I tip my head back and meet the wildest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. “Yeah, man. Thanks. Just waiting on my mom.”
The smile he gives me makes him look like a slightly deranged serial killer. When I tell him so, he laughs hard before heading into the warm store. I debate following him inside to get warm again, but I can’t stand the pitying looks I got from the cashier.
One day, there will be no more pity. Not from anyone.
I wake up in a sweat, despite the air-conditioning pumping cool air into my room. “Not again,” I whisper aloud, scrubbing my hands over my face.
Some people have reoccurring nightmares when they’re stressed. Me? My mind replays one of two memories to punish me for all my misdeeds: the first time I saw Jed Smith on the day I was abandoned by my mother or the night my ego ruined my future with his sister. Instead of having the strength to stick to my plan of using the night I won the title belt to begin wooing Maris, I let my dick do the thinking when I was asked about how I felt my disturbing past impacted the outcome of the fight during the post-fight interview. I was reduced to that teenage boy in the parking lot immediately after winning what I thought was something that would finally prove I had turned my life around.
That night caused me to do something so stupid, so unforgivable, it often makes me wonder if I could go back in time and hand it all back, including the belt, would I?
My past is no excuse anymore. Back then, I’m not sure I had a full grip of the magnitude of what I was losing; otherwise, I wouldn’t have stopped until I made Maris listen to me. If not then, then anytime in the sixteen years since that night. And I, despite having just won a huge sporting championship, should have walked away. Even though that reporter opened the door for all of my inner fear to worm insidiously into my mind, I made the rest of the choices. The question just reminded me blatantly why I shouldn’t be with Maris, so I set out to demonstrate to her clearly the worst about me in vivid detail. And I wounded us both permanently in the process.
Now, I barely hold on to my pride to not beg her for a chance to explain it all any and every time we interact. When Jed was still alive, the chance to hear about her, how she was doing, came more frequently. I could live with my mistakes. Now, more often than not, it’s by pure coincidence I hear about her, and not knowing about her haunts me.
I wince, remembering her voice snapping, “Jesus, will you shut the hell up, Nick? God, you can be such a jackass,” when I last laid eyes on her last summer through a FaceTime call one of my best friends had set up so we could talk face-to-face.
“I am a jackass, Sunshine, but I never intended on being one to you. Never,” I say fiercely in my empty bedroom.
I reach over to my nightstand and grab my phone, debating whether or not what I’m about to do is a smart move when I decide to go for it anyway. I pull up an empty text and send her a quick message.
I had a dream about Jed.
It’s the anniversary of the day her brother, Jed, died three years ago. Maybe she’ll understand why I’m reaching out. Since it’s 4:00 a.m., I don’t expect her to respond. Then again if I’m on a text string with my brothers—guys Jed and I used to work with at the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show—and their spouses, she rarely does. I never hear a peep from her unless she’s saying “Congratulations” to one of our mutual friends about some accomplishment. She’s grown into a strong woman with few insecurities. She was raised confident in love. And I’m positive Maris hates me. I gave her too many reasons to.
When my phone vibrates with an incoming text, I almost fall out of bed. Good dream or bad?
I start to type and stop. Start and stop again. She responded. God, what the hell do I say? I threw words into the inky sky never expecting her to respond. As I hesitate, a second text follows her first. Nick, for the love of God. This doesn’t require a dissertation.
And I can’t prevent my lips from curving upward. This is one of the things I miss most about her—her snarky humor. Maris and I used to trade good-natured barbs back before hers became laced with bitter wariness. Not that I blame her. If the tables were turned, I’m not sure I could have dug down deep enough to have spoken with me again let alone found the strained civility that she’s maintained between us for the sake of our friends who have reconnected and fallen in love over the past years.
“God, Jed. What the hell should I say?” My hands pause as I try to figure it out.
I owe Maris an apology dating back almost twenty years. I owe her respect. Well, I owe those to Jed as well—along with so many things I’ll never be able to repay.
