Here He Comes Again

by Melissa Shirley

  “You hit my brother?”

  He gently pushed me back and stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.

  I would never be accused of being the kind of girl who would have thought twice about waking up his whole family to inform them of their son’s remarkable likeness to a barbaric mule.

  “He hit me back.” He rubbed a bruise on his jaw as he added, “He actually hit me first.”

  “Good. Now I’m going to hit you.” In hind sight, informing him of my intention wasn’t the smartest move I could’ve made. I drew back, and he caught my fist easily in his palm as I brought it forward.

  “We worked it out, Jocelyn. Leave it alone.”

  Either he didn’t know me at all, or stupidity ran in his family for him to believe I would let him swing on my brother and then let it go.

  I snatched my hand out of his grasp and fisted it on my hip. “He was your friend when nobody gave a shit about you, and he’s a way better person than you will ever be!” Shouting made me feel only slightly better. I wanted to punch him, but settled for poking him in the chest. “He has more character in his pinky than you have in your entire body.”

  Keaton smiled at me as I insulted him, and it only infuriated me more. My Heart throbbed against my ribs. For one small fraction of a second, I couldn’t determine whether my reaction stemmed from the effect of his behavior or his body.

  “Well, there ya go. It wasn’t his character we were fighting over. Feel better?”

  Wiping that smug smile off his face became my new mission in life. God, I hated him. It didn’t matter how fine he looked, or how nice everyone else thought he acted. I knew the truth. Keaton Shaw personified every stereotype people associated with assholes. “You know what?” I reached out and shoved him backward. “You’re right. I have been kissed a lot, and I do get into trouble, but it isn’t your freaking business.” I pushed him again, and his back thudded against a heavy white column on the corner of the porch. “And if you have something to say about me, you should grow a pair of balls and say it.”

  After a long minute of us staring at each other, his face changed beneath the bruises, and he took a step forward, bringing his body closer to me. “Fine. You were right.”

  “I know!” I yelled, then more calmly asked, “About what?”

  “I am jealous of Eric.” My heart heard his soft voice loud and clear and started a freaky little Mambo in my chest. He intoxicated me with his words, the scent of his soap. The dimple in the center of his chest continued down, separating the abdominal muscles in his stomach and trailing lower…lower…. Where had all that business come from?

  I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it shut, not sure what to say. I turned, walked down two steps, then marched back to stand right in front of him. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t like thinking about your boyfriend kissing you.” He said it as though boys said that kind of thing to girls every day--which, in my experience, they did not.

  My brain couldn’t process the meaning behind the simple sentence, or the way his voice dropped to sexy and his eyes, half-lidded and dark, looked into mine. “Then don’t think about it.” I had always been a simple girl. If I moved a certain way and it hurt, I quit moving that way. If I thought of something and it upset me, I stopped thinking about it. It seemed like reasonable advice to impart to him.

  “I wish it was so easy.”

  Dazed shock clouded everything else in the world but him. “You have a girlfriend.”

  “No. We broke up.”

  Oh, yeah. I chewed my lip, trying to understand. He stood there half naked, and the sight of all his smooth skin and exercise-sculpted abs affected my brain activity.

  I turned away, scoping my brain to get a handle on the situation. When it finally occurred to me what this all meant, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, then turned to him. One step brought me close enough to smell yesterday’s leftover cologne. Another step and the heat from his body warmed mine. “You like me?” He didn’t answer but continued regarding me with his swollen eyes. “I have to go.”

  Keaton’s presence always inspired a warm spot in my stomach, but I chalked it up to undiagnosed gastrointestinal issues. I didn’t know what to do with the idea that he had a warm spot of his own. I leaped off the front porch and power walked to the car. He stirred into action and caught me by the arm before I could wrench the door open and get in.

  “Jocelyn, wait.” He put a hand on each side of my face and pulled me forward for a kiss so hot spontaneous combustion became a real possibility.

  Eric could kiss well in a caveman kind of way, but compared to Keaton, he was an amateur.

  Chapter 7

  Present July 14, 2009

  The night dragged on as I tried to summon sleep, but instead lay wondering about Keaton. Almost three years earlier, he’d left town without looking back. But he’d returned and I wanted--no--needed to know why. I drummed my fingers on my stomach as a hundred different scenarios ran through my mind. He’d come home for me. For her? His parents were sick? He’d gotten into trouble wherever he’d been and came back to his safe haven? I needed to know the reason he’d popped back into town.

  Continuing to pretend to sleep did not actually bring sleep and accomplished nothing else whatsoever. I sprung out of bed like a built in catapult threw me forward. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a plain old T-shirt, I knew exactly who could fill in the blanks for me. I hoped Simon’s loyalty to me superseded the way he defended Keaton at every turn. With no other choice but to hope it would, I hopped in the car and drove toward my brother’s. But in case loyalty required bribery, I whipped the car into a spot in front of the bakery, then picked up a few chocolate and peppermint donuts to sweeten the pot.

  When I arrived at Simon’s, I double parked behind his jeep and hopped out of my car. My energy renewed by the three cups of coffee I’d already consumed and my intrigue regarding Keaton. When he didn’t answer after all my incessant knocking, I used the key he gave me for emergencies only to pop the door open and walk in.

