Just This Once, page 20
Breathing heavily, I caught her arm and spun her around, pushing her back against a quiet, darkened trailer wall. The carnival’s pulse lingered in the background, but here, in the shadows, it was just us.
“I knew you—”
Mid-sentence I gave in—my mouth crashed to hers.
The world ceased to exist for that stolen moment. The subtle taste of funnel cake lingered on her lips, and the thrill of chasing her intensified. As I pulled back, our eyes met, and the realization of just how far gone for her I was hit me.
In the silence that followed, Emily’s sea-blue eyes locked with mine.
My body screamed: She is everything.
Movement caught my eye, and I became aware of a figure standing beyond the shadows in the main walkway of the carnival. My eyes widened as I met the stern gaze of Chief Martin. The echoes of laughter seemed to mock me, turning our night into a high-stakes game with consequences I hadn’t fully anticipated. I stilled, suspended in a moment of uncertainty, as the energy surged around us, a jumble of emotions swirling in the air.
Emily’s father’s gaze bore into me, and my heart pounded. I swallowed hard, searching for words that eluded me.
“What is it?” Emily looked around, still laughing and breathing hard from the intensity of our kiss.
Time seemed to stretch as I stood there, caught in the headlights of a realization that this game, this chase, had consequences beyond the fun house walls. The air thickened with a deafening silence, the carnival sounds now far off whispers.
Emily saw her father, and her eyes widened, mirroring the shock that gripped me. We had wanted to keep our date a secret, away from prying eyes, but now the secret was out, exposed in the dimly lit alley. Our energy had shifted from excitement to a tense uncertainty.
“Whip,” said the chief, his voice low and measured, cutting through the quiet like a knife. My name hung in the air, heavy with disapproval and an unspoken threat.
I took a step back, distancing myself from Emily, but the weight of the situation pressed on my shoulders. The carnival, with its flashing lights and spinning rides, seemed to dim around us. I searched for words, any words, to salvage the moment, but they eluded me like ghosts slipping through my fingers.
“Dad.” Emily smoothed her palms down her jeans as her father stepped forward, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment. “I thought you were at dinner. I––”
“Your mother wanted to see the carnival.”
My pulse throbbed in my ears, a discordant rhythm to the scene unfolding. The silence between us stretched.
“I thought I made myself clear,” he said, his voice now a controlled but seething force. I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Emily or to me.
I struggled to find my voice, my mind racing to comprehend the depth of the situation. Emily stood beside me, her eyes pleading for understanding, for a way to defuse the impending storm. But the whirling lights and festive chaos had turned into a silent witness to our unraveling secrets.
“Sir, I . . .” My words faltered, and I felt the weight of Chief Martin’s gaze. The laughter in the background mocked me, a reminder of the freedom and joy we had sought in coming here.
The silence hung heavy, a thick fog enveloping us. Emily’s father took another step forward, and my instincts screamed at me to escape, to run from the storm. But my feet were rooted to the ground, entangled in a web of secrets and consequences.
And then, just as the tension reached its peak, the lights flickered, casting the alley into momentary darkness. In that fleeting obscurity, I glimpsed a knowing smile on Emily’s face. A glimmer of mischief danced in her eyes, and before the lights fully returned, she whispered, “Run.”
As if pulled by an invisible force, I broke into a sprint, gripping Emily’s hand. The energy surrounding me grew to a frantic pulse, urging me forward. I navigated through the twists and turns of the parked trailers, the darkness my ally in our unexpected escape.
The world around me blurred as I ran, the echoes of Emily’s laughter and her father’s stern voice fading into the night.
We spilled into the parking lot, vibrant lights welcoming us back into the whirlwind of the fun. My heart pounded, and I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Emily’s father in pursuit. But the alley remained silent and empty.
Emily huffed and bent to catch her breath. “Oh my god. I can’t believe we did that!”
I held the sharp pain at my side, then pointed at her as I paced. “You . . . are trouble.”
She laughed and swatted a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t know what came over me. I just saw his face and freaked out. He looked pissed.”
She was laughing. Why the hell was she laughing?
“It’s because he was pissed,” I huffed.
And confused.
Betrayed.
The kaleidoscope of colors and dizzying rides had returned to their carefree facade. Yet the encounter in the alley lingered like a shadow, a reminder that secrets had real consequences, even in the midst of a night that was supposed to be fun.
The blinking lights and laughter were a bittersweet backdrop to the tumult of emotions swirling within me. The night had taken an unexpected turn, the highs of the fun house chase now tempered by the sobering reality of our less-than-secret rendezvous.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Why are you laughing?”
Emily sighed, and her face twisted in amusement. “Because it’s funny? Whip, we got caught kissing by my dad and we ran.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted into the night sky, “How’s that for checking something off my list, Dad?”
Emily chuckled again. “We ran like a bunch of teenagers.” Her deep sigh filled the air. “Oh my god, he was right. This feels so good. I haven’t had this much fun in forever.”
