Ryan takes a shaking breath. I want to reach out and put my hands on his. He looks down at the floor and keeps talking.
"I'd been sleeping on the couch for a long time by then. We'd never talked about it; I just quit sleeping in the bedroom. I got up one morning and made her breakfast. It was a Monday. I was supposed to have a shoot that day, but it wasn't until three, so I figured I could take my time. By noon, she hadn't come out, so I went in to check on her."
I gasp and put my hands to my mouth. I know what he’s going to say.
"I could tell she was dead as soon as I opened the door. One arm was falling off the bed at a weird angle and her skin looked blue. Half a bottle of Vicodin and another bottle without a label were on the nightstand. The authorities determined it probably wasn’t on purpose. She left a lot of pills sitting there. If she meant to commit suicide, she would have taken more. Her body just couldn't take it. She took those pills one time too many, and it killed her."
"Oh, Ryan," I say through my fingers.
"Nicole, that's not even the worst of it," he says. "I had to tell you about Elise so you'll understand what happened next."
Ryan pauses, covering his mouth with his hand. He takes another deep breath.
"I told her family, of course, but I didn't really talk about it to anyone else. I kept to myself those years I lived in L.A., and my parents hadn't even met her. It was the weirdest thing. Whether I'd been in love with her or not, she'd been a part of my life for two years. I found her body in my bed. But I didn't feel anything. I wasn't mad, I wasn't upset. I was numb. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. I took a tearful phone call from her sister, and I felt nothing. I helped arrange to have her remains sent to her family, and it was no different from going to the fucking post office."
"After a while, I quit doing things," he says. "It happened so gradually, I almost didn't notice. I cancelled shoots, turned down jobs. I didn't go out much. I stopped calling home, didn't answer my phone. I sat around a lot. I started to feel like maybe I died when Elise did, only my body hadn't caught on yet. I felt like a ghost, just drifting through the world. I didn't care. I should have known something was wrong when I was supposed to go to the Caribbean for a shoot, and I just didn't go. I got up that day, knew I had a flight to catch, sat down on the couch, and didn't move. Later, when a therapist told me it was clinical depression it made a lot of sense. But at the time, I thought I would just fade into nothingness. And maybe the world would be better off."
I clutch the blanket to my chest. My heart feels like bursting.
"It got a lot worse," he says. "I didn't eat much. I went days without leaving my apartment. I should have moved, but even that seemed like too much work. I lost out on jobs because I kept flaking out, but I couldn't make myself care. I was so numb, I thought I was becoming a monster. I started having a lot of obsessive thoughts." Ryan pauses again and when he continues, his voice is quiet. "I don't want to tell you the rest."
I drop the blanket and reach out, putting a hand on top of his. "It's okay. You can tell me."
"I felt like, if I was a corpse walking around, I might as well stop pretending. Like an idiot, I'd kept a bunch of Elise's pills. So I swallowed them and went to bed, fully intending not to wake up."
Tears spring to my eyes and my stomach turns over. "Oh god, Ryan. What happened then? How did you..."
"How did I not die?" he asks. "Cody. I texted him right before I took the pills. Honestly, I don't remember what I said, but it scared him enough that he called the police and convinced them to break in. They busted down the door and rushed me to the hospital."
I stare at him, my hand still over his. I want to wrap him in my arms and never let him go, but I can tell he isn't finished.
"When I got out of the hospital, my parents drove all the way down and picked me up. They brought me back here, let me crash at their place, took me to therapy. I started to get better, and I decided to stay. This place is good for me. I bought the church and started restoring it. The work helped a lot. I had purpose again, and day by day, I found it got easier. By the time I met you, I was in a good place. I was healthy."
I shift in my seat and he puts his other hand over mine, but he doesn't turn to look at me.
