The Thick of Things, page 1
the thick of things
IN MEDIAS RES
BOOK 1
J.L. CAMPBELL
THE WRITERS’ SUITE
contents
Blurb
In Medias Res
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Other Books by J.L. Campbell
About the Author
Contact
blurb
Life tends to go awry when you least expect it, and Khalila Skyers learns this lesson the hard way.
In one devastating blow after another, she loses her cozy existence. Then Douglas Blythe overtakes her life like a flood, and she’s not equipped to deal with an attraction that seems forbidden and overwhelming. But her body and heart want what they want, and leave her wondering if she ever knew herself at all.
Douglas is determined to help Khalila move beyond her obsession with the past and reach for love a second time.
No matter how long it takes. No matter the distance. He’s going to prove he’s worth the risk.
The Thick of Things by J.L. Campbell
Copyright © March 2018, J.L. Campbell
The Writers’ Suite
Kingston, Jamaica
ISBN: 978-976-8307-45-3 (eBook edition)
ISBN: 978-976-8307-44-6 (Paperback edition)
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from J.L. Campbell.
in medias res
Latin term for “in the middle of things.” Starting a story in the middle at a crucial point, rather than at the beginning, and filling in background information as the action progresses.
one
His laughter hit my ear before I saw him. The sound was full and rich, like a mouthful of dark chocolate.
From where I stood, inside the ballroom door at the welcome reception, I craned my neck out of curiosity.
Douglas Blythe entered the room, chuckling over something the man he was walking with had said to him.
I couldn’t help wishing his smile was directed at me. While I stood spellbound, Nica, another volunteer, showed the stragglers where they should sit since the function had already started.
The red jacket Douglas wore announced he was part of the Antigua Barbuda group and too late, my hand went out in a jerky motion. The man behind him took the program I was handing out, smiling politely when I muttered a greeting.
Usually, I didn’t behave as if my brain was in go-slow mode, but something about Douglas Blythe threw me off-balance. I put him out of mind while I wondered if I knew what I was letting myself in for by volunteering for this event.
I’d become a regular volunteer at these golf tournaments where my husband, Trent, competed because it was easier to pass the time working than to vegetate in the hotel room or by the poolside. Volunteers only worked half the day and the afternoon was free, if we weren’t involved in scoring.
This time, I would spend the entire day working because Trent and I were halfway down a long and slippery slope. We had only been here for one day and I knew it was a mistake to come to Montego Bay. Trent insisted on arriving a day early so he could fit in an extra practice round. After the game, he spent the afternoon eating and drinking with his playing partners, which meant I was alone much of yesterday.
We’d both thought being together in a different setting would help our failing marriage, but so far, I had no evidence that it would. Being confined in the same space for extended periods only reminded us of what we’d already lost, and neither of us had the capacity to deal with our emotional problems. Nor did we seem to have the desire or will to talk about them. Trent’s decision to socialize with his golfing buddies, instead of spending time with me, was a case in point. How were we ever going to work out our problems if we refused to sit together and talk about our relationship?
That could have been why Douglas made such an impression. My preoccupation with him started when we met in the elevator of this same hotel last year. I was running late and stood waiting on the eighth floor, jabbing the button.
A muted ping let me know the massive chrome stall was a floor away. When the doors opened, Douglas stood inside wearing knee-length shorts, loafers, and a creamy golf shirt that set off his deep-mocha complexion. I recognized him from the registration activity the previous evening.
“Good morning,” I said, stepping inside while juggling my handbag and laptop, plus a file jacket.
He nodded and let his eyes sweep my sandals, black pants and white shirt before he smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”
After that I ignored him, staring straight ahead.
His appreciative gaze unnerved me. Here was a man who was conscious of what he was doing and wasn’t afraid to let me know.
I clutched my laptop tight as the space in the elevator seemed to contract. Without doing anything, the man was making me edgy and I didn’t like it. How I didn’t let out a relieved sigh when we arrived at the lobby was a mystery.
Douglas gestured with one hand for me to go ahead of him.
I couldn’t help noticing the size of it and my gaze wandered to his shoes. Big head, hands, and feet. Before my mind wandered anywhere it shouldn’t, I mumbled thanks and hurried down the corridor and into the lobby. It was when I was on the other side of the lobby and climbing the stairs to the tournament office that I realized he was behind me.
After holding the door open, he followed me inside. He smelled of a minty aftershave and a fresh scent that reminded me of water, specifically the sea. Without being fully conscious of it, I pulled in a deep breath, let it out, and sucked in another. The man smelled good.
