“You shouldn’t have kissed me.”
“Why not.”
“Cause.”
The weekly Saturday night game of flashlight tag plays out across half a block of back yards, my siblings and a dozen other neighborhood kids from the neighborhood howling and giggling in the late summer night. Silas is “it”, but I know full-well we’re playing an entirely different game, hidden here together behind Ms. Hempstead’s garage.
I’ve got my back to the dark blue clapboard siding, my hair pulled back in a ponytail and my pulse skipping like crazy in my chest. Silas leans close, one hand on the garage wall behind me.
“Cause you didn’t like it?”
“No.”
He grins. “No you didn’t like it or no-”
“No, I mean, yes, I liked it.”
I freeze, caught in my own words before I frown.
“That’s- that’s not what I meant.”
Silas just wags his brows at me as he steps closer.
“Don’t you have other people to go find in this game?” I say quietly.
“Nope.” He swallows. “Found the only one I need to.”
I feel that thrill shiver through me. The forbidden, reckless thrill that’s started to come up in the last year or so whenever I’m around him.
“My dad-”
“Would kill me if he knew I’d kissed you.”
I blink. “That doesn’t scare you?”
“No.”
It does, I can see that even at a young age. Jacob Hammond is… formidable, even to cocky, fearless kids like Silas Hart.
“Rowan?”
He shakes his head. “I can manage your brother.”
“Manage?”
He nods. “Yeah, like, make him cool with it all.”
“What do you mean, ‘it all’?” I swallow thickly, blinking quickly. “It was just one kiss.”
My first kiss. My only kiss I’ll never be able to forget.
He moves closer. “Because, Slimy,” He grins at me, so damn cocky, so fearless.
“I’m not JUST gonna kiss you once.”
I swallow thickly. “What?”
I can feel the electricity run through me, the crackling of it snapping through my synapses.
“I said,” his hand slides to mine, fingers entwining as he pulls me against him, “I’m not gonna be able to stop kissing you.”
And then he does it again, and after that it’s all over.
After that he never does stop kissing me.
Until he does.
Forever.
* * *
The second I get to O’Donnell’s I regret my decision to come here. I still want a drink, but I want nothing to do with the crowd in there that I can see and hear through the half-frosted window. There’s a game on, and I know damn well I’m going to see at least five people I probably know.
Nope.
Instead, old habits take over, and I head around to the back door. I slip inside, ignoring the loud music and cheering from the bar up front as I dart down the back hallway to Rowan’s tiny office.
The door shuts behind me. I move to slump into the chair at his desk, and I grin as I pull open the bottom drawer.
Knew it.
My brother is exactly the kind of guy who’d keep a bottle of scotch in his desk drawer at work. I make a face at the half-empty bottle of cheap looking stuff. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do the trick right now.
Fucking Blaine.
There’s a tumbler on Rowan’s desk that I wipe out with the edge of my shirt, pouring a healthy splash before bringing it to my lips. The amber liquid burns, making my eyes water and my throat ache, but it’s a soothing fire.
A cleaning one.
“Is there another girl?”
“I don’t know how you want me to answer that.”
I almost want to scream again, right there in the office. I want to smash the glass in my hand against the wall, or break something important just to feel.
And I want to hurt. I want to feel sadness, and heartbreak, like I know I should in this situation. Because at the moment, I don’t. At the moment, stewing there in that bar office, all I feel is anger.
I down the rest of the glass, and I’m reaching for the bottle to pour another splash when something across the room catches my eye.
The lacy, delicate purple bra draped over the armrest of the ratty couch.
I wrinkle my nose and roll my eyes.
Jesus, Rowan.
Or Silas.
I quickly stuff the idea of him in here with some girl right out of my head.
But then the anger comes bubbling right back. Because suddenly I’m thinking of Blaine’s other girl, whoever the fuck she is. I don’t own a bra like that.
Maybe I should have. Maybe he wouldn’t have looked somewhere else if I did.
The thought is so fucking ridiculous that I cringe at myself, finishing the drink in my hand and quickly refilling it yet again.
There haven’t been many since Silas, and it’s one of the reasons I hate him. Because there can’t be others, not after that and what that was.
It’s having the stars and the moon and then being taken to a cheap planetarium.
And it’s the insecurities too. It’s stupid fucking thoughts like wondering if my fucking bra color would have kept my shitty boyfriend from cheating. It’s the insecurities that come with the man you love leaving without a word, and spending years - literally years - wondering what you did. Wondering why you weren’t worth a phone call or a letter.
The third glass goes down even easier, and I sink into Rowan’s chair.
I’ve been in this room before, long ago, when it used to be a storage room. Silas and I broke in through that same back door, swiping two warm beers each out of an open case and giggling like maniacs as we dashed outside and up to the roof to drink our spoils.
I’m up before I know it, slugging back the drink and feeling the scotch burn through me like a whirlwind. Outside, I climb the old metal stairs to the roof, breathing in the salt air with each step back up to this place of memories.
