Somewhere Bound

by Fiona Keane

  I observed from a distance as Jameson stood at the counter, ordering something from the bakery inside the airport. His head rolled around his shoulders, stretching his neck. Watching him move so fluidly and interact easily with the cashier was mesmerizing. He dazzled his way through any social encounter, effortlessly. The line of people was filling behind him, beginning to block my view of him. I glanced around, noticing the traffic in our terminal buzz with morning passengers. Morning.

  I studied the screen of departures and arrivals that was glowing at my side, reminding me it was nearing two in the morning and I couldn’t remember when I had last slept.

  “Hey,” Jameson whispered, distracting me from the screen. “On time?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, not having even looked for our flight. He handed me a large paper cup, swirls of steam toppling out from the small hole in the lid.

  “Hot chocolate,” he informed me. “Too late for coffee, right?”

  I nodded, smiling, and graciously took the drink from his hand. He lifted a similar cup to his mouth and hissed from a burned tongue.

  “May I ask…why Portland?”

  Jameson’s bottom lip was pinched between his teeth while he studied me apprehensively, a small smile playing on his lips before he spoke. “I wanted you to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?”

  “An official goodbye.” He swallowed nervously. “To your mom. Before we leave for Canada and this is all over.”

  “Oh…” I broke through the anger earlier, now only swallowed by sadness.

  “You’re a statue.” His arm wrapped around my shoulders. “Should I not have done that? Was that overstepping?”

  “No.” My head shook. “No. No. Jameson, that’s really…thank you.”

  I felt his body relax with a hearty sigh before words flowed from his lips. The vibration of his voice would always purr through me, rippling like a wave of delight that my heart longed to hear.

  “I really…I want to meet her.” Take a deep breath, Sophia.

  My eyes widened, momentarily lost in the daydream of my mother. Alive. My heart couldn’t help but flutter, imagining how it would feel to be consumed by her delicate arms, the gentle eagerness with which she would surely spoil us with crepes and fresh meringue, the calm and reassuring tickle as she would mindlessly comb through my hair, or her sweet laugh.

  A month ago, that sham of projected memories would have sent me into a tightly wound knot, surely paralyzed with pain. I think I was too tired—too tired to feel anything after the fear, angst, and worry of the last week. How could I be too tired to feel for my mom?

  “I want to thank her…and tell her you’re okay.” His lips tenderly met my hair. “Soph?”

  Oh. Right. All of this. This is why I have nothing left in me to feel before this exact moment.

  “Babe.” Jameson was kneeling in front of me as I had squatted against the wall, his hand lifting to wipe stray tears from my cheek. “I’m so sorry. I’m just ruining this. We don’t have to go to Portland. I shouldn’t have done any of that. We should have just…shit.”

  “No.” My head shook. “I was just thinking…I can’t even think of my mom in the same way I did just a week ago. I just…I’m so tired, Jameson. I’m just so tired. All I can think about is how raw my heart is, the nerves are all misfiring, and I’m just so tired.”

  He was lifting me against him, pulling my body onto his lap while I rambled into an incoherent mumble as we sat against the wall in the airport.

  “You’ve been through so much,” he sighed, his chin resting on my head. “I’m going to fix this, Soph. We’re going to get through this and start over.”

  “I know.” I sniffled, wiping my face with the cuff of my sleeve. “There’s just nothing in here right now.” I pointed to my heart, exhaling a shaking breath. His palm followed, pressing against mine.

  “There’s plenty in there. Your mom is in there. Jules is in there. Olivia’s in there…”

  “You’re in there.” I smiled.

  “I’m in there.” He nuzzled against the top of my head. “You don’t ever have to let go of those memories, those attachments. Keep them there. Keep me in there.”

  The boarding call was announced, interrupting the quiet moment we shared against the wall of the airport.

  “Well?” Jameson reached his hand out for me once I finally stood from his lap. “Ready to make one final stop back in time before we start over?”

  “I’ll go anywhere with you.” I mirrored his promise to me. “As long as it’s raining.”

