Back to Shore (Meade Lake Series Book 1)

by Taylor Danae Colbert

  “I wish you could stay with us here at our house,” she says. Ryder clears his throat next to me, but I ignore it. I scoop her up, and she wraps her arms around my neck.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” I whisper. She nods and rests her chin on my shoulder. I change her into her nightgown and help her brush her teeth. She chooses I’ll Love You Forever tonight, and then she sinks into her pile of pink and purple pillows and blankets and is out in a blink. I brush the hair from her face and kiss her head one more time.

  “Goodnight, my sweet girl,” I whisper. “I love you.”

  When I get back out to the living room, he’s waiting for me on the couch.

  “See,” he says, a smug look on his face. “I’m not the only one who wants you to stay.” I roll my eyes at him as I scoot closer to him and nestle into the crook of his arm. He wraps it around me, the glow of the television the only light. I look up at him and study the lines on his face like I’m connecting the dots.

  “You just gonna keep staring at me, or what?” he asks with a smile without moving his eyes from the T.V. I smile.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, but to my own surprise, my voice cracks. He turns to look at me just as the first tear rolls down my cheek. He pushes himself up and turns to me, pulling me into him closer.

  “Baby?” he says. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

  And when he does that, when he calls me baby like he used to, it’s like something has crashed into the damn floodgates.

  He turns to me completely, using his thumbs to swipe away my tears. He cups my face and kisses my forehead until I gather myself.

  “I cannot lose you,” I finally manage to whisper. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Not when I finally have you again. I can’t.”

  I hate myself for making this about me. I hate myself for letting myself break in front of him. But Ryder does just what he always has. He pulls me into him, tucking me into him like only he knows how, wrapping his arms around me and clutching my head to his chest.

  “Hey,” he says, “hey, shh.”

  I finally gather myself and take the chance of looking up at him. He kisses me so softly that it feels like our lips barely touch.

  I wait for him to tell me he’s okay, he’s not going anywhere. That he won’t leave me again. But he doesn’t, because he won’t lie to me. He won’t promise not to hurt me again, because he’d never break a promise to me.

  Instead, he pulls me in for another kiss, this time hard and longing and intense. I pull myself up onto my knees and straddle him on the couch, running my fingers through his hair.

  His hands slide up my back and under my shirt, sending an electric current through my whole body. I feel him unclasp my bra, and I jump back, despite every fiber of my being pulling me toward him, begging for more.

  “Are you sure?” I ask him. “I don’t want to do too much. I don’t want you to overdo it.”

  He leans up to kiss me. When he pulls back, I see his eyes are glassy with tears that haven’t fallen yet, and I feel like my heart is made of glass.

  “Let me make love to you like you deserve,” he says. “Before…” His voice trails off, and I hold my breath. “This could be it, for a while.”

  I nod and pull him into me, letting him carry me back to his room, letting him whittle away at another piece of me that I know he’ll take forever.

  25

  The next morning, I pull up to the shop and get out, pulling my fleece around me tighter. I forgot how quickly winter descends on this place, like there’s a sharp line drawn on the calendar where the temperature has to drop. I pull my hair out from my collar and tie it up in a bun.

  I stroll through the glass doors with a smile on my face, memories of last night on my mind and still on my skin in places no one else will see. I can’t wait to see him today. I can’t wait to steal glances at him while he helps people try on ski goggles, gives them directions to the slopes, tells them they have to stop at Lou’s for a burger.

  But when I walk through the door, I see chaos.

  There’s a long line of people already at the register, lining up for their supplies and coats and gloves before the slopes open.

  Derrick’s running––literally––from behind the counter to different racks, grabbing things for people, pointing to other spots in the store for other customers, then running back to ring people up. I scurry behind the counter, taking over for him just as he looks like his head is about to explode.

  “Thank God,” he says as he scoots back out to help more people on the floor.

