by Fiona Keane
“Right. You’re a grown up,” I mocked. “That’s what I mean. You can be like that, but then you say things and do things that are just too grown up. Too mature. Too responsible.”
“I had to grow up fast, Soph.” His admission shattered my heart.
I hadn’t thought. How selfish of me to not consider the fact Jameson was who he was, this Jameson character, because of his past. He was now living in his third identity. It was his third persona, his third attempt at living a peaceful life.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I looked away, remorseful. “I’m sorry, Jameson.”
“It isn’t your fault, Soph. Look at me.” His voice was quiet, but stern. “You’re not responsible for anything that happened before we met. You’re not even responsible for eighty percent of what happened to me or us after we met.”
Jameson’s face softened, warmed with gentle laughter and a gleaming smile that blinded me beautifully.
“Eighty percent?”
“If I recall, I’m the one who kidnapped you. I’m the one who came to your house. I kissed you first. I wouldn’t let you go. Fine…ninety-five percent. But you refused to let me release you.” His eyes squinted. “So you’re guilty of five percent. At least.”
“I’m guilty.” The laugh that pulled my lips apart was warm, a rewarding feeling in my perpetually nervous belly.
“Indeed.” Jameson nodded, taking my hand in both of his, smiling at me with sparkling hazel eyes that burned with longing. “You’ve now kidnapped my heart, Soph.”
“What do we do about that, Mr. Black?”
“Pass.” He winked at me, pulling his hands away as the server approached with dessert menus. I waved him away, my stomach filled beyond compare. I don’t remember ever consuming so much in my entire life. Jameson smiled at the young man dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, probably dazzling this young man as he did anyone else who received that sparkling grin.
“Thanks, but no. The wife and I are stuffed. We’ll just take the bill.”
The server promptly nodded and turned from the table, leaving my eyebrow lifted at Jameson’s mischievous grin.
“What?” His question resonated with laughter, bubbling between us at the table.
“The wife?”
Jameson chuckled while his arm extended to retrieve the check from the approaching server. I studied him, waiting for a response while my nerves delighted one another in a painfully optimistic tickle. The wife. The profoundly significant weight behind those words, that pronoun, bore against my heart.
“You’re beginning to panic, aren’t you? Soph, I was only teasing. I shouldn’t have. I apologize.” He took money from his wallet and placed the tab back on the table while he spoke, his hazel eyes darkening. “I can’t help but tell you the truth though.”
Rolling my eyes, I pushed my chair out from the table. I couldn’t let him see how nervous that word made me.
In an instant, my life had changed—four times—losing my mother, Jameson speaking to me for the first time, running away with Jameson, and Jameson telling me he loved me. And now, considering the weight of that word and its finality, my heart constricted, twisting in its hollow space between my frantic lungs. I felt his arm around my waist as I mindlessly floated from the restaurant to the damp sidewalk. I reveled in the soft mist that sparkled against my face, the feeling comforting and familiar.
“We need to figure out what comes next after tomorrow.” His whisper broke my daze, returning my mind to our reality.
It snapped me from the delightful stupor of the perfect day. My face fell from the mist and turned toward him. Jameson’s brows met, studying me apprehensively.
“Canada?” I thought out loud. “We just need to get there…right?”
“In a way.” He began walking, pulling me along at his side with a dreadfully slow pace. It was as though Jameson’s feet were as stubborn as our souls, refusing to admit movement forward would put the day in our past.
“We need a car.”
“I’ll rent one tomorrow.”
“You have to be twenty-five.”
“Jeremy Black is actually twenty-six.” He chuckled, shrugging. “You’re older now too.”
“You aged me?” My mouth gaped at him, humorously enraged that he would do anything to speed up my time with him.
“You’re twenty-one now.” His left hand cupped my face while those sparkling eyes examined me. “But you’ll always be that innocent eighteen-year-old who kidnapped my heart.”
“And you’ll always be the obnoxious nineteen-year-old who actually kidnapped me.”