Then I remembered Trent, sleeping in the king bed upstairs, and got my mind back on the right track. My marriage needed CPR and here I was with my eyes bugging out over the fence.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a few more steps and then turning to face him. Tipping my head back, I asked, “Can I help?”
“Yes, I forgot to pick up one of the player information sheets yesterday.”
“Okay, no problem.”
I got one off the tray at the front of the desk and handed it to him, trying to ignore the scent he wore that filled my nostrils.
He took the sheets of paper and gave me a slight nod. “Catch you later.”
I might have said something, but I couldn’t tell what. His smile had addled my brain to such a degree I stood in the same spot until he left the room. Once he disappeared, I went around the tables and sat at the back of the office. My silly behavior exasperated me and I vowed to keep my focus and forget about Douglas.
Now, I shut the memories away and brought myself back to the ballroom. Standing inside the doorway handing out programs wasn’t doing me any good. My mind tended to wander when I wasn’t fully occupied, and I didn’t want to think. If I did, a gnawing ache would start in my belly and I couldn’t deal with that. My son’s laughing face flashed before me and I bit my lower lip. A few deep breaths and a rapid series of blinks took care of the burning at the back of my eyes. My face formed an auto-smile when a player approached.
His mouth moved as he pointed to the cards in my hand.
I handed him one of the programs although I hadn’t heard a word he said. It disgusted me when I got into this zone, which was too frequent these days. I hated feeling sorry for myself, but in the time since we lost Amir, neither Trent nor I had come to terms with it. Our son’s death had unraveled the last threads of our weakened marriage. Another thing I felt guilty about, but I reminded myself I wasn’t alone in my marriage. Trent had done his part to destroy what we had built.
The emcee took the stage and delivered the welcome message before the music started. The national anthems of all the countries represented were played for a minute each before the emcee moved to the second part of the function. After the major sponsors spoke, the players and guests gravitated toward the food stations and the bar.
Trent and I spoke briefly as we circulated among the people in the room. As I watched him talking with several visitors, a trace of bitterness invaded my thoughts. Although he was competing, I thought maybe we could make good on our promise to try again, but this last twenty-four hours had been a no-go. We hadn’t managed to be in the same space for more than an hour at a stretch. In my mind, too much had happened for us to pretend we’d be okay. Trent’s lack of availability was simply more of the same kind of behavior he exhibited at home.
My mental travels went on hold when the aroma of sea water and fresh breezes assailed my nostrils again. Douglas Blythe was close by.
I walked in the opposite direction, which took me to the food station
She grimaced, revealing a mouthful of braces. “My feet are killing me.”
I used the bread and cucumber in my mouth as an excuse not to do more than murmur in sympathy.
She continued speaking, a one-sided conversation in which she didn’t seem to need more than a smile and nod from me. While she nattered, I had a look around the room.
Trent stood with his back to me, talking to a couple of his golf buddies. For the last five years, his life seemed to revolve around the sport. This was his obsession, outside of his partnership in the architectural firm. I didn’t mind the time he spent playing and working, because none of these helped to kill our marriage. It was something else that did, and I didn’t want to face that either.
I watched him—tall, thin, and handsome with salt-and-pepper hair, clean-shaven and confident in dress shirt and dark pants. Trent hated suits and ties and refused to wear them, unless it was necessary. He'd discarded the jacket that was part of his team uniform on the back of a chair somewhere. He laughed, and as I looked at his profile a shaft of pain cut my belly. Amir had resembled his father more than he did me. The same honey-gold skin and fine features marked them as father and son. My eyes watered again and I stood to get a drink. That’s when I realized Althea was still talking.
“Sorry,” I said, “I need a drink. Want anything?”
She shook her head and put a hand over her mouth, I assumed to keep me from seeing the half-chewed food when she answered. “No, I’m fine.”
I left the plate on a table and, on my way to the bar, decided I’d have something stronger than fruit juice. At the counter, I eyed the liquor on display and then placed my order. The server, pleasant and youthful, handed me a glass of rum cream with a flourish.
I thanked him and moved aside, only to run smack into that scent again. My gaze traveled upward from Douglas’s wide chest and the loosely-knotted tie to the hair covering his jaw and that neat, thick moustache. His mouth was a full, but not fleshy, cupid’s bow that commanded my attention. I took a step back when I caught myself staring.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
I nodded and worked up a smile. “Yes, I’m good. Thanks. Have a good night.”
His deep-brown eyes narrowed and one eyebrow tilted in a what-the-heck expression.
