Take Me Back

by Meghan March

  It’s like he can barely stand to touch me.

  Following behind him, I walk past the crowd gathering at the baggage claim toward the NOTHING TO DECLARE customs sign. Dane’s broad shoulders are stiff, and not due to his excellent military posture.

  The customs officer barely glances at our papers before waving us on.

  “We’ve got fifteen minutes before our next flight,” he says.

  “Next flight?”

  “Didn’t read the itinerary?”

  More guilt twines its way into the knots in my belly. “Not in detail.” It’s a lie. I didn’t even realize he sent one because I was trying to wrap up so many loose ends before I stepped away for ten days.

  Dane finally shoots me a frustrated look. “Probably because I didn’t send one. I knew you wouldn’t bother to open it if I did.”

  Crap. If that was a test, I failed.

  His strides lengthen and I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if there’s any point in continuing forward.

  A woman bumps into me as I come to an abrupt halt. “Oh, so sorry.”

  I turn to look at her. She’s young, tanned, and smiling with blindingly white teeth. I don’t even need to see the T-shirt proclaiming her status as yet another bride. Apparently Belize is a popular honeymoon destination this time of year.

  “You okay, baby? You need me to take your bag?” a man asks from behind her. His black tank top predictably reads Groom.

  “No, babe. I’m good. Love you.” She leans forward to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a bright red lip print behind.

  I want to tell them to hold on to what they’re feeling right at this moment for as long as they can and never let it burn out, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I’d sound like the bitter wife who knows her marriage is on the rocks.

  Since we eloped on that beach in Costa Rica and spent a week more in bed than out, we haven’t taken another tropical vacation, mostly because I’ve been too busy trying to make my mark in the world of business consulting.

  In my crusade to conquer everything life has to offer, have I misjudged completely?

  After gathering myself for a moment, I continue toward the counter where Dane is waiting for me. His fingertips beat an impatient rhythm on the maroon laminate, and I smile at the woman assisting him.

  “Sorry. Lots of excited brides and grooms here today.”

  Her lips part into a friendly smile. “Ah, yes. Belize is a perfect destination for lovers. So much opportunity for romance. Could I see your passport, please?”

  Part of me wants to ask what about miracles? But I hold it back in favor of handing my passport over. She flips it open before handing it to Dane, along with two brightly colored pieces of paper.

  “Here are your boarding passes. You’re in Terminal 1. The flight won’t leave without you. I hope you have a wonderful trip.”

  A uniformed man taps me on the shoulder as I turn to walk away. “I’ll take your carry-on, ma’am.”

  When I glance at Dane, I notice he’s no longer carrying his duffel. I release my hold on the roll-aboard. “Thank you.”

  “Safe flight.”

  After we clear security, Dane heads for the gate. Within a few minutes, a woman in a purple dress and a neon-yellow safety vest leads us out onto the tarmac, past the large jet we just deplaned from toward a puddle jumper.

  No way. I spend more hours on flights than I want to count, but this is totally different.

  Dane knows I’m terrified of these tiny planes, and I’m shocked he’d even book one. But maybe we’ve gotten to the point where he doesn’t care about those kinds of details any more.

  While I stand on the cracked concrete, fear knotting my stomach into a ball, Dane reaches for my hand.

  “We didn’t have much of a choice, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He squeezes it hard and I squeeze back, desperate for the contact and connection.

  “Do you still trust me, Kat?”

  I hate that he even has to ask. “Always.”

  “Then come on. Pretty soon we’ll be in paradise.”

  I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth and follow him up the short set of metal stairs into what seems like a toy plane.

  We take our seats, single ones across the aisle from each other. My hands shake, and for the first time in a long time, that doesn’t freak me out. I’d be more shocked if they were steady right now. Desperate for some kind of distraction, I yank the laminated information card out of the back pocket in front of me.

  Cessna 208 Caravan? Planes by Disney would be more appropriate.

  After I shove the card back into the pocket, I belt myself into the seat, clipping the unsophisticated strap across the shoulder to the waist belt. My brain rebels against the concept of the simple safety system.

  What good is this really going to do if the plane goes down? We’re all dead.

  Followed by a thought I have all too often.

  I’m not ready to die.

  The back door we entered through is shut and locked by a man on the ground, and the prop starts spinning as the engine roars to life.

  My heart thunders louder than the deafening noise, and I clench my sweaty hands into fists on my lap.

  Dane reaches out a hand and covers one of mine. I flip my fist over, flex my fingers, and knit them together with his before closing them into a tight grip.

  My rock. The one I pushed away when I should have held on for dear life.

  He squeezes again. “It’s only a fifteen-minute flight. You got this.”

  With a jerk, the plane starts forward, and any words I planned to use to respond evaporate into the humid interior of the plane as paralyzing fear grabs hold.

  I’m going to die, and not even how I thought I would. Dane is going to hate me for eternity because I’m a shit wife who shut down on him.

  The tin can hurtles down the runway, and the nose lifts off the ground.

  I turn my head the slightest bit and look at Dane. “I love you,” I whisper.