"My therapist told me I could expect to relapse a little," he says. "He gave me tools to cope if I did, made sure I understood what to look out for. He told my family the same thing. But when it started a few months ago, I tried to ignore it. What did I have to be depressed about? I had you. I should have been happy. That thought just made it worse. I was angry at myself for not being normal, for not being able to enjoy the best thing that ever happened to me. I took that out on you. I tried to push you away because I was afraid. I thought I'd only hurt you if you stayed with me. I was too broken."
"Ryan, you should have told me," I say. "I would have helped you."
"I know," he says. "I should have trusted you enough to tell you everything. That's why I'm here now. I screwed up. I don't know if I can ever make it up to you, but I'm willing to try."
He squeezes my hand and slowly turns to look at me, his green eyes locking with mine. "Even though I've been the biggest asshole imaginable, what got me through this was you. I love you, Nicole. I've loved you since the first time I touched you. I was afraid of it. I thought it was too good for me, that I'd taint it somehow. But it's so much bigger than me."
My body trembles. Ryan brushes my hair back from my face and leans closer.
"I can't promise you that I'll never have a hard time again. But I can promise that I won't keep it from you. I'll ask for help when I need it. Please, Nicole, please forgive me."
A tear breaks free from the corner of my eye. "Of course I forgive you."
Ryan smiles—that gorgeous, irresistible smile. "I love you."
"I love you too."
He presses his lips against mine and my eyes flutter closed. I breathe deep, taking in his scent. His arms wrap around me, and my body lights up. Our kiss goes from gentle to passionate. His tongue glides into my mouth and he grabs my hips, pulling me onto his lap.
"I missed you so much," he says. He kisses me again before I can answer, his mouth hungry for mine.
I slide my hands down to his cock and grip it through his pants. He groans and nibbles on my lower lip.
I need him so badly I can barely stand it. I unfasten his pants and he pulls off my shirt.
"Are you sure we should do this here?" he asks, breathing hard.
I pause, glancing around. "She's at work and I don't care."
He grins, pushing me back onto the couch. He frees his cock while I pull off my pants. There is no waiting, no teasing. I ache for him and he plunges inside me, my hands on his ass, grinding him deeper.
"Oh my god, Nicole," he says, speaking softly into my ear. "I don't want to be without you ever again."
The feel of him inside me is bliss. He makes me feel whole. I want to be his, to have all of him, broken parts and all.
"You never have to be.”
EPILOGUE
NICOLE
I wait for Jackson Bennett at the art gallery, half-convinced he won't show up. I don't have much time. It’s nine o’clock, and the festival is set to kick off at ten. I need most of that hour to run around and make sure everything is in place. Of course, Ryan is doing some of that running around for me. He put up the new banners, made sure the food trucks set up in the right places, and wandered through the line of canopies, making sure the artists have everything they need.
I don't know how I would have done it without him.
Melissa confessed to setting me up, making sure I'd be there when Ryan came over. I told her I got her back by letting him fuck me senseless on her couch. She said she'd send me the cleaning bill.
I wander around the gallery, waiting. I've done what I can to help make the place more inviting. The current owners are pretty hands-off, and the person they've hired to run things didn't mind me moving things around. I tried to
organize the art so there’s some order, grouping displays by artist or by medium. I put my hands on my hips and look around. It isn't half-bad. It still needs some hard-core renovations, but for this event, it will do.
The door opens and Jackson Bennett walks in. He’s in a cream-colored button-down shirt and a pair of brown slacks. His look is understated, but he still drips expensive from head to toe.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," he says, pausing for a second. "Nicole."
"Yes." I hold out my hand and he shakes it. His handshake is firm, but not overbearing. "Thanks for coming."
He puts his hands in his pockets and glances around the gallery. "Yeah, it's been fun to see the town again. It's been a long time. I read over the information you sent me, and I've been doing some research. Jetty Beach is a perfect place for some new development. I'll start with the gallery; this place has potential."
"We’ll, you’ll have to find out from the owners if they’re interested in selling,” I say, “but I have their contact information for you.” I hand him a slip of paper.
