She scoffed. “And be disappointed.”
“Or surprised.”
No doubt he knew what she was thinking, but he gestured toward the street instead of pressing. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
“Actually, I need to make a call. You go ahead.”
Cooper dipped his chin and started up the beach. “You know, Ti.” He turned and shuffled backward. “My dad used to say we’ll never find where we belong until we’re willing to admit we’re lost.” He nodded with his eyes. “Just something to think about.”
But what if being lost was all there was?
The wave’s calming lull drew her focus back to the shoreline and away from what she didn’t want to think about. She had to release the ache of wanting to belong here. Daydreams might vie for her heart, but reality never lost.
Drew was right. Obligations didn’t tie her here. They tied her to Astoria. She’d head back after the surf competition ended, regardless of what waited for her. Because honestly, what she might return to didn’t scare her half as much as what she might be leaving behind.
The feeling of Drew’s lips barely touching hers quivered through her again. Stifling it, Ti withdrew her cell and scrolled for the number to her friend in the NYPD. A six hundred-mile stretch didn’t erode responsibility.
Josh’s voicemail clicked on after the fifth ring. “D’Angelo. Talk to me.”
“Josh, hey. It’s Ti Russo. Listen, I need a favor. Call me when you have a sec, ’kay? It’s um . . .” She exhaled through her mouth. “It’s important. I’ll fill you in later. Thanks.”
Near the ramp to the parking lot, the guy she’d blown off at the festival stumbled down the beach with two other guys and a couple of girls on their arms. The one with the shaved head spotted Ti and popped his buddy in the arm. “Looks like we can start the party now.”
He shoved a six-pack into his friend’s chest and jogged through the sand. With a smile she’d seen a hundred times from different guys, he strutted up beside her. “What do you say to another invitation?” He looked behind him to his friends. “Just a few of us hanging out on the beach. No harm, no foul.”
The alcohol on his breath hinted at both. Ti knew his type. Knew this scene. No use resisting the fact that she belonged in it. Even Drew saw through her. “No strings attached?”
His gaze roamed over her spaghetti strap dress. “I knew you were my kind of girl.”
Waves in the background washed away the island’s temporary illusion from the permanent truth of her identity. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Chapter Seventeen
Marks
Moonlight filtered through the shop’s back door with the remnants of a day Drew’d give anything to start over. Be smooth? Have fun? He steadied his arm in front of the furnace. With any luck, he’d burn off all reminders of how stupid he must’ve looked to Ti tonight.
Fatigue joined the waves of heat billowing across his face as he removed a blowpipe from the fire. Against a thick sheet of steel, he rolled the molten glass into a smooth shape he could work with. Careful.
He put his lips to the pipe, evened his breathing, and blew slowly until a small air bubble expanded inside the glass. Sweat formed across his forehead and raced in rivulets down his temple. Easy, now.
But even the glowing orange glass couldn’t diminish the images from earlier replaying through his mind. The way Ti’s back had fit securely against his chest at the beach. The surge the slightest graze of her lips had sent through him. The ease of spending the day with her.
Why did he have to want things he couldn’t keep?
He glanced at the mark of abandonment that’d replaced his wedding band nine years ago. Familiar weights of rejection lugged him into the memory of the night Annie left. “I can’t stay with you, Drew. Here, on this suffocating island with your small-town dreams smothering my future. I’m not like you, okay? I need more.”
More. How was he supposed to offer what he didn’t have? No spontaneity. No way to compete with the city’s bright lights or an artist’s wanderlust. He couldn’t expect Ti to see him any differently than Annie had. Shouldn’t try to be any different.
A clink jolted him back to the present as a crack in the glass zigzagged down the frail edge he’d let stretch too thin to withstand the pressure.
Like him.
The pipe shook in his hand. Drew bolted up and smashed the ruined glass to the floor, the stool wobbling behind him. He stalked to the front counter, where he seized a piece of taffy and ripped into the wrapper.