After Jed steamrolled into my life, he showed me real things worth fighting for extended beyond food and shelter. Like friendship. As long as I live, I’ll never forget when he happened to come back to the same grocery store he spotted me at a few days earlier and found me waiting in the parking lot for a woman who never showed up. He demanded the man he was with—I later found out his uncle—call the police in an attempt to find a mother who abandoned me.
And he taught me love truly does exists. All it cost was his blood, the swipe of a pen, and life without him all these years.
Quickly I type, Both.
She sends me back a bunch of laughing emojis before, It took you that long for a one word answer?
I don’t acknowledge her taunt. What are you doing up? Couldn’t sleep either?
I’m pushing it, pushing her, but after so long we’re having a conversation where she’s not telling me to go to hell or storming away. And if this means that for this moment I have Maris back in my life, I’ll take it however I can.
Not really, comes her reply. I can’t get the date out of my mind.
I doubt any of us who loved him will.
Maris sends me a broken-heart emoji, and it sums up what I’m feeling on so many levels. Then her next words send me reeling. He’d hate this.
Hate what? I hold my breath, wondering if she’s going to address the acrimony between us.
No such luck. The fact that it’s been years and we’re still mourning him as if he died yesterday. At least, I am.
Me too.
Really?
I reel back as if she were in the room and literally slapped me. Does she think her brother meant so little to me that I don’t mourn him like our friends Brad, Jennings, and Kody do? I start furiously typing out a string of sentences about how emotionally jailed I feel since Jed’s been gone, but I realize none of that matters. Not right now. Backspacing them, I end up replying, Yeah. Really. Every single day.
The dots move on her side. Then, He’d tell you to get your head out of your ass, Nick.
Even as a lone tear falls, I type, Long term hazard of knowing all of us?
Pretty much.
Before I lose the opportunity, I type, Maris, can we talk?
Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? is her immediate reply.
Really talk. Like we used to?
There’s a long pause before I see the dots flash. I’m not sure that would be a good idea.
Why not? I practically shove my fingers through the screen as I punch in the two words.
Because, I made myself a promise a long time ago.
I hesitate before asking, What promise is that?
Never to be afraid to walk away since I deserve everything and if I can’t, it wasn’t worth it anyway.
Maris… I start to type her name, but she beats me in responding first.
Goodbye, Nick.
“No. Don’t go. Come back. Please.” Even reading them, her words are like a knife sliding between my ribs, puncturing my heart.
“God, Jed. If I could change one moment in my past, it would be that night. Even if it meant losing the damn belt. I’d give it all back if I could make it all right between me and your sister. I swear to you, I would. Give me a damn chance.” Then I decide to type what I need to. After all, she’s a woman whose heart is generous enough to give me potential solace despite her guard being up constantly.
And today, I thi
nk we both need it.
Maris, please. Just a few more minutes.
I’ve got to get some sleep, Nick. It was a long night at the Brewhouse and it’s going to be a longer day. But hey. Stop dreaming. Take it from someone who knows. Dreams don’t come true anymore.
My thumbs remain frozen over the keyboard as I absorb her words. The sentiment weighs heavily on my chest, as does the gold cross her brother used to wear that he left me in his will. I never take it off, not for any reason—even training. I put my phone aside without saying anything more, my heart thumping so hard it’s causing a ringing in my ears.
Realizing I’m never going to fall back to sleep, not when I prefer the reality of being awake, I swing my naked body out of bed. “Might as well get an early start on today.”
I cross the vast expanse of my bedroom and snag shorts and a tee out of a chest of drawers. Pausing in the act of grabbing socks and drawers, I catch sight of the imprint of my head on my pillow where I know I’ll be chased tonight by one of the Smith siblings through the depths of hell. And as irrational as it makes me, it still offers me some comfort even as it makes my stomach cramp.
“Not the way to begin a run,” I mutter. I carry the clothes into my bathroom and quickly change before slipping on running shoes.
