Riptide Affair, page 19
“I remember.”
Jared's eyes shine with tears and, one by one, he pries my fingers away from his arm. The arm I didn't even realize I was still clinging to.
“I was perfectly happy with my life, Merrin, but then you reached out and touched me and...the sky fell.”
His words stop, and my heart seems to do the same. I can't argue with the finality in his tone because there's nothing left for me to say. Nothing. I've got nothing.
I look up at him through a veil of tears, the burning pressure in my chest making it near impossible to take a breath. His own tears trickle down his cheeks and fall from his jaw, landing somewhere at our feet, somewhere among the rubble that was once my heart and...
I don't want this.
This grief, this heartache, this regret. This isn't something I want to live with. I want to live with him. I want to share my life with this man I've fallen in love with. I want nothing to do with his ire. I have no use for his wrath. And yet, here we are.
Something deep inside of me tells me to scream. To beg. To threaten the very ground I walk on until he can see, hear, and feel exactly how solid, unerring, and all-consuming my love for him is.
But that's not the truth of the matter.
It's not all-consuming.
I lived a life before Jared, and I'll have a life once he's gone. It won't end me. It won't destroy me. I won't retreat to the woods and die alone like a dog. The world will continue to turn, and I will continue to breathe, but...every single breath—every single heartbeat—will remind me that I once belonged to someone who made me feel like the world wasn't against me. Like I wasn't alone and life had a purpose.
It will be dark, it will be cold, but it will be a life. I'm not so naive to think otherwise. And that's exactly what I plan to tell him when I part my lips...to explain the extent of my devotion, despite knowing that there's life after love...when the front door swings open between us, revealing a man neither of us want to see.
Jared glances from me to his brother and back, lowering his brows until he's glowering.
“You okay there, brother?” Rhett reaches out a hand to steady Jared as he sways, but Jared smacks the offending hand away.
Stepping in close, he glares at his twin, and if it's at all possible, his anger toward Rhett is even more contemptuous than his anger toward me.
“Fuckin' peachy, bro.”
There's no arguing with Jared now. No talking him down. I know it and Rhett knows it. Which is why he steps aside and lets his brother saunter on past. And then, he's gone. No 'goodbye', no 'see you around', no 'go fuck yourself'. Nothing. Just silence. Which is somehow worse.
I look up at Rhett, even though it makes my stomach churn. He hasn't shaved. His hair's a mess. And the skin around his jaw and right eye is purple and blue. Swollen and angry looking, the shiner still doesn't mask the sorrow in his eyes.
“Is that his handiwork?”
Rhett nods.
Jared's fist may have delivered the hit, but this has Merrin written all over it. The line in the sand drawn between these two men? Me. The overwhelming distress sitting heavily in the air? That's me too.
I may not be a monster, but I did do something despicable.
“I'm sorry.”
For all of it.
Rhett laughs under his breath and even though I'm looking at a shrubbery instead of his face, I feel him look away from me as well. “No need for apologies,” he says softly. “I asked him to do it.”
Nodding, I chuckle. “Figures. Neither of you boys are very smart.”
I'm not surprised in the slightest that Jared took a swing at Rhett. I may not know or understand men, but I know Jared. I know his heart, his soul, his mind. So there isn't a shred of doubt to be had when I say that Jared did this because he needed to. He needed to make Rhett feel a fraction of his pain and, if I had to wager a guess, I'd say Rhett needed to feel something besides guilt. Guilt that we share. Guilt spawning from a night that Rhett and I will never, ever discuss.
“His Jeep is still at Woody's.” I don't know what else to say to keep us in safe territory, but he lets me off the hook with a nod.
“I'll send Brian to pick it up when he gets home.”
“Okay.”
The sound of shattering glass echoes through the house and we both look inside.
“Fuuuuck!” Jared yells.
The word is more sob than curse and I take a fraction of a step toward the door. The heartstrings that still tie us together pull and vibrate, begging me to go inside, to hold him, to make this better, but they're frayed and weak, and I know better.
