Kimber

by Sarah Denier

  It seems a little strange now that I think about it. Every time someone opened their mouth about Nephs, all that seemed to come out was bloodline this and bloodline that. Everything revolves around Pure families and insuring they stay entwined. So why would Cybil consent to my relationship with Leo? My cheerful personality and a dozen half decent home baked velvet cupcakes wouldn’t make it easier. You do not simply end countless centuries of meticulously matching bloodlines. I had witnessed her pride and affection for Leo. She wanted the best for her only child and by Neph accounts that should not be me.

  “Leo will inform Cybil of his meeting with Alexandria. She won’t be happy.”

  “Not that it matters. I mean, what can Cybil do about it?”

  “She’s the matriarch of the family and head of Chambers Council. She’ll expect him to take what she says in deep consideration and he will.”

  “What about his father?”

  “Cybil’s family bloodline precedes Donovan’s. Even though they are married and she carries his last name, Nephilim culture is ruled and organized by blood. Still, she’s considerate and leads with Donovan’s influence.”

  Well that breaks down the complexity of it. Though I doubt I’ll get a grip on the inner order of things any time soon.

  As Lena and I walk in silence I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t fully belong to myself. Ever since yesterday during the cook out, something weird is happening. Maybe it’s the blood thing with Leo and I but I feel as though a piece of me was purchased and all sales are final. Every breath I breathe seems stolen and every step is the wrong way. It makes my skin pop up with goose bumps. In July!

  “Ow! Shit! Shit, shitty, shit!” A man’s voice shrieks.

  I look up from the sand and see a man thirty yards up the beach hopping on one foot.

  “Oooow!” He hollers again as he grabs his shin and falls to the sand.

  “Go, I’ll call for help.” Lena yells as I take off running towards the injured man.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” I fall to my knees beside him. I can’t get a good look at his shin with his hands covering it.

  “Something got me in the water. It’s burning, bad!” He hisses through clenched teeth. His body trembles ever so slightly. I reach for his hands but he flinches. “No! Don’t touch it!”

  I look behind me. No help yet. I hope Lena found a phone.

  “Ok, um, move your hands. I need to see it before I can help.”

  His terrified brown eyes question me. I nod, reassuring him. Slowly he pulls his hands away. I cover my mouth, hiding my silent gasp. Once the gruesome shock passes I pull myself together.

  “Ok, you’ve been stung by a stingray.”

  “Are you sure?” He asks in a slightly calmer voice. “It really fricken hurts.”

  His brow creases in pain. His short dark curly brown hair sticks to the sides of his face. He might have a day’s worth of stubble on his face but he does not look more than a couple years older than me.

  I point to his shin. “The barb is still in your leg.”

  “Pull it out!” He yells retreating into panic mode.

  “No! Are you not from around here? Pulling it injects more poison. Do you like the pain?”

  “No.” He whispers.

  I don’t know what color his skin normally is, but I don’t think it’s deathly pale. His breathing becomes an erratic pattern of shallow gasps. Crap, where is Lena? Just as I think help won’t make it, I hear the sweet sound of sirens.

  “You’re gonna be ok. Just…hold on a little longer.”

  “Don’t leave me alone, please.”

  “I won’t. Help is coming.”

  I look up to see two paramedics jogging towards us. I raise my arms in the air flagging them down. As they reach us I move aside. While one paramedic assesses the injury the other takes notes and calls ahead to the hospital.

  “Do you know this man?” The paramedic asks glancing up at me.

  In that fraction of a second we recognize each other. It’s Max, one of the paramedics called to my house the day of my mother’s memorial. Small world, or town. I’m relieved to see his normal partner Nicole must have the day off, replaced with by an older gray haired man.

  “No, I was walking with my aunt when we heard him scream.”

  “Manly—it was a manly scream.” The stranger clarifies through clenched teeth then smiles meagerly at me.