  Dropping the white bakery bag on the kitchen bar, I then bounced into his bedroom like Tigger on speed. “Wake up!” I shouted, yanking the covers off, revealing my naked brother and an equally nude girl who owned the bakery with me. “Jesus Simon! That's Lizette!” I yelled, and spun around quickly. She didn’t stop snoring or even stir at my outburst. This unexpected development explained my recent bout of a missing bakery partner, and the rise in the number of mornings off she’d been taking.

  “Get out of here,” he screamed, jerking the blanket back over Lizette while simultaneously throwing a pillow at me.

  The pillow bounced off the back of my head, then dropped to my feet. I shook off my shock and said, “Get up. I need to talk to you, and I’m not leaving until we do.” I bounded out of the bedroom and sank down on his couch.

  When he finally opened his bedroom door, he went first for the donut bag on the counter and then sat next to me. “You know it’s Saturday, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And it’s six in the morning?”

  “Yup.”

  “It must be important if you brought donuts.”

  I nodded again, rethinking the idea of talking to him about any matter having to do with Keaton. He hadn’t proven himself to be unbiased in the past where Keaton was concerned.

  He tapped his chin as he chewed. “It’s not a speeding ticket. I would know about that. You haven’t talked to Mom?”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  He shrugged. “She called me for the sole purpose of telling me you hadn’t spoken to her in a week and four days.” He rolled his eyes and slung an arm over the back of the sofa, turning his body to face me. “Anyway, if I had to guess what has you up so early, I would bet this little visit has something to do with your husband popping back into town?”

  “It’s actually up so late, and yes, it is about my ex-husband.” I slanted a
pointed glance his way as he stuffed half a donut in his mouth. “Why is he here?”

  Simon shrugged. “I would think that’s something you should ask him.”

  “You do get that I’m your sister, right?” This concept would have been familiar to him had he not always been Team Keaton.

  “And you get that when you decided to throw him out, you told me to stay the hell out of it.” He patted my head softly, his smile condescending on every single level.

  “Yes. I recall. I also recall you doing the exact opposite.” He hadn’t just butted in where he didn’t belong, but also lobbied for the wrong team.

  “That’s because Keaton asked for my help.” He stuffed the remainder of the donut in his mouth. “I was helping him.”

  “Well, I’m asking now.” Lord, help me. “Why’s he here? After all this time?” I snatched a pillow off the couch and clutched it to my chest. “It just doesn’t make sense. He ignores me for three years and now he comes back…and what? What does he want?”

  “You have to ask him Jocelyn,” he said, his eyes blank, his tone no-nonsense.

  “Is it his family? Is there something wrong with his parents?”

  Simon shook his head. “Just ask him, okay? And get out of here. I’m having a sleep over and you’re not invited.”

  “Yeah. I know. Susan was working when I went in this morning to get donuts. Lizette, come to think of it, has been taking off an awful lot of morning shifts.”

  He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “We had a date last night.”

  Only in Simon’s world did a date automatically imply sex. I had no intention of abandoning my mission, even if he never got laid again. Propping my feet on his coffee table, I communicated my intention to settle in and further disrupt his morning until he gave up said information. “Come on, Simon. Give me something here.”

  “He’s at his mom and dad’s.” He stood in front of me, then grabbed my wrists in his big meaty hands and pulled me off his sofa with more force than I found necessary. He pushed me to the door. Then in a bipolar move only he could manage, he grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me toward him.

  “Give me my key back.” He was patting me down like a criminal, searching for the little silver ring Mom had used as party favors at last year’s Christmas party.

  “What if there’s an emergency?” I pushed him away, and he assumed the haughty diva pose.

  “Like what? My plant dies?”

  “Fine.” As soon as I wound it off the ring and slapped the key into his outstretched hand, he pushed me outside. I sauntered down the stairs to my car and drove across town.

  Within a matter of minutes, I parked in front of the Shaw’s house. I sat there debating whether or not to make the long journey to the door and knock. What message would I be sending Keaton? I had no intention of trying to convince him to have sex in his Mom’s house at six-thirty in the morning. Probably. I wanted to talk.

  Before I could summon the courage, the passenger door swung open and Keaton slid into the seat. I jumped as he said, “Now who’s the stalker?”

  I’d planned to ease into the conversation. It surprised me as much as it did Keaton when I blurted, “What’re you doing here?”

  “I live here. What’re you doing here?”

  Either my question required more explanation, or Keaton had an issue with rousing his brain cells. I’d have bet money on the latter. “But you don’t. You’re staying here. You live somewhere else.”

  He shook his head. “No. I live here now.”

  His matter-of-fact tone left no doubt of the truth behind his words.

  “I’m here to stay.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I got my job back at the resort.”

  “You came home to what? Be with your parents?”

  He shook his head. “I came home to be with my wife.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. That ship hadn’t simply sailed; pirates had captured and sank it. “I’m not your wife, Keaton.”

  “You’ve always been my wife in my heart.”