  I smiled. I was actually smiling—acknowledging the hope and excitement my world spun with as long as Jameson was my axis. The gate was rapidly filling with the strangers with whom we would spend the next few hours, hopefully asleep.

  “Ah…” Jameson was still laughing at me, reaching for our boarding passes from inside his bag. “Yes. As long as it’s raining. Soph in her element.”

  I glanced at his bag and wondered about the money. In the flurry of this evening, I hadn’t remembered the pictures I took from the safe for another time. He must not have seen them yet; surely he would have said something to me. I couldn’t imagine how he was allowed through the security check carrying so much cash. Nobody must have noticed, which bought me time to figure out when I could give Jameson the small piece of his past while he was filling my soul with a tiny piece of mine. Oregon.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was easier than I thought to forget the reason why we left Memphis, or even the fact we had run from our families and lives in Florida just two days ago. Then again, it was too simple to forget any ill in the world while bound in Jameson’s arms. The liberating sound of the plane’s engines purring beneath our seats gave us the momentary opportunity to simply exist, and there wasn’t much else I wanted in that moment—other than him. And I had him. We had each other.

  Being suspended in the air, thousands of miles away from Florida, Simon, everything…I felt weightless, but entirely anchored by the boy whose arms confined me so perfectly against him.

  I had been staring at Jameson’s knees, lost to all concept of time, my eyes glossed into a thoughtless stare as I battled sleep, when he moved forward to pull something from our bag. It had been resting between his feet, locked as tightly in his guard as I had been.

  “How do you feel about Ophelia?” he whispered above my head.

  I wasn’t sure I heard Jameson correctly. Ophelia? Of all the things to consider, he was testing my knowledge of British Literature?

  “Shakespeare’s Ophelia?” My brow furrowed in thought, considering my love of reading. “She fell in love with a man who lied to her and then she died. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh.” He paused to control the uncomfortable chuckle battling his mouth. “That’s your new name. Ophelia.”

  “Ophelia?” I tested the sound of her name in my mind, wondering if I could ever be Ophelia. I let it bounce around, morphing into who I imagined Ophelia to be. It was useless. I had to be her. I am Ophelia.

  Jameson pulled some documents from the envelope on his lap while I repeated my new name in a quiet whisper. I caught him watching me, impassive yet expectant. I hadn’t answered him. How do I feel about Ophelia?

  “It’s a beautiful name. She…um…it’s from Hamlet,” I continued, watching the glow return to Jameson’s eyes as I spoke. “She couldn’t pick a side. Them or…him.”

  “I see.” His smile fell so quickly I could feel my own stomach meet it on the floor.

  “Jameson.” I reached for his cheeks, turning his head toward me. “It’s just a story.”

  “I picked it out for you. I didn’t know it was tragic, Soph,” he whispered while placing his documents on his lap. “It’s Greek. It means help.”

  “Help?”

  The knuckles of his left hand lifted to caress my right cheek, his palm slowly opening to cup my jaw with the sparkle returning once more to his golden eyes.

  “Because you helped me. You do help me.” My heart e
xploded at his words, the soft hold of his warm palm against my jaw. I pressed my cheek against him, watching Jameson’s eyes.

  “Who are you?” I questioned, realizing Ophelia’s partner had yet to be named. It felt so strange to consider that name. I had only ever been Sophia Reid, and that part of me had died.

  “Jeremy,” he answered, his hand leaving my face to collect the paperwork in his hands. My gaze followed, examining the passports and birth certificates on his lap. “Would you have preferred Romeo and Juliet?”

  He started to laugh, his eyes rolling with humor. I, on the other hand, wasn’t laughing. Seeing a picture of my face below the pad of his thumb as Jameson held open my passport was a nail in her coffin.

  “You’re always going to be Sophia to me,” he whispered, leaning forward as his lips softly kissed my forehead, “You’ll just be my Ophelia in public now. I must have missed the lesson about Hamlet in British Lit.” He continued talking, the sweet melody of his laugh encircling us, but my attention fell into the circumstances. British Lit. It seemed so recent, but it had now become something from another lifetime.

