by JB Salsbury
The first time I saw her, she was standing impatiently at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail that was tossed in the wind around her face. She was dressed in fitness clothes—hot pink leggings and a black sports bra. The light turned, and she walked right past my car toward Lincoln Center. The draw I felt was immediate. I knew I had to know her.
I pulled my car over and hit the hazard lights. I’d get ticketed, but it would be worth it. I walked quickly to catch up with her and strategically placed myself in her path, only to have her walk right by me as if I didn’t exist. I expected some eye contact, a cursory glance, and yet she ignored me as if I were one more piece of trash on the street.
I wanted to chase after her, to jump into her way and demand she let me talk to her, but I lost my chance when she met up with another woman in front of the doors of Julliard.
Ainsley was much easier to attract. Her gaze snagged on mine, and I let the eye contact hold. Gabriella eventually left her friend to go into the building. I knew Ainsley would stick around and wait for me to approach.
And so, I did.
That was three weeks ago.
Gabriella has managed to slip away at every meeting since.
I won’t let her slip away tonight.
“I’ll be right back.”
Ainsley grabs my hand. “Wait. Where are you going? Want company?”
“The bathroom.” I lie. “So… no thank you.” I slip my hand from hers and head in the direction Gabriella went earlier.
As expected, I see her out front, her eyes on her phone, I assume waiting for an Uber.
“Sneaking out again, huh?”
She doesn’t look up from her phone, and I catch the roll of her eyes. “I was going to text Ainsley.”
I stand facing her, my hands in my pockets. I swear she gets more beautiful every time I see her. She probably thinks I’ve only seen her socially. She has no idea that I’ve gone to her performances and watched her dance. I always thought ballet was for old people. An antiquated art form that needed to die already. That was before I saw Gabriella in pointe shoes, twirling her graceful body across the stage. She’s breathtaking.
“I don’t care about Ainsley.”
Her narrow gaze lifts to mine.
I see the moment my unspoken meaning clicks, and her eyes widen.
She turns and looks behind herself as if being punked. A good sign, I think to myself. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little.”
“What about Ainsley?” she says harshly.
“Does everyone call you Gabriella?”
She seems thrown off by the question. “Most people call me Gabby.”
“Hm.” Good to know. “Before you write me off altogether—”
“Write you off? I never wrote you on.”
I chuckle uncomfortably and run my hand over the back of my neck. This woman is a hard nut to crack, but I’m not giving up. Not yet. “Let me rephrase. Give me one hour.”
“One hour for what?”
“To prove I’m worth getting to know better.”
She sighs, and her shoulders fall in what appears to be exhaustion. “Look, dude… I’m sure you’re awesome. Ainsley is interested and willing. Why not put your efforts into a sure deal.”
“You mean that?”
“So much. I do.”
I believe her. She doesn’t seem the least bit interested. “One hour.”
She stomps a foot. “You do not give up, do you?”
“No. It’s one hour out of your life, and you never know, you might enjoy yourself.”
She crosses her arms at her chest. “Okay, I’ll give you one hour under two conditions.”
“Name them.”
“Leave Ainsley alone after tonight. If you’re not interested in her, stop leading her on.”
“Done. And the second?”
“One hour as long as we do something other than sitting around a table drinking over disgusting frat boy stories.”
“Deal.” I offer her my hand.
She stares at it for several seconds, and I begin to wonder if she’s going to blow me off again. “Ugh. Fine.” She hits cancel on her Uber and shakes my hand.
“Come on.” I keep my hold on that hand and walk her toward the docks. “This’ll be fun.”
She pulls her hand from mine. “Oh, and one more thing.”
I stop and turn to her. “What.”
“No touching. No flirting. Strictly platonic.”
“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that.”
She shrugs. “Fine, then I have an Uber to meet.”
“Wait,” I say just as she turns to walk away. “I’ll agree to no touching. I’ll try hard not to flirt, but I can’t guarantee I won’t slip up. And I cannot agree to platonic because nothing I feel for you at this point would be considered friendly.”
Her head jerks around, and her mouth is open in shock. “You’re a piece of work.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
She groans, annoyed.
“Come on.” We walk down to the docks, and unfortunately, Ainsley and Remy see us from the patio and yell for us to wait up.
Gabriella stops to wait for them. I glare at the incoming twosome, wishing they’d just fucking disappear, but no such luck.
“Are we going on a boat ride?” Ainsley stands between Gabriella and me.
“Yes,” I say and lift a chin to Remy, who has been eyeing Ainsley all night. I throw my arm around him and step away from the group. “You’re into Ainsley, yeah?”
“Yeah, man, but I thought you two—”
“No, it’s not like that.” I look over my shoulder and see Ainsley but find Gabriella’s cold, blue eyes narrowed on Remy and me. “Go for it,” I say to Remy. “She’s a nice girl.”
“You sure?” he says.
I clasp him on the shoulder. “Totally.”
We head back to the group, and Remy steps up close to Ainsley. “You can swim, right?” he says to her playfully. “If not, I double as a floatation device.”