Apparently, so does Rhett, since he blocks my view by filling the doorway. “I'm really sorry, Merrin, but...you should probably go.”
“I know.” Tears well in my eyes as I nod. “Just, um, take care of him. Please.”
His eyes remain glued to his shoes, but he does finally nod. “Goodnight, Merrin.”
When the door softly closes and I hear the lock engage, I waste no time running to my car.
There's nothing left for me here.
Nothing salvageable.
I don't bother going back to work. What's the point? I'd be useless. So instead, I drive home.
In my driveway, under the glow of a lone flood light, I lower my head to the steering wheel and let the pain I've kept bottled up inside spill out and completely obliterate me. Like acid, I let it travel as deep as it wants to go, burrowing in and out of my bones, boring holes through organs and tissue until I'm more broken than whole.
Bowed over in my seat, I weep until every ounce of hope I've been holding onto is wrung from my tired body.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jared
“What in the actual hell is happening right now?”
Brian's voice booms through the foyer as he stands, hands on his hips, and gawks at me. I briefly look up from the box of Pop-Tarts I just demolished to find him dressed in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, staring at me like I've lost my damn mind.
And hell, now that I'm able to inspect things in the light of day, I think maybe I have. Because it's Saturday morning, I'm eight Pop-Tarts into a Netflix marathon of Supernatural, realizing that these guys—these demon hunting, pie-loving, badass wanderers—have life figured the fuck out.
No relationships. No attachments. No heartbreak.
Just guns, curses, salt rings, and that sweet ass Impala. Those boys know what the hell they're doin'.
“Wanna binge with me?” I lift the remote and hit pause. “They're just about to dominate the shit outta some shapeshifters.”
Brian casts his eyes to the television, grimaces at the scene of one of the brothers shoving a hamburger in his mouth, and looks back at me, shaking his head.
“No, I do not want to binge with you,” he spits, as if I just suggested we set a crateful of poodles on fire. “What the hell is wrong with you, dude?”
Other than the fact that life just ass raped me?
I rip open another pack of pop tarts with my teeth, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”
His eyes widen. “What do I mean? I mean...you're wearing yesterday's clothes, you've got peanut shells in your hair, and you smell like a fucking ash tray. For God's sake, man...you're better than this.”
I ignore his bitter assessment and exit out of Netflix. “Would you rather watch Grey's Anatomy? I think there's a new episode up on Hulu.”
“No! I do not want to...ugh!” He stomps forward and rips the remote from my hand. “I do not want to watch Greys with you, you sad, sad little man-child.”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
He kicks my feet off the coffee table, sending my silver pop tart wrappers fluttering to the ground, and I glare up at my little brother who is about to receive the ass kicking of his life if he doesn't back the fuck up.
“Problem?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Brian has the audacity to laugh. “Yeah, actually, I do have a problem. A big one. And his name is Jared Dumbfuck Sullivan. Not to be confused with Jared Party-Foul Sullivan, or Jared The Fun Twin Sullivan, or Jared Whiskey Dick Sullivan, or even his most recent reinvention of Jared Lovestruck Sullivan.”
I drop my eyes to the floor, ignoring him.
“Get up.” He shoves my shoulder and I let myself fall to the side, landing cheek-first on the couch. I don't have the energy to fight with him right now. “Get your nasty ass in the shower, Jared, wash off your skank stench, get some fresh clothes on, and meet me by the door in thirty. We're not doing this. We're not wallowing.”
I want to tell him that we are not doing anything.
We aren't a thing.
It's me.
I'm the one in pain.
I'm the one wallowing.
And it's my God-given right to do so as I please.
But I don't say any of that.
“No.”
“Yes,” he insists, kicking at my overturned ass.
I swipe out blindly, missing him by a mile but righting myself because I still have some shreds of dignity left. Somewhere...
