Freefall (17 page)

I nodded weakly.

The policeman pulled out his notepad while his partner handcuffed the homeless guy.

“What is her full name?” the first officer asked Nix.

“It’s Scotlyn—” he paused and smiled down at me. “You own my heart, and yet, I don’t even know your last name.”

I wrote Scotlyn James on a piece of paper and handed it to the officer. I hadn’t written my last name in a long time, and it felt foreign to me. Now the brave crowd in the pharmacy had stepped outside to get a closer view. The poor homeless man stood with shaky limbs, and his chin drooped low against his chest.

I wrote quickly. “Don’t arrest him. He needs medical attention.”

The officer read the note. He nodded. “We’ll get him some help.” He looked at Nix. “Why don’t you get her home? She looks pretty shaken up.”

Nix’s arm tightened around me. “I will. Thanks.”

Nix walked me back to the Mustang. “I don’t suppose you’re going to put up a fight about going on the bus today?”

I shook my head wearily. I had no strength to put up a fight about anything. I slid into the front seat of the car. My back was still sore, but the pain had subsided some. Nix got in the driver’s seat and looked at me. His eyes shifted from dark gold to pale brown as the sunlight streamed through his front windshield. I reached for his hand, pulled it to my mouth, and kissed the back of his knuckles.

“Do you want to come see the boat? It’s nice out there at this time of day. I don’t want to take you back to him yet.”

I hesitated. Lincoln had not texted me yet, but I was sure he would soon. After the wretched day, he was the last person I wanted to see. In fact, the only person I wanted to see was sitting right next to me. I nodded.

C
HAPTER 19

Nix

Looking breathtakingly beautiful and completely breakable, Scotlyn sat stoically in the front seat obviously trying not to cry anymore, but sadness filled the air around her. She kept her eyes glued to the road as if looking at me would just start the flow of tears again. I’d known since she’d texted me in the morning that things were going badly, and all I wanted to do was make things right for her.

Eventually, she pulled her paper out and she wrote. “I thought I could handle going out on my own. I was delusional.”

“That’s not true. That policeman was a knucklehead. And it all turned out O.K.”

Her pen did not fly across the paper like it usually did. Her sadness showed in her handwriting. “Only because you came along. I’m glad you came, Nix.”

“I am too. I was just driving by to go to Nana’s house, and I saw you standing there with the police. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.” I smiled at her. “I’ll bet you take a pretty cute mug shot.”

I caught a tiny sliver of smile on her lips, but it vanished when her phone vibrated with a text. She glanced at it reluctantly and typed something quickly.

“I guess he’s expecting you home,” I said, trying to keep the anger out of my tone. My rage toward Hammond was the last thing she needed today.

She shrugged and put the phone in her pocket.

The harbor came into view, and she stretched up to look at it. Any remnants of morning fog had burned off and sunlight reflected off the rippling water. The boats danced along the small waves that rolled into the dock area.

“I hope you don’t get seasick. The water is pretty rough in the afternoon.”

She grabbed the edge of the window with her fingertips to watch the parade of docked boats roll by. The bows and sterns of the boats rocked smoothly up and down keeping perfect rhythm with each other. She sat back and picked up her paper and then looked at the boats once more before writing. “I’ve never been on a boat, unless you count the one at Disneyland.”

“Well, as long as you don’t get carsick, you should be all right.”

She stared down at her pad of paper. Something about what I’d said had upset her. Her pen moved deliberately across the paper like it had when she’d written that she’d lost her family. I pulled into my parking spot and turned off the car. She held the note, but it seemed that she wanted to read it again before showing it to me. Then she handed it over.

The letters looked more rigid than her usual writing style. “The day of the accident, I complained to my mom that I had to have the front seat or I would get carsick on the mountain road. It was a lie. I just wanted to sit up front.”

Scotlyn stared out at the boats, not wanting to look at me. It made my throat ache just looking at her. “You think your mom should have been the one to survive?”

She stared down at her hands. It was obvious she’d lived with the guilt of this in her silent world, probably going over it again and again in her mind. She’d lived and her mom had died.