Headlights from a passing car streamed through the windows onto the auction sign on the counter and the words Marcus had scribbled over the back of it. Get used to seeing this.
Drew lowered the taffy, veins throbbing. With one look at the picture of Dad and him on the wall, he chucked the useless candy into the garbage. He gripped the base of his hair and paced, needing to get out of there and away from the failure he’d walked right into. Dad was counting on him to man up.
The back door slammed behind him on his way out.
He jogged into the wind. Each strike against the pavement hardened the resolve he never should’ve lost sight of. His breathing didn’t slow until he reached his buddy Jacob’s. At the pier, he climbed into Dad’s skiff and the one place where Drew could still sense his presence.
The movement jutted small ripples across the dark sheet of liquid glass beneath him. Echoes. Consequences. Waves he needed to conquer more than ever.
A gust of misty wind swirled into the harbor and rushed over his heated skin with reminders of Ti’s words. “You could make your own artwork, you know. Turn this shop into anything you want. No limits.”
Except for the ones that defined him.
The wooden seat’s grooves burrowed into his palms with the ache of knowing what he needed to do.
He scrolled to Lenny’s number on his cell and hovered a thumb above it. A breath at a time, he squashed each reservation holding him back.
“You’ve reached Lenny’s phone. I’m either out fishing or ain’t in the mood to answer. Leave a message or meet me at the docks. Peace.”
The beep shuddered with a prompt to surrender what Drew’d held on to for so long. “Len—” He cleared his throat. “Lenny, it’s Drew Anderson. You still interested in buying my dad’s skiff? Give me a call when you get this message. We’ll talk figures.”
The urge to change his mind pulsed in the thirty seconds it took for Drew to finally hang up. He ran his fingers along the skiff’s ragged edges and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry for letting you down, Dad. I hope you understand.”
In the bathroom of the motel she’d crashed at last night, Ti turned down the volume on her cell and listened to Josh’s message.
“Russo, long time, no hear. I have a feeling I know what you’re calling about. Mia gave me a heads-up. I’m all over this one. If the perp goes anywhere near your house or studio again, he’ll be in cuffs so fast, he’ll be seeing cinderblocks before I ever throw his butt in jail. Oh, and hey. Bree’s gonna get on me if we all don’t do coffee soon, so no busting my chops on it. Call me with a date, and do me a favor. Watch your back, eh? Later.”
Ti set her phone on the sink counter with a sigh of relief. No surprise Mia had already contacted Josh. She’d been Ti’s wingman from the day Ti opened the studio. Knew how to take care of and run the shop as if it were her own. And Josh’s boys in the 105th precinct were topnotch. Leaving it in their capable hands was the best thing she could do.
Still, just the idea of someone lurking in her neighborhood and searching for her sent shivers down her spine and hot tears up her throat. Being in this dive of a motel wasn’t helping.
Ti glanced around the bathroom doorway to Jamie and his friends sprawled across the room, passed out from who-knew-what kind of pills they’d taken last night.
She finished dabbing cover-up over the bruise Jamie had left on her arm when she wouldn’t take the drugs with him. Thankfully, he’d crashed before he could force her into what
he really wanted from her.
She thought she could do it. Thought she could be with him. But after experiencing what it was like to be in Drew’s arms yesterday . . .
Before she could stop herself, she brushed a thumb over her mouth, reliving the tenderness of Drew’s touch compared to the familiar roughhousing of every Jamie she’d ever been with. Her lashes swept together. She shouldn’t have let herself hope for more.
Ti cut off the tears, crammed her lip gloss in her purse, and faced the mirror. She flicked a glance from the purplish bruise on her arm to the reflection of her dad embedded deep behind her eyes. “Don’t worry. Your marks run deeper. I know who I am.”
Like Cooper said, Ocracoke was a getaway. Real life eventually caught up to everyone.
Carrying her flip-flops, she tiptoed across the motel room’s prickly carpet and inched the door shut. Her cell buzzed as she turned toward the elevator.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Ti, it’s Maddie. Did I wake you?”