I couldn’t shake the image of Emily’s mischievous smile in the darkened alley and how fire sparked in her eyes when she whispered run. It was a smile that held promises of future adventures, of challenges yet to be faced.
“A King doesn’t run. We take our beatings with heads held high.” My jaw ticced.
Emily sauntered past me into the parking lot, playfully brushing her finger over the tip of my nose. “That’s fucked up.”
I sighed and let my hands drop. “Yeah, I guess it probably is.”
“I’ll talk with my dad tomorrow.” She walked backward, seemingly unfazed by the outing of our secret relationship. Emily crooked her finger. “Now get over here.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
EMILY
The clink of a spoon against her teacup was the only sound that filled my mother’s kitchen. Her eyes slid to mine as my fingertips drummed a silent beat on the countertop beneath me. Perched in my spot—sitting atop the kitchen counter in the corner—I waited just like I had any other time I knew I was in deep shit.
Mom swirled the spoon in her cup. “William is . . .”
“I know.”
Her brows pinched. “And his family . . .”
“I know.”
She sighed. “And your dad . . .”
“I know.”
I thought for a moment. “So is he ‘I’m twenty minutes late for curfew mad’ or ‘Poppy Kerr and I got into that fender bender mad’?”
My mother paused her stirring and lifted her eyebrows. “He’s ‘you got drunk at prom mad.’”
Oh fuck.
It wouldn’t shock anyone to know that I was a good girl in high school. I made perfect grades and hung out with nice kids and rarely made any trouble. But once, during my junior year, I briefly dated a boy one year older than me. He took me to the seniors’ postprom after party and asked, “You drink, right?” while he made a screwdriver that was mostly vodka with only a hint of orange juice.
To which, of course, I lied and stumbled, “Definitely. Yes. Love the—that alcoholic beverage.”
Spoiler: I didn’t love it.
In fact, even thinking of a screwdriver all these years later made the bile rise in the back of my throat. One drink in, and I was shit-faced. Thankfully, my boyfriend was a decent guy, and after I spilled water all over my lap in a failed attempt at being sexy and rendered my khaki skirt completely see-through, he decided to take me home early.
Unfortunately for him and for me, my stepdad had been waiting up just in case I needed anything. It was the only time I ever saw that look in his eyes—the one that clearly communicated, I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.
I fucking hated that look.
I would have much preferred being punished with extra chores or community service—literally anything but having to deal with the mopey look on his face, or how he would go quiet and simply shake his head and walk away. It didn’t matter how old I was, disappointing the man who wasn’t required by biology to love me, but did it anyway, was gut-wrenching.
When I let my head hang in defeat, my mother crossed the kitchen and placed her hand on my knee. When she squeezed, I gathered the courage to look her in the eye.
Her denim-blue eyes were soft and understanding. “Just hear him out, honey. I think you’ll be surprised by what he has to say.”
I picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on the frayed hem of my jean shorts. “And what do you have to say about it?”
Her hand patted my knee. “I think you’ve really come out of your shell in the last few months. You smile more. Of course I love that you’re here in town. That happy little Melly I know is right here . . .” She tapped my chest just under my collarbone. “I’ve gotten to see more of that little girl in the last few months than I have in years. And if that’s William King’s doing, then I’m happy for you.”
Her weighted words landed with a thud in my belly. Had I even noticed that I had changed? Was it Whip’s doing, or was it being in this town? This place that suddenly felt like home?
“He’s a part of it, I think,” I admitted. “But it’s also that for the first time I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.” I sighed and let my hands rest in my lap. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
My mother gripped her hand in mine. “I know exactly what you mean. There’s something magical in these Michigan waters.” She gave my hand a squeeze, and when I looked at her, she winked. “The men around here aren’t too bad to look at either.”
I laughed and leaned in to hug my mother. My whole life, she had been steadfast and strong—a lighthouse to guide me while still allowing me to find my own path.
She couldn’t always protect me from my decisions, but she had always been there to weather the storm of any consequences that came after.
“Do you think the Bluebirds know?” I asked.
My mother’s soft laugh filled her kitchen. “Darling, you were sucking each other’s faces off in a dark corner at a highly anticipated carnival in a small town. I doubt anyone is going to believe he was simply performing CPR. I think it’s safe to say everyone knows.”
From across the room, my dad cleared his throat, and Mom stepped back from our hug. I hopped off the counter, and Mom gave my arm one last reassuring squeeze.
“Good luck, but don’t let him fool you. He is still a big marshmallow,” she whispered.
I gave her a quick nod and walked across the kitchen, past Dad, and into his office down the hallway.
His home office was much more personable than the one at the station with Chief Martin painted on the door. Here, his computer desk was tidy, but framed pictures covered nearly every available surface. Snapshots from family vacations, Christmases, and old black-and-whites of his granddad, who was also a fire chief, added a cozy ambiance to the office. Despite it being summertime, his oversize sweater still hung on the back of his chair.
I turned to face him, leaning my butt against his desk and crossing my feet at the ankles. In the thirty steps between the kitchen and his office, I’d decided that my newfound Emily-ness was something I needed to embrace.