“First of all, if a car goes off a cliff, anyone inside is at risk of dying. No matter what seat you happen to be sitting in.”

She sniffled.

“And, if it had been different, and your mom had lived but both of her daughters had died, do you really think she would have wanted to go on? My grandmother suffered so much when my dad died, I didn’t think she would survive it. And he was a grown man. It sounds strange to say it, Scotlyn, but your family got off easy. You took all the misery of the loss and pain by yourself.”

Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

I stepped out of the car and went to her side. I opened the door and lowered my hand for her to take. I swept her out of the car and into my arms. The cool ocean breeze swirled around us as she pressed herself against me. She lifted her face from my shirt and wiped it with the back of her hand. Her round blue eyes were wet with tears as she hopped up onto her tiptoes and kissed me. Then she dropped back to her heels, took my hand, and pointed toward the boats.

Scotlyn held tightly to my arm, and her head turned back and forth as she took in the view. A pelican took flight off one of the masts, and she stopped and pointed up at it.

“Yeah, they’re cool until they fly over your newly washed car,” I said.

She pointed at the name on the boat.

“Nana’s name is Lucy, and according to my grandfather, she was very zany, like the movie star.”

She pointed to the name again and then patted her heart. I understood her as if she spoke to me.

“Nana is pretty easy to love,” I said. I could hear the radio playing inside as I stepped onto the deck. I held her hand as she stepped onto the Lucy. Long blonde strands of hair blew across her face as she looked around. One strand blew across her lips, and I reached up to pull it away.

“It’s not much but it is home.”

She swept her hand around and then touched her heart again.

“Really? Most girls hate that it messes up their hair when they come out here.”

She raised a smooth brow at me and twisted her plump lips.

“Well, I mean the one or two girls who I’ve brought—”

She pressed her long finger against my mouth and shook her head.

“All right, I’ll shut up.” I opened the door, and we stepped into the tiny cabin space. The back of Dray’s head showed over the couch. He was too busy with a magazine to turn around.

“Is that you, Nix? I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of opening up your new magazine. Miss July is definitely two thumbs up. Don’t worry I didn’t jack—”

I cleared my throat loudly, and he turned around. He jumped up fast and then had to press his arm against his rib cage. His face scrunched up in pain. “Sorry, I thought you were alone.”

I looked at him pointedly. “I wish we were.”

He scrubbed his hair with his hands and searched around for his shirt. I plucked it off the handle of the door and held it up for him. He nodded with a smile at Scotlyn. “Well, I was just heading out to look for—” He glanced around trying to think of something he needed.

“Beers?” I asked.

He snapped his fingers. “Yes, that is it. Beers.” He slid on his shoes. “We are out of beer.” Dray smiled at Scotlyn. “Goddamn, you are amazing. Nice seeing you,” he said and hurried out.

Scotlyn’s eyes were wide with humor.

“That was my roommate and best friend, Dray. He’s had a few too many concussions this month.”

She scrunched up one eye and pointed to it.

“Dray’s a fighter. He usually doesn’t get his face slammed around like that, but this time he climbed into the arena at the wrong time.” I nodded toward the kitchen galley. “Do you want something to drink?”

She motioned to Dray’s glass of water.

“Water? We’ve got plenty of that. Even some without salt.” As expected, Dray had left a pig sized mess in the kitchen. I tossed his dishes into the sink and reached for a clean glass. “How did it go with Nana today?” I handed her the water.

She wrote quickly and gave me the paper. I’d grown used to waiting for her response, but I couldn’t imagine how frustrating it would be to have to write down everything you wanted to say. I even hated to write texts. It would be hard to write down every question, thought, and answer. But she did it with patience, and everything about the way she wrote and the words on the paper told me exactly how she was feeling. “We baked cookies. It was by far the best part of the day. With the exception of standing here with you right now.”

“I could tell you had an awful start to the day. You don’t know how badly I wanted to be with you this morning after you texted me.”

She followed me out to the small living room.

“The sound of your voice helped me get through the morning,” she wrote. She turned and lifted her shirt. There was a nasty bruise right in the center of her back.

