Riptide Affair, page 23
And his lip curls up in disgust.
An entire cattle trough of ice water dumps into my stomach, freezing me to the spot as he slowly shakes his head, looking at me like I'm a dead fly in his drink. “Little much, don't you think?”
“Excuse me?” I clench my fists as rage plows through me.
“Already on the prowl for another stupid asshole to sink your claws into? That didn't take long.”
Frozen, I stare at him with wide eyes and a heart I didn't know could hurt more than it does right now. Of all the things he could have said or done to dig the knife in a little deeper, he stooped so low as to shame me for the way I'm dressing and insinuated I purposefully sought him out to hurt him. And nothing—fucking nothing—could be further from the truth, which tells me he's not just throwing out insults to be petty...he's shooting to kill.
Ashley chooses this moment to finally arrive with Jared's beer and as soon as his fist closes around the bottle he casts me one last fleeting look, dripping with disdain. And that right there, being looked at like I'm nothing, like I'm dirt, like I'm not worthy of dragging in the same oxygen as him, pole-vaults me back to a time when everyone in this godforsaken town looked at me like that—like an outsider unworthy of being treated like a decent human being. For years, I felt like a dog. An alien. The dirt caked between their boot tread. I felt less than. And I will be damned if I let him get away with making me feel that way again, especially when I finally know I'm worth something.
“Hey!” I scream at his back. He stops, but that's not enough for me, so I turn around and grab the first thing I see—a lemon sitting on a cutting board—and hurl it at the back of his head.
When the fruit-bomb makes contact, Jared's entire demeanor shifts, and when he whirls around and pins me with his blue stare, I'm only all too happy to return eye-daggers of my own.
“What the hell is your problem?” I yell across the four feet that separate us.
Three steps. That's all it takes for him to put himself back in my bubble, toe-to-toe, breathing the same air. I'm small enough I have to crane my neck back to look up at him and he looks down his nose at me. It's something he made a conscious effort never to do while we were together, choosing instead to widen his stance to put us at the same level, but now he's not pulling punches. He has no qualms with making me feel small. But I don't feel small. I don't feel inferior or vulnerable or even afraid. Because this is Jared. The first man I ever loved, and no matter what happens, no matter how many lemons I hurl across packed bars, it won't matter. He would never, ever lay hands on me. My heart, on the other hand, will take a beating. All's fair in love and war, after all.
“You,” he pushes out through clenched teeth. “You are my problem.”
I raise my hands, smiling. “Trust me, you've made that fact abundantly clear, Jared, but I thought that maybe...just fucking maybe...the one person I care about the most could be the man I thought he was and not be a complete jackass about this.”
“Oh, I'm the jackass?” he asks, jabbing a thumb to his chest.
Soooo...we're doing this. Right here. Right now. With half the town of Blackjack witnessing our epic blowout. Great.
“I get it,” I say, lowering my voice, but someone's already turned down the stereo so I know Jared, as well as anyone in a ten-foot radius, can hear me. “I know you're angry and you have every right to be. What I did was...awful.”
“Severe understatement,” he snaps.
I ignore him.
“It was awful and stupid and...”
He bows forward until our eyes are level and whispers the one word that's been running through my head ever since I woke up in the wrong brother's bed.
“Unforgivable.”
“Maybe.” I blink back angry tears, but refuse to back down. I refuse to cower or show shame, which is what he wants. “But you know what I realized? I realized...if the man who held my heart couldn't look past the one unforgivable thing I've ever done in my life and come to terms with the fact that I am not perfect, that I am human and will make mistakes that I can never atone for, then maybe...maybe he didn't love me like I loved him. Because if he did, he'd be strong enough to forgive me, even when I don't deserve to be forgiven. So...all this proves,” I swing my finger between the two of us, “is that you never loved me. Not the way I loved you.”
He hasn't so much as blinked since I began rambling. For a drunk girl, I'm surprisingly loquacious when well lubricated with alcohol, so I think I got my point across.
I think that...riiight up until the time he lifts his chin and his eyes harden and I know my big fat secret is about to become public knowledge. Because Jared isn't going to actually hear what I've said. No, sir. He's going to keep throwing jabs, he's going to keep his armor firmly in place, because he's backed into a corner. He can't admit he loved me or even that I loved him—not after everything that happened. That would make him out to be a fool, and he's had enough of that. So here it comes—the big one—and all I can do is hold my head up high and brace for impact.
“You slept with my brother.” His voice carries through the entire bar since someone killed the jukebox the minute things started getting juicy—Blackjack sure does love its drama—so everyone hears, and everyone gasps, and the room erupts in a chorus of boos and exclamations of disgusts so loud that, yeah, I shrink into myself. I let my head fall forward where my gaze can seek refuge on the floor. I should be ashamed—and I am—but for Christ's sake, I'm not immune to poor choices, no one here is. We've all been torn down and stepped on and belittled in response to things we have or haven't done. Yes, it sucks for everyone involved, but in the grand scheme of things, it's nothing. Nothing! That doesn't mean we shouldn't take full responsibility for the fuck up, but guess what? It also doesn't mean we should be shunned.
