Golden Hour (Crescent City)

by Campbell Reinhardt

  “It’s fine.” I put on my best company smile and wrap my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in close to me where she belongs and kissing her forehead. “Go see if your dad’s back yet. I want to say hi to your gran. I’ll catch up in just a minute.”

  She locks eyes with me for a brief second before nodding and turning away. I want to swat her ass, but decide Charlie might take that as the final straw.

  “You want to talk?” I ask, striding over to Elise’s brother.

  “Not unless you’re coming to tell me good-bye and you’re on your way out of town,” Charlie says with a smirk.

  I cross my arms over my chest and look him dead in the eye. “Not happening. I didn’t do a damn thing, and I’ve got your sister—and Lawson—on my side. So I think it’s about time you and I straighten some shit out.”

  Charlie pushes off the pillar he’s been leaning on and cuffs the sleeves to his button up shirt. “Why don’t we go out front and straighten this out?”

  “Nah, man, I don’t have any interest in rumbling with you.” I hold my hands out and shake my head, refusing to take his bait, much as the delinquent buried deep in me wants to. “You want to keep this bullshit feud going, that’s your bag, man. I came to tell you that you aren’t touching what Elise and I have. Ever. You’re her brother, and I know she wants you in her life, but if you make her choose, Charlie, if you fight me right now, there’s no way you’re walking away from this with what you want. If you want to test the bounds of blood versus water, I guarantee we both know who she’ll choose.”

  “I should have taken you down when I had the chance,” Charlie sneers. “You worthless—”

  I make a fist and release it, ready to draw them up. Because I’ve seen that look of desperation before in a man’s eyes—when he know he’s losing, but isn’t willing to go down without a fight. He’s going to make a big scene. He’s going to fight me anyway and take a chance that even if Elise doesn’t take his side, his parents will see what a scoundrel I am and make it hard for Elise to be with me. I watch the twitch of Charlie’s shoulder, ready to land a fist on me as soon as he sees an opening.

  “Caleb! Charlie!” Both of us unclench and turn toward Elise, who is frantically running toward us, clutching her dress up in a bunch over her knees.

  “Elise?” I call. Charlie may sucker punch me once I turn away but I turn toward her anyway and haul ass.

  “Caleb! Oh thank God! Caleb the pool!—Charlie! It’s Lindsay!” she gasps, falling into me, but pulling me with her at the same time.

  Charlie runs up beside us and shakes his head back and forth in confusion.

  “Lindsay!” she repeats, waving us along frantically, too out of breath to say more.

  “Lindsay?” Charlie asks, his eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

  “One minute we were talking, the next I heard Uncle Joseph say he saw her at the bottom of the pool! They tried to help her out, but no one could get her back up. I don’t know how she fell in like that!”

  Elise clutches onto his arm too and drags us both toward the pool at the edge of the property where a crowd has gathered. All nice enough people, but completely worthless in the current situation. People are gaping and wringing their hands, munching on appetizers nervously, and giving each other shocked play-by-plays punctuated with exclamations of how they didn’t even hear her splashing. Did she fall in? Did she go for a swim?

  “We tried to help, but we couldn’t get her back up,” a man says, holding on to the side of the pool, fully clothed. Another man is next to him, looking spent and fighting to tread water.

  Charlie is next to me unbuttoning his dress shirt and kicking off his shoes like he’s going to dive in after Lindsay. The last thing we need are more patients, so I give him something to do and say, “Help them out of the water.”

  Charlie doesn’t hesitate and drops down to help pull the two soaked men up.

  Elise is pacing a short walk back and forth. She’s used to emergencies, but on her turf—in the proper setting. Not out here, literally in her own backyard. The crowd is getting rowdy and more people are starting to pull at their clothing. I lock eyes with Elise for a brief second and say, “Keep everyone calm, baby.”

  The floral print of Lindsay’s dress is barely visible from the surface. “Call 9-1-1,” I bark.

  I don’t bother stripping down, taking off my shoes, or even pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I dive into the water toward her still body that’s facing the bottom of the pool.

