—EIGHTEEN—
“Peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”
Ms. Katherine’s lips stretch into the sweetest smile, the rouge of her cheeks blossoming like pink peonies, and I consider adding it to my growing list of starting points. She’s a portly woman with a slightly crooked bob, dappled in brindle and silver streaks. A floral-print blouse adorns her ample frame, the fuchsia petals matching the nail polish on her fingers that are curled around a leather-bound journal.
“Did you know those were Elvis Presley’s favorite?”
A chuckle clears my lips as I duck my head. “My mom would always tell me that when she’d make them for me.”
“You should try them with bacon sometime. It’s such an interesting flavor dynamic,” she encourages, shifting her weight on the folding chair.
Amelia pipes in. “That sounds nasty.”
“You’re a vegan, aren’t you, Amelia?” Ms. Katherine prompts tenderly.
“Yep, for almost a year now. Any time I look at meat, I just see Nutmeg’s little face.”
I quirk a smile, braving a glance to my left. Amelia scratches the back of her knuckles with short black nails, causing a cluster of blood dots to speckle her skin. “How is Nutmeg?” I ask her when the starting points shift down the circle.
“She’s good. I just knitted her little booties, but she doesn’t really like them.”
The mental image of a hamster in hand-knit booties sends a tickle to my heart. “Maybe she just needs to get used to them.”
“Or maybe she’s a hamster.” Parker adds his commentary with his arms folded across a well-worn t-shirt as he leans back, his body language oozing casual indifference. But his features look softer somehow, his eyes shimmering when they slide over to me, then back to Amelia. “That could be it.”
“She’s very domesticated and highly intelligent,” Amelia counters, lifting her chin. “I’ll bring her to a meeting some time. You’ll see.”
Parker offers a shoulder shrug, his disposition more playful than hostile. “I’m exploding with anticipation.”
“I can tell. You look like you might do something extreme—like smile.”
“I might.”
His eyes float back to me as he replies, and I look away, worrying my lip between my teeth. That evening in my basement stomps through my mind with angry steps and steel-toed boots, inciting me to cross my legs and fidget with the fringe along my jean shorts.
I don’t understand it. I don’t understand him.
He claims to not like women, yet he held me on his lap like a lover, fisting my hair and digging contradictory evidence to his claim into my thigh.
He’s never kissed anyone before, yet he allowed our lips to brush together through the cloak of darkness, his body trembling beneath my weight, his chaotic heart vibrating straight to my core.
He acts like he doesn’t care about anything, yet he stuck around to help me clean up the neighborhood, silent and stoic for the most part, looking wildly uncomfortable, but he stayed.
And then he ignored my text last night—he left me on read.
It’s not as if I expected him to accept the offer, but he ghosted me when I took a leap of faith and offered him a raw, unguarded piece of myself… and I hate admitting how much that hurt.
Parker’s eyes continue to dig into me from a few feet away, and my lungs feel tight, my skin warming beneath the heat of his gaze. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what he sees when he watches me like this, so bold and unabashed.
My cheeks grow hot, but I refuse to turn my head towards him, instead focusing on a little string dangling from the hemline of my shorts, longer than all the others. I pretend it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen as I coil it around my pinky.
When the meeting wraps up, fellow members linger for chitchat, strengthening the bonds they’ve established with kindred survivors. Amelia fills me in on an anime series she’s been watching, and as her words trickle into my ears, my focus wanes, shifting over to Parker. He taps his foot against the shiny flooring, appearing twitchy and restless, hesitating for a few beats before rising from the chair.
Then he paces to the double doors and pushes through, disappearing from my sight.
I straighten, compelled to follow.
“Go ahead, you’re fine. We can talk another day.”
Amelia’s voice steals my attention, and I falter. “What?”
“You looked like you wanted to go after Parker. You can if you want. I don’t mind.”
“Oh, I…” Swallowing, I pick at the emblem on my handbag and clear my throat. “No, I’m sorry. I’m listening.”