  Max pulls out a needle and with not a moment to spare, I turn away. I swallow down the vomit rising in my throat. I can tolerate them once they’re in but generally I hate needles. Next, they load the man onto a stretcher. I stand back looking down at the spot where he laid, white sand stained with speckles of red.

  “Hey!” Max calls out waving me down. I jog up to him, his partner and the unknown injured man.

  As I approach, the injured man tilts his head gesturing for me to come closer. As the paramedics resume transporting him toward the waiting ambulance the man speaks. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, since you just saved me, but could you help me with one last thing?”

  I look at Max who eyes me in a curious way.

  “What?” I ask looking back down to the man. His brown eyes look softly upon me. His face and bare torso, which I hadn’t really noticed before, is covered in sweat and sand.

  He swallows hard and answers, “If this is my ride to the hospital, I’ll need one out. My black Jeep is in the public area. You’ll find the keys under the seat.”

  “You want me to drive it to the hospital?” I ask biting on my lip, hesitant to answer my own question.

  “Please?” He asks as Max and his partner lift the stretcher up into the ambulance.

  This is completely crazy. I don’t even know this guy. I tell myself but regardless, I agree.

  “He’ll be at Saint Pete General.” Max tells me as he climbs in next to his patient. His partner closes up the back, hops into the driver seat and pulls out of the parking lot in a siren storm of flashing lights.

  I search the lot and find the black Jeep relatively easy. It sticks out, since there’s a yellow kayak attached to the top of it. Still I look twice to make sure it’s the only black Jeep in the lot. Grand theft is the last thing I need. I find the key where he’d said I’d find it and start the engine.

  Ten minutes later, I’m parking on the emergency side of the hospital. There’s two ambulances parked in front. One of them must be Max’s.

  Inside, I walk over to the registration desk. A middle aged man with glasses and dressed in a guards uniform, whistle and all, leans back in his chair. When he sees me he straightens up turning on the professionalism.

  He clears his throat. “Can I help you?”

  I put both hands on the counter and smile. “I hope so. There was a man brought in not long ago. He’d been stung by a Stingray?” I form in a question, hoping the man had been paying attention before I arrived.

  “Name?” He says fingers hovering over the key board.

  Crud!

  “Er, I don’t know exactly. But, the name of the paramedic who brought him in is Max.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You ain’t family so you ain’t going back. Hospital rules.” He says turning off the professionalism and leaning back in his chair.

  “You don’t understand. I just need to give him his keys.” I smile sweetly at the man. This doesn’t need to be an ordeal, they’re just keys.

  He shakes his head and starts chewing on a piece of gum he must have been holding under his tongue. “Hospital isn’t responsible for personal property brought in by visitors.”

  “I understand. This isn’t my personal property though, it’s a patient’s.”

  The man leans forward slamming two of the four legs of the chair against the tile floor.

  “Tell ya what,” he leans forward, “you have a seat, I’ll check and see if your friend is going to be needin’ them keys.”

  I nod, fighting the urge to clarify the friend part of his sentence. I sit and wait and wait and wait. F
ive minutes in hospital time might as well be twenty. When the guard, and I use that word loosely, emerges from the personnel only area, I know I’m not going anywhere.

  “Your friend got it bad. You’ll need to keep them keys. He ain’t going to be able to drive himself home.”

  “Seriously?” I sigh.

  “Seriously.” The guard answers with a, what kind of friend are you, look.

  Three hours later and I’ve read through every magazine, twice. I’m hungrier than heck and have developed an unhealthy hatred for waiting rooms.

  After watching so many people come and go, the worse incident involving a man and some homemade contraption, my stingray victim rolls into the waiting area. He is glossy eyed and dazed.

  Ah great.

  “Pull your car up front and we’ll load him in.” The male nurse orders.

  “Look, I don’t know if I’m the right person for this. He asked me to drive his Jeep here so he’d have a way home. I just met him today.”

  “We’ll he’s been discharged so it looks like you are his way home.”

  “I don’t know where home is for him.”

