by Teagan Kade
I’m cleaning down the side of his drawers when I notice something stuck behind them and the wall. I reach in and pull it out, blowing dust off the front of it. It’s a certificate for an ‘Award of Outstanding Service’ dated two years ago.
There’s a newspaper clipping attached to it. The headline reads, ‘Local Lifeguard Saves School Children.’ I skim the article quickly expecting Archer to arrive home at any moment, almost feeling taboo doing so.
The article says a group of school children were swimming off Miami Beach when a strong current began to pull them away from shore. It appears Archer was first in the water, saving four children, two girls and two boys, but a fifth was lost when Archer was unable to revive her before the ambulance arrived.
I place the certificate and article back behind the drawer with a new perspective. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose someone, to rescue them only to have them slip away back on shore against your better efforts. I know now why Archer looked so distant when we were discussing his job that day in town.
A knock on the door causes me to jump. I bring a hand up to my chest breathing harder than normal and get up, running to the front door to greet him home. I unlatch the door and swing it wide smiling, keen to see him, but the person standing there isn’t Archer.
Immediately, I shrink back into the apartment.
“Ah, hi,” the stranger says, looking confused, “is Archer home?”
The man’s in a police uniform, about the same age as Archer. He looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him. All I’m thinking about is why he’s here.
I shake my head slowly, going to close the door, but he holds it open with one hand.
Paranoia sweeps through me, every instinct telling me this isn’t right, that I should run. Police can’t be trusted where I’m from. They’re as dirty as the criminals—more so because they sit in a position of power.
“I’m sorry,” he says, smiling with his free hand out in a sign of submission, “I’m Liam, one of Archer’s Army buddies from way back.”
I flinch as he goes to take something from his pocket, thinking he’s reaching for his weapon. “It’s okay,” he says, holding his free hand higher and drawing out what looks like a cell phone with the other, holding it up to me. “Archer left this at the bar. That’s all. I thought I’d drop it back. Here,” he passes it to me.
I take, or snatch it rather, pulling back inside and placing it on the shelf next to the door.
This Liam scratches his head. “Not one for talking, hey?” He tries to look past me. “Are you guys… together?”
I want to close the door. I want this person to go, but I can’t seem to speak or act, frozen on the spot.
He’s looking at my shoulder, pointing. “What’s that there? Some kind of tattoo?”
I pull my shirt back into place, finally finding my voice. “It’s nothing.” I smile.
Liam clicks his fingers. “Say, you’re not the girl Archer rescued the other night, are you?”
A cold chill runs down my back. He told him. Archer told him, the ‘police friend’ he was talking about. It’s all making sense now.
Damn it. I told him not to say anything, not to go to the police, and here he is, right in front of me. I can’t stop the feeling of betrayal that washes over me.
Liam goes to step forward. “Hey, you okay?”
I take a step back, still holding the door.
Both of Liam’s hands go out. “It’s alright. It’s okay. I’m a cop. If you’re in trouble, I can help. Here,” he says, fishing in his back pocket and returning with a business card. “Take it,” he says. “My number’s right there.”
I take it and place it next to Archer’s cell.
My mind’s racing ahead of me. The lost phone is a ploy, a way to get this friend here, trying to earn my trust, tell him what I couldn’t tell Archer.
You’ve been played.
I look at the gun holstered by Liam’s side shiny and black, look back to his eyes that don’t seem convinced I should be here, eyes that seem to see right through me.
“I’ve got to go. I’m sorry,” I tell him, and slam the door closed, harder than I intend to.
I press my ear against it, listening, expecting the officer to knock again or call out, but instead I hear his footsteps echoing down the hall.
I slump to the ground with my hands on my head, rocking there.
How could he? I wonder.
Archer went behind my back. He damn well betrayed me.
I don’t know why I trusted him in the first place.
Because he saved your life. Because he took you in, my head retorts. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.
Now, with the police involved, I’ll be dead because of him.
It’s all gone to hell and there’s nothing I can do.
There is, a voice whispers.
I suddenly realize what my next move must be. It’s a hard decision, but it has to be made. The police know I’m here. How long before they do?
I snap into action, running to Archer’s bedroom and finding an old leather duffle bag in the top of the wardrobe. I fill it quickly with whatever clothes I can find, take the money he left me on the table and food from the cupboard. I don’t know how long it will be before I can stop. All I know is I have to get as far away from here as possible.
CHAPTER NINE
ARCHER
I arrive back at the apartment, arms loaded full of groceries. I manage to lever myself against the wall and fish for my keys in my pocket, something of a contortionist act to get the damn door open.
“Winter?” I call out, trying to shuffle inside as best I can.
“Winter?” I try again, dumping the groceries on the kitchen counter, taking a moment to catch my breath. Place still smells like smoke, but I smile at the thought; thinking of her, how much life she’s brought into this apartment these few last days.
I go to call again when I realize she hasn’t responded. Surely she heard me.
