Chapter 7 #3
They twirl the fire staffs, eliciting sounds of wonder from everyone watching—and everyone is watching. The entirety of the beach party’s attention is on these women waving fire around to the music of the drums.
I steal a glance at Abby, the fire reflected in her eyes as she follows every movement. Her lips are parted in awe, and she gasps in time with the rest of the crowd. The show is a sight to behold, but I could spend all evening watching Abby.
As if she can feel me watching her, she turns to catch my eye, a child-like smile on her face.
“Isn’t this cool?” she mouths, and I nod. Her joy is infectious. It’s the kind of thing I would give anything to have access to on a bad day.
The fire dancers are mesmerizing, and I manage to focus on them instead of Abby for at least half of their show.
By the time they’re doing their finale, Abby and I have both finished our drinks.
I’m about to ask if she wants another one, but the drumming transitions into party music again and a familiar voice booms over a microphone.
“What’s up, White Sands Resort, this is DJ CJ and we’re about to take this party to the next level—let me hear you!”
Carlos’s voice elicits a loud cheer from the people scattered along the beach. The fire dancers and drummers disperse and the lights flash purple, red, blue, green, lighting the dance floor up and encouraging people to fill the space.
And they do. In fact, the dance floor is a crowded mess of bodies in minutes, Carlos officially having started his set, the mood at the beach shifting. We’re no longer being entertained; the party is for us to enjoy now. When I look over at Abby, she’s moving with the music.
“You wanna dance?” I lean across the table and raise my voice so she can hear me.
“Yeah!” she yells, her mouth open in a wide smile. I suspect she’s a little tipsy.
I let her lead us to the dance floor. The closer we get to the crowd, the more she starts to sway her body in time with the music.
She’s released her hair, wild strands moving with her or glued to her neck by sweat.
She pushes through the crowd, but I don’t want to lose her, so I hook my fingers around her bicep.
Her skin is soft, if sticky from the humidity.
She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve attached myself to her.
She finds a place in the middle of the crowd, and I release her arm.
This wouldn’t be my first choice—I prefer the edges of a crowd—but I don’t care as long as Abby is close by.
The crush of bodies pushes her chest right against mine, although her hands are up in the air and she’s whipping her head from side to side in time with the beat of the music.
I move with her, with the crowd. I really have no choice.
Standing still in a group like this would be impossible.
No one seems to care that I have no sense of rhythm, least of all Abby, who looks so much like the version of her that I knew in college—tipsy and dancing in a sweaty frat basement, drinking lemonade and vodka out of a red Solo cup.
The song changes, and it’s vaguely familiar to me, scratching something in the back of my brain.
Abby definitely knows it, though, lip-syncing or singing every lyric of the song.
She’s making eye contact with the people around us who are also singing the lyrics, and then her attention is on me and she’s singing to me.
“If all love is tragedy, why are you my remedy? If all love’s insanity, why are you my clarity?”
She’s clutching her chest, pointing at me, scream-singing, pumping her fists in time to the music, and absolutely gushing with joy.
My chest aches with nostalgia, and I’ve never wanted to go back in time so badly to a version of us where I could take her face in my hands and kiss her, adding to her joy.
Her hands brush my shoulders, my chest, but she’s tossing her head from side to side, and I don’t think she’s noticed. But I noticed. Her little touches are electric, infusing life into me one current at a time.
The chorus comes back around and she does the same thing, locking her eyes on mine, pointing dramatically and dancing, and this time I do the same.
I feed her the same energy she’s been feeding me.
I lip-sync the words, doing my best to remember them and failing, which only makes her laugh.
Knowing I was the cause of her eyes crinkling and her mouth cracking open into a wide smile makes me want to punch the air in victory.
I’m more alive than I have been in a long time, like all it took was Abby’s delight and a little EDM to wake me up from a deep, dreamless slumber.
By the time the song is over, Abby’s hair is half wet from sweat and her skin is glistening.
I gesture for water, and she nods. I hold out my hand to her and she takes it, clutching it as we weave through the crowd.
Once we’re on the other side, she drops it.
We make it past the speakers facing the dance floor so the beat of the song isn’t drowning out everything else, and the rest of the world comes back to me: the ocean waves, the chatter of scattered conversations, Abby’s heavy breathing.
I point her to an empty table and pick up two bottles of water for us at the bar. I find her leaning on the table, still a little out of breath.
“Drink,” I say, opening her water bottle and holding it out to her. She takes it from my hand, her fingertips grazing mine, and tilts her head back, chugging the water. I do the same, but watch her to make sure she’s drinking enough.
When she comes up for air, she gulps in a few breaths, and I realize she and I are standing close enough that her chest brushes against mine with every inhale.
I can smell the salty night air on her, and something floral that’s familiar to me but I can’t place.
Jasmine? Magnolia? Whatever it is, it’s distinctly her, and I lean in to get more of it.
She’s been holding my gaze, but now her eyes bounce to my lips and then back to my eyes.
Did she just…look at my lips? Was she thinking about kissing me?
Raw, primal desire rips through me, and I have to clench every muscle in my body to ignore the ache to do anything about it.
Her lips part, her top teeth catching her bottom lip, and I swear she sways toward me, but then she’s shuffling backwards, smoothing out her dress and clearing her throat.
“I should go. I have an early excursion and need to shower and get some sleep.”
Disappointment pinches at my stomach, but I don’t say anything. I’d keep her here all night if I could.
“Let me walk you back,” I say.
“No, no, I’m okay. I think I sweat out all the alcohol anyway.”
I would insist, but I don’t want to push my luck. That she spent the evening with me of her own free will was more than I could ask.
“Thanks for the dance,” I say, and her face breaks into the kind of smile that I’ll be thinking about for days.
“I’ll see you around, Miles.”
And I hope to god it’s true.
I thought it would be enough to just apologize and leave her alone, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to stay away from this woman.
I want to be around her, to watch her eyes light up when I make her laugh, to watch her lips twitch and her cheeks pink when I flirt with her.
To watch her take in all the joy the world has to offer and watch it transform her from the inside out.
I know what it’s like to want something I can’t have. After my injury, I wanted to go back to hockey more than I wanted anything. I made every effort to get back into that world, but in the end, I had to give it up.
I know I’ll never have her, but that fact does not seem to be stopping my desperate heart from wanting her. And if seven days is all I get just to be in her presence, then seven days is what I’ll take.