A smile stretched my mouth, but it was immediately smothered in his lips. His kiss was gentle, beginning as a soft reminder of his genuine affection for me, but as Jameson’s mouth continued its loving assault on my lips, it all changed. It was a welcome forceful passion, a feeling that woke a slumbering piece of my heart, shifting my mind from its cloud of misery.
“I won’t be able to stop myself,” he groaned against my mouth, pulling his lips from mine and meeting our foreheads. “I love you, Soph. So tomorrow, we rent a car and drive to the coast. Then, just straight up to Canada. Sound good?”
Our footsteps began their mindless rhythm, heading further away from the restaurant.
“Uh huh.”
“That’s all?”
“Yep.”
“All right.” His lips met my hair, softly kissing me while his hold around my shoulders tightened.
It was a long walk back to the hotel, and I wasn’t entirely sure why we didn’t take a cab, but I had no complaints about the warmth and protection of being adhered to Jameson. Our return was quiet, peaceful, and ignorant of the reasons surrounding our trip, which we hadn’t discussed. It sort of felt like neither of us could talk about Florida, Simon, or any of it while still in the States.
We needed to break free from there before we could reflect but, at that point, I wasn’t sure we would even want to look back. I didn’t know if I would have panic attacks in Canada, having the past behind us. I did know, however, they would be subdued and softened by waking up to Jameson each morning.
***
He was sitting on the small balcony outside of our hotel room when I left the bathroom, wearing one of the t-shirts I bought for him as my pajamas. The curtain peacefully danced along the floor, blowing in with some rain from the soft drizzle outside. As I approached, I noticed his stiff posture in the bistro chair, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair with his left ankle resting on his right knee. He was staring at the bridge, his eyes entirely glossed over and void.
“Hi,” I whispered, stepping into the doorway.
Jameson’s head snapped toward me, life and color returning to his dark features, and he extended an arm. My hand was warmed by the soft skin of his grasp, letting him pull me onto his right knee while his left foot returned to the tiled floor. Wrapping my arms around his neck, my skin tingled with his head resting heavily against my chest. A trembling shiver rippled through me in response to the deep exhale released from Jameson’s lean body.
The idea of him touching my skin just a month prior would have driven my mind into a frenzy, my heart unable to beat within normal rate, and then there I was, sitting on his lap on our hotel balcony, pretending the last month never happened. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth—this was entirely all because the last month happened.
We were approaching knowing each other for only two months and yet, my soul had connected to its mate. My lungs were calm, filling with the air of his aura. My heart was strengthened, capable of every courageous thought he felt I could accomplish. It wasn’t only two months. It was forever.
“How do you know you want to spend forever with someone?” I whispered, my thoughts slipping from my lips, my ears burning with embarrassment by the accidental release from my heart.
“Forever began when I first met you, Soph.” His reply was muffled while he reached for my palm and held it to his lips. “That’s how I know I wan
t to spend my forever with you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jameson
It may as well have been the middle of the night. The sky was darkened by precipitous clouds accompanied with a fog that lingered heavily toward the rooftops, blocking the view of anything beyond our close periphery.
My right arm was bare, chilled by the vacancy left from Soph’s departure. I allowed my fingertips to scour the mattress, hoping to contact her somewhere near my side, but I felt nothing. Pulling my hands along my face, hoping the pain would wake me, I lifted to my elbows and scanned the room.
“Soph?”
Her name was barely a sound through my crackling voice, wherever she was I doubted she could hear me. I noticed the curtain fluttering against the opposite wall, reflecting the gray light that barely shone into the room.
Soph was sitting on the edge of the leather club chair, her knees bent and feet pressed against the wall in front of her. From the bed, it appeared she was paralyzed but for the rhythmic tap of fingertips along her knees. I studied her, slightly wary of how to approach. Her eyes were glossed over, her unfocused stare held by nothing in particular.
I pulled my legs over the mattress and held the edge, continuing to watch her. She had come so far in such a short amount of time. Soph was opening, blossoming, and revealing herself as each piece of fear was smashed in our wake. But there were moments with words or triggered memories, and I knew every miniscule piece of her was fighting for survival, battling to maintain composure and not fall into the pit of her darkest despair.