“Were you?” she teases, nudging me with her bony shoulder.
“Definitely. The show with the nuts.”
“The nuts?”
“Macadamias.”
“It’s actually… My Hero Academia.”
I blink. “Oh.”
Amelia nearly doubles over with laughter, cupping a hand around her violet-lined lips. “Go, will you?” she orders, her giggles diffusing. “He’s probably waiting for you.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Why? It’s obvious he likes you.”
A shudder ripples through me. “No, it’s not.”
“Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”
It feels like something gets stuck in my throat as I squeeze my purse between two clammy fists.
Amelia sends me a knowing smile, her pierced eyebrow arching. “He looks at you like he’s never seen anything like you before. Almost as if you’re one of those sacred relics perched behind tempered glass at a museum or a gallery, far too precious to touch. People stare in wonder, awestruck and tongue-tied, trying to unravel its mysteries, trying to imagine the rich history and compelling stories that hide behind the pretty exterior.” She sighs, her umber eyes glazing over with a sense of magic. “It must feel really good to have someone look at you like that—like they’re seeing you for the first time, every time, and they’re amazed all over again.”
My tongue slicks over my lips, and I inhale an uneven breath, her words bursting inside of me and dispersing like little sparklers, crackling and fizzing. “You should write poetry. That was really beautiful.”
Likely not accurate, but beautiful.
“I do, but it’s kind of morbid.” Amelia ducks her head, pushing a ribbon of inky hair behind her ear. “Pretty words for dark hearts.”
We share a smile before I rise from the chair, giving her arm a light squeeze as I say my goodbyes. When I move towards the exit, I waver, my feet stalling, and I twist back around to address Amelia. “You look better, by the way. Like you’re healing.”
“Healing?”
I nod.
Amelia crumples the fabric of her baggy t-shirt between her fingers, the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. “I’m accepting. I suppose there’s healing in acceptance.”
I’m uncertain of her meaning, but I don’t pry. I simply gift her a final smile, bob my head, and make my way out the doors, down the hall, then escape into the setting sun.
My heart jack-knifes when I spot Parker leaning against the trunk of my car, hands tucked into dark denim pockets.
What?
He straightens when he notices me approach. “Fuck, that took forever. Thought maybe Emo Chick put a spell on you.”
The breeze steals my hair, while he steals my breath. That playful edge is still in full swing, his demeanor more carefree than I’ve ever seen him. I swallow. “You were waiting for me?”
“Yeah. I thought we had plans.”
“Plans?”
Parker frowns, squinting his eyes at me through the hazy sunset. “The lake. There’s no way in hell I’m getting in the water, or dancing for that matter, but I’ll tag along if you want me to.”
My sandals clap against the pavement as I close in on him, the long, flowy sleeves of my ivory blouse catching a draft when I sweep shaky fingers through my hair. If he weren’t such a magnet, I’d probably still be frozen to the cement. “You’re coming?”
“I don’t have fuck-else to do.” Parker’s eyes slide over my bare legs when I reach him. His whole stance tautens, the muscles in his arms contracting as he pulls his focus back up to my face. “You asked me to, didn’t you?”
“You never replied.”
“Was I supposed to?”
Despite the heavy energy swirling between us, I can’t help but let out a quick laugh. “That’s generally the idea. Standard protocol.”
He sniffs, glancing down at his dirt-smudged sneakers. “I’m a bit atypical.”
“Yeah,” I smile. “I think that’s why I like you.”
Parker’s gaze shoots back up. His eyes flame, flickering like emerald torches. “You like me?”
“Oh, um…” His question isn’t flirty or cocky—it’s genuine, almost as if he’s shocked to hear such a thing. I feel my face burn at the admission, and I hope the modest sunburn shading my cheekbones hides the evidence. “I figured the cupcakes gave me away.”