Concern starts to eat away at me as I move through the apartment, but it’s not the Taj Mahal. I get through the whole place in two minutes, ending up in my bedroom. That’s when I notice the closet door is open. My eyes look up and see where the bags on the top shelf have been moved around, my old leather duffle from my Army days missing.
Shit, I think, moving quickly back through the apartment for anything I might have missed. I start piecing it all together fast after that.
The money I left on the table is gone, as are all the clothes I left out for her, but the most obvious clue is my cell, sitting on the shelf beside the door.
I check my pockets, realizing I left it back at Bar None.
But it’s the business card sitting next to it that seals my suspicions. It’s Liam’s, which means he came here while I was getting the groceries.
I pace around the lounge room holding the business card and trying to work out what happened.
He came here with my cell, to give it back.
But how did he know where you were living? I consider.
He’s a fucking cop. Of course he could find out.
I flick the card in my hand.
So, he comes here, and Winter opens the door thinking it’s me, but it’s a cop, the police, so she freaks out.
Realization dawns.
“She thought I went behind her back,” I say to myself. “She thinks I fucked her over.”
And now she’s gone.
I kick the closest thing I can find, which just so happens to be the floor lamp. It wavers but doesn’t fall. “Fuck!” I yell.
Think, I tell myself, and think fucking fast. Where would she go?
I’ve got no idea. Between the bar and groceries couldn’t be any more than half an hour, but she could be anywhere by now. Still, she’d most likely be travelling by foot, which does narrow down the search radius.
I consider calling Liam, but what would she think then? If she feels betrayed now, how’s she going to feel when the Bo
ys in Blue show up, at my bequest?
It’s all fucked.
I kick the lamp again, but it does little to dampen my frustration.
I tap my head with two fists. “Think, motherfucker, think. Focus.”
I concentrate on my breathing as we were taught in the Force, let it flow in and out of my lungs until my heart rate slows and my head begins to clear. It’s then, and only then, I know what to do.
*
It’s a short walk from my apartment to the bus station. It’s the same one we were at when we went across the bay to see the Wynwood Walls, but I sprint the whole way there with a sole, singular focus.
I don’t know if this is where she’d go for sure, but it’s my best shot.
You should have left her a cell, I think, a way to reach you.
I skip around a mother walking a stroller and mutter an apology, bolting across the road in front of a blue sedan.
I’m surprised how off-kilter I am. There are plenty of chances for an adrenaline rush in the day-to-day of a lifeguard, but after a while you learn to suppress it. My stint in the Army helped. Nothing gets the blood pumping like bullets pinging into the wall beside you, the imminent threat of death, but it’s different out there in the water. It adds an extra element of unpredictability that can be addictive if you let it. That’s when it gets dangerous. That’s when you push yourself too far.
It’s what I feel now—that unpredictability and the flood of strong emotions that follows, plenty of which I know is because I’ve developed feelings for this girl. I saved her life and now I feel tied to it somehow, like it’s my job to safely guide her on.
But you want more, don’t you? my head intervenes. You want her.
There’s some truth to that, thrill in the chase, but again, I suppress it and try to rein my focus in to concentrate on the task at hand: Fucking finding her.
I’m almost at the bus station, the flow of peak hour pedestrians and traffic making things close to a nightmare. I round the final corner and clip someone’s shoulder, throwing my hand up in apology and stopping when I realize I’ve seen this individual before, at the tower with Robbie, the one who came asking if we’d seen anything the other day, the fucking dude with the teardrop tatt ripped right out of a comic book.
He sees me and slips away back into the flow of pedestrians.
I shake it off and continue to run on, moving as quick as I can for the bus stop we were at the other day. I remember pointing out to her exactly how it all worked, which number to take and how to navigate once you're in Miami proper.
I glance up and notice the security cameras dotted around the station, but they’ll be little use. It’s not like I can storm into the security office, flash my board shorts and expect an open book.
I circle the station once, twice, standing there with my hands on my head, grinding my teeth in frustration.
“Shit,” I grunt.
I’m about to move on when I spot a girl who looks like Winter exiting the women’s bathroom to the right.
Pushing people to the side, I try to get over there, but a procession of tourists cuts in front of me, walking around like garish zombies. By the time I get past them she’s gone again.
“Fuck!” I yell aloud.
“Archer?”
I spin around and there she is, my missing bag in her hand.
I rush forward and take her into my arms. “Winter. Jesus. What were you thinking?”
She pushes away from me. “I was thinking you went to that cop friend of yours when I explicitly told you not to.”
I’ve been concentrating so hard on finding her I hadn’t considered what I was going to say when I did.
I rub my chin, people swirling around us. This is far from the best place or time for this, but if I don’t say something now, she’ll walk.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “You’re completely right, but you’ve got to understand it wasn’t pre-orchestrated. We bumped into each other and got talking. I didn’t mention any details, didn’t tell him how I found you—none of that.”
I see her soften, but she’s still unconvinced. She drops the bag, speaking with her hands. “I still don’t know who to trust.”