“I'm off work today,” I say, combing hands through greasy hair. “Leave me alone. I'm not leaving.”
“Oh yes you are,” Brian sings. “Because we're grabbing a thirty pack, a six of wine coolers, and heading to Springfest.”
I laugh. Loudly.
Springfest—a raging Mardi Gras-like party to celebrate the end of spring used to be my jam, but there's no way I'm dealing with drunk fuckboys and half-naked women today. I can't. There's not enough of me left to try.
“Ain't no way you're getting me on that river today, Brian.”
His eyes—the ones that look just like mom's—harden. “Shower.” One hand on his hip, he uses the other to point to the stairs. “Now.”
“I said no.”
“And I said now.”
“Fuck you.” I grab the remote he stole and move to resume the episode. “Too hot for that shit today anyway.”
My little brother clearly has a death wish, because he comes to stand in front of me again, eyes filled with intent. “You're really gonna fight me on this?”
“Yup. I am. Now move.”
“It's Springfest,” he argues. “We go every year.”
“I'm aware.”
“Why not this year?” he asks.
He knows exactly why.
“Just not feeling it.”
“Bullshit.” He grabs my dead cell phone from the coffee table and hurls it at my head. I duck just in time to keep from getting nailed in the teeth and my recently dormant anger flares.
“What the hell, Brian?”
“I get that you're heartbroken, Jared, I do, and I empathize, truly, but what good is it doing for you to plant your ass between the couch cushions and eat yourself into oblivion? Huh? How is that helping anything?”
I'm silent. Too scared to answer, but he doesn't seem to expect one anyway as he presses on.
“Look...I adored Merrin, too, I did, but Jesus, Jared! Have some fucking pride, would you? She was just one girl. One. I'll find you another before midnight.”
The anger swirls, hot and putrid in my gut at the idea of kissing another woman, and before I know it, I'm on my feet. “I don't want another girl!”
“You want Merrin!” Brian screams, never missing a beat.
“Yes!”
Oh fuck...
I shake my head.
“No!”
“Admit it.” He shoves at my shoulder. “You miss her. You made a fucking mistake.”
“I don't miss her.” I hit him right back. “And I didn't make a mistake. She did.”
“You love her,” he insists.
“I definitely don't love her.”
“Oh my God!” Brian tilts his head back and laughs. “Why are hetero people so fucking oblivious?”
“Fuck you.” I swat him away and plop my ass back on the couch. “Leave me alone. You wanna psychoanalyze someone, go find Rhett and figure out why he fucked my girlfriend.”
“Ha!” Brian barks. “That mystery's already been solved, brother.”
I don't bother asking. I don't want to know.
“C'mon, man. Get up. Get in the shower. Last chance.”
If he thinks he's moving me, he's crazy. Or stupid. Or both. I settle back against the couch, intent on tuning him out.
“I didn't wanna have to do this,” Brian sighs, “but I warned you...three.” He holds up three fingers and I roll my eyes.
“Stop.”
He lowers a finger. “Two.”
“Brian. I'm fucking serious.”
Another finger disappears. “One...”
“Dude. Don't.”
“Zero.”
The next thing I know, my shoulders are on the floor and pain is radiating up through my spine. The ceiling above passes in a blur, and I look down to find Brian holding me by the ankle, dragging me through the hallway.
“What the fuck? Stop!” I kick at him, but he's a man on a mission as he drags me kicking and screaming—literally—into the kitchen. “I'm not—”
I don't get another word out before ice cold water sprays me in the face, courtesy of Brian and the hand sprayer he's pulled from the sink.
“Fucker!”
“I told you to take a shower!”
“Dammit, Brian!” I sputter, holding up a hand to stop the shocking jet of water coming at my face. “The fuck's your problem?”
In a flash, the water stops and I wipe at my eyes to clear my vision.