He studies me, wordless, a little frown appearing between his brows. The one he wears so well, so prominently. Parker looks as if he might respond in some way, run with my confession, but he doesn’t. He just glances to his left, clearing a hitch in his throat, and says, “Ready?”
“Okay.”
A buzz of anticipation shoots through me while I rummage around my purse for my car keys, then pace over to the driver’s side door. Parker follows suit, climbing in and throwing me a brief glance as he secures his seatbelt. His woodsy scent permeates the small space, smelling of hot springs, cedarwood, and freshly fallen leaves. It’s masculine and intoxicating, and it makes my skin flush to a feverish level.
God, this is crazy. This feeling—so familiar, yet so foreign. I’m desperately trying to move forward, I want to move forward, but every time my belly clenches and my heart gallops, it feels like a slap in the face to Charlie. A disloyalty.
Spit on his grave.
My hands curl around the steering wheel, gripping tightly, my teeth burrowing into my bottom lip. This trip to the lake is about letting go. It’s about progressing, forging ahead—healing.
Accepting, as Amelia said.
Accepting that Charlie is never coming back, and I can stay committed to his ghost, weighed down by the heavy anchors of “what could have been”… or I can push through the high tide.
I can swim.
Parker settles into his seat, propping his ankle up on the opposite knee. He flicks his gaze over me, studying my idleness. “You good?”
Not yet.
But I will be.
I send him a reassuring smile and start the engine. “I’m good.”
The sun is barely peeking over the horizon when we arrive at the lake, coloring the rippled water in shades of apricot and blush. It was a relatively quiet car ride as my playlist serenaded us with a mix of Silversun Pickups and Cigarettes After Sex. Mood music, bordering on sensual. Probably not the smartest choice, considering my body already feels like it’s being firebombed every time Parker glances my way.
Heaving out a breath of personal encouragement, I exit the parked vehicle, relishing in the way the summer breeze skims my face and sends my hair into a tizzy. It’s a tepid wind, the kind that reeks of nostalgia and hidden promises. It’s the perfect evening to give my fears a worthy send-off and dive headfirst into the future I deserve.
With Charlie…
And without him.
It’s all about finding the balance—cherishing his memory and carrying those precious moments with me, while not allowing them to sink me and swallow me whole.
The water calls to me with quiet enchantment, compelling me to rush forward and kick off my sandals as sand and pebbles dig into my feet. My blood is spiked with giddiness, so I turn around, pacing backwards while I wave my arms at Parker. He’s perched idle at the front of my car, watching me with hooded curiosity. “Come with me.”
I know he said he wouldn’t, he’d only tag along, but I’m certain he’s riddled with his own fears, his own personal demons. We can wash them away together.
Parker shakes his head. “I’ll watch.”
“Are you sure?” I send him a glowing smile, my heart thumping as my feet continue their backward trek.
“Yeah.”
I try not to let my disappointment hinder this feeling. This release. My smile holds strong as I nod my head and twist back around to face the water.
As I approach the water’s edge, I’m flooded with a past memory of Charlie. The recollection burns me as I inch closer to the shoreline, the sand turning wet beneath my soles. We came to this very lake a week before my entire world turned to ashes and soot. He held me fiercely, his arms encircling my waist from behind while the stars reflected off the surface of the water.
“It’s almost our anniversary,” he said, tightening his grip on me.
“I can’t believe it. It feels like our story is only just beginning.”
He kissed the top of my head, just a delicate whisper. “Remember what I told you on our wedding day?”
“Hmm, I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of, I love this dress, but I can’t wait to get you out of it.”
Charlie’s chuckle rumbled through me, vibrating my skin. “Accurate, but not what I had in mind.”
I smiled knowingly. “I can’t wait to love you forever, Mrs. March.”
“That’s right.” He lowered his head to the crook of my shoulder, pressing his lips to the exposed crest. “Forever doesn’t seem long enough, does it?”