  It was an eight-hour flight with one stop in Denver, six hours of which I spent gently bound by Jameson, two of which I spent anxiously staring out the window—filling with elation as the clouds around us darkened and mist began accumulating.

  I seldom gave myself an opportunity to think of Memphis, Florida, running…each time my eyes lifted to the soul at my side, my heart was overwhelmed with his consuming force. Sleeping, snoring, mumbling in a dream, all were pieces of Jameson that fascinated me. He had watched me sleep before, staying with me during my nightmares. The only times I had seen him sleep were brief intervals during the hurricane or the foggy night in Alabama. His messy hair, the faint, soft stubble beginning to fill in his defined face, it all tickled my heart and left me in a grinning stupor.

  ***

  “So this…” Jameson combed his hair back as it moistened with the peaceful drizzle while we waited for a cab outside of the airport. “This is Oregon, huh? Gray and beautiful.”

  “Gray, rainy, beautiful.” I deeply inhaled, my lungs filling with the sweet air of the Pacific Northwest, rejuvenated with each particle of air. “This is it.”

  I nestled into the back of the cab, holding Jameson’s bag on my lap while he spoke to the driver before climbing in next to me. The half hour cab ride was peaceful—quiet from exhaustion, quiet in anticipation. The cab pulled up along the curb outside of the exquisitely expensive venue that my eyes were only lucky enough to see from trips across the Hawthorne Bridge, but never had I ventured near.

  “This place is a palace,” I mumbled, glancing at Jameson while his mouth spread into a delectable grin.

  “Fit for my princess, no?”

  “You’re kidding.” I blushed, immediately uncomfortable with our surroundings. It impacted me in Sarasota, awareness of how distant I truly was from the world of wealth and privilege.

  “You’re cute when you blush, Soph,” he teased, “but trust me on this one. You deserve this. Besides, we’re here one night. Let’s enjoy it!”

  Nervously biting my lip, I watched while Jameson sorted through an envelope held prisoner in his possession, and handed documentation of our new identities to the front desk attendant to check us in. I felt entirely out of place as I sat in my plane-matted hair and mismatching attire from Memphis. People were meandering throughout the lobby, enjoying cocktails and checking in for their luxurious retreat nestled against the Willamette River. Jameson waved for me to join him, his back toward me while his fingers wiggled for my attention. I approached, slipping perfectly into the curve of our bodies.

  “Have a wonderful day and evening, Mr. and Mrs. Black.” The front desk clerk politely smiled at us while handing Jameson the key to our room.

  He nodded, shoving the envelope beneath his left arm, and promptly turned with me to head toward the elevators. Jameson’s hand balanced against my lower back as he guided me. It was grazing my body in a reassuringly possessive way that sent a chill throughout my skin.

  “Black?” I whispered, stepping into the elevator.

  Jameson, a slight grin pulling his lips upward, pressed the button for the top floor after sliding the room key into a slot and waited for the doors to seal before turning to me.

  “Alias.”

  “Your favorite color.”

  “True.” He smiled at me.

  “Mr. and Mrs.?”

  “It sounds nice.”

  “Jameson…” I slapped his chest, but he quickly grabbed my wrist while laughing at my pathetic attempt to injure him.

  He tugged against my wrist, pulling my body into him with a thud. It was impossible not to inhale his intoxicating scent. I think my brain cells were exploding in response.

  “At least think about it,” he whispered above my head as he held me against him in the elevator.

  I could hear the smile in his voice and I could feel it in his hands as they pressed my head against his chest. The doors opened with a ding, revealing a private hallway. He stepped out before me, looking at the lone door near the elevator. The barren, crisp walls and deep ebony carpet of the hall screamed of wealth.

  “Welcome to your home for the evening, Mrs. Black.” He turned to me, reaching out for my hand as I remained in the elevator. “Come on. Check out your digs.”

  “Digs? Jameson…” My mouth hung in awe as I entered the suite. “This is a palace.”

  He dropped our bag on a luggage rack near the bathroom door and sat against the foot of the vast king-sized bed as he casually pulled off his sneakers.