  My heart skipped a couple beats, and I gripped the steering wheel for leverage. He’d always known how to use words in all the best ways.

  “I’ve been everywhere trying to outrun you, but I can’t escape. No matter where I go, you’re always here.” He tapped his chest lightly as his eyes searched mine. Every inch of my body trembled at his words. For one split second, I couldn’t remember why I’d ever let him go.

  It took a full minute before I noticed the trickle of blood running from his nose. “Keaton, you’re bleeding.”

  He swiped a hand across his face and cursed loudly. In one swift move, he removed his white T-shirt and held it to his face.

  “There’re napkins in the glove box.” I tried not to pant and drool, but Keaton with his shirt off brought out the Pavlov’s response in me.

  “This is fine.” His mood morphed to foul. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” He hopped out of the car and climbed the steps to the porch before a word could escape my lips. This visit cleared up absolutely nothing for me.

  In all of my memories of our arguments and discussions, he’d never walked out on a conversation. That had been my signature in our fights. And not only ours, my fights with Mom, Keaton, and even Simon all ended the same way--with me running out, finding no resolution. Maybe that’s why my marriage ended in divorce and why my relationship with my mother failed. Of course, when it came to Mom, I refused to accept all the blame.

  Chapter 8

  Past March - Age 17

  In a serious new boyfriend move, Keaton made Simon blow off Grace’s party and instead allowed me to coerce them into hanging out with me and Mom. Alex spent the day away from home, and I assumed he worked late again, which made me kind of sad.

  After years of living together, I came to appreciate my stepfather for more than his money. Although, I couldn’t say I didn’t still enjoy the benefits from his bank account. He gave great advice about dealing with Mom, and he often sided with me when she and I argued.

  Since I’d been home so many consecutive days over the last year, I noticed a change in their relationship. They no longer welcomed one another home with a kiss, and they barely spoke when Alex managed to be home for dinner. I sensed the end coming, and it saddened me because I didn’t want Alex to end up in the same loser pile as the others.

  Mom and I wasted the entire day at the mall shopping and laughing like best friends. She spent an insane amount of money on me, and I surprised myself by having a good time. On the way home, we picked up Chinese for dinner. She’d been almost giddy all day, and while I mostly tolerated the person she’d been for the sum total of my life, I loved this new mom.

  Keaton and Simon each looked worse than they had earlier in the day, but sat happily in front of the TV, watching some action movie while spilling popcorn on the sofa. Simon followed Mom into the kitchen whining over his growling stomach, while Keaton and I gawked at each other. I didn’t know what thoughts were running around his head, but mine involved kissing, and a lot of it.

  Mom and Simon returned with all the food and plates. In all our lives, Mom never allowed us to eat outside of the dining room. Only popcorn made the exception list. Ever. Simon and I looked at one another and he shrugged. This entire day consisted of one bizarre experience after another.

  Halfway through dinner, the doorbell rang. I’d almost forgotten about Mom’s strange behavior. Flirting with Keaton was more fun than thinking of my mother, but as she rose to answer the door, it all came rushing back. She fluffed her hair and smoothed her skirt, then stopped at the mirror in the foyer to check her makeup.

  I looked over at Simon whose eyes squinted as though he couldn’t believe what was happening right before our eyes. He’d obviously noticed the oddness of Mom’s actions too. His brows formed a Sesame Street Bert line in the middle of his forehead as he frowned. I would have laughed if I’d been able to tear my gaze away from our mother.

&nbs
p; With a Vanna White flourish, she opened the door. From my spot, I could see the reason for her freakish changes. He puckered his lips against Mom’s the way I wished Keaton’s lips would hop onto mine. From the duration of their kiss, I assumed this little development sprung forth from a rich and rather sleezy history. My next thought--Alex had been home the day before--flowed into another--my goody-two-shoes mother cheated on Alex. What the hell?

  I looked over at Simon, whose face paled. He clenched his fists atop the table. Fury burned in his eyes. He loved Alex, and that fact alone meant mom’s little play date had a two hundred pound blond-haired, golden-eyed problem.

  Keaton’s mouth hung open.

  I shook my head, took Keaton’s face in my hands for a kiss, and whispered, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to get grounded tonight.”

  He nodded slowly, no doubt trying without success to rip his eyes away from my mom and the way she remained lip-locked with her new friend. “I understand.”

  I dropped my hands and turned to mom. “Excuse me, Mother, but isn’t this one a little young for us to have to call him Daddy?” He had the dingy look of a wanna-be out of work rock star, complete with leather pants, and a sleeveless T-shirt not so artfully shredded in the front. His hair hung way past his collar, and his clothes badly needed ironing. He leaned on mom as though he’d consumed every drop of alcohol in the county and needed a kickstand to keep from falling over.

  “You can call me daddy anytime you want.” Her new boyfriend added a purr at the end, checking me out from head to toe. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary on my chest area, and Simon lurched forward, pushing his body into mine. I stumbled, caught myself, and shot him a look that begged him to hold it together. I put a hand on his chest as added insurance. Mom slapped at her new play toy and giggled like a school girl. Keaton came to stand beside Simon, and I dropped my hand.