Within minutes, I’m out the door—one foot in front of the other. My mind clears of everything except the hills and valleys I’m conquering. And the demons that never quite seem to go away, no matter how many miles I try to put between us.
Maybe I’m not quite as fast as I used to be, but I’m damn close. It’s why I enjoy jumping into the octagon to teach these young kids a trick or two. Now, if the rest of my life offered that same level of satisfaction because what I feel most days is something I thought I’d stop feeling when I left Alaska behind to devote myself to mixed martial art training.
It’s envy.
And it’s brutal especially when the people you’re most envious of are your best friends.
After I left the foster care system at eighteen, I took multiple jobs to afford living in a small apartment over a bar in Ketchikan. One of those jobs was being on a rotation as a part of Team Canada with John Jennings. A very quiet man, John wanted to talk about his life about as little as I did, other than for it to be known he wanted to be called Jennings. I shrugged, knowing eventually I’d be known by something else as well. But what astounded me was when Jennings and I reported in for training, I ran into the boy—now man—who had rescued me years before. Whereas Jennings and I were forced to wear kitschy tourist-wear to show off our muscles, the man—Jed—was wearing overalls and an apron, and frankly looked even more like a wild-ass serial killer when he smiled.
And he still laughed when I told him so.
“Come on. Let me introduce you to your other stage-mates, Brad and Kody. Every time you all perform, you guys will be together.”
It was Jennings who said, “Then should we meet them?”
Jed laughed. “I guarantee, by the end of the summer, we’ll all be inseparable.”
And we were.
Over twenty-plus years they’ve been in my life, and I hate feeling even the slightest lick of jealousy. But it’s hard not to envy men who are kings, not merely champions. As I push myself harder through the lather of sweat, I examine why.
Brad kept hold of Rainey through thick and thin to form a bond so strong, nothing can destroy it.
Jennings found the love he lost—and so much more—when he and Kara reconnected at Jed’s funeral.
And recently, Kody and Meadow were given a second chance at the first time.
I slow my pace a little when I realize I’m ahead of pace and recall words Jed spoke to me at our last reunion in Montana.
“What in your life will give you contentment, Nick?”
I don’t remember what smart-ass remark I threw back, but I recall his deliberate eye roll. “I’ll bet you anything you want, anything, Champ. Because you’re too afraid to go after what you really want.”
“And what’s that?” I challenged him.
I’d just taken a drink of bourbon when Jed bluntly spit out, “My sister.”
I choked on the drink. “Excuse me?” I wheezed.
“You’re too scarred by your past, afraid of your mistakes, and frankly of her, to make a move now that things have changed so drastically in your life. You won’t even tell the guys about what you’re doing with Razor, with those kids, for fear it will change how they look at you. And that’s why I don’t think you’ll ever be man enough for her.”
Jed’s words echo as much as my footfalls do on the empty street.
Because he was right. He was always right.
How can someone who’s been wounded, who’s deliberately taken jabs at others the way I have, deserve to reach out for the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted?
As I turn down my street, the sun begins to rise above the mountains, turning the clouds above them the exact shade of Maris’s indigo-colored eyes. Soon enough, the clouds will burn away much like this urge to haul my ass to Juneau to claim the one woman I have no right to.
Now or ever.
Because as much as I’ve changed, I’m still that guy who’s just not right for her.
I always will be the man who hurt her.
And she needs to find a man who never will.
Maris
May
“Maris thinks this is the only life she deserves. She couldn’t be more wrong. She’s stronger than this place, but she doesn’t see it. She’s letting the past hold her back.” - From the journals of Jedidiah Smith.
“I can’t believe it’s been three years.” I sit cross-legged in front of my brother’s grave. The graveyard is quiet at this time of day—the exact moment when we lowered the combined ashes of Jed and his husband, Dean, into the ground.