  The nurse hands me two sheets of paper. “Address is on the second page. Pull the car around front.”

  I look again at my dazed, confused and medically high stingray stranger. It’s not like the guy is in any shape to harm me, right?

  I pull his keys out of my pocket and walk out to the Jeep. I look over the discharge papers before starting the engine. “Well, Wyler Nathaniel Reed, you sir owe me big time.”

  It doesn’t take me long to find Wyler’s apartment downtown. It’s modest and, thank goodness, on the first floor. I help him get a handle on his new crutches and guide him up and through the front door.

  “This is as far as I go.” I say from the outside of the threshold.

  Awkwardly Wyler turns back around to me. Heavily medicated he looks like a disaster waiting to happen.

  “Fine.” I mumble and step inside. He smiles and just as awkwardly as before, turns back into the apartment.

  Inside smells like cologne and for guy standards his apartment is pretty clean. I help him onto the couch, prop his leg up on a cushion and leave a glass of water, meds and their instructions in arms reach. On the coffee table I find a pen and for two reasons I scribble my name and number on his left hand. First being for general concern and second because he hadn’t listed a single person in the emergency contact portion of his paperwork. It’s questionable but also really sad.

  “I’m guessing you have a phone?” He nods. “Ok, you’re all set.” I hand him the remote to his TV.

  “This sucks. You’re like… thecoolestever… and you’re hot. Shit, Ididscream, didniti?” His slow slurred words jumble together as he looks at me with drowsy eyes.

  “Wyler, sleep. And call me tomorrow so I know you’re alive.”

  Before I can shut his apartment door behind me, he’s open mouthed and snoring.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  I WASN’T SURE what else the day could possibly throw at me, until now. Not only was I stranded downtown but I was also phoneless. My cell phone, the list of contacts conveniently stored inside it and not my brain, had been left at Leo’s. And to add salt to my wound, Leo’s number just so happened to be the only one, other than mine and nine one one, I know by heart. I take a moment to curse technology.

  Mortified and half soaked by a classic Florida midday summer shower surprise, I call Leo using a phone behind the counter at a gas station.

  Fifteen minutes later, his ridiculously oversized truck pulls into the gas station.

  I climb in and pull the door shut. “Thanks for comin’ to get me.”

  I half expect him to mention how I’m wet and ruining the upholstery but he doesn’t.

  “Why are you downtown?”

  I think about answering but then I decide he wouldn’t find humor in my peculiar day. Heck, I haven’t found it. But I can just imagine his lecture about safety and the danger of strangers and Neph this and Neph that. I know there would be some purpose of good in all of it, but he would miss the obvious fact that I’m fine.

  “Haven’t you seen Lena today?” He glances at me from the corner of his eye. He knows I’m avoiding his question and acting nonchalant in doing so. We’re not together so why should I have to explain myself?

  “I did just before leaving with my mother.”

  “How is she, your mother?” I shift my body toward him, resting my arm on the large square console separating us.

  “Good. In fact she’s going back to New Zealand and asked me to accompany her.”

  My heart feels like it’s been popped and the air is escaping. The thought of Leo leaving again, even with his mother, turns something inside me. Like a thread slowly fraying loose. I shift myself again, this time returning to my original, face forward position.

  “She’s meeting with the council. I should be there.”

  “Yeah, of course.” My voice is as weak as I am pathetic.

  I should be stronger than this but I can’t stop picking at my nonexistent nail polish. Realistically this day was always nearby. I’ve lived without him once, I should be prepared to do it again.

  “Will you be gone long?” I find myself asking before I can stop. I bite down on my tongue hard enough to punish it but not to draw blood. Why do I sabotage myself?

  “I don’t know.” He says ambiguously.

  I focus on my hands as they tighten around themselves. “Why is everything with you so complicated?”

  I let my bitterness spring forth. Maybe I’ve driven myself crazy with over analyzing and intensifying the situation until it’s become a monster inside my head but I’m so sick of playing these games. And even more pissed that he stays tight lipped.