  I scan people out, point to the slope maps, and repeat the hours of the slopes and tubing courses what feels like four million times. Then, finally, I check the last person out. The bell on the door rings as I wave goodbye, then Derrick emerges from the back of the store and plasters his hands on the counter in front of me. He takes in a long breath then finally looks up at me.

  “Nothing like ski season to get the blood flowing,” he says with a forced smile. I swallow and nod.

  “Where is he?” I ask. He takes in another long breath and swipes a hand down his face.

  “It, uh…it kicked in, late last night,” he says. “He’s been puking since three o’clock this morning.”

  My heart’s rattling in my chest, banging against the inside of my ribcage.

  “Is it...is it supposed to happen that fast? Is it––”

  “Mama says it can change from patient to patient, cancer to cancer,” Derrick says. He looks around the store. “Mama has Annabelle today so that he can rest. Now that the morning rush is over, I can call Teddy and have him come in for the lunch crowd. You can go to him,” he says. I draw in a long, shuddered breath then nod. He reaches out for my hand, and I take it reluctantly. He squeezes it for a moment, and I realize that I don’t like the look in his eye. The look of uncertainty, like there’s no time to waste. He lets go, and I head out to my car.

  I stop at the diner for some homemade noodle soup then speed down Lakeside Highway toward Big Moon Drive. I feel like my tires aren’t even touching the ground by the time I reach the cul-de-sac, and I skid to a halt in his driveway. I hop out and barge through the front door, running on adrenaline.

  “Ryder?” I call out, dropping my things on the front table and putting the soup in the fridge. I shimmy out of my coat as I look around. “Ryder? Where are you?”

  I hear a toilet flush down the hall, and I make my way through his bedroom.

  “Ryder?” I ask, reaching for the bathroom door.

  “Don’t come in here,” he says, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

  “Why? Are you alright?” I ask.

  “Just don’t come in,” he says. “You don’t need to see––”

  I push the door open and see him on the ground, wrapped around the toilet, his face buried in the crook of his arm. His brow is wet with sweat, and his eyes are sunken in his head with thick purple bags beneath them.

  “Oh, Ryder,” I whisper, kneeling down.

  “No,” he whispers back. “Go.”

  But I ignore him.

  I grab a washcloth from the towel rack and run it under cold water. I help him sit back and dab it across his forehead. I run it down his neck then press it to his cheeks. When a little bit of the color is restored in his face, I ask him if he thinks he can stand. He nods and grabs hold of the tub, and I take hold of his other hand. As his weight crushes down on me, it takes every muscle in my body to keep him up. We walk the few steps to his bed, and I pull the covers down as he crashes down onto it.

  I strip off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and prop him up on all the pillows on his bed. I stand on the bed to turn his fan on and then hop down. I push the hair off of his face and stare down at him, still as beautiful and perfect as ever.

  While he sleeps, I slip off to the kitchen, making some tea and honey. I do a load of Annabelle’s laundry and make her bed. I sweep, mop, and dust the entire first floor. I make more freezer meals and unload the dishwasher.

  I hea
t up the soup and bring it back to his room. He stirs gently when he hears the creak of the door, and his eyes open slowly. A pained smile tugs at his lips.

  “Hey,” he says, closing his eyes again. “You’re still here.”

  “Of course,” I say, setting the soup down on his side table and sitting next to him on the bed. He reaches a hand up and takes mine. “I brought you some soup from the diner.”

  He smiles.

  “That’s about the only thing I could stomach right now,” he says. I help him sit up and put the bowl on a tray in front of him. He eats it painfully slow, but I swear, I can see more color in his cheeks with every bite. I watch him eat like it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

  “Mm,” he says, pushing the tray away when he’s eaten all he can handle. “Don’t you need to get back to the store?”

  I scoff and pull my feet up onto the bed.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m not leaving you,” I tell him. He smiles and lifts my hand to his lips.

  “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Seriously. Sleep is the best thing for me when I feel like this. Derrick needs help. Season opens today. It’s probably a madhouse.”