  The water is deeper than I expected, and the heavy chlorine burns at my eyes. I clutch onto her limp body and tug her up toward me. I’m not a weak guy, and she’s a tiny woman, but I’ve only done this with a dummy before. It’s completely different when it’s a human being you’re working to save. The two men up top did their best I’m sure, this isn’t easy.

  I hook my arms under Lindsay’s and kick with all of the strength I have in me to try to make it to the surface. My legs feel like they aren’t doing enough, like I’m a cartoon character and they’re spinning under me but we’re not going anywhere. When I break through and take a sputtering breath, the first thing I see is the panic in Elise’s eyes as she reaches for the girl.

  “Let me help,” she calls, grabbing for us.

  “I don’t want you falling in too,” I yell, making sure Lindsay’s head is up and trying to figure out how to drag her out of the pool so we can get her breathing.

  Charlie moves in front of Elise. “I’ve got her.”

  I spin around so that Lindsay is facing the edge of the pool. Charlie falls to his knees on the wet concrete, and there are the same arms, with cuffed sleeves that he rolled to kick my ass minutes ago, now helping me get Lindsay up out of the pool. As soon as Charlie grasps onto her wrists and tugs her up out of the water, I climb out as quickly as possible.

  Now that she’s on land, my adrenaline kicks into overdrive. I can help her. This is my element.

  “I called for help,” Charlie says. He reaches over and touches two fingers to the side of Lindsay’s neck to feel for a pulse.

  “The carotid is here,” I say. I press my own fingers to her pulse point and lean down so my ear is near her mouth, then tip her head back to check her airway.

  Shit.

  I cover her mouth with mine and give her five rescue breaths, hoping that by forcing air down into her lungs, it’ll jump start her breathing again.

  I can feel Charlie watching me anxiously, rubbing his palms along the front of his pleated pants.

  “Caleb, is she okay?” Elise asks, but I can’t look up at her. I start compressions, counting to myself as my hands press down hard on Lindsay’s sternum.

  “How long before they get here?” I ask Charlie.

  “Any minute,” he says.

  “Come on, Lindsay,” I murmur. I push two more breaths into her.

  “I don’t understand how she fell in like that.” Charlie’s voice is laced with uncharacteristic panic. He turns around and yells, “Didn’t anyone see anything?”

  The guests are huddled around us. Charlie and Elise’s mother is standing over my shoulder. She may be dressed in a fancy suit, but she looks like she’s ready to get down beside me and give compressions if she needs to.

  “You want me to help, Caleb?” Elise asks again. I know how she feels. Useless, desperate to do anything other than watch while this girl doesn’t respond.

  “I got it.” I lean down to give Lindsay two more breaths when she starts to gag. I roll her onto her side and, thank god, she coughs and hacks and spits up all over my one pair of good pants, but I don’t give a shit.

  Charlie throws his head back and gasps in relief.

  “The medics are here, I’m going to show them back,” Elise says. I look up at her and she mouths “thank you,” and I swear I’d save every life on earth to see that look of pride—directed at me—in her eyes again.

  The medics get Lindsay onto a backboard and loaded up just as Elise’s father pulls into the
drive with her grandmother. Elise and her mom run over to the car to meet them and hopefully divert Gran’s attention elsewhere so she doesn’t fixate on the ambulance pulling out and wind up even more paranoid than normal.

  I’m left standing there with Charlie.

  “Thank you,” he says gruffly, extending his hand.

  I want to refuse it. The Caleb Warren I was before Elise sauntered into my life and my heart would tell him to go fuck himself. But I can’t do that. Because this olive branch may be fleeting, it may break again, but for now, I’ll take it for what it is.

  I shake his hand and say, “That’s my job.”

  Charlie shakes his head back and forth. “You were off the clock today, man. You could’ve waited around for someone else to handle it, or left it up to the rest of the guests.” He motions around to the thinned out crowd of people.

  “Not my style,” I say.

  “Listen to me. You may not be Mike—”

  “I never claimed to be.”

