Remembering Phoenix (12 page)

I maneuver my way through the tables to get to the restrooms, leaning against the door as soon as I step inside.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
I wipe a stray tear from my cheek.
Dammit, why do I have to always cry?

This isn’t the end of the world, and it’s definitely not something I
can’t
handle. So what if my sister might move halfway across the country. So what if I won’t see her every day or every week. There’s Skype. There are cellphones. There’s FaceTime.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, calming my nerves. I’m not one for change. It scares me. Lizzie is all I’ve ever known. She’s been the one person I can call whenever I need a sense of normalcy if everything else becomes too much.

The selfish side of me hopes she doesn’t get it, but she deserves whatever job she’s going after. I know that much. And I’ll support my sister in absolutely anything because she deserves everything. So, I’ll stop being a whiney ass, because there’s no way I can make her feel bad for accomplishing her dreams.

I walk over to the sink and make sure I don’t look like I’ve been crying. “You can do this, Charlie. Go back out there and sit down. Act like this didn’t bother you. Act like Slayter isn’t sitting inches from you. Ignore him. Have a good time. Tell your sister how proud you are of her.” After my mirror pep talk, I smooth down my shirt, picking off the stray pieces of lint that love to cling to black fabric. I take one last look in the mirror and comb through my hair with my fingers before exiting the bathroom.

I’m not really paying attention to where I’m going as I scurry out of the restroom and slam into someone, losing my balance and nearly toppling to the floor. “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry.”

I look up at the unsuspecting person I ran into when he grabs my hips. “Do you make a habit of running into people after opening doors?”

Oh God.

“I, uh, hi, Slayter.” I stumble on my words, too overcome with…
him.
He grabs my elbow, pulling me back further down the little hallway. “What are you doing?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything. He just spins around, pinning me against the wall. He lowers his head, and before I have any time to object or pull away, his lips are on mine, melting anything I intended on saying with one kiss. Oh. My. God. I haven’t kissed anyone, other than when he practically attacked my face the night of the wedding, in months. I’m no saint. I’ve been guilty of drowning my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle, and sometimes that also means drowning my sorrows under attractive acquaintances. Those few guys, though, they’ve never done anything but numb the pain. Slayter does the exact opposite. My every nerve ending feels alive as his tongue slides between my lips, tangling with mine. Feverishly. Hungrily. Desperately. Passionately. His hands slide over my hips, finding their way under my…

No. No. No. No. NO! I push him off of me. I can’t do this. This can’t be happening. I attempt walking away, but he grabs my arm, whirling me back around to face him. “Why are you running?”

“I’m not running!” I snap, not caring who just saw the kiss or my tantrum. “I’m leaving. You can’t do that.”

“You kissed me back.”

“Slayter. Stop,” I plead, looking at him with imploring eyes. “I don’t have time for complications in my life.”

“Complications?” he scoffs. “I’m a complication? From what I see, your life was pretty fucking complicated before me.” He looks at me, anger veiling his face. Maybe hurt. I don’t know. All I know is, I feel, and I feel
too
much right now for my liking. I need to step away. Breathe. Walk away from him.

But I can’t.

My feet won’t let me. His stare is a force I can’t compete with, no matter how hard I try. I shake my head and look down between us, trying to break this spell he apparently has on me. “You’re not a complication,” I confess. “But you’re right. My life was complicated. It still is. Which is why this,” I motion between the two of us, “can’t happen.” I finally get the courage to look up at him. A smirk works up at the corners of his mouth, confusing me. “What’s so funny?” I ask.

“You just admitted there is something between us.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, attempting to keep my mouth firmly shut.

I did not just admit that.

I didn’t. Did I? God, why is he so good looking? Why is he so… perfect? He would make my life easier if he remained the asshole from the bar.

But he’s not. He never was, was he?

“You did,” he repeats. He brushes his hand along my cheek, rubbing over my scar. I flinch from his touch. No one has ever touched my scar. I hardly even look at it. “Why are you pulling away?” he asks, sadness blaring from his eyes.

I just shake my head. Unable to answer, because the truth hurts. The truth is my dagger. If it doesn’t stay lodged within the depths of my soul, I could bleed out.
Because life could rip you from me just like it did Phoenix. And my scar is physical proof of it.
I want to say it, I want to shout it from the rooftops that that’s the real reason I keep him at a distance, but I can’t force the words out.

The problem with telling the truth is, I don’t want to face it. I don’t want to face that
this
man wants me. He wants me in spite of my messed up life. I want him. God, do I want him, but I can’t have him. I can’t have him because having him would mean I was happy. And why do I deserve to be happy? I survived the crash. I survived it when my son didn’t. I should have been the one who died. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t, but I am. And not only do I have survivor’s guilt, but I don’t even know if I was a good mother or if I was the sorriest piece of shit mom that ever lived. I knew the day in the hospital when my soul felt hollow that it wasn’t just something you feel, it was everything.

“Charlie,” Kathy whispers as she sits on the edge of my bed, “You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you try and get you some rest now?”

She’s spent the better portion of the last three days filling me in on all things pertaining to me. Where I’m from, what I do, where I live now, what my name is, family, hobbies, dislikes, etcetera.

I now know my name is Charlotte Blake McGee. I was born on June fifteenth. I have a sister named Elizabeth, affectionately known as Lizzie. She looks just like my mother, Kathy. Charles is my father. I look nothing like my mother or my father, save my father’s eye color.

Kathy. Charles. Charlie. Lizzie.

My family.

They’ve all come to see me. They’ve all talked to me, or tried to, at least. Charles—Dad—remains distant, rarely saying anything at all. I don’t know why, but I don’t have the energy to try and figure it out, either.