“You, Jared,” Brian states calmly, setting the sprayer back where it belongs. “You are my problem. Because you're being a goddamn baby about a breakup and our brother has been sleeping at the office and Merrin looks like she's dying every time I see her and you're all being huge fucking babies and everyone is sick of it.”
I sniff and turn away. “Not my problem.”
Brian huffs out a disbelieving breath and then approaches, arms crossed over his wide chest while I stand, stiff as a board. I fight like hell to keep from lashing out when he taps a finger to my chest, directly above my heart.
“This is not you. You are not this man. Get your shit together.”
After a shake of his head, he walks right past me, leaving me to hang my head in shame, but not before shouting over his shoulder.
“Twenty-seven minutes, Jackass. Your ass better be glued to the passenger seat of my car.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Merrin
It was all fun and games—a chance to get outside and blow off some steam with my girls at Springfest—right up until the moment we wove our way through the lines of rigs parked a quarter mile away from the river bank and a familiar green Jeep caught my eye.
“I wanna go home.”
I know I'm whining. I know I'm a killjoy. I know I'm being pathetic. But there is no fun to be had today. These last two weeks haven't been that bad, but I've been running balls to the wall, working until I exhaust myself until the only thing left to do is collapse into bed at night. I haven't given myself time to think about him. I've been focusing on me. On my job and my friends. I've even taken on a new project—cleaning out the old barn at the rear of the property, making room for...I don't know what yet, but something.
There's been a quiet stirring in my gut lately, gently pushing me toward a corner, and I know change is coming. I can feel it in the air. I'm meant to do something more than what I am, and I have a dozen semi-formed ideas, giving me hope and something to look forward to. Slowly but surely, I'm healing.
But here? In the midst of all these people, I don't feel healed. I feel exposed and vulnerable. Like every time I turn a corner or approach a new crowd of people, my heart will seek him out. And it knows that if it finds him, it'll break. And if it doesn't...well, it's already a hot mess, so really, there's nothing left to gain, nothing left to lose.
“You're not going home,” Kate whispers in my ear as she grabs my arm. She must sense I'm two seconds away from flying the coop.
“Is this outing really necessary?” I ask, trying to sound less pitiful than I feel. “Wouldn't you rather rent a movie and overdose on Häagen-Dazs?”
“No!” they all chime in tandem.
Figures. They've all been looking forward to Springfest for months. Far be it for me and my heartache to stand in the way of a good time.
Even though the river is spread out before us on both sides, canopied by scraggly blackjack trees and weeping willows, and the sky is clear and blue, it still smells like a party. I get whiffs of peanuts and cigarette smoke as we pass by dozens of scantily-dressed party-goers, and the music is about ten decibels too loud, causing my temples to pulse in protest.
This is the last place I want to be, but the girls assured me getting outside under the sun in my new black bikini would make everything better.
So far, it hasn't. Shocker, I know.
As we walk and Blackjack's finest take in our cut off shorts and racerback tank tops, my eyes scan the crowd for him. I'm hoping we can avoid each other and use this as practice for leading two completely different lives, devoid of one another's presence, but I guess that's really too much to ask because as soon as the dock comes into view I see him. Perched at the edge, bare feet dangling, eyes held firmly on the water's surface as it waves and ripples and surges below.
“Ignore him,” Laura says softly. “We're here to have a good time.”
“Yeah!” Harper chirps loudly. “Have a good time just to spite him!” She's already half drunk.
“C'mon.” Kate drags us faster through the crowd. “Ashley and the girls have a bar set up past the dock. I need to make sure they don't need me to run back for another load of ice.”
“Hell yeah,” Laura says, lifting her arms and giving her hips a little shimmy. “Woody's girls drink free today!”
“Ah,” I nod. “I get why you heathens forced me out of my pajamas today. Free booze.”
“Duh,” Laura snorts.
“I hate every last one of you.”
“No you don't.” Kate kisses my cheek and forces me down into a lawn chair in front of three picnic tables that have been converted into a makeshift bar.