I grabbed the edge of her shirt. “Holy shit, Scotlyn, what happened?”

“I slipped against the shower handle.” She hesitated as if she was going to write again but didn’t.

There was more she wanted to tell me, but she was keeping it to herself. She’d assured me that Hammond had never hit her, but that didn’t lessen my urge to want to plow my fist into his smug face. She’d cried enough today, and I decided not to ask her more.

I walked back around and lifted her shirt. “I guess it’s too late for ice.” I lowered my mouth to the bruise and kissed it lightly. A shiver ran through her and that soft, breathy sound I’d heard before when I’d touched her floated around the room. I moved my mouth to the tattoo and ran it along the long vine of flowers. My hands slid around her waist as I straightened. She relaxed back against my chest, and the pad of paper slipped to the floor. I lowered my mouth to her ear. Her scent and the feel of her body pressed against me made me hard with need. I lowered my mouth to her ear. “That sound you make when I touch you, I want to hear it.” My hand slid beneath her t-shirt, and my thumb trailed beneath her bra and across the bare skin of her breast.

A soft sigh fell from her lips.

My tongue traced her ear. “That’s it. Tell me I’m the only person who hears that sound. Tell me I’m the only one whose touch makes it happen,” I whispered hoarsely. She held tightly to my arm as if she would slip to the ground without my support and nodded.

My hand traveled down her smooth stomach, and my mouth trailed kisses along her neck. I reached down and unbuttoned the top of her shorts, and she gasped softly.

“I want to touch every inch of you, Scotlyn.” My hand slid down into her shorts and below the lacy underwear. Her fingers bit into the skin on my forearm, and her knees weakened. I held her up with one arm while my hand moved to the heat between her legs. The sound rose from her throat again, and I felt her soft, sweet breath on the side of my face. My fingers slipped inside of her, and she melted against my grasp. I moved my fingers in and out and she moved against my hand. She held my arm tightly, and her head rolled back against me as my fingers went deeper. Her back arched and her fingernails dug into my arm and then she cried out. She collapsed against me with a small groan and silence fell around us. She stayed pressed against me but did not turn around. Her grip on my arm had not loosened.

“That cry,” I said quietly, “that was you. That was your voice.”

I waited for her to nod or shake her head, but she didn’t respond. She held my arm tightly, frozen against me. And then the trembling started. Her entire body began shaking.

I swallowed hard. “You haven’t heard your voice since—” My throat cracked around the words.

She was shaking wildly and then she nearly slipped out of my grasp. I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the couch. I sat down and pulled her into my lap. Nothing felt so right as having her in my arms. I held her until the trembling subsided, and she relaxed against me. A breeze floated through the open window, and she shivered with the coolness.

I rested my chin on the top of her head. “It gets cold out here on the water in the late afternoon.”

She tucked herself into a ball and cuddled against me more. Having her wiggle her bottom in my lap was slowly dissolving any self-control I had left, and then she sat up and slid off of my thighs. I was majorly disappointed but then she pulled out her paper pad.

As she flipped to a clean page, her shoulders hunched up against the cool, moist air that seeped into the cabin. I got up and grabbed my sweatshirt from my room and tossed it on to her lap. She quickly put it on and held up the sleeves that hung off the ends of her hands. She was swimming in it. She ran her hands over the fabric and then lifted up the neckline and pushed it against her nose. Her eyes drifted shut and she breathed in the scent of it and then she lowered the sweatshirt and smiled.

“I guess it’s a good thing I washed it.”

Her dimple creased deeper, and she reached up and touched my face. It was a gesture she performed often, and I had the same profound reaction each time. She dropped her hand and stared down at the blank paper on her lap.

“You were about to write something,” I reminded her.

She slid off her sandals and brought her knees up to her chest. My sweatshirt covered her bare legs like a tent. She held the pad of paper and twirled the pen in her fingers. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to remember what she was about to write or if she was still trying to decide if she should write it. Her reaction to the sound of her own voice had been intense, and I wondered if it had opened up some old wounds.