Ainsley doesn’t seem too flattered by his offer, and Gabriella checks the time on her phone.
One hour. I need to get a move on.
“This one here.” I motion to my Regal 42 Sport Coupe.
Remy climbs in, followed by Ainsley, but Gabriella remains on the dock. Her hands fisted at her sides, she shifts nervously from foot to foot.
“You coming?” I stand on the swim platform and offer her my hand.
Her gaze swings between my palm and the boat. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Taking my hand? Probably not. You might be in danger of falling in love with me.”
She cracks a smile. “You truly are a horrible person.”
Progress. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”
She chews that over and eventually joins me on the boat—without, I’ll add, taking my hand.
Remy has already helped himself to the fridge, and with a beer in hand, he offers me a cold one. I feel Gabriella’s eyes on me and, because of her nerves, refuse the beer.
“Shouldn’t we be wearing life vests?” She looks around for where they might be stashed.
“Don’t be such a wimp,” Ainsley says, a hint of poison in her voice. “Chill out. Have a drink.”
“Here.” I pull up a bench cushion and take out a life vest. “Put this on if it makes you feel better.”
She snags it from me and slips it on, snapping the closures together with mumblings that I’m sure are cursing me to hell.
I untie us from the dock and finally motor forward and out of the slip. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the USS Kingston.”
Ainsley holds her beer up and squeals like she’s on spring break, while Remy barks like a dog. Jesus, I need new friends.
Gabriella seems content to sit and watch the lights from the yacht club disappear into the distance.
“Dude, we should go to the open sea!”
“You’re an i
diot.” I point the bow in the direction of Ellis and Governors Islands, thinking it’ll be enough to take a spin around and look at the city lights. “Hey, Bee!” I don’t know if Gabriella will respond to the nickname I’ve given her, so I’m surprised when her eyes come directly to me. “Come sit by me.”
I catch the nasty glare Ainsley sends her friend and immediately regret my plan to go through Ainsley to get to Gabriella. I need a way to get Gabriella closer and keep Ainsley occupied.
I put on A Tribe Called Quest, and once we clear the no-wake zone, I kick the motors into high gear. Gabriella grips her seat with white knuckles. I grin to myself. If she gets nervous enough, maybe she’ll want to hold on to me.
Quick turns make the boat roll to the side just enough to make Gabriella scream.
“You okay?” I call out over the sound of the eight-hundred-and-seventy horsepower engines and pounding bass from the speakers.
“Can you please slow down?” she yells back.
I speed up.
She shifts nervously. Ainsley sings along to the music, and Remy slams back his beer.
The bow lights illuminate the dark water ahead, and I take turns keeping my eyes forward while turning back to check on Gabriella.
We hit a wake, and she screams. Her hair blows in her face, but to move it away, she’d have to release the death grip she has on the seat.
“You sure you don’t want to come up here with me?”
She moves her head so the wind can push the hair from her eyes, but another long strand takes its place across her face.
I pull my eyes away from Gabriella.
A large buoy appears in the light. Oh shit. I pull the wheel, making a quick left turn, and hear everyone behind me screech.
Fuck, that was close.
Pulse racing, I drop the throttle back just as I hear Ainsley scream. “Stop! Gabby fell!”
Remi curses. They’re all looking back into the black abyss, and the only light comes from what’s left of the boat’s wake. My eyes can’t fathom what I’m seeing. Where there were once three people, two remain.
Gabriella is gone.
Twenty-Seven
Gabriella
His story provides the missing pieces. My memories click together, placing one fragment next to another until the picture of what happened that night folds out before me.
“You must’ve stood up right as I made that sharp turn. You fell over, and the prop—” He clears his throat and swipes at the tears on his cheeks. “You fell under the propeller.”
I let the words linger in the air and the gruesomeness hang in the space between us.
“I looked for you. It was so dark. Then I saw the life jacket.” Tears stream from his eyes, and he makes no move to wipe them. Almost as if he can’t even feel them, having transported himself back to that night. “You were face down. There was so much blood. Fuck,” he croaks. “I still see it like it happened yesterday.”
I grip the wall to steady myself. The chaos in my head becomes clear, and I slide down the wall to my butt. I put my head on my knees and breathe as my lungs burn and fill with phantom water.
How do I reconcile the Kingston from before with the man I’ve come to trust? The man I thought I could love.
He sniffs. “I tried to visit you in the hospital, but your parents stopped me at the door. I told them it was my fault and that I wanted to pay for my part. They didn’t need or want my money or my penance. They told me the only way to make things right was to walk away from you and disappear from your life forever.”
“And so you did,” I hear myself whisper. “Why did you come back?”
“I thought I could walk away from you, but not a day went by where I didn’t think of you. I found out you were in a coma, that you went too long without oxygen.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t stomach the idea of not seeing you again. I had to say I was sorry. But then I remembered that you didn’t even like me. You didn’t want to get on that boat.”