My chest ignites with a blaze of potent remorse, crawling upwards and singeing the back of my throat. A small cry slips out—the sort of cry that just hangs there, wretched and painful, contaminating everything within reach.
I feel him then, coasting up beside me.
Parker.
It’s a distorted comfort, one I want to soak up, like the way the water swallows the colors of the sun. But I want to repel it at the same time.
This is another man.
This is a man who isn’t my husband, isn’t my best friend, isn’t the love of my life.
This is a stranger, essentially, a stranger who is the opposite of Charlie in every way.
And yet, I need him right now. I need him to be my anchor.
Parker stares out at the darkening lake, stiff and rigid, his eyes dancing over to me when I peer up at him. He cases me, from my windswept hair to my parted lips, landing on my arm that is draped across my midsection, fingers latched onto my opposite elbow. His gaze glints beneath the dimming sky. “What did it feel like?”
His voice is low, throaty and almost tremulous. I blink up at him, processing his question, not understanding. Then I hold my arm out as I follow his stare. My jagged scar is on full display, bathed in dusk. “The knife?” I murmur, croaking out the words.
Parker’s eyebrows dip, but his gaze slides back up to mine. “To love someone that much.”
My heart seizes, my eyes stinging with fresh tears. I’m forced to look away as I pull my lips between my teeth, holding back another mournful cry.
“Sorry. You should go dance now.”
Swallowing, I glance back up at Parker, who has returned his attention to the lake. He teeters on the balls of his feet, his jaw clenching. I’m startled by his words as the chilly water laps at my toes—he’s never apologized for anything before, but he apologizes for this. For his brush with vulnerability, his tender curiosity. That’s nothing to be sorry for.
“It felt like completion,” I tell him, explaining it the only way that makes sense. “It felt like a pinnacle. Like everything in your life has come full circle, and this person is the culmination of every dream, every plea, every dandelion wish.
“And when your dreams dissolve, and the wishes scatter, it’s hard to find joy in anything else. How can you ever obtain completion again when you’re missing the biggest piece?” A ragged sigh escapes me, and I watch the emotions play across his face, a melancholy reflection pulling at his features. “I have to believe there’s still joy in the journey—this new journey—and that life isn’t all about the finished puzzle. There’s just as much fulfillment in putting it together.”
Parker’s eye twitches, his gaze lowering to the soggy sand, and when he finally looks back up at me, I smile.
I smile wide, I smile proud, I smile through the tears—because that’s what it’s all about.
“It’s time to dance,” I declare.
A squeal breaks free when I skip into the lake, my legs blasted with the ice cold water, my fears washing away with every step.
I spin to look at Parker. He stands at the shoreline, watching me dip deeper into the water until it skims my waist. I splash my arms up, the frosty droplets dappling my hair, tearing another squeal out of me, and I twirl in unsteady circles, my toes sinking into the murky floor.
More laughter, more releasing, more dancing.
I jump and hop and move and spin. My blouse sticks to me as the ends of my hair skate along the lake, spraying and misting with every inelegant rotation. I’m purging my sickness, exorcising my demons, with eyes closed tight and my heart thundering its cleansing beats… I’m flying free.
I’m swimming.
I’m about to dive in, to fully immerse myself in the dark water, when I make a final spin and…
He’s there.
My body collides with his hard frame, my palms planting against his chest as a startled gasp slips out.
Parker grips my upper arms to steady me, his eyes gleaming with something new. Something undiscovered—something reserved for only me.
“You came,” I whisper, wide-eyed and spellbound.
His hands slide down my arms, resting at my elbows. “I’m regretting it already. Wet jeans are a bitch.”
My smile blooms brighter, and I can’t help the delirious laughter from spilling free.
He’s here. He’s in the water with me.
For me.
There is something magically inconceivable about that.
“Dance with me,” I urge him, fumbling for his wet hands and holding them in mine. I swing his arms side to side, shimmying us in a ridiculous series of movements that don’t at all resemble dancing. But it’s joyful and fulfilling and fun, and for a startling moment, I feel complete again.