He takes it and grins. "Sure. I'll make it worth their while."
What must it be like, to be able to buy anything you want?
"Anyway," he says. "This little town's a lot of fun. I'm glad I came down. I thought I'd get out of here today, but I think I'll stay the weekend. Maybe get a street taco."
He says that like he's never done it before. He probably hasn't. Don't rich people dine on filet mignon every night?
"Sounds great," I say.
A woman in a sleek gray pantsuit walks into the gallery.
"Sorry to interrupt," she says. "Nicole Prescott?"
I’m pretty sure I recognize her voice. "Yes."
Jackson shakes my hand again. "Thanks, Nicole. It was nice to see you again."
"You too, Jackson," I say. I turn to the woman as Jackson leaves. "Sorry."
"No, that's fine," she says. "I'm Mary Harper, the Tourism Director. We spoke on the phone several times, but I don't think we've met in person."
"Of course, Mary," I say. "It's nice to see you."
"You too," Mary says. "Listen, I wanted to tell you that you've done an amazing job with the festival. I'm really impressed."
"Thank you.”
"I understand you did all this in your spare time, while still working in Seattle."
"That's true for the most part," I say. "Although I've been in town for the last couple of weeks, which made it easier to manage all the last minute details. It's been a little crazy, but also a lot of fun."
"That's great," Mary says. "We have a lot more events we’d like to produce for the town. So far, we haven’t had the right person on staff to make it happen. Plus, there are plans for my organization to take over the art festival at some point. We didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so we’ve left it to the original organizers. But it sounds like, without you, the festival wouldn’t have happened this year.”
“Well, I've done my best," I say.
"What are your plans after the festival is over?" she asks. "Do you have to go back to work in Seattle?"
"No, actually," I say. "I left my previous position. I'm still deciding what I'd like to do next."
Mary smiles and pulls out her business card. "That's actually great news. I'm looking for someone like you. I know you're busy, so I won't inundate you right now. But give me a call after the festival if you're interested. I might have a job for you."
I turn her card over in my hand, so surprised I’m not sure what to say. "Thank you. That's ... amazing."
"I hope to hear from you Monday," she says.
I shake her hand. "You will. Thank you."
Mary leaves and Melissa appears in the doorway. "Nicole, we need you out here. There's something going on."
The urgency in her voice almost makes me jump. "Okay, I'll be right there."
I hurry out the door, wondering what could possibly be wrong. The sky is clear, so it can't be rain. Did one of the banners hanging across Main Street fall and cause an accident? Did the electricity for the food trucks go out?
I stop in my tracks. One side of the closed-off street is lined with canopies, artists displaying their work. But on the other side I see a series of large canvases set on wooden easels. Vaguely, I’m aware of people congregating behind me, but I can't take my eyes off the display.
It’s me.
The first is a photo of me on the beach, my hair blowing back in the wind. It’s a close-up of my face, my eyes looking off into the distance.
I wander closer, passing the first canvas.
The second is a wider shot, taken from behind while I walk down the sand, my footsteps trailing behind me.
Next is me in Ryan's studio, sitting in the window, a cup of coffee held up to my chin. The lighting is soft, my eyes lowered, eyelashes brushing my cheeks.
I keep walking. Me in the window again, my eyes on the camera, a little smile on my face.
Me, smiling, my lips parted over my teeth.
Me, on the beach again, my head turned over my shoulder.
I walk on and the next is footsteps in the sand. Our footsteps. Ryan's and mine.
I glance around, looking for him. A knot of people follows me down the line of photos, keeping a bit of distance. But I don't see Ryan.
Cody and Hunter are on the edge of the crowd. Maureen is between them, and Ed behind her. Maureen clutches a little green handbag to her chest, a huge smile on her face. Next to them are my parents. Wait, what? Cody catches my eye and nods, gesturing for me to continue on.