“Hey! Shut the fuck up!”
Jared's voice is the only thing that breaks through the ruckus, and every eye in the place goes wide—mine included—as he glares out at the sea of patrons. One by one, they sink back like a retreating tide and clamp their lips together, falling silent.
I have to turn and discreetly wipe a tear away. But I'm not discreet enough. When I turn back, Jared is staring down at me, although his malice seems to have cooled. Barely.
“Yes. I slept with your brother.” The words are still sour on my tongue, but I expect they will be for quite some time. “But I never set out to hurt you. Not the way you've intentionally hurt me every time you've opened your mouth.”
His eyes shift to the left, and that's the only way I know he's hearing me, that I'm maybe making sense, so I soldier on.
“I don't want your brother. I'm not attracted to Rhett and I sure as shit don't care about him the way I care about you. I'm sorry for what happened, it sucks—I suck—but I don't think it's a stretch to assume I didn't mean to fall into bed with your identical twin brother when I was intoxicated, exhausted, and in a dark ass room in an unfamiliar house.”
I throw a finger out, pointing to where Rhett is still sitting next to Brian, trying his damnedest to look invisible. But that's not happening. I don't care if throwing him under the bus makes me a bitch. It takes two to tango.
“Sorry my extrasensory perception didn't kick in!” I ramble on. “Sorry I didn't see the big white flag waving above his head that said WRONG TWIN—oh wait! There wasn't one! I mean, for Christ's sake, Jared, it was a mistake! An honest fucking mistake that any number of women could have made.”
It's hard to breathe. The air has grown thicker, settling like sludge in my lungs. Or maybe that's just guilt. Guilt, shame, and regret all commingling together, trying their best to off me.
Behind Jared, an older gentleman I've never seen before leans forward into our space and whispers, “she's got a point.”
I smile at the man, breathless from my rant and now wildly overheated, but Jared doesn't find any comfort in those four words. In fact, I can see in his posture that he's already leaning away. One foot steps back, and little by little, my ability to breathe returns, only because every nerve ending in my body is warning me that a break is coming. A shock to my system.
“I appreciate this whole...grand gesture,” he says, waving up and down my body without actually looking at me, “but we're done here.”
“Done,” I repeat.
He nods, but I don't say a thing. I wait. And wait. And wait some more. Every eye in the place on me except the ones that matter, until finally—fucking finally—Jared looks up and...I realize just how tired his blue eyes are. How heavily this is wearing on him, just as it is me, and I know this is it. This is the end.
He is really, truly done.
There's only one problem.
“You may be done...but I'm not.” Even though it hurts, I take a step into his space. “You don't get the last word here. Not after I've endured all your drunken jabs and suffered through the humiliation of being shoved out your door in nothing but a sheet! I went...above and fucking beyond, if you ask me...to save your stupid ass when you were on the brink of making an epically shitty decision that could have cost you your life.” I stab at his chest with one finger and his eyes fall to my wrist. They remain trained on my bracelet. Because that's safer. And now, Jared is playing it safe. He's tired. I'm exhausted. We're just...wearing each other down, and for what? For something broken beyond repair?
“I saw...” I have to take a second to close my eyes and rebury my hatred of the fucking pet shop owner. “I saw you with that woman...and I still, right now, came up to you—I approached you—and didn't immediately lunge for your throat. Because as much as that hurt, I realize that we can't go on like this. Not in Blackjack. This teeter-tottering isn't going to work. We have to have some kind of closure. Whether it ends in heartbreak or not, I'll take it. I'll take anything but this cliff we're both standing on. If there's no hope for us, I'm okay with leaning over the edge and stretching my arms out wide. But if there's even an inkling that we can work through this, I need a sign. I need to know that I didn't jump when I could have just as easily kept my feet planted on safe ground and avoided the devastation that lies at the bottom of this chasm we're staring down.”
I stop to catch a breath, hoping that Jared will have something to say, but he just stands there, completely immobile. That irritates me more than the barbs he's been throwing out and I stretch both hands out wide. “Say something!”
He doesn't. His eyes, however, say a lot as they track my movement, never straying too far from my wrist where I'm still wearing the bracelet he gave me. The braided silk threads that mean the world to me. He's looking at it like he hates the mere sight of the thing.
“What is your problem?” I snap my fingers twice in front of his face. “Jared!”
Finally, he does move. He reaches out so fast I don't have time to react before he's grabbing my forearm. The contact zings through me, equal parts pleasure and pain, and so it takes me a moment to realize what he's done, and even longer to see what he's going to do.
My bracelet snaps off in his hand and sails through the air.
Then it lands.
In the fish tank.
And I watch as it sinks to the bottom of the six-foot wide, twenty-foot tall glass box of water that never fails to dredge up memories of the creek, the accident—memories I try to keep in check on a daily basis—and my mouth goes dry. My skin prickles. My heart...well, it breaks. Yet again.
I couldn't swim thirteen years ago when we plunged into Blackjack Creek, and I still can't today, but...my bracelet. That seemingly trivial braid that had so many connections with all the people I love. My mother. My Father. Jared... It sinks all the way to the bottom, coming to a stop amid a thousand pieces of colorful broken glass, and I find it in me to rip my tear-filled eyes away and train them on the man behind me. The man who looks stunned by his own actions as he shakes his head.