  His sunglasses cover his dark eyes. I wish I could see them and read the response like I used to be able to do.

  Instead of responding in kind, he says, “I know.”

  My stomach drops as we rise into the sky, and the pilot cranks hard to the right, heading over the sparkling blue ocean.

  * * *

  When the tires connect with a pitted runway, the wings of this baby plane dip slightly first to the right and then to the left.

  My eyes, which I had somehow managed to keep open during the longest short flight of my life, slam shut again.

  No. No. No. We didn’t make it this far only to flip off the runway and burst into a ball of flames.

  Shockingly, we don’t die. The wings level out as the plane slows and turns on the ridiculously undersized runway to taxi to the terminal.

  “That’s it? That’s the airport?”

  It’s a small tan concrete building situated next to a strip of pavement that ends at the edge of the ocean. A horse grazes in a patch of grass just beyond it, and a stray dog trots toward the plane as it stops.

  Hello, Belize.

  “See.” Dane squeezes my leg. “You made it.”

  He’s only saying that because he didn’t hear all the begging I did during the time we were in the air. I’m pretty sure I’ve bargained away my soul at this point.

  The back door of the tin can flies open and an airport employee aligns a rickety set of metal stairs with the door. Dane releases his grip on me before rising to a hunched position to deplane. Some people would be annoyed, thinking it should be ladies first, but with Dane, I know this isn’t a slight. According to him, it’s safer if he’s ahead of me.

  There was one time in Grenada I fell down four steps and Dane stopped me before I could go any further. My sprained wrist could have been a broken leg if he hadn’t been there and quick to act.

  It might be a tiny thing, but right now, I’m taking it as a positive sign that he’s
still concerned for my safety.

  Except I’ve spent too long in my head, and Dane’s waiting for me at the bottom, his dark eyebrows diving together in the middle.

  Crap. My hesitation is surely a mark against me.

  Instead of trying to explain, I hurry down the stairs, and my sandal catches on a gap in the uneven metal and sticks while my foot slides free.

  Oh no. My body pitches forward and the tarmac flies toward my face.

  “Shit.” Dane’s voice is gruff as he shifts and my body impacts with him and not the ground. His arms wrap around me. “Jesus Christ, Kat. Be careful.”

  Before I can reply, another voice, musically accented with the sound of the Caribbean, comes from behind us.

  “Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  Shaking off my clumsiness, I step out of Dane’s arms and turn. “I’m fine. Totally my fault.”

  The employee works my sandal out of the gap and hands it back to me. “Don’t want to forget this.”

  I slip it on, embarrassment burning my cheeks and a rueful smile in place.

  Another man waves us away from the plane. “Come this way, please. You can wait inside for your bags.”

  Dane’s arm slides around my lower back as we walk toward the building. Above the entry, there’s a word in green letters. Dangriga.

  “Watch your step,” Dane says as we approach the door, and I make it inside without another mishap. A rush of cool air and the hum of an air-conditioning unit greet us, and the sweat trickling down the nape of my neck chills on my skin.

  Several men in polo shirts with different logos embroidered on the breast are waiting in a group, along with a couple holding handfuls of necklaces and crafts.

  “You wanna buy something pretty for the lady?” a man with a shredded black shirt and dreads asks first.

  “No, thanks,” Dane says. He heads directly for another man in khaki pants and a sage-green polo with purple writing holding a notebook with DEAN CROSS handwritten on a piece of lined paper.

  “It’s Dane Cross, not Dean.”

  The man glances down at the paper and looks back at Dane. “You sure it’s not Dean?”

  “Positive.”

  “But you’re going to Sweet Water Caye? Two passengers?”

  “Yes, that’s us.”

  The man nods. “Then I’m Carlos, your driver. If you’ll give me your luggage tags, I’ll take care of your bags.”

  We hand them over and wait in silence, but I’m taking everything in, down to the sunburned vacationers rushing out to the plane to get home.

  I’d rather walk.

  Carlos returns with our bags and leads us out of the building that’s too tiny to call an airport.

  Once again, the intense heat and humidity slap me in the face. You’d think I’d be used to it, having lived in Texas for much of my life, but there’s something different about tropical climates and the air that’s almost heavy against your skin.

  Carlos carries our bags to an unmarked white van, the kind I’d never get in if I were traveling alone, at least not without triple-checking for proper identification of the driver and resort. But with Dane, it doesn’t matter where we go—I always feel safe.

  He’s always been reluctant to talk about his past, but I attribute that to the years he spent in the military. I’m sure he’s done and seen things I can’t imagine. Even though he’s an import broker now, there’s something about his constant vigilance that gives me the sense that nothing can go wrong as long as I’m with him.

  Carlos stows the luggage and slides open the door for us. “This will be a short ride and then a long ride. Five minutes to the docks and then an hour out to the island. If you have any questions, let me know.”

  “No questions yet,” Dane replies as he climbs in the van first. Again, another safety precaution. He gives me the nod, and I hop in.