You can see the whole town from up here, with O’Donnell’s being up the hill from the harbor. The lights of Main Street - still choked with tourists milling around tourist bars and souvenir shops, or eating ice-cream cones and frozen lemonade down by the park.
The knick-knack shops.
The lobster roll places.
The harbor.
I can’t actually see it, but I know that his stupid houseboat is down there somewhere.
This is a bad idea.
Just…just a really bad one.
I somehow make my way back down the metal stairs without tripping, and then I’m off.
Because bad idea or not, I need some damn answers, and I need them right now.
15
Silas
Cold beer, sea air, the water rocking against the side of the boat.
“The boat” being that rental I’d been trying to see Doug Conlin about before Ivy elbowed me in the face that day on the docks. Can’t say I was expecting a houseboat, but I’ve gotta say, it suits me just fine. It’s quiet, it’s cheap, you can’t beat the views, and my closest neighbor is old Mr. Conlin himself - five slips down the docks on a forty-footer he’s apparently decided to live on and restore since retiring from his drug store.
So this is home now, apparently. Home sweet fucking home, where everyone’s either forgotten who I was or wishes they had.
And yet, as glib as I want to be, and as much as I want to roll my eyes at even the idea of calling this damn town “home”….
Well, it kind of is, whether I want it to be or not. You don’t get to pick where you’re from, unfortunately, only where you go. And somehow where I went took me right fucking back here. To the same town, and the same girl I left behind.
I shake my head, sitting with one knee bent up on the roof of the houseboat, looking out over the harbor growing quiet for the night.
In a funny way, the boat
and the beer and the ocean air make me think of Dublin. Well, the same, and yet totally different. It was never this nice out over there, that’s for sure. It was dreary, and cold, and I never really had a moment like this just to be alone in my own head. I was too busy stealing, or pulling jobs, or drowning myself in whiskey, women, and the madness of my own head to let myself take a moment and just be.
I spent eight years wondering what I’d do if and when I saw her again. And every single smooth, heartfelt, or thought-out thing I ever thought about saying went right out of my head the second I actually did.
The girl I told “forever.”
The one who said it back and then let me walk away.
I take a long, slow pull of my beer as I stare out over the harbor.
“I need answers.”
And suddenly, her voice isn’t just in my head, it’s right here and now. I jerk my head around and look down at the dock from my perch.
Ivy.
I shake the lingering thoughts from my head as I raise a brow at her.
“Looking to come aboard?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her face angry as she jabs a finger at me.
“No cute talk; no games, Silas. We’re done with that.”
I frown. “Should I put Monopoly away?”
“Silas.”
“Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up as I slowly stand and turn to get a better look at her.
She’s fury personified, her now golden hair flamed out around her face, her eyes flashing green fire.
I cross my arms across my chest as I nod. “Come on up.”
She stumbles as she clambers over the side onto the boat, swearing under her breath in the semi-dark of the twilight.
“Those heels aren’t going to do you any favors on the ladder.”
She glares at me as she kicks them off onto the deck of the boat, muttering under her breath as she makes for the ladder up to the roof. I finally relent, kneeling and giving her a hand up as she finishes the last few rungs.
She brushes her skirt down, furiously pushing hair out of her face.
“Beer?”
“Why’d you leave.”
Oh, we’re having that talk.
Wonderful.
“Ivy-“
“No-no.” She shakes her head, her eyes still blazing as she swallows heavily. “No. Answers, Silas; you owe me that much.”
I bark out a laugh. “I owe you?” I roll my eyes. “You told me to leave.”
“The hospital, you asshole!” She yells, far louder than I’d have expected.
“I asked you to leave the damn hospital, not the fucking country!”
I hold her gaze. “It’s complicated.”
“Un-complicate it.”
I shake my head. “It’s things you don’t want to hear, I can promise you that.”
“No, I can promise you that it damn well is!” Her chest heaves, her shoulders shuddering as she looks at me in the faint glow of the harbor.
“Eight years, Silas.” Her hand darts into her tank top and yanks the necklace out, her face tight. “Eight years.”
She shakes her head, her eyes full of all the sadness I know I put there.
“Look, you want answers?” I shake my head as I step towards her, commanding her attention.
“Then ask the questions.”
She swallows, her face fierce. “Fine. The truck robbery that night.”
I wince.
“Why?” Some of the fire seems to go out of her eyes as she retreats. “Why’d you go?” she says, quieter this time.
“You know why,” I say softly.
“My brother?”
I nod. “Couldn’t let him fuck up his life like me.”
She shakes her had. “Silas, your life wasn’t-”
“Ivy I was nothing like you and your siblings, and you know that.” She looks up into my eyes, blinking.
I shrug. “That’s just the way it shook out. Fate, karma, history, whatever you want to call it.
I step closer to her, and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching out and cupping her chin in my hand. “You know I always had a cloud following me.”
“What really happened that night?” She looks at me pleadingly, not making a move to step away from my hand on her cheek. I stroke her jaw softly before letting it drop.