I jab at myself, ignoring the curious looks of bystanders. “You can trust me. I promised you I’d keep you safe and I fucking well mean it.”
I take her hands. Again, they’re far more delicate than I expected, feathers in my fingers. “I. Will. Keep. You. Safe. Got it? I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”
She nods quietly. “And you didn’t go to your friend deliberately?”
I place my hand on my heart. “On my mother’s life.”
She sighs and looks around but doesn’t let go of my hands. A tear runs down her face. “I just want to go home.”
I hang my head. “I don’t know where home is for you, but here, in Miami, I can give you one, for as long as you want. So, tell me, do you want to go home?”
She looks up at me with glassy eyes, nodding.
I smile and pick up the bag. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER TEN
WINTER
I collapse into his arms the moment the front door of the apartment closes. I can smell his dark mussed hair, hyper-aware of the hard warmth of his body against mine.
I know I’ll have to tell him soon what happened. He deserves to know the truth, but right now all I want to do is stay in his arms.
He’s breathing down my neck. It’s warm and ticklish, a strange mix of sensation pooling at the private space between my thighs.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I could have been taken out there… or worse.
I shiver and he holds me away from him.
“Are you cold?” he asks, ocean eyes all concern.
“No,” I reply simply.
It’s the best feeling in the world being held by him, supported by his strong arms and muscular frame, to take in the fresh, saltwater-and-surf wax scent of his body. I can hear music down below in the street. It provides a distant soundtrack, a pulsing beat to the music that’s already thrumming through my body.
I don’t know why, but I reach up to touch his face, fingers dancing on his jawline, his stubble ticklish where it passes beneath my skin.
His hand moves up to cover mine, pressing it against his face. It’s hot, smoother than I expected.
His voice is a deep rasp when he speaks. “Are you sure about this?”
My breath catches and I’m unable to reply, forced to nod instead because I know this is the moment. We both want this, need this.
We’re so close. His mouth has to be less than an inch from my own. It’s so inviting, his lips so soft…
I swallow hard, wait a second, and then he’s kissing me.
It starts firm, a press of lips to lips, his hand gliding over my lower back. It’s incredible, the sun breaking through storm clouds, light beaming out left, right, and center. His mouth moves over mine and I can’t hold back the new pleasure that spirals down my spine.
I bring my hands around his neck and deepen the kiss, allowing my tongue to slip past his lips and into the fruity cavern of his mouth. He groans at that—a small, delicate sound in strong juxtaposition to his bulky form. I gasp in turn, the kiss becoming more and more intense, his lips moving frantically against my own.
Our tongues tangle together, chests heaving as one. We press tighter and tighter until there’s no daylight between us, nothing to identify where Archer starts and I end.
I shift my hips slightly, ever aware of the growing bulge in his pants.
But this is more than a simple kiss. It feels right. What seemed fragmented and split before has been pieced together. In his arms, his mouth on mine, I am whole.
I have to break the kiss to breathe, drawing air deep and long into my lungs, my body buzzing.
He licks his lips, his mouth finding mine with fresh hunger.
My heart’s pounding against my rib cage, galloping along faster and faster. I w
ant to feel this way forever. I never want it to end.
I break away again, locking eyes with him. “Take me to the bedroom,” I say.
He nods, scooping me up under the legs and carrying me swiftly towards the master bedroom.
The shutters are semi-open, a mesh crisscross of light spread across the room—an Escher drawing come to life. People are celebrating outside, but it’s nothing compared to the energy in this room.
He lets me down at the edge of the bed, pulling my skirt all the way up, bunching it around my waist while his mouth continues work over mine above.
One hand goes between my legs, rubbing me through the wet cotton of my panties. No man has ever touched me there before, the bold sensation that follows forces me to suck in a cold lungful of oxygen.
My body tenses, releases—a coil of need building.
He slips his hand down the front of my panties, the tip of his middle finger dipping into slick heat there and forcing an expulsion of sound from between my lips, new and alien.
I have to break away to breathe, leaning against his shoulder and muttering “Oh, God” over and over, a quiet prayer against this onslaught.
He stops when his finger comes up against my hymen.
He pulls back. “Holy shit. Are you…?”
I nod, embarrassed. “Is that okay?”
He smiles. “It’s perfect,” he whispers kissing me again, removing his hand.
He cradles me in his arms, lowering me down onto the bed and taking hold of my legs, dragging me to the edge of it.
My skirt bunches around my torso, my breath hitching again when he slowly brings my legs together, peeling my panties away. He unhooks them from my ankle and lets the warm ball fall to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my nerves getting the better of me when he begins to spread my thighs, kneeling there at the edge of his bed, his breath a hot apparition against my bare sex.
I’ve never let anyone look at me so intimately, shamed and embarrassed until I see that animal hunger in his eyes again, the way his body tenses drawing closer to my core.
“Arch—” but my words are caught when his mouth presses against me.
He starts slowly, kissing the insides of my thighs, holding me tight while I squirm and moan above in anticipation.