I hoped he didn’t think I was being obnoxious for no reason, but my words were simply a means of self-preservation. Something about this man was magnetic and I wasn’t trying to get with anybody else when I was tangled in a twenty-year relationship. Still, my mouth continued sinking me deeper in a mire of my own making. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t being rude.”
His eyes twinkled as he said, “That’s good to know.”
I looked beyond him as if searching for someone. “I have to go.”
As I walked away, he watched me. I felt his intense gaze, and it put me on edge. Whether he observed me out of curiosity or attraction, I didn’t know. He hadn’t given anything away, but I also hadn’t missed the fact that just now he’d studied me the way he had in the elevator this morning. One pass that went from my wedge heels to my black sequined sheath, and my loose twists that I’d tamed with a pair of jeweled hair sticks.
I left my drink on a table, weaved through the crowd, and approached the group where Trent still stood. I wasn’t familiar with the two men in his company. Taking hold of Trent’s arm, I interrupted them. “I’m sorry. Trent, can I talk to you for a second?”
He nodded, and I whispered, “I’m going to the room now. I’m tired.”
“That’s okay. See you in a while.”
Nodding, I continued on my way. It would have been too much to expect him to come with me, because I’d always known Trent was a social animal. He’d probably be the last one to leave the party.
I went up one floor to the office, where the lights were still on. The tournament director, Ernest Wilks, was standing at the copier. He looked over his shoulder when I walked in. “Hey, Khalila, what’s up?”
“Just getting my purse,” I said, moving to where I’d been sitting before I left to attend the ceremony.
“I’m not even going to ask what that’s about.”
“You probably wouldn’t understand,” I said, waving on my way past him. I was busy handing out programs; Ernest wouldn’t get the rationale behind me leaving the purse if I didn’t explain it to him.
He scratched his gray head, sparing me a grin. “You’re right about that.”
On the way to the elevator, my steps slowed as I wondered why I’d bothered to come to Montego Bay, since it was clear my husband didn’t need me.
Head thrown back I stood before the elevator, waiting.
I smelled that man again before I saw him. With one hand to the back of my neck, I shook my head over the irony of my situation. Here I was, at the end of my marriage but something inside me was drawn to another man like a rainfly to a lightbulb. If that wasn’t sick, I didn’t know what was.
But I had options. I could stand here and pretend I didn’t know he was there or I could say hello and risk embarrassing myself. Every time I opened my mouth around Douglas Blythe, my words came out wrong.
The elevator arrived and he took the initiative. “This is twice in one day now.”
I looked sideways at him. “Huh?”
“I’d say we have to stop meeting this way, except that I like looking at you.”
His comment sucked the wind out of my sails and left me breathless. I didn’t want to sound snarky, lest he thought I was a sourpuss so I threw out what I hoped sounded like an offhand question. “Really?”
He nodded. “That’s the truth.”
I didn’t know what to make of his declaration, so I kept quiet as we stepped inside. If he was watching me, how could he not know I was connected to Trent? Unless he didn’t want to know. From experience, I knew it was possible to be on-site and not meet all the people entered in the tournament, especially a big one like this.
While I pondered that, Douglas studied me as if I amused him. I looked back at him, absorbing and filing away every detail about him that I could.
I lowered my hand, curling it into a fist by my side. I hadn’t worn my engagement band in a while, but the other half of the ring—although unusual in design—was certainly a clue that I wasn’t unattached. I resisted my sudden need to look at the white gold band laden with baguettes.
“What floor are you on?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I told him and he selected eight and then ten. In the wink of an eye, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.
“Have a good night,” he said, wearing a smile that had the blood thundering through my head in mad waves.
I nodded, since my throat wouldn’t release the words I needed. My bones felt as if they’d turned to water and it was hard for me to move my feet.
Another slow, sexy smile from Douglas had me wondering if I’d finally gone over the edge and lost my mind. Instead of racing away from him, I paced myself and walked out of the elevator, acting as though every cell in my body hadn’t gone into overdrive.
two
One year later …
I looked up and Douglas Blythe stood framed in the doorway. A man around whom I had built countless daydreams. A racy visual came to mind and I blushed and pulled my thighs closer together. Silly, for a forty-two-year-old woman.
He scanned the boardroom-turned-tournament-office before he stepped inside. He was handsome and knew it. I saw it in the way he carried himself—head high, shoulders squared, and a quirk to those lips that always seemed ready to break into a smile. The man exuded raw power. If my best friend Corinne was with me, she’d say he was a man who knew who he was and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it.