“My parents told me I’d been out on a boat with friends, but they only named Ainsley.” I stare at the blank wall in front of me as it reminds me of the state I was in when I woke up. Blank slate. I remember those lonely days of recovery. No visitors. Just me, fighting to get myself back, when I could hardly remember who I was before the accident. “Ainsley never came around to visit. I had to learn to do everything again while having several surgeries to fix my face. I didn’t have time to even consider that my parents weren’t telling me the whole truth.”
“I ruined your life.” His eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “Your dancing.” A tear tracks down his cheek. “I took all of that away from you.”
I hold my head in my hands to keep my thoughts in order. A whirlwind of new information leaves me nauseous and my head sore. I don’t know what I’m more upset about—the knowledge that he’s been keeping our connection to himself all this time or that I never once questioned the truth of that night.
“I need to go.” I scramble to my feet. “I have to get out of here.”
I push away his attempt to help me up.
“Don’t rush out of here upset.”
I race to the elevator and hit the button to call the carriage. I catch my reflection in the elevator doors. The lights illuminate the three white scars—one that slashes my forehead into my hairline, the other my cheek to my ear, and the last that cuts from my throat to my earlobe. His fault. All of this is his fault.
“Bee,” he whispers softly.
I meet his eyes in the reflection as he stands behind me. “Don’t.”
“I’m in love with you—”
“Stop it!” I turn around and glare up at him. “You’re a liar.”
He recoils a step.
“Look at my face!” I gather my hair and shove my scarred side at him under the bright lights. “You did this! You did!”
“I know,” he says through tears.
“I want nothing to do with you.” The elevator pings, and the doors open. “If you care for me at all,” I say and climb aboard the elevator, “you’ll stay the fuck out of my life.”
Twenty-Eight
Kingston
“Kingston, get up.”
At the sound of Alex’s monotone command, I pull the covers over my head and burrow deeper into the pillows. “Go away!”
“You’ve been in bed for long enough.”
“Says who?” The comforter is ripped away in one firm tug. “Hey!”
Alex glowers down at me from the edge of the bed, his power suit and scowl giving him an air of authority. “Up. Now.”
“Fuck. Off.” I pull a pillow over my head, only to have it taken and tossed across the room. “Why are you such a heartless asshole?”
“Shower. Dress. Meet me downstairs.”
“Um… no.”
His glare tightens.
“No, thank you?”
“Go. You have thirty minutes.” He slams the door behind him.
“Impossible! No one can get ready in thirty minutes!” I contemplate going back to sleep. He’ll have to Weekend-at-Bernie’s my ass if he wants me downstairs in any position other than flat on my back.
When I consider that he will probably do just that—come up here and toss me over his shoulder—I decide maybe a shower and a glass of the nearest booze might help me sleep better.
I’ll endure Alex’s come-to-Jesus lecture. I’ll reassure him that I have a plan, get him off my back long enough to drown myself in scotch, and go back to sleep until the pain in my chest goes away. After all, we’ve replayed this scenario more than once over the past two weeks.
The shower’s too hot, and I don’t even look at the clothes I’m putting on. Eventually, I drag my bare feet downstairs with wet hair and a chip on my shoulder. I stop at the bottom step when I see all three of my brothers standing around Alex’s dining room table.
“Hey, sweetie,” Jordan greets me and hands me a fresh espresso. “Are you hungry?”
I pull my eyes from my brothers to her.
“No, thanks. What are they doing here,” I whisper.
A tiny grin tugs her lips. “Why don’t you get over there and find out?”
Knowing Jordan wouldn’t send me into my own death without a warning, I walk toward the three. “If you’re here for an intervention, you’re wasting your time.”
“Have a seat,” Hayes says in an uncharacteristically hospitable way.
I take in the folders that sit next to Hayes and his computer and decide they’re probably going to ask me to sign some legal binding statement that ensures my silence about August and North Industries that will follow me into the afterlife.
Hudson pushes his laptop aside. “How’re you doing?”
I throw back the rest of my espresso and set the cup down a little too hard. “How does it look like I’m doing?”
He nods and smiles. “I’m hoping what we came here to say will change all that.”
“Okay, can you get to the point already? I’ve got a half bottle of Glenlivet upstairs waiting on me.”
“Ms. Coleman lied,” Alex blurts from his end of the table.
Hudson looks embarrassed.
Hayes looks angry.
“How’d you figure it out?” I say.
“Alexander felt like something was off the day August fired you.” Hudson pulls his laptop back in front of him. “After some digging, and with the help of a PI, we discovered that you were telling us the truth about her. North Industries isn’t the first company she’s tried to weasel her way into.”
“We questioned Lisa Darby, her assistant.” Hudson’s jaw ticks. “She overheard Coleman threaten you. We let Lisa go with a hefty severance package.”
“And Coleman?” I ask.
“We let her walk with the threat of legal action if she even whispers the name North Industries again,” Hayes says proudly.
“How’d August take the news?”
My brother’s all share a look.
“Not well,” Alex says. “Stubborn son of a bitch.”
I shake my head, not at all surprised that even with the evidence before him, he’d still rather villainize me than he would the guilty party. Prick.
“We have an idea.” Hayes opens a folder and slides it to me.
