by Fiona Keane
“Thomas already called her,” Jameson reassured me, “when he and Elizabeth left us in the living room. She knows. She also knows you’re not going anywhere until the storm rides itself out.”
I couldn’t help but blush, wondering what Jules thought of me running out and spending the night at Jameson’s house.
“Don’t hide.” He chuckled, taking my hands from my burning cheeks. “I think it’s cute.”
The lights in Jameson’s room flickered before extinguishing entirely. The darkness that usually suffocated me was enticing. I pressed my head against his shoulder, gently forcing Jameson’s weight into the mattress while I snuggled against him. His right arm wrapped around me, securing me at his side, and I finally let myself exhale, not caring about the quiet tears that trickled from my eyes. We were silent, but for the quiet hum of our breathing.
“What do we do now?” My question pulled him from a trance.
“We wait out the storm.”
“No.” I sat up, hovering over him. “What do we do now? Now that I know you aren’t who you say you are…now that I know.”
“Oh.” Jameson’s head shook, probably disappointed that I’d returned the conversation to this topic. “I don’t know right now. We’ll make a plan.”
“A plan,” I repeated, attempting to comprehend the level of extreme trouble in which I now floated.
Jameson’s knuckles grazing my cheek pulled me from any thoughts. “But for now? For now, we just exist.”
“Exist,” I repeated his words, tasting and reflecting on their flavor in my mind.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Soph. I promise to protect you.”
***
Jameson’s words lingered in my mind, swirling like the waves of the storm beyond his bedroom walls, and I let them stay there in haunting limbo until my thoughts returned to why I had even gone to his house in the first place.
“Jameson…” Something clicked as I was comfortably wound inside of his blankets. “…why does Simon have those pictures?”
I watched him on the other side of the room as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor before changing into a tight, black t-shirt. He scratched his fingers through his sun-kissed brown hair, combing it back as he seemed to internally debate his response. The peculiar glow from three flashlights seemed to light him for a beautiful theatrical production.
“Simon sort of has a secret life too,” he began as he climbed back into bed next to me. “He works with the Department of Justice.”
“He sells houses.”
“Yeah, he does that here in Florida, but he also works with the Department of Justice to find places for people…people like me.”
“Did he know we knew each other? Did he know you were here?”
“I don’t think he did at first.” Jameson shrugged, his eyes were strained with exhaustion. “I’m sure it clicked as soon as Thomas and Elizabeth introduced me as their nephew. He doesn’t know my story, and I hope he never does, but he knows who I am to the Kerrys.”
His left arm draped over his eyes as he continued speaking to me about Simon. Through the glow of our flashlights, my eyes wandered to Jameson’s stomach, defined in detail by his fitted shirt, and watched every hypnotizing lift and release as he breathed.
“You need sleep, Soph.” Jameson crawled up, barely awake, and began moving from the mattress.
“Wait.” I pulled on the hem of his shirt. “You’re not staying?”
“No.” His smile quickly flirted with his lips before fading. “You need some space.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Soph.” He laughed, a delicate sound I had missed. “All of the things we talked about tonight and everything you’ve gone through in the last few hours…”
“I can handle it, Jameson.”
“You amaze me.” His head moved toward mine, lingering in the space before me. “Everything that’s come to light and you are so strong.”
“I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want to be alone. Please?”
“Okay.” His smile was comforting, “Let me just brush my teeth. I’ll be right back.”
I nodded, eagerly waiting for the comforting weight against me in his soft bed. I watched him disappear into the attached bathroom and close the door before sinking back into the heavenly pillows and featherbed. My hair was still slightly damp, but the dangerous exhaustion that overwhelmed me paid no mind to minor details and quickly took me under, forcing sleep before Jameson returned to bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
JAMESON
I finished brushing my teeth and dropped the damp brush into its drawer beneath the sink, glad we still had some water left in the pipes so I could feel remotely human in our situation. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the reflection staring back at me. He was new. He was, despite circumstances and revelations, optimistic and…reassured?
Splashing cool water on my face, I clung to the marble countertop, trying to shake the nerves that finally caught up with me. Soph almost drowned tonight.
Oh my god.
She almost drowned. She gave up. I had to shake that thought—she explained herself to me. I understood her. But she ran away from me. I had scared her so much that she didn’t feel safe around me.
Shaking my head, I tried to get the thoughts from my mind. I needed to fix things with Soph. I needed to prove to her that I could never hurt her, would never hurt her. She had asked me to stay in my room with her tonight, and that was the least I could do to start showing her I was serious about being her protector. If she had a nightmare, I would be there. No questions.
Collecting one of our dim flashlights, I wandered through the narrow hall back into my bedroom. A fading flashlight at my bedside was still glowing inches from the mattress, so close to Soph’s face that it lit her features in a delicate way, almost as if she was a painting. Approaching the bed, I anticipated conversation, but the slow rise of the covers informed me she was sleeping. She needed to. I knelt at her side for a moment, lightly grazing my knuckles against her cheek. I needed to prove she was real, more than a painting, and safe with me.
“Jameson.” My name barely left her lips in an unconscious mumble.