Parker doesn’t make any effort to move with me, but he doesn’t resist my attempts either. He just stands there, shaking his head, staring off over my shoulder and allowing me to turn him into my impervious dance partner.
And then I start to sing.
Don’t Stop Believing.
Because terrible lake dancing obviously calls for a hideous karaoke rendition of Journey’s greatest hit.
I belt the off-key lyrics, out of breath, still swinging Parker’s arms around with zero coordination and a lot of accidental splashes to his face.
He stares at me like I’ve gone mad, and maybe I have, maybe I really have, but when I force myself into the most awkward twirl ever, dipping underneath his arm that I’m holding high above my head, the unthinkable happens.
I complete my spin, nearly losing my balance, and face Parker just as he starts to smile.
He smiles.
An amused burst of laughter accompanies his grin, and I go still, clinging to his hand. “Oh, my God.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he mutters teasingly, looking down at me with eyes made of mint and mayhem.
Or magic. Maybe it’s magic.
Lunging myself at him, I almost topple us both into the water as I slink my arms around his neck and pull him down, murmuring into the crook of his shoulder. “You smiled… you smiled, Parker.”
His body stiffens in my hold, his own arms hanging rigid at his sides. The water tickles my waistline as I try to inch up on my tiptoes and hug him tighter to me, my lips lightly grazing the little water droplets that roll down the arch of his neck. I inhale a shuddering breath, my fingers curling around his nape, playing with the damp scruff of hair.
His words in my bathroom skip across my memory:
“Smiles should be saved for things that bring us real joy.”
I brought him real joy. Me.
Acting like a fool in a murky lake, singing off-key, and dancing like no one was watching.
But he was watching. And it made him smile.
My grip on him strengthens, and I can’t help but press a tiny kiss to the side of his neck, nuzzling my nose into the glistening skin above his collar.
Parker’s breathing shifts from slow and steady to uneven. “What are you doing,” he mutters, and I think it’s supposed to be a question, a blatant demand, but it comes across more like a whispered breath—something unwittingly vulnerable.
I lower my arms, skimming my fingers down his torso, feeling him shiver, then I reach for his hands. Hands wound so tight, his limbs must ache.
Cradling his fists in my palms, I lift them to my hips, dragging them underneath my wet blouse until his fingers uncurl and grip my waist. Hard at first, his tension palpable, causing me to bow against him with a little whimper. Then his grasp softens, so I sweep his hands up further, over my ribs, until his fingertips brush the underwire of my bra. The water ripples around us as he inhales sharply. “Tell me what you feel,” I say, my voice quaking, knees quivering.
Parker’s hands slide back down over my slick skin, trailing the shape of my curves, then he latches onto my hipbones and tugs me closer. “You say that as if you think I know how.”
My gasp meets the front of his chest. “You do.”
“I’ll never feel things like you feel, Melody. I’m not wired that way.”
“You smiled,” I remind him. “You laughed.”
His fingers dig into my hips, forehead dropping to the top of my head. The air around us crackles and shimmers with possibility as he drags his hands back up my body with a subdued groan. I teeter and sway, my balance stolen by the muck beneath my feet and the man touching me in a way no other man aside from Charlie has ever touched me before.
Parker lets out a hard breath into my hair. “This won’t end well.”
He lifts his hands higher until he’s palming my breasts through the lace of my bra, and a surge of white-hot heat sweeps through me, arousal pulsing in my core. I’m waist-deep in ice cold water, but I might as well be standing in an incinerator. “Parker…”
“Fuck,” he grits out, his thumbs dusting over my lace-sheathed nipples, taut and pebbled. “You’re fucking me all up inside.”
I arch back, squeezing his sodden shirt between my fists for leverage. “Parker,” I repeat through an achy moan, his thigh angling right between my legs. “Kiss me.”