  Once I’m belted into my seat, Carlos cranks the AC and puts the van in drive. We’ve only gone a couple hundred feet before he slams on the brakes and swears at two dogs running across the road and the child chasing them.

  I don’t recognize the words he yells, but they don’t sound far off from English, which I know is the official language of the country. Before I have a chance to ask what dialect he’s speaking, we pull up to a dock where another man waits next to a small boat.

  Jesus, what is it with itty-bitty planes and boats today? Thankfully, this doesn’t bother me as much as the plane. I can swim, not fly.

  Dane looks at the skiff and then at me, no surprise in his features. And why should there be? He planned this whole trip, so he knew about our transportation in advance.

  “I figured you could handle this. The only other option was a helicopter transfer, and I knew that’d be a deal breaker for you.” Dane’s words are embedded with challenge.

  Is he expecting me to back down? To be looking for an excuse to say no thanks, I’ll just go home? Why does everything feel like a test?

  Probably because if the last year was a test, I’d get a big fat F.

  I lift my chin. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 5

  Dane

  I’ve never met a woman more stubborn than Kat. I have to admit there’s something about her grit and backbone that I’ve always admired. Even when she’s terrified, she’ll put on a good front.

  When we were on the plane, it was impossible to miss the tense set of her mouth and the lines bracketing her eyes. Honest-to-God fear.

  As much as I wanted to take it away, part of me was happy to see it. Not because I’m a dick, but because there was finally a crack in her wall and she let me see she was feeling something. Anything.

  For the last year, I’ve let her take refuge behind that wall. Told myself if it made her feel better, that was all that mattered. It gave me time to work through my own shit. I figured eventually we’d both pull out of it and move on. Together.

  Except we haven’t. It’s been a year, almost to the day, and we can’t go on like this. But I’m not willing to give her up without a fight.

  I want her afraid. I want her off-balance.

  Bottom line, I want her.

  Kat sits beside me on the small boat, her arms wrapped around herself, her blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. The wind whipping off the sea catches the loose tendrils, and they fly around her face. She uncrosses her arms to tuck them behind her ears. The lines of strain are there, more pronounced than they were when we met.

  Kat’s still a beautiful woman, blond, blue-eyed, and curvy in all the right places. Call me a typical guy, but the first time I saw her, I knew I wanted her.

  The day we said I do, I promised I’d want her forever.

  The stress of the last year has worn away some of her curves, and her once-smooth cheekbones are more pronounced like a runway model. If there’s nothing else I can do on this trip, maybe I can help her gain back a few of the pounds she’s lost.

  The lines around her mouth used to be from smiles and laughter, but the frown I see all too often gracing her lips deepens them. The bright blue of her eyes isn’t lit with enthusiasm and passion, but dulled by resignation and tension.

  Being married to me did this to her. A knife wound would hurt less than that realization.

  Maybe I should have let her go that first week in Mexico instead of inventing reasons to stay as long as I could before I had to leave. I told myself I could make it work. Balance two worlds. Instead, I failed on every front, and this past year has been my punishment.

  A fresh start, that’s what we need, and I’m hoping this trip will give it to us. There’s so much I haven’t told her, but now it’s time.

  How can I expect a fresh start when our entire marriage is based on a lie?

  Chapter 6

  Kat

  Dane relaxes against the back of his seat but I sit poker straight, alternatively digging my nails into my thighs and trying to keep from eating the hair that’s flying in my face. When the captain fires up the engine, I tighten
my grip.

  Sure, I can swim, but I swear to God if we capsize and I drown in the Caribbean Sea, I will haunt all the boaters of Belize for eternity. Try putting that on the colorful tourism brochure.

  I suck in a breath when he takes off without even idling for a few minutes to get a feel for the choppy water. No, Captain Carlos hammers down on the throttle and we fly out across the ocean. Without thinking, I lean into Dane.

  He looks down at me, surprise flashing across his face before he wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You can swim, Kat.”

  The wind tries to steal his words, but I hear them anyway and yell my response. “I know.”

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  “If I drown, I will never forgive you.”

  He presses his lips against my temple. “If you think I’m going to let you drown, then you don’t know me very well.”

  I flick my gaze up to meet his.

  You don’t know me very well.

  My best friend’s words before I left to elope echo in my head.

  * * *

  Two years ago

  “How well do you really even know him?”

  “It’s been six months, Ben. I think I know him.”

  He dropped a hand on each of my shoulders. “One weekend a month and two weeks in the summer is the kind of commitment you give the Army Reserve, Kat, not a relationship.”

  I hated that he had a point.

  “At least go live together before you get married. Maybe he has some double life you know nothing about. Or maybe he leaves the seat up. Or doesn’t rinse the sink after he shaves. There could be a million things you hate about each other within a couple weeks.”

  “But we’ve lived together for a couple weeks, and—”

  “And you were on vacation. Yes, I know you’re going to say you were working too, but it was completely different. I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m saying this because I love you. I know it’s been hard since your mom died, and I love that he’s been an escape for you. You needed it. But think about this, Kat. You’re the smartest woman I know. Your relationship with him has been a vacation. It’s not real.”