My gaze was drawn to Sophia. Her lips pulled apart slightly as she exhaled. Her eyes fluttered, assuring me she was lost in a deep, necessary slumber. I lifted myself from her side, despite my urge to sit and stare at her gorgeous face for an eternity, and carefully climbed in bed next to her. I was worried the mattress would shift and wake her, but Soph was out.
I’m surprised either of us slept at all, considering the house almost crumbled apart from the rain alone. The frantic pelting of my bedroom window coverings tore me from sleep. It had only been two hours; my phone was taunting me. I placed the phone, its battery fading without power, back on my nightstand and returned to Soph. I hadn’t left her side and she had not moved. I hesitantly lifted my hand to her side, lightly settling it in the curve above her hip. I was hoping to feel her breathe, assuring myself she was still with me. My palm warmed almost instantly, burning with the delightful sensation against Soph’s figure. It was electric, flowing through me with a tingle that defied all sense of rationality.
“I almost lost you tonight,” I whispered, the sound even surprising me.
She rolled away onto her stomach and her face flipped toward me, smashing her cheek into the pillow. Her lips pouted, slowly parting while she breathed. It felt in that moment as though there was nobody else, nothing more, and we could stay like that for eternity.
“Get up!” Thomas stormed into the room, barreling toward my bed. I didn’t miss the way his face tightened with displeasure as he saw Soph curled against me beneath the mess of covers.
“What?” I whispered, glancing at her sleeping figure.
“It’s coming! We need to get to the safe room NOW!”
Thomas flew from the room as quickly as he stormed in, leaving a trail of rage in his quick absence. Soph sleepily wiggled onto he
r elbows, blushing like a child as realization hit.
“What’s happening?” Her voice was groggy, barely even the soft hum I had fallen for. I tried to remain calm, jumping over her and pressing my hands around her face.
“It’s officially a hurricane,” I stated, surveying the fear that swallowed her eyes. “We must have slept through the warning sirens. We need to go. Now.”
“Where?” She pulled my hands away from her face and climbed from the bed, reaching for the sweatshirt I held out for her. Her strawberry blonde waves were a knotted, damp mess against her face.
“Safe room at the end of the hall. You just go, I’ll be right behind you.”
“No.” Her feet stomped. “Absolutely not.”
“Go, Soph. I’ll be right there. I’m just going to put some clothes in a bag and I’ll meet you there. Thomas and Elizabeth are already in there.”
“Absolutely not.” Her arms crossed along her body and her small chin lifted in the air defiantly. “I’m not going anywhere without you. If you’re holding me prisoner, you’re the one I’m following.”
The warning sirens were going off in one-minute intervals now. We needed to be locked away in the safe room ten minutes ago. We didn’t have time to debate how insanely immature Soph was being, so I hung the extra sweats I was carrying over my shoulder and walked toward her. I knelt down, placing my shoulder against her stomach and wrapped my arms around the back of her thighs.
This is not how I imagined the first time I would be so close to her bottom.
Soph gave up pounding my back almost instantly as the shattering glass of my bedroom exploded into the room while I carried her out. Thomas was standing in the doorway of the safe room, anxiously pounding his foot as we approached. The scorn along his face blended suitably well with the angst.
“You’re putting us all at risk…again,” he snapped at me.
Once he began closing the door to the windowless room, I slowly leaned over one of the couches and tried to gracefully rest Soph against the cushions.
“Ow.” She giggled when her head bopped the armrest.
Elizabeth came from behind me, extended her arm to give us two bottles of water. I stood from placing Soph on the couch and graciously took the bottles from Elizabeth. Her face was warmer than hours prior, hopefully accepting the fact that Soph wasn’t going anywhere. She was with me.
“Is the generator on, Thomas?” Elizabeth shuffled through some plastic bins as she questioned the man who stood steaming in the center of the room.
“Yes.”
“Thomas,” I groaned, “just…”
“Honey…” Elizabeth snaked her arm through her husband’s, resting her face against his chest. “…it’s over. It’s too late. Sophia is part of this.”
I ran my hands through the mess on my head, feeling it matted against my skull after drying from pulling Soph from the marina. Jesus. I turned my head slightly, hoping to catch her asleep or somehow able to ignore Thomas’s cruel demeanor, but she was staring at the windowless wall, gnawing on the knuckle of her right index finger. Even in a fit of anxiety, clouded by the haze of worry and torn nerves, Soph was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Watching her process everything, the chaos and calm within our safe room; it all made me think.
I was seeing Soph in a new way now that she knew everything and stayed with me. I was a new person and, as I saw her, so was she.
We could still hear the sirens, despite the soundproofing and layers of plastered concrete surrounding us behind the subdued blue walls. Thomas had still avoided acknowledging Soph. He was resting along the length of one couch, his feet crossed on Elizabeth’s lap as she casually read the pages of a book.
We were in the eye, the torturously unpredictable middle of a hurricane and yet here we were, a perfect family. I couldn’t imagine something further from the truth.
My distracted attention was quickly pulled when I felt her tug softly on my elbow. I knew the look. I recognized it without fully engaging in contact with her gorgeous blue eyes. The sparkle was replaced with an alarming blankness.