  “Well, good. Because you aren’t. You won’t ever be. But you aren’t half-bad either, or at least that’s what Elise says...” Charlie shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, not quite making eye contact, which suits me just fine. This is uncomfortable enough as is.

  “Okay,” I say simply. I should say something better. Something more sure. But I can’t. I don’t fully trust Elise’s brother, not after what he did.

  “Come on inside. I’m sure I still have some clothes upstairs. You can put on something dry.” He waves me toward the house.

  “Actually, I think I’m going to head home,” I say.

  “Home?” Elise says, walking up and wrapping her arms around my waist.

  I glance at her brother, then kiss her temple, lowering my voice for her ears alone. “Yeah, I think it’d be best.”

  “Charlie—” Elise starts, looking at her brother, who raises his eyebrows.

  “Everything is fine, baby,” I interrupt. “Just need to change. Have a beer. Taking a dip like that wasn’t really on the agenda, you know.” I pull her tighter into my arms, half forgetting we’re in the middle of a party.

  Charlie clears his throat. “You two have a nice evening,” he says, backing away.

  Elise looks up at me, the fear in her eyes replaced by another look I know well.

  Hunger.

  Hunger for me.

  “Take me home with you,” she whispers. Her tongue darts out, and slides along her bottom lip leaving it wet and too tempting. I have to stifle the groan I feel rising up in my throat.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  I lean back in my chair, prop my feet up on the porch rail and close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing and my nerves while Caleb showers and changes into some dry clothes.

  The drive back to his place was intense: we couldn’t speak, Caleb tapped his leg nervously, and I kept my hands clasped between my knees so that I wouldn’t reach over and touch him. I knew that if I did, he’d have to pull the truck over because we wouldn’t be able to stop once we got started. Just sitting in the same truck as him was its own version of foreplay.

  I hear the sliding glass door open and turn to face him, standing in a pair of shorts and nothing else. I love the look of his strong body, the way his large frame makes me feel so safe.

  “Feel better now that you’re dry?” I ask. I hook my fingers into his belt loops and pull him close.

  “You could have joined me you know.” He dips his head down and catches my lower lip with his teeth. I run my hand along the waistband of his boxers, and dip my hand in. He’s hard. So hard. “I missed you.”

  “Me too.”

  “You did?” His hands slide down the length of my back and settle on my hips.

  “Only one hundred thousand times a day,” I say.

  Caleb chuckles. “Good memory, Nurse Dupuis. You want to go inside?”

  “I like it out here.” Caleb drags his lips along my neck, the scruff of his face a delicious burn across my skin.

  “I like you here,” he says.

  “Like?” I ask, nipping at his bottom lip. Caleb lets out a low, appreciative groan.

  “Love, Elise. I love you so damn much.”

  He tips my chin up so that I can look at him.

  Mike died at the height of my passion for him, and I thought it’d be impossible to love that wholly again. But I’m here. Now. And I love this man so much.

  “I love you too, Caleb.” I look into his eyes and can tell he wants to say something to me. Something I think I’m going to want to hear. “What is it?” I ask.

  “This,” he puts his finger to my collarbone and traces a bead of sweat that he’s responsible for down between my breasts and then rests the back of his hand against my racing heart. “I haven’t been sure of a lot in my life. Not sure which risks to take, what would end up being worth it.But this thing we’re doing. Me. You. Elise, whatever it is. I’m in. I’m all in.”

  He clears his throat. “Now come here.”

  Charlie Dupuis took an oath when he became a police officer. One that generations of his New Orleans family had taken before him.

  A solemn pledge of rules to abide by and things to protect.

  When his best friend Mike died protecting him, his confidence in his ability as an officer started to crumble.

  When his sister got involved with a good-for-nothing derelict like Caleb Warren and he saw a chance to break them apart, his moral compass started to shift.

  And when he got a lead on the person responsible for Mike’s death, his accountability went out the door. Charlie feels like he has nothing left to lose and is willing to throw everything—even his badge—away to make them pay.

  But fate has other plans—and in walks Elodie Thomas, Charlie’s beloved grandmother’s nurse at her nursing home.