Rubbing my eyes and forcing my hands through my hair to help wake me even further, I lifted from the mattress and slowly wandered from the bed. I have absolutely no idea what time it is. The closer I got to my frozen girl, the more I could observe. She was wearing sneakers, jeans…is she running? I choked, pissed at myself for that even being the first thing my brain feared. That’s not your brain–that’s your heart, you idiot.
“Soph…” My hand reached out to her shoulder, feeling her muscles stiffen beneath my light touch.
Soph slowly reached her left hand from her knee, crossing her chest, to hold my hand. She is holding my hand. She isn’t running.
“Hi.” Oh, she is talking to me. Yes. She’s okay. What do I say?
“Why the sneakers?” Really, Jameson? Why the sneakers? Why don’t you remind her one more time that she runs? God, you’re an imbecile.
“I mean…” I fumbled with my correction. “It’s what, like midnight? Why are you all dressed?”
She turned to look at me. “It’s almost four, Jameson.”
Her face returned to its nook behind the top of her knees, her fingertips resuming their mindless patter along her legs.
“Oh.” I pulled along the back of my neck, visibly uncomfortable and unsure of what was happening in that moment. “Time to go?”
“We have some time,” she whispered, her fingers now tightly winding around her ankles. Her sneakers were small and light aqua with miniscule…polka dots? Hearts? Heart polka dots. Oh, my God. That is so not Soph.
“That’s all from Elizabeth, isn’t it?” I settled onto the edge of the small glass coffee table next to her club chair, hoping her expression would fall on me. A small laughing scoff bubbled from her lips.
“What gave it away?” Her eyes remained on the window, focused on the darkened haze that glowed in the distance.
“The shoes.” I fought a smile. “They’re so…Olivia.”
She glanced down, stretching out her right leg before returning it to rest her foot back on the arm. “I thought more Michelle, but whatever.”
“Her too,” I sighed, pondering something. “It’s okay to miss them, Soph.”
“I know.”
“It’s okay to miss the guys too.” I bent my head around her, hoping to catch those sapphires. “They all cared about you.”
“My loss then, huh?”
“I didn’t mean that.” I sat back, punching myself in my mind. What are you even trying to do here, Jameson? Let it go!
Something was obviously bothering her. I knew she liked to simply be, to exist in her own world, but she looked so…sad, so lonely.
“Did you have a nightmare, Soph?”
Her head shook in response. Okay…no nightmare, we’re not leaving yet, she doesn’t want to talk about our friends…
“Did I say something…at dinner? Soph, did I overstep someth—”
Soph’s head rolled to look at me, still resting against her knees, her eyes filled with unease. “I wish you’d stop worrying about breaking me, Jameson.”
Wow.
“I…” My right hand clung to my neck, nervously rubbing the knots binding my muscles with each foot I shoved in my mouth. “I know you’re not breakable, Soph. You’re incredible. I wish you could see what I see.”
“I do. Sometimes. I think.”
I looked up, and met with soft blue eyes that burned into mine. “You do?”
Nodding, Soph’s feet left the chair’s arm and she bent forward. I heard her grumble as if breathing was challenged by bending over so far while she shuffled around with something between her feet. When she returned to sitting, Soph was slowly flipping an envelope in her hands. An envelope and a small piece of paper. The paper was folded, with marks of repetitive use and care obvious against the folds and creases.
“Soph?”
I scooted closer to her against the edge of the coffee table, unsure of how to interpret her silence. My heart was twisting, squeezing itself like a pained orange being juiced. Her head was down while she spoke, focused on the documents in her hands.
“I’ve been keeping something from you.” Her voice rang high within my heart, now pulling the twisted strings.
What was she talking about? What did she have that she could keep from me? I was the one who held the secrets, the lies, not Soph.