I knew I could help her, that I could help her work through the quiet panic suffocating her. I scooted myself closer to Soph on the couch, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her trembling frame tightly against me. If she were to feel suffocated, it would be with my care and not with her panic attack.
CHAPTER FIVE
SOPHIA
Jameson was sleeping soundly against me on the leather sofa in the center of the room. Lifting my heavy eyelids, I noticed I was the only one appearing to be conscious. His steady breathing reminded me of the frightening reality of the last few hours, scalding my mind as I was quickly brought back to the present.
The entire weight of his long frame was pushing against me, forcing my body into the side of the couch. Rain was pelting the roof and walls, preparing to slice through in massive sheets that threatened to separate us. At least that’s what it sounded like.
It seemed like anything and anyone would be happy to separate me from the good in my life.
Jules. Was she okay? Where was she?
“Jameson,” I whispered, barely able to nudge my shoulder beneath him. I had no clue how dense he was. The lean figure hid his weight well. He wouldn’t budge.
“Jame—”
“Let him sleep, Sophia,” Elizabeth’s soft voice whispered from across the room. “Are you okay?”
I looked to my right, noticing her setting Judge Kerry’s feet back on the sofa as she lifted from beneath him to tiptoe toward Jameson and me. She knelt before me, placing a tentative hand along my cheek as she brushed some hair behind my ear.
What is she doing? Jameson, please wake up. Please?
“I know that you have panic attacks,” she whispered. “Jules told me.”
Traitor. I swallowed, my eyes probably looking as large as headlights, unable to communicate with this woman.
“Are you having one right now? Is it because you’re here? Are you thinking of Jules?”
I am now. Thanks. Yes, I was thinking of her. Extra thanks for reminding me so my panic doubled. Elizabeth’s hand rested against my shoulder, almost touching Jameson’s sleeping face.
“Come here,” she whispered. “I want to show you something.”
My eyes glanced to the left, willing Jameson’s head to lift so he would wake and keep me from following Elizabeth.
Nope. Here I go, following the shrew who hates my existence.
I slowly slid from beneath Jameson, placing his head on a pillow in my absence.
Elizabeth’s figure floated through the room, a stark contrast from the howling wind and pelting rain outside. I wish there were windows in here. She bent under a tiny doorway at one end of the room, kneeling inside a small crawlspace. I watched as she entered a multi-step combination into the intricate lock of a safe that consumed half of the small space. I knelt in the doorway, too anxious to leave Jameson’s sleeping form and too afraid to be alone with Elizabeth.
“Obviously, you know we aren’t related to Jameson,” Elizabeth whispered, reaching into a small black box.
I nodded, swallowing the anxious lump that was still pounding in my throat.
“This…” She pulled a folded brown envelope from the black box and pressed it into my hands. “…is all we have of Jameson’s life.”
“B-Before he was J-Jameson,” I clarified, my hands trembling with the weight of his identity. Elizabeth nodded, a gentle smile spreading along her face.
“These are photographs that one of the police officers took from his home,” she continued, whispering to me in the crawlspace. “We’re not supposed to have them. They should’ve been burned along with his identity, which is why we keep them locked away. Thomas would probably kill me if he knew I was showing these to you.”
“Does Jameson know you have these?”
“No.” Her head hung. “I…I didn’t know when there would be a good time…”
I flipped through the photos, savor
ing every sweet memory this boy had, and pretended to imagine the handsome young man I know living this different life.
There were two photos in particular that stung. In one, Jameson and his mom were sitting on a park bench with the sun blazing above them. Her arms were wrapped around him, tickling his stomach, and his head was thrown back in laughter. Whoever took this photograph caught one of the happiest moments as it happened, capturing Jameson’s history. Gabriel’s history. His smile was much different now, never reaching his eyes as it so innocently did from his mother’s touch.
The second picture was of Jameson and, I assumed, his sister. She was stunning even as a toddler. Her wavy brown hair mirrored his, as did her sparkling hazel eyes. He was standing behind her, helping her hold a baseball bat.
My heart ached for him. I glanced back into the room, seeing that he had turned toward the back of the couch.
“I can’t look at these, Mrs. Kerry.” I handed the photos back to her, shaking my head. “I’m betraying him by doing that. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I stumbled backward, falling on my bottom as I tried to wiggle out from the crawlspace, taking a floor lamp with me as I fell flat onto the hardwood floor. Even their safe room, framed with nearly indestructible concrete, was anchored by a hardwood floor and decorative floor lamps as any obnoxiously ostentatious home would be.
“What’s going on?” Judge Kerry’s tired voice cracked from the room.
I know my face was glowing crimson, I could feel the burning creep along my skin. I struggled to put the lamp back in order, hoping to have the redness gone from my face before turning around.
“What?” Jameson moaned. Oh no.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, saying it more to myself than anyone else. I had woken my knight and the fire-breathing dragon.
“It’s quite all right.” Elizabeth held my wrist, smiling at me.
Her demeanor had shifted, entirely changing to express far more compassion than the uncomfortably snooty persona she projected before we had been held hostage together during the hurricane.