  “Fit for my queen,” he murmured while taking off his shoes and then fell against the mattress. “I know we slept on the flight, but I’m so tired.”

  “I’ve been upgraded to queen?”

  “Of course. Come sleep with me.”

  His right arm was draped over his eyes, but his left arm was extended and pathetically motioning for me to join him. Wait. Sleep with him? Um…he must have sensed my hesitance because he peered at me from beneath his arm.

  “Soph.” He chuckled. “Not like that. No funny business.”

  “Okay.” I blushed, approaching him.

  “I’m too tired,” he teased, pulling me against his side once I reached the bed.

  His left arm wrapped around my chest, holding me against him securely. From beneath his safe imprisonment, I glanced around the suite, cautiously studying each doorway and window that stared out onto the expanse of parking or lush pool garden beneath. I had been holding my breath in awe…and nerves.

  “Soph, relax. I was teasing you. Let’s go to sleep. We want to see some of Portland tonight and get to the coast tomorrow.”

  “Jameson.” I rolled over so my chest was now against his side and rested my left arm on his chest.

  Jameson’s left arm fell from his face and folded beneath his head as he gazed down at me, his hazel eyes full of something new–something exciting, like promise or encouragement. Whatever it was, they were beautiful and bright.

  “Soph?”

  “I—never mind.” I buried my face into his shirt, deeply inhaling his intoxicating aura and hiding my face from his gaze.

  His body lifted from the mattress, pulling me up with him and he tightly held my arms in his hands. I couldn’t hide from his face. The chiseled and perfect form warily reviewed my own expression. Jameson’s hands cupped my cheeks, so I was unable to avoid the glow of his eyes that melted me upon contact.

  “Soph, I want to be with you. I want to be with you forever. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, if you asked me to do it. But…” His thumb caressed my cheek, stopping at my chin. “There are some things I want to do for you that I just can’t. I won’t…not until you really are my Mrs. Black.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jameson

  I woke to a clap of thunder, my heart violently shaking itself within the cage of my chest. What the hell was that? Why was my heart going a mile p
er minute because of thunder?

  There it was again, a voluminous clamor that forced all blood from my brain. I felt faint, nauseated. My eyes slowly rolled to the side, reassuring myself that Soph was next to me. Her sleeping figure had been so tightly adhered to my side that I no longer felt her as separate; she had become such a part of my being that there was no division.

  Soft threads of auburn and gold decorated her face, masking her while she slept nuzzled against my chest and shoulder. The third clash in the sky stiffened my body, practically paralyzing my fiery nerves.

  A weight pressed against my ribs, suffocating my lungs and ceasing my rapid heart. I can’t breathe. Just wake her up. She’ll help you. I tried turning my head, but…I can’t move. The only pieces of my body under my control were my eyes, useless orbs of hazel, voiceless and without power. I couldn’t move my shoulder; I was unable to press against the arm crossing over my stomach. Paralyzed.

  With the fourth bang crackling throughout the sky and entering our hotel room with its threatening echo, I realized I was having a panic attack. I hadn’t heard thunder since the hurricane. All thoughts returned to the storm; Soph almost drowning, being locked away in the safe room, learning about Simon. Soph almost drowning.

  There it was, the memory I had stuffed into the bowels of my brain, refusing to remember, but now wildly dancing in my mind. She’s right here! She’s next to you, breathing like a sleeping child, safely tucked against me. She isn’t drowning. She is alive.

  I couldn’t understand what it was about that moment that burned within me so strongly, like kindling that quickly consumed anything in its proximity. With my body stiff, rigidly paralyzed, I felt useless. At least my brain was sort of in my favor, despite the waking nightmare of Soph almost drowning, I could at least justify its flaw by simply moving my eyes to watch Soph breathe.

  But it didn’t stop. The scene of chasing her, watching her fall in the marina at night with the hurricane brewing around us, the salty water on her lips while I tried to resuscitate her. It all vividly played out, repeatedly, in my cloudy mind. Why do I keep going back there?