I’m not as confused about everything right now. Well, yeah, I am, but, I’m not completely lost as to why I am lying in this hospital bed with a broken pelvis, fractured skull, lacerated cheek, and fractured vertebrae. I get why I’m here. But I still have this sinking feeling in my gut that something isn’t right, even after everything they’ve told and shown me.

“Mom?” Kathy picks her head up, tears well in her eyes. I haven’t called her anything other than Kathy until now. But saying mom just feels… right. “What else do I not know?”

She shakes her head. “What do you mean?”

“What else. I feel like a piece of me is missing. Like my soul is void of something huge. The void, it’s there. And I feel like everyone is keeping something from me. Tell me,” I demand. My voice sounds harsher than I intend, but too bad. If she’s keeping something from me, I damn well deserve to know.

“Charlie…”

“Now!” Anger, fear, and every other emotion rumbles inside of my chest, surging throughout my feeble body. Tears stream down her face as she pleads with her eyes to not have to say anything. I glower. “If it pertains to me,” I hit my chest with my thumb, “I have a right to know.”

She closes her eyes, tears still streaming down her porcelain face. When she opens them again, those sky blue pupils pierce into me. “You had a son, Charlie. His name is Phoenix. Phoenix didn’t make it.”

And I feel it. My chest twists, pulling me under. The void, the darkness I felt, that’s what it was. I can’t breathe. I gasp for air, grabbing onto the bed rails. I arch as I strain to breathe oxygen into my lungs. What is happening to me? I can’t breathe. Somebody help me!

I try to scream, but nothing comes out but wails. The next thing I know, doctors are running in, nurses circling around me. A needle goes into my IV line and everything fades away into a haze.

The last thing I think of is Phoenix…

“Hey. Hey.” Slayter’s voice is soft and soothing, like a warm blanket on a cold day. “Look at me. Don’t go there.”

His voice causes me to snap out of it. “I’m so sorry,” I say, bowing my head into my hands, hiding my trembling lips from his view.

He lifts my chin up with his fingers, staring at me with eyes so tender, I can’t help but succumb to his gaze. Staring into his eyes, him staring back at me, it eases the burdens I’ve been carrying around. After over a year of weekly shrink visits, I’ve never once felt okay. I’ve never once walked out of that office feeling any lighter than I did when I walked in. That’s why I quit going. But right now, I feel lighter than I ever have.

Slayter Beck just might be my beacon in the darkness.

He reaches down, lightly brushing his lips on mine, wiping away every thought running through my mind. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. I’ve got you, Charlie.” He brings me in, wrapping his strong arms around me, engulfing me in a cocoon of solace. “Let’s go eat with our siblings. Then we’re getting out of here. You have no choice.”

I feel so safe in his arms right now, and there’s no way I’m going to fight it. I enjoy his company, and he keeps me from sinking further into the pit of darkness that usually consumes me. “Okay,” I finally whisper.

My defense weakens every second I’m around him. He soothes a part of my hardened soul. After two years of not allowing anyone to get too close, you’d think I’d be a professional at this—pushing him away. But it seems the harder I try to ignore this feeling he stirs up inside of me, the more I want him.

There’s a difference between want and need, but I can’t decide which of the two Slayter is.

Maybe he’s both.

We spent the rest of the time at the restaurant catching up. Slayter and Stetson kept us entertained with stories of their childhood. Slayter talked about work, and Stetson talked about his job. Lizzie gushed about her new job opportunity, and as sad as I’ll be to see her go, I truly hope she gets the job.

After supper, I wasn’t really up for much of anything, but Slayter was still insistent on not leaving me alone.

Leave it to him to be worried about me.

I sit down on my couch, curling my legs underneath me. Slayter sits down, an entire cushion separating us. I look over at him as he takes a sip of water, before he sets the bottle on the coffee table. I then realize, I don’t really know anything about him. I’ve opened myself up to him so much, more than I’ve opened up to anyone else. Yet, he’s not told me a single thing.

“Who are you?”

My question catches him off guard. “What?”

“Who are you?” I repeat. “You know more about me than I’ve ever divulged to anyone. But, for all I know, you’re a crazed lunatic.”

He laughs. “I’m no lunatic.”

“Well,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, “that could be argued.”

Throwing his arm over the back of the couch, he laughs. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. I know about your job, thanks to dinner, but what do you like? What are your hobbies?”

He stares at me for a beat. My skin becomes flushed by his gaze alone. As badly as I’m trying to fight the feelings, telling myself this can’t happen, no part of my body is agreeing with my mind. “I don’t really have hobbies. I work all the time.”

“Then, what’s your story? You know mine.”

I can feel the tension build up in his shoulders. He doesn’t look mad. His posture isn’t even any different, but I can feel it. When you’ve spent your life hiding things that bother you, you tend to notice all the signs when others do the same. “Nothing much. I own a construction company. I’ve never been married. And you know about me losing Claire. Or… I guess I never really lost her, because she wasn’t mine.”

“What about her mom?”

His head turns towards me quickly. “I’d rather not talk about her and put a damper on this evening.”

I nod. “Fair enough.”

I’m nervous. I don’t know why I’m nervous because I’m completely comfortable with him. He inches his way closer to me, his gaze never leaving mine. The closer he gets to me, the more intense the air becomes. “Truth or dare?” he asks.

“What?”

“Truth or dare?” he asks again.

I ponder for a moment. “Dare.”

He smiles. “I dare you to move closer to me.”

I scoot until our legs brush against each other. His cologne filling my senses. “Easy enough,” I say. “Truth or dare?”