“Nobody thought you’d come back, not even after Otto passed.” He swipes the ball cap from the seat and tugs it back into place. “There’s been a betting pool going, everyone trying to guess when you’d show and what you’d do with this place.”
“What was your bet?”
“That you’d never come back. You just cost me twenty bucks.”
I smirk. “You always were a loser.”
His face breaks into a smile that steals my breath. I’m pleased he can still take a joke, but I’m not happy to hear he bet again
st me. He might have every right, but it still feels like a prick move.
“Doesn’t look like much has changed around here,” I say. “You’re still hanging out with a fishing pole in one hand, a beer in the other.”
He laughs, a quick, surprised bark that trills straight down my body and lands in my stomach. “You can still give as good as you get. You probably should back off that dock if you’re not up for a swim. Not much around here is holding together.”
Walking off the dock at his instruction feels like some kind of retreat, so I stay put and cross my arms, but as he drifts closer, any wittier retorts I might have thought up evaporate. His face is a more mature version of the one I’d once found too beautiful to belong to a boy. The tattoo on his shoulder is something intricate and mechanical that I don’t understand. But what really draws my attention is the built chest with a dusting of crisp dark hair, the tautly rounded biceps, the ripped abs. Abs I didn’t think existed outside bodybuilders and models. Certainly the like nothing I’ve ever seen personally.
“What are you doing back?” he asks.
I blink and force my gaze off his body and back to his face. But, much to my own annoyance, the sun feels too hot, my skin too flushed, my barely-there libido kicking into gear. And now that he’s closer, I see shadows of the boy I sometimes still dream about. I recognize the light blue eyes that used to talk to me without words.
The smile he’s wearing, though, I’ve never seen that. It’s…hard to explain. Cocky and dismissive. Arrogant and annoyed.
I’m annoyed too—at how my body is reacting to someone I haven’t seen in over a decade. “What difference does it make?” I ask, my tone snarky and aloof. “Or did you bet on that too—”
My last word is cut off when the dock under my feet falls away, and I drop like a rock. I barely have time to get out a sound before I plunge beneath the surface.
2
Levi