“You can tell me anything, Sophia.” I reached for her hands, prepared for anything she would possibly give me. Except for her running. That, I couldn’t handle.
Soph’s sigh was shaky, a volatile breath that trembled while pouring from her soft pout. “I’ve been keeping something from you since the hurricane. You said…you said that I changed since then, but I’m still afraid. If…if you want forever, then I need to be honest with you.”
“Okay…”
“And I’m really not sure…I just don’t want you to be hurt, but you need to know.”
“Hurt? Soph, what the hell are you talking about? What’s happened?”
Scenarios beyond my mind swirled through me. What happened? Did someone hurt her? Someone hurt her. She’s in pain. Something happened. I have to fix this. I need to keep her with me, protect her. What the hell is happening right now?
She said since the hurricane. We were at my house, with Thomas and Elizabeth…he couldn’t just let me be happy with her. He simply wouldn’t let Soph and I be happy.
I stood, stepping around the chair and knelt beneath Soph’s hanging face, my bottom crouched over my school bag. I held her ankles, my fingers mindlessly tracing patterns on the skin peeking between her shoes and the cuff of her jeans. She’s so preciously smooth, like a porcelain doll. I could die a happy man if I spent my life just touching her ankles. She flinched, her body rigid from my touch. That’s not good.
“Soph…” My voice was low, a warning prompt in hopes she would divulge whatever was hurting her. “Talk to me. Babe. Soph.”
“During the storm…” she paused to sigh, but it was too long.
She couldn’t finish her thought. I pulled my hands from her ankles, now resting on my knees, and lifted her chin up with my right index finger. Her eyes were faded, a subtle blue lingered in the shadow of deep sapphire. What had this girl done to me? She possessed the power, the force with which every single wall of my protection, each barrier I had so carefully built, could be obliterated with one small, simple blink of her long, feathery eyelashes. She had the power to completely undo me. Yet, she couldn’t talk to m
e.
“During the storm,” I repeated, hoping to encourage her.
I kept my voice calm. I couldn’t worry her into a state of panic. Clearly this was something heavy on her heart. The way with which Soph held things so tightly in her heart fascinated me. I was terribly envious of her worry, the concern, the introversion, and strength that came from deep inside of her.
“You were asleep on the couch. It was like the first time you actually slept. I was the only one awake. I thought I was, at least, but then Elizabeth…she made me look at something. She…okay, so…”
I waited, my heart anything but patient while Soph thought. This is about Elizabeth. She showed Soph something—something that has cut so deeply into her conscience. What the hell was it? Soph’s hands trembled, the envelope pushing against me slightly.
“Let me start over.” Her head shook, lifting up further from my finger. “Okay, deep breath…Jameson. Elizabeth and Thomas had something of yours, well…of Gabriel’s.”
The name tore at me. I was now three times removed from Gabriel, yet he haunted me.
“Go on.”
“I think they were saving this for you.” She began opening the envelope, her wary eyes smoldering into mine with apprehension. “Elizabeth showed these pictures to me while you were sleeping. It’s you. You and your family. Before…I…I felt so guilty when she showed them to me. It was like I had seen a piece of you that you didn’t even know existed, like I was a criminal assaulting your memory and…I just didn’t know what to do, so I blocked it out. When I ran from you at the Ritz, I found this picture of a family on the street. It was so happy, Jameson. This family was so happy and it reminded me of this part of you that I could give you. You’ve given me my entirety, Jameson, like all of this, all of me, that was all you. And I knew of this one, small thing I could give you. You’ve given me hope and I wanted to give you something. I don’t know. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like this or brought up memories. I just…I don’t—”
My lips shut her mouth. Actually, they tore her lips open and shut off her incessant ramble that made me fall harder and deeper in love with her. I rose from my knees, my right arm wrapping around her waist while my left hand pulled against the back of her head, revealing the soft skin of her neck. I kissed her, burning our skin as it melted, seared with the mark of our love. I slowly leaned Soph back, knocking our bodies into the armchair, while continuing the delicious assault against her lips, her throat, her porcelain skin.