The guilt of letting Maddie down swarmed with the stench of mothballs filling a hallway that could’ve been part of The Shining set. Ti jabbed the elevator button a dozen times. “No, love, I’m awake. What’s up?”
“Jacob’s down for hosting the party. I talked to him this morning.”
Ti lifted the phone from her ear and did a double take at the time. What was with people around here getting up before sunrise? “That’s great.”
“I’m so excited. Dad’s gonna flip when he finds out.”
About more than just the party.
Guilt took another stab. That was what Ti got for making a mess out of everything. What had started out as a fun distraction turned into a challenge and then became so much more. Instead of playing consultant, she’d gotten her heart jumbled in a web of emotions and dragged Maddie’s in, too.
Her promises to Drew and Maddie pressed in. Ti combed her bangs off her face. She had to figure this out and make it right somehow. She needed time to think. Space.
The elevator dinged open. Ti darted inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. With her camera bag clutched to her chest, she huddled in the corner.
“Ti? You still there?”
Part of her always would be. “Yeah, sweetie. We’ll talk in a few days.”
“Days? Where are you . . . ?”
Reception cut off as the doors closed. Probably better that way. She couldn’t handle the questions she didn’t have answers for.
The motel’s exit opened to dark, taunting clouds. Perfect. Ti tucked her camera bag under her shirt and jogged down the steps. Regret poured with the rain, piercing and unrelenting. By the time Livy’s apartment building came into view, the rain had rinsed off the makeup from her bruise. Too bad it couldn’t wash away mistakes, too.
From a bench on the porch, Carter set a newspaper aside and rose to his feet. In slacks and a collared shirt, he made casual appear sleek and expensive. “Got caught in the rain?”
Ti climbed the steps. She wiped the rain and tears from her face, grateful one masked the other. “Among other things.”
If she read his compassionate smile right, her eyes must’ve offered a replay of everything that happened last night. Thankfully, he didn’t inquire. “I came to extend an invitation.” He withdrew his billfold and took out a plane ticket. “Sue and I will be flying back to San Francisco at the end of the surf competition. We’d like you to join us.”
Ti’s wet arms came uncrossed. “Wait, what?”
“I have a feeling if I don’t get you to board that plane with us before we leave, I’ll never get you to California. It’d be our loss.” He stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and picked up an umbrella from the bench. “If we’re going to take our gallery to the next level, we could use someone like you. There’s an apartment above the studio you’re welcome to use until you get settled.”
Ti blinked in hopes the repetitive movement would somehow loosen her jaw.
“You don’t have to answer right now. I know it’s a big decision. Just promise me you won’t rule it out until you think it over.” He dipped his head on his way down the stairs.
“Carter, wait.”
He stopped on the third step.
Questions joined the raindrops playing percussion over his umbrella. “Why me? There are dozens of artists around here. Take one look inside Down Creek Gallery. The talent level . . .”
Understanding tinged his confident expression. “I’ve been in this industry a long time, Ti. It takes more than raw talent to thrive. Those who can create something life-giving from great heartache—they’re the ones who make it as artists.” With a definitive nod to match the assurance in his eyes, Carter jogged down the last two steps and over to his rental car.
Could any good really come from heartache? Ti turned the plane ticket around in her hands. Two and half more weeks, and then . . .
She winced at the thought of leaving after the competition, but Drew’d already made it clear that nothing tied her here. She clutched the ticket to California. Mia could run the studio in Astoria. If six hundred miles weren’t far enough away, maybe three thousand would be. It might be her only chance to find out.
Chapter Eighteen
Hollowed
In the shop’s back room, Drew stirred creamer in a cup of coffee. The spoon’s high-pitched clinking infiltrated the stark sound he’d been trying to avoid for the last four days.
Silence.
It used to be a familiar friend. A relief he’d learned to rely on. Now the stillness hollowed out the space with a reminder of Ti’s absence. No incessant talking or digs about his clothes. No singing to herself or waving her cell phone around with annoying voice recordings.