“How are Mom and Dad? Gram and Gramps? Dean? I bet the lot of you are wreaking havoc up in heaven, aren’t you? And, of course, since it’s your version of the place, you’re wearing those blasted flamingo shorts constantly. Come on, Jed, tell me the truth. After all, you’ve shared so many secrets with me both before and since you passed. There was an outlet you bought them at, wasn’t there?”
My smile might be kissed by my tears, but I can’t stop thinking about the roar of laughter the first night Jed made an appearance wearing the atrocious swimwear I’m describing in our backyard. “You were up from Ketchikan with the Jacks. Mom and Dad abandoned us for the peace and quiet of the bar—and that’s saying a hell of a lot. God, Jed. It was so long ago. Did we all feel invincible in that moment, or were we just that damn good at hiding our insecurities?”
Suspecting it was the latter, I reach out and slowly trace my finger over each letter of his tombstone. “Well, we did a damn good job, then, didn’t we? We used so much to deflect from the fact we were kids who didn’t know shit about the depths of hell we’d be forced to live through. And still”—my voice breaks—“you didn’t make it. The one person whose very presence unified us all.”
Standing, I lean forward and press my lips to the top of the cool marble marker—such a contrast to the hearts of the men whose remains are buried beneath.
Then again, in my heart, Jedidiah Jonas Smith will never be gone. He can’t be because if he is, then I truly am alone in this world. Oh, I know I have friends, but I gave up long ago on finding the other part of my soul. Because in those moments of brutal honesty, I acknowledge I already met him. And like an ugly hunger that can’t be assuaged, I interact with Nick enough to remind myself exactly why I end up sabotaging every other relationship I’ve ever been in.
Other men will never call to my soul the exact same way he did those long-ago summer nights when he opened up to me about why he may not believe in anything, but his faith in my brother was absolute. I might have to crawl into the darkest part of the Tongass Forest in the dead of winter to find eyes the same shade as his when he’d scowl at one of us shoving a camera in front of his face. The few times I ma
de him laugh, the rush to my head was more intoxicating than wine.
I fell head over heels in love with the angry young man who let me into his heart when he let no one else close to his skin.
Those summer nights Nicholas Cain warmed me from the inside by opening up about who he was ended by me making more out of them than what they really were. I’m the one who read more into his casual touches that sent shivers all over my body. I put more stock into his brief hugs he grudgingly bestowed upon me, but no one else. I truly thought he meant it when he promised me in a tormented voice that last night, “We’ll keep in touch. We will.”
As time passed after he first left Alaska, and I never heard from Nick, I slowly locked away a part of my heart that was reserved just for him—that perfect memory of first love that hadn’t been tarnished by anything else in my life. When Nick did reach out, when he contacted me about coming to Vegas, I opened the door to that protected space and took a chance.
I faced Nick expecting to be swept away on a tide of emotion. But when my heart flipped on the rocks this time, at least I managed to walk away without any physical scars. I just added to my collection of emotional ones.
My brother willingly bore the brunt of my devastation, keeping me and Nick separated for years—maybe too many—in his effort to protect me from further heartache. Now, as every critical word I uttered to Jed about Nick over the years that he didn’t rebuke floats through my head, all I can think is, what a waste. All of it.
Jed.
Nick.
And the years I spent pining for something I knew I’d never have a chance at. Ever.
Because the reality is that while Jed died three years ago, a large part of me died well before that. And because I tried to use one man to forget another, I ended up wounding more than just my heart. I ended up drowning my future not far from where I’m standing.
“I’ll be back soon.” I tell my brother. “I need to get to work.”
I can practically feel the disapproval radiating off the rock. “Listen, if you didn’t want me running the Brewhouse, you shouldn’t have left the thing to me. It’s always belonged to a Smith.” My bitter laugh escapes along with a new passel of tears. “Wait, what am I saying? You left Grandpa’s cross to Nick. Why didn’t you leave him the bar too? That would have capped the whole thing off nicely.”
Return by Sea (Glacier Adventure Series Book 3) Page 2