  Elodie has every reason to be angry at the world, but somehow—she’s not. Charlie finds himself drawn to her, even if a woman in his life is the last thing he needs. And Elodie can’t get enough of Charlie’s close-knit family—the family she always wanted while she was growing up in foster care.

  But when Charlie’s grandmother tells Elodie a secret about Charlie’s past, Elodie has to confront him to see if there’s any truth to the claims. And Charlie realizes that his choices are to either come clean and trust the one girl who’s ever believed in him or keep his secrets and pursue his vengeance.

  Liz grew up on the East Coast, and Steph on the West Coast—and somehow they both ended up making their homes with their husbands and children in small, Southern towns. They’ve been co-writing since 2012 after they each read a book written by the other and contacted the each other to gush.

  Liz loves Raisinettes, even if they aren't really candy, the Oxford comma, movies that are hilarious or feature zombies, any and all books, but especially romance (the smarter and hotter, the better), the sound of her daughter's incessantly wise and entertaining chatter, and watching her husband work on cars in the driveway.

  Steph has one husband, four children, and a serious nail polish obsession. When she isn't reading, writing or wiping someone's nose, you can usually find her baking something.

  You can find the writing duo on Facebook at www.facebook.com/campbellreinhardt

  More books by Campbell Reinhardt:

  LENGTHS (Lengths series #1)

  DEPTHS (Lengths series #2)

  LIMITS (Lengths series #3)

  TIES (Lengths series #4)

  RIPTIDES (Lengths Series novella)

  DRIFT (Lengths Series novel #5)

  A TOAST TO THE GOOD TIMES

  (unedited excerpt)

  This entire wedding would make my mother snort with disdain. It’s like I can hear her murmuring in my ear all those things that make me cringe whenever she voices them in public, too loudly and without giving a crap who overhears——because my mom thinks being unfailingly honest is way more important than being socially polite.

  Roses? Red roses? I’d make a joke about how generic th
ey are, but the joke would be a cliché. Sort of like your father’s child bride. By the way, did she peruse her collection of Bob Mackie Barbie dolls for wedding dress ideas? She looks like a background dancer for some Vegas wedding magic show.

  “Jordan?” Dad puts his arm around me, and I nestle into the solid weight of it, elbowing Mom’s snark out of my brain for the moment. “You have no idea how much this means to Jennifer. She’s over the moon about this.”

  “Of course.” I smile, this particular, practiced smile that’s all teeth and squinty eyes. I always hope it’ll be bright enough to trick anyone who isn’t looking closely enough into thinking I’m actually happy. And it usually works. “Jennifer wanted…family…standing with her. So. Here I am.”

  I choke around the word that’s so silly I’m embarrassed to have said it. Because——as cordial as my father’s fiancée and I manage to be to each other——there’s no way I consider her family. Not by any stretch. Though I go out of my way to be nice. Maybe to combat how intensely mean my mother is about her. Plus, she’s kind of undeniably pathetic.

  Poor Jennifer, the near-orphan with a heart of gold and a thousand and one sob stories that never quite add up. My gut feeling is that my dad’s pretty young wife is only slightly shady behind those wide anime eyes and all that damn wavy blonde hair. She looks like a mermaid. Or a cartoon. Or a mermaid cartoon who’s trying to pull the wool over your eyes all the time. But I think all her weird lies about nefarious or tragically dead relatives are just a cover for the fact that her people are most likely Bud-drinking, Nascar-watching West Virginians she doesn’t want my dad or any of his rich, cultured friends to meet. Hence, she planned a slightly tacky, completely flamboyant wedding all on her own, and here I am, standing as a bridesmaid because I’m “the only real family she has to stand with her.”

  In a strapless scarlet dress that droops off my non-curves and a pair of elbow-high white gloves that are over-the-top humiliating. I refused to let my mother even lay eyes on the dress, because I was going to have a hard enough time wearing it for the few hours I had to, never mind having my mother cackle about how ridiculous I would look in it for weeks before.