My heart races and my tummy does little somersaults. There are four more canvases, all in a line, but they’re covered with white cloths. I walk up to the first one, looking around again for Ryan. My hand trembles as I lift the cloth.
It’s the beach, just in front of Ryan's house. Written on the sand is one word: Will
Oh my god.
I let the cloth flutter to the ground and move to the next canvas. The beach, another word written in the sand: You
The crowd lets out a collective gasp. I race over to the next canvas and whip off the cloth: Marry
Tears blur my vision. My hands are shaking so violently, I have a hard time clasping the edge of the cloth to reveal the final word: Me
I gasp and my hands fly up to my mouth. The crowd makes another noise and I feel the presence of someone right behind me.
I turn. Ryan stands there, that sweet, lopsided grin on his face. The cuffs of his white button-down shirt are rolled up. He adjusts his slacks as he slowly sinks down on one knee.
The oohs and ahs from the crowd fall away as Ryan takes my hand. He looks up at me, his green eyes glistening.
"Nicole Prescott, will you marry me?"
I laugh and cry all at once, unable to speak. He stands, slowly, and produces a small box, as if by magic. He opens it, revealing a beautiful diamond solitaire with a gold band. I hold out my hand—he has to hold it steady, I’m shaking so badly. I take a trembling breath as he slips the ring on my finger and looks into my eyes.
"Yes."
YOU’LL SEE MORE of Nicole and Ryan in the rest of the Jetty Beach series. Want more? Turn the page for a preview of One Crazy Week.
ONE CRAZY WEEK: CHAPTER 1
MELISSA
I push the cart down the aisle, tossing in packages of markers, index cards, and ballpoint pens. School supplies—this is some sexy shit right here. The little drug store on the corner has an inexplicable early summer sale on school stuff, and I want to stock up my classroom.
When I was a student teacher, my supervisor told me I was getting into a profession that would require all of me: intellect, heart, and wallet. She wasn’t wrong. But I budget for four or five big shopping trips a year, watch the sales, and manage to keep pencils and erasers in my students’ grubby tween hands.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the screen, even though I know it hasn’t dinged. It’s a weird habit, borne of boredom more than anything. Now that the
insane relief at finishing the school year has more or less blown over—I literally spent three days drunk off my ass after the last day of school—I find myself feeling antsy most of the time.
It’s like being a kid again, growing up in a family with no siblings. Just me and my dad. Long summer days stretch out before me, full of boredom and possibility.
I wish I felt more of the possibility and less of the boredom.
My phone actually dings—a text from Nicole, my bestie. I smile. Despite the fact that she’s newly engaged, I get to see a lot more of her since she moved back to Jetty Beach to live with her fiancé. It’s great having her close by. We can do lunch, get together for drinks.
It’s Friday, and I texted her earlier, hoping she’ll be available to hang out later. I’m not interested in spending another Friday night on my couch with nothing but Netflix to keep me company.
Sorry Mel. Can’t tonight. Dinner with the Jacobsens.
Damn. So much for that idea. No worries. I’ll catch up with you later.
I finish shopping and my phone lights up again while I’m at the register. I’m off work and free now. Coffee?
I never say no to coffee. Definitely. Meet you at Old Town.
I drive my old Ford pickup to the little strip we call downtown, and find a parking space. I’m surprised. It’s a Friday afternoon in the midst of the tourist season, and good spots are usually hard to come by. People wander down the tree-lined sidewalks, some carrying shopping bags, others with ice cream cones. A cool breeze blows in off the water. I’m not close enough to see the beach, but there’s no mistaking the place for anything but a beach town. Half the shops sell kites and windsocks, the other half beachy and nautical decor. Restaurants line the street—everything from my favorite coffee shop, the Old Town Cafe, to a great fish and chips place up the way.
Nicole just started working for the city a couple of weeks ago, and her office isn’t far. I see her coming down the sidewalk, and wait outside the cafe for her to catch up.
Behind His Eyes Page 17