  I smile and wrap my hand around his.

  “You’re sure you’re just going to sleep?” I ask. He nods.

  “Go,” he says. “I’ll be okay. The store must go on!” He holds his hand up dramatically, and I laugh.

  “Okay,” I whisper, crawling toward him to kiss his head. But to my surprise, he pulls me down so that our lips crash into each other. As I walk toward the door, he calls my name.

  “Come back tonight?” he asks. I smile and nod.

  “I’ll swing by Alma’s and grab Annabelle on my way home,” I tell him. “And then I’ll come check on you.”

  He smiles and nods.

  “And after you do,” he says, “don’t leave.”

  I smile, feeling those tears burning at the backs of my eyes again.

  I nod as I soak in one last look at him.

  The rest of the afternoon at the store goes by slower than I can handle. As the light is disappearing from the sky, the last of the day’s skiers roll in to return their rentals.

  “Hey, Derrick,” one guy calls out from the last group of the day.

  “Hey, guys,” Derrick calls from the back of the store. “Good day on the mountain?”

  “Always,” the guy says again. He’s followed by two other guys and three women who are all boasting rosy, snow-bitten cheeks.

  “Hi, there,” one of the women says as she lays her goggles down on the counter.

  “Hi,” I say back in a way warmer tone than I’m actually feeling. As I’m collecting their gear, I can feel her eyes on me. Our eyes meet, and she smiles at me.

  “You’re Ryder’s girlfriend, right?” she asks. The question catches me off guard. I haven’t been asked that question in over a decade. I smile.

  “Um, yeah,” I say, basking in how good it feels to fill that role again.

  “I’m Jamie. We all went to school with Ryder and Derrick,” she says. I nod.

  “Ah, nice to meet you,” I say.

  “How’s he feelin’?” one of the guys with her asks. I swallow. I plaster a smile to my face.

  “He’s hangin’ in there,” I say. “As tough as ever.”

  “Sounds about right,” Jamie says with a warm smile. They finish turning everything else in. As Derrick and I are putting everything back, I hear Jamie talking on her way out.

  “Gosh, I hope he beats it again this time,” she says. “That poor little girl already doesn’t have a mother. I can’t even imagine.”

  She thinks she’s quiet. But she’s not.

  Derrick’s eyes meet mine, and then he clears his throat and disappears into the back.

  Since I’ve been back in Meade Lake, Derrick’s played the role of my conscience, my North Star. He’s guided me, explained things that were dark and confusing. But he can’t explain this. He can’t tell me why the best person that we both know is facing a death sentence for the second time in his life. And I know that, through it all, he’s hurting, too. He can’t be my shoulder through this. Not when he needs a shoulder, too.

  I finish at the counter and close up. I grab my coat and scarf and walk outside, letting the freezing air sting my lungs. And then the tears come again, like they’ve been doing every day for the last week or so.

  Only, this time, I can’t get them to stop. This sinking, heavy feeling of hopelessness that I’ve been fending off for a week has finally settled around me, and I don’t know how to clear it. I don’t know how to keep going. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to keep moving forward, keep living life like it’s supposed to be lived, when he’s bedridden, taking in a manmade poison to kill the natural poison inside of him.

  My shaky hand pulls my phone from my pocket as I scroll through my contacts.

  “Mom?” I say when she answers.

  Two hours later, I’m sitting on the front porch of our lake house when I finally hear the tires across the gravel. I look up and see my mom parking her black Mercedes in the driveway. It’s not until I lay eyes on her that I realize how badly I’ve missed her. Only a few hours apart, yet I haven’t made time to go home at all over the last few months and visit. And I didn’t realize until right this moment how much that was weighing on my heart.

  She walks around to the front of the car and looks up at me for a moment. And when the tears come again, she runs to me, wraps her arms around me, and leads me inside. We sit on the couch, and I cry on her shoulder for what feels like hours.

  She strokes my hair and rocks me back and forth in only the way a mother can.