His chuckle petered into a sigh. He could say she drove him crazy all he wanted. Could hide behind barriers of self-preservation guarding him from feeling anything for her at all. But the truth was, he missed her. He’d known it the moment he left her to pack up the trailer.
Shoot, he’d practically packed her stuff for her, tossed them out with the words he wanted to take back now. Pride had kept him from turning around that night. What was new?
She was gone, and it was his fault—again.
Now, here he was drinking coffee, of all things. Alone. He looked over at the broken glass he hadn’t brought himself to clean up from the floor yet. Maybe that was how it should be.
He jimmied his cell from his pocket. No messages. Why hadn’t he heard back from Lenny yet? The guy’d been bugging him for months to buy Dad’s skiff. And now, Drew couldn’t even get a returned call from him. Was he out of town or something?
Drew tapped the phone to the counter. He’d swing by Lenny’s after he closed up. One way or another, he had to get the money he needed.
His stomach reeled at fresh images of Maddie in the doctor’s office this morning. He clenched them back and called home. “How’s my girl doing?”
“You mean since you checked on me half an hour ago? You don’t have to hover, Dad. It was just a doctor’s appointment. You should be a pro at these by now.”
She deserved that title, not him. Having to stand in an exam room, watching his baby girl get steroid shots, never got easier. Especially today.
“Sorry. I’m officially un-hovering. But call me if you need anything.”
“You know I will. And Dad? Love you.”
Not hovering was one thing. Not being completely head over heels for his daughter would always be off the table. “Love you too, Sea Monkey.”
After hanging up, he gave his mug another stir. This coffee had better be as therapeutic as Ti’d made it sound.
The over-the-door bell rang. Drew peeked around the frame toward a brunette in a slouch beanie and blue sunglasses, setting a box on the counter. “Be right with you.” He took a sip of the coffee and almost spit it back out. Therapeutic? More like disgusting. How did people drink this stuff without dumping a box of sugar in it?
Mug still in hand, he froze and then leaned
backward around the doorway again. A large cardboard box sat alone on the counter. Where’d she go?
She materialized right in front of him. “Hi.”
“Jeez.” Hot coffee streamed over his fingers. He set the mug down, scrambled for a handful of napkins, and hurried around the corner. But once he caught sight of her by the counter again, his feet slowed. “Ti?”
“They came in.” She pulled apart the box’s flaps. “Postcards, magnets, matted prints—pick your size. We have tons of options. Aren’t they great?”
With his voice gone AWOL, he blinked as if resorting to Morse code. He worked his jaw until it agreed to function. “What are you . . . ? Your hair is . . . Where have you . . . ?” Okay, make that a half-functioning jaw.
The slanted grin he’d called to mind dozens of times these last few days crawled into place. “Don’t worry. I’m sure what little caffeine didn’t end up on your hands will be kicking in any sec now. If it were coffee, you’d have a better chance.”
He ran a knuckle across his brow. “Actually, it is coffee.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
She shouldn’t be allowed to be so attractive when she gloated.
Drew played it off, falling right into ease with their normal banter. “This rude New Yorker told me I sucked at making coffee, so I figured I better prove her wrong.”
“Mm . . . You should probably hire a taste tester. Just be sure she’s a connoisseur. No posers.”
“Might be hard to find.”
“Not for an experienced résumé scrutinizer.”
“Touché.”
Her smile gradually withered as she dragged her hands along her arms. Pretending nothing had changed could only last so long.
A deep, finger-shaped bruise discolored her bicep. She clamped a hand over it and angled away from him.
A hesitant step led him closer. “Do you wanna—?”
“Answer your questions. Right.” She pointed to the strands of brown hair framing her face. “It was time for a change. But . . .” She slipped off her beanie, shook out her hair, and ran her fingers down to bright blonde tips. “I always keep some blonde.”
Begin Again (Home In You Book 2) Page 15