He didn't mean to land it in the fish tank, that much is clear, but it was one hell of a shot.
“Why?” I croak, wiping frantically at the tears cascading down my face. “Why would you do that?”
Disappointment ricochets through Jared's shoulders as his head falls. The fight drains right out of him and he turns away. “Merrin, just...drop this. Please. I'm begging you. Walk away. We can forget like it never happened.”
Ouch.
Another blade right through the chest.
“Forget what ever happened? The relationship? The cheating? The breakup? I need a little clarification here, Jared.”
He shrugs. “All of it.”
“Wow,” I manage to push out. “That's...wow, Jared. That's mighty big of you. Just forget it happened. That's—that's a great fuckin' idea.” I'm not sure which is louder; my pain or my sarcasm.
Everyone standing around us is quiet as they look everywhere but at the two broken people crumbling apart in the center of the quiet bar. It's too much. Too much attention, too much anger, too much. My brain is screaming, at odds with the rage forming in my chest and the silence trying to strangle the room.
It's too, too, too much.
And it needs to stop.
Right. Now.
Resolution takes hold and I kick off my heels, not giving a good goddamn where they land. Then I walk down the length of the tank with my head held high, all the way around to the corner of the room where a metal ladder is bolted in place. And then, I climb.
“Merrin!”
I ignore Kate.
“Merrin, stop!”
Laura grabs hold of the bottom of the ladder, swiping for my ankle, but I climb faster.
“Merrin Takahashi, you get your ass back down here right now!” Harper screams.
I don't listen.
I want my bracelet.
And I want it now.
“Don't be stupid, Merrin!”
It's that voice—his voice—that makes me pause, but I'm already at the top, staring down at water that makes my skin feel like there are ten million syringes poking through, injecting mercury just beneath the surface, turning me into a weight that no current could ever move.
“Merrin...”
I swing my legs around the top of the tank...
Steel myself...
And I jump.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jared
My.
Heart.
Stops.
For a small infinity, the broken organ in my chest ceases to beat and visions of a world without Merrin flash like a torturous highlight reel in front of my eyes.
Again.
When she sinks all the way to the bottom, panic contorting her beautiful features, I realize, quite suddenly, that a world without Merrin...is not a world I want to live in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Merrin
Colder-than-cold water forces its way inside the cab. The sun up above grows dim as I claw trembling hands around a seat belt buckle I can't seem to operate. Deeper and deeper we dive, until the nose of the car hits mud and I turn fearful eyes to my left and, for the second time in my life, the entire world shifts.
Flipped upside down in an alternate reality I no longer want to live in, the blow is everything and nothing at the same time. Immense pain and impossible numbness. Mute tears and piercing screams.
Nothing else matters.
Nothing.
Because he's already gone.
And I am truly and completely alone in this world.
A hand reaches in through the open window and I'd scream if I had the ability. A tool slices at my seat belt and it falls away, drifting listlessly as it grants me freedom. A second hand reaches in, and I'm tugged out of the car, twisting and turning to catch one last glimpse of my father's face. But I can't. Whoever's pulling me away is strong—stronger than I am and maybe ever will be.
We burst through the water's surface and I cough up water that feels as though it's burned away everything it touched. My throat is on fire. My lungs are ashes. My limbs are the only thing working correctly as I thrash in my savior's arms.
“No!”
It's the only word I can form.
“No! No, no! No! No!”
“Charlie, take her!”
Another set of hands grab hold of me, lifting me out of the water until I'm on my own two feet, being led closer to shore.
I whirl around, trying to see through my blurred vision. “Dad! My dad! He's—please! I need—I need him!”
The man who just pulled me to safety mere seconds ago doesn't falter. He doesn't hesitate. He just jumps right back in the water and disappears.
My eyes never leave the spot where he vanished. Not when I'm led to the back of an ambulance. Not when an oxygen mask is strapped to my face. Not when a warming blanket is wrapped around my shoulders. Not when a bright pen light blinds me.
I just keep looking. Watching. Waiting.
Until finally, he comes up once, twice, three times...and trudges back to shore.
Alone.
Three men intercept him on his way to me, but I don't look away. I can't. I refuse. When he's finally crouched down before me where I'm sitting in the back of the ambulance, he speaks, and his rich voice delivers the exact words I knew I'd be hearing today.
“Ma'am, I'm sorry, but...your father—”
“My father's dead.”
His blue eyes soften, then he nods. “I couldn't get to him in time. I'm so, so sorry.”
I look away. I can't stand to see the kindness radiating off his blue irises, nor the guilt or regret.
“He was dead before you cut my seat belt,” I confess. “I just...”
I can't finish that sentence. I can't come out and explain to this man—this stranger—that I just wanted my father with me...dead or alive.
I wanted my dad.
Hours pass, and the man comes and goes, each time more morose than the time before, but he doesn't stray far as they fish my father's car from the creek.
“Is there someone I can call for you?”