  “So, tell me. You fell in love with him again, huh?” she says after a long silence. I wipe the last tears from my cheeks before I turn to her. I press my lips together to stifle a smile. She smiles and brushes my hair behind my shoulder.

  “So, it’s bad?” she asks. I nod.

  “I think so,” I tell her. “It’s so crazy. I came here trying to find a way to forgive him. I came here with the intent of not hating him. And now, I don’t think I could stop loving him if I tried. I want to spend every waking minute with him. But now I’m running out of them, and I don’t know how––”

  The sobs take over again, and she pulls me back into her.

  “I know your history was a little...complicated,” Mom says. “But sometimes people deserve a second chance. Sometimes.”

  I swallow. Like my father.

  “Ryder was always so good to you,” she goes on. “And when he came to apologize to your father and me a few years ago, and he asked about you, I could see how much pain your name brought to his eyes. Your story definitely wasn’t over. And it still isn’t.”

  I reach up to wipe my nose on my sleeve.

  “But I’m running out of time with him,” I say. “I wasted all these years staying as far away from him as I could, and now it’s too late.”

  Mom pulls me back into her.

  “You don’t know that, hon,” she says. “You said so yourself; he just started treatment. The doctors still have to evaluate him.”

  I shake my head.

  “Things are already different. He’s getting weaker. He can’t take care of Annabelle,” I say.

  “Annabelle?” she asks. I swallow. I realize I didn’t mention her to my mom when I called.

  “His daughter. She’s four. You’d love her, Mom,” I say. “She’s the most perfect little girl.”

  Mom stares back at me, a soft smile on her lips.

  “A daughter,” she whispers. We lean back on the couch and look up at the vaulted ceiling for a little bit, both collecting our thoughts.

  “Wow,” she whispers as she looks around. I realize she hasn’t set foot back in here since Chase died. My dad came back a few times to arrange the rentals, but everything else has been done through his rental company. “I forgot how much I loved this place.”

  I nod.

  “It’s been a great
home while I came and tried to get my shit together,” I say. Then a sad chuckle escapes my lips. “I guess I just got myself into more shit, though.”

  She squeezes my hand.

  “Nah, hon. You just got yourself into love. Which can feel just as hard and just as messy. Believe me.”

  She swallows, and her eyes grow wide. I look at her, and we stare at each other for a moment. I feel like this is it. This is the moment of truth.

  “Mom,” I say just above a whisper. She swallows again, and I can see the fear building in her eyes. “I think I know what...what Dad did.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just looks down at the gigantic diamond on her ring finger that appeared shortly after I heard the argument over the affair. It replaced her original engagement ring, and when someone had asked Mom about it at a party, my dad kissed her cheek and said it was a “symbol of new beginnings.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she whispers. I take her hand in mine. “How long have you known?”

  “Since it happened,” I say. Her eyes dart to mine. I swallow. “I heard the argument you guys had—I guess when you caught him.”

  Her eyes are wide.

  “Did Chase know?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you...why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asks.

  I shrug.

  “I guess I just figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me,” I say. “And I didn’t want you to worry about me thinking less of you for staying.”

  She cocks her head to one side.

  “Do you? Do you think less of me?” she asks.

  I look down at my hands.

  “I used to,” I admit. Her eyebrows jump. “I used to think it made you a little…”

  “Weak,” she interjects, finishing my exact thought. I nod.

  “But now, after coming here…” I say, a knot forming in my throat. “I realize it actually made you stronger. I realize that you made a choice for yourself, and for us, for our family. For Dad.”

  She swallows back her own tears now, but one escapes. She catches it on her finger and looks up at me.

  “I love that man,” she whispers. “But I also hated him. For a long, long time. And then I resented everything about him. Especially his job. And I worried so much about you, because I didn’t want you to end up like me. In the background of someone else’s story. I didn’t want that bright light of yours to be dimmed because someone else was always just a little bit brighter.”