“I mean, I basically know, but what really happened? Dad’s always been vague, and I don’t think Rowan totally remembers.”
I turn, looking out over the water and the breakers crashing softly on the moon-lit horizon.
“I got a call from one of Declan’s guys the night of the hit.” The memory of it start to come creeping back, the cold, bony hands of it clawing at me.
“I had said no to the job, but I found out with that call that Declan had offered it to Rowan.” I can feel the same rage burning up inside that I felt that night.
“But he didn’t go on the actual job?”
I shake my head as I turn back to her. “I swapped back in. Declan wanted me anyways, and truth be told, I almost wonder if he offered it to Rowan just to get me to do it.” I look into her big green eyes.
“I called Rowan and told him to fuck off, and then I…” I trail off.
“You did the job.”
I nod and she looks away, swallowing heavily.
“You know that guard was Jimmy Doyle’s father, Silas,” she says quietly, her voice broken. “We went to school with him.”
“That was never the plan,” I growl, my voice tight. “That shit was never supposed to happen. We knew the route, we knew the driver - fuck, Ivy, I played football with Jimmy. But Declan brought on one of his Southie Boston goons at the last minute. Nobody actually brought loaded guns, except that piece of shit.”
She looks at me sharply. “Guns?”
I quickly shake my head. “I was just driving.”
She nods again, chewing her lip, her chest rising and falling softly as she sucks in breaths. “Rowan?”
“He showed up, Ivy,” I hiss air through my teeth, looking away. “Your damn brother showed up anyways, right after the hit, right at the scene since he knew the route. One of Declan’s guys took over as driver and I dragged Rowan’s ass back to his own car, tossed him in the passenger seat, and got us the fuck out of there before he got implicated in the worst mistake of his life.”
Her eyes drag back to mine. “And then you crashed.”
I don’t look away this time. “Yeah. And then I crashed.”
She shakes her head, her hand reaching out to my arm. “It was dark, and raining, Silas. You had a ton of stuff going on in your head.”
I bark out a harsh laugh. “My fault, Ivy. No excuses. I almost killed your brother and my best friend.”
“But you saved him.” Her hand tightens around my wrist, pulling at me as her eyes plead.
“Why did you leave?”
“Besides your dad telling me to? Besides watching your heart break right in front of me?”
She blinks and nods.
“The hit was all over the police scanners, and Declan was sure they had a mark on the car and anyone involved. I was scared, and young, and stupid enough to trust his judgment, so I left.”
“You didn’t call,” Ivy’s voice breaks then, and I can feel my heart crack. “You didn’t even write?”
I clench my jaw. “I did write. Once. You not responding was the last confirmation I needed.”
“Liar.” She blinks back tears, turning away. “You did not write me. Believe me, I’d know.”
My frown deepens. “No, I wrote you. I wrote you everything that had happened and everything I was fucking feeling, and I gave it to one of Declan’s guys to give to-”
I whirl away, the rage of the sudden realization sliding into place like a knife’s blade.
“You did write?”
I turn back to her, nodding somberly. “I think I’m putting it together now that you never got it.”
She shakes her head and I close my eyes before opening them an
d looking right at her. “Would it have changed anything? Even if you had gotten it?”
Her face crumples. “Would it have told me why you left?”
“Ivy, I left because what happened that night was the beginning of the end,” I say softly, reaching out and cupping her face again. “It was the beginning of me only causing you pain, and only hurting you and your family.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispers.
“I do know that,” I growl. And suddenly, I’m right in front of her, my hand right back to that soft line of her jaw again, my eyes blazing right into hers.
“I was always going to be trouble, and you knew that.”
I move right against her, so close that I can hear the catch of her breath and see the beat of her pulse in the shadow of her neck. I’m so close to her that I’m losing myself right there, drowning in the familiarity of her scent and her presence.
“You knew I was trouble, Ivy,” I whisper across her upturned lips. “And I think that’s why you ever loved me in the first place.”
I don’t think, I just do.
I kiss her.
I kiss her with eight fucking years of wanting to feel those lips again. I slide my hand into the back of her hair and kiss her with every single ounce of feeling I’ve had locked up inside on the other side of the damn ocean all these years.
I half expect her to slap me, or scream, or shove me over the side of the fucking boat.
But damn if she isn’t kissing me right back.
She wraps her arms around me, pulling me tight as she presses her soft pillow lips to mine. And after that, I’m undone.
It’s deep, and it’s burning - a Hollywood, soul-rendering kiss. And for one second, the whole rest of the fucking world and all of it’s history and hurt and pain just vanishes.
And then it’s over.
She pulls away with a gasp, her hand flying to her lips as if just realizing what she’s been doing. She brushes those lips for a second with her fingers, blinking quickly before her eyes flick to mine.
She scowls.
“You can’t kiss me like that,” she says breathlessly, her face bright red and her eyes burning like little fires.
I grin, immediately thinking about the time we were kids when I did this the first time.
“Sure I can.”
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 86