  So concerned with what is going on inside me, I don’t immediately recognize where I am. As the truck comes to as stop I look out through the windshield. It’s perfect and devastating at the same time. Leo pulls up alongside the elevators leading up to my condo. I close my eyes and relax my shoulders. I want to feel hurt and discarded but in doing so I’m letting him win.

  As I cast my eyes in his direction, I notice my duffle bag rested on the back seat. It’s hard to swallow but I do.

  “If this is how you treat someone you loved, I’d hate to be your enemy.” I struggle for calmness.

  He remains unmoved as I step out of the truck and retrieve my bag from the back. Like our time apart, I put distance between us. I walk to the elevator and vigorously push the orange button.

  “Kimber, wait.”

  I fight the instinct to turn to him. Come on! I scream in my head, pounding on the stupid orange button.

  “Kimber.”

  Air he carries with him swooshes past me as he stands at my back. It makes my wet body cold. I lift the duffle bag up and hold it against my chest. I squeeze it hoping to expel my fear of facing him. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I turn slowly. No sooner do I have my back to the elevator, does it ping and the doors open. Figures.

  His shoulders slump, his hands disappear into his pockets and the corners of his perfect mouth frown.

  “I.” He says swallowing and then rephrases. “For every good reason you have to be pissed at me, this isn’t one.”

  I roll my eyes and look off to the side.

  “You can’t judge me when it comes to things you know nothing about.” He says leaning forward and tilting his head in my direction. “It has nothing to do with us.”

  I could have kept my mouth shut. He could have rambled on all night right here by the elevator. But now he’s crossed the line. I look him in the eye and lower the duffle bag down to my side.

  “When you’re not acting like a jilted ex-boyfriend you’re dragging me into crap I never asked to be a part of, blood or no blood. And when I tried to accept it, you shut me out. I hoped you could find a way to love me but obviously, you’d rather sever all ties. So take it. Take your freedom and leave me the hell alone.” I turn
back to the elevator, demanding control of my legs as they quiver.

  “You don’t know what it’s like. Every second I’m with you I punish myself with your pain. I can’t afford to screw up if I’m paying with your life. Do you understand?” He asks sounding beaten and broke.

  I feel his anxiety and fear of judgment rush through my blood. Emotional bricks holding him down from my reach. I can’t face him. Not as tears form in my eyes. I wish he didn’t view himself as my curse. I wish he could reach inside my chest and take my heart so I don’t have to feel it break.

  I reach out and push the orange button once.

  “Have a safe flight.”

  The elevator pings, I step in and wait until the door closes behind me to sob.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  I PULL THE down comforter over my head. Nothing beats its soft feel and the warmth of my comfortable bed. After having triple checked the locks on every window and door, I’m plagued by a constant state of feeling unsafe.

  Thanks to Leo my condo is immaculate. Horatio Caine and his CSI Miami team couldn’t find a trace of evidence if they tried. But no amount of chemicals could wash away the unseen stains. I’d always be able to pinpoint the spot I nearly died and the location in which Luke stood telling me he had killed my mother.

  It’s these haunting thoughts that have me considering selling my condo. I have absolutely no clue what I’d do or where I’d go but far away seems appealing. I wouldn’t have to deal with awkward run ins with Leo. Or witness the string of girls battling for his attention when we are out with friends. Honestly, I don’t know what to expect. Whatever it is we are going through, it’s a first. Neither of us knows what the other is capable of.

  Moving and adjusting are things adults do. Things my friends have done. Maybe it’s what I need to not feel like I’ve fallen behind. I could go back to school like I originally planned. Study psychology, settle into my future, forget my past and reinvent myself.

  The possibility of a fresh start makes me smile. I imagine a calm life not based on uncertainty or anticipating where the next threat will come from. And while I never dreamed we would grow apart, as my eyes fall heavily shut, I entertain the prospect of life after Leo.