So I gathered my courage to face my stepdad. I took a deep breath and clasped my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting. “So . . . I think I owe you an apology. I’m sure it was a shock to see the woman you raised in a slightly compromising position last night. However, Whip and I are both adults, and I don’t need your permission regarding who I date, so for that I will not apologize.”
“Okay.” My dad blinked. “Do you think you need to apologize for running away from me?”
“Perhaps.” I bit back a smile. “I panicked.”
Dad rounded his desk and sank into the chair with a sigh. “Oh, Melly. What am I going to do with you?”
I turned and sat on the love seat across from him. “I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. You don’t really have to do anything.”
He rubbed his eyes. Over the years the fine lines had aged him, but he was still exactly as I always remembered him. “Do you know I fell for you even before I loved your mother?”
I blinked at the man across from me.
“It’s true,” he continued. “You were three and your mother and I had been seeing each other for a while. She made me wait six months before I met you. Your hair was up in these little blonde pigtails, and you loved party dresses. In the backyard you plunked down in the mud, making a mess and having a ball.” His eyes went unfocused, as if he could see that tiny version of me so clearly. “I walked up to say hello, and you just looked at me, stuck out your chubby little hand, and said, ‘Well, come on.’” He laughed. “That’s all it took. Three little words and I was a goner.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I had never known my biological father, but the man in front of me was 1,000 percent always meant to be my dad. “I’m still that girl, Dad. I’m just . . .” I looked down at myself and sighed. “Older.”
“Time is a thief. You’re going to wake up one day and realize that all these days you wished would pass, have—and you’d give anything to slow it down.”
Emotion thickened in my throat. I hated thinking about my parents getting older and what that meant. Staying in Outtatowner would mean more time with them, and I clung to that thought.
“Which is why,” Dad continued, “you shouldn’t waste any of it on the wrong person. You and your mother are the reasons my life is as happy and fulfilled as it is.”
I frowned, not liking his implication. “What makes you think Whip’s the wrong person?”
He smiled. “I never said he was. He’s a good man. His work ethic is unrivaled—”
“But what?” I stood, a tiny spark of indignation building in my chest. “That’s not good enough for you?”
Dad chuckled and lifted his hand to give me pause. “No man will ever be good enough for you, peanut. That’s just the way it is. But if you say he’s the guy then, well . . .” He sighed and let his hands fall to his lap. “Then he’ll be the guy. Change your mind, and there will be a hundred more lined up behind him waiting for his shot.”
I laughed at the ridiculous image he painted. “I doubt there would be hundreds lined up,” I joked.
He leaned forward. “You give so much of your attention to the man right in front of you that you can’t see anything else—and that’s not always a bad thing. But I saw it with that dipshit Craig, and I’m telling you, if you would have taken a peek around him, you would have seen what I saw a lot sooner.”
My voice was barely above a whisper. “What’s that?”
“You’re the prize. Always have been.”
My eyes dropped to my lap. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Ah, go on.” He laughed and cleared the emotion from his throat. “You’re a grown woman. Go live your life.”
I grinned and stood, then leaned over his desk to wrap him in a hug. “I love you, Dad. I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”
He smiled. “Love you too. I just hope you know you don’t have to hide things––not from me. Your mom and I are always in your corner.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I had started walking toward the door, feeling lighter than I had all morning, when his voice stopped me. “Hey, Melly? Don’t forget . . . if he breaks your heart, I can make him disappear and make it look like an accident.”
With my head held high, I let the July sunshine warm my face as I walked through town. I couldn’t wait to fill Whip in on my conversation with my dad. I knew he was worried about the promotion, but he would see that my dad wasn’t the kind of man to hold our personal relationship against him. If Whip was the best man for the job, he’d get it.
No more secrets. No more worrying we’d get caught. No more lying about where I had been.
If I was being honest with myself, I was definitely going to miss the charged looks he’d send me from across the bar or the brush of his fingertip down my arm when he walked past, but I’d get over it. We could actually date.
The giddiness pumping through me added a pep to my step as I smiled and waved at every single person that I passed. With each day I was getting better at recognizing the townies from the tourists and what made this quirky little town tick.
It felt like an afternoon to celebrate. I stopped and looked up at the storefront sign: The Sugar Bowl. The town’s bakery was always packed—and for good reason. Their coffee was hot, and the man who owned the bakery, Huck Benton, was a genius in the kitchen. An idea danced through me. Whip said people were always dropping things off at the station for the firefighters. I could get a box of pastries and bring it to the station myself. I could shock the hell out of Whip when I pulled him in for a smacking kiss, right there in front of everyone.
I pulled open the glass door to the Sugar Bowl and stifled an excited squeal as the scene played out in my mind. I held it for two little old ladies to exit while I daydreamed of Whip.
It would be perfect, and I was certain that after the initial shock of it, Whip’s stormy eyes would darken and warn me of delicious promises to come.
TWENTY-NINE
