Survival (Twisted Book 1) (25 page)

“It’s what I choose to believe.”

“He would want you to live and you know it,” I shook my head to shut her up, but I knew she was right. Thomas has said the same thing about Oliver’s death. “He would want you to do everything you planned to do together.”

“He always said he wanted to watch me,” I told her as her words began to sink in. “He said he never saw how much I loved him because he was distracted by how much he loved me. But I can't.”

“Sounds like my brother. He was such a charmer,” she grabbed my hand before I had a chance to move away again. “Show him. He can see it now. Show him how much you love him by living for him…or two lives were lost that night.”

I nodded to satisfy her, but I didn’t believe it. We didn’t have two lives; we had one, and it had gone with him. I had to learn to live alone again.

“Besides,” she smiled weakly through her own grief. “Your sister is waiting for permission to get married.”

I gasped. Beth was supposed to be planning her wedding, not babysitting me. She had put it on hold for me and I hadn’t even noticed. I was selfish. How had I not noticed?

“You said I should get away?”

“We’re all going away. Today. It’s booked and paid for. You, me, Beth and the girls.”

“Where are we going?”

“Mexico.”

I nodded. Thomas always wanted to go to Mexico.

***

The girls looked at me like I was an alien when we met them at the airport. The only time they’d seen me in the last year was when they sat in my house, dragged me to the supermarket or when we walked Buster around the lake under my cloud of depression.

Beth hugged me when Ava and I climbed out of the taxi with our suitcases.

She held me at arm’s length.

“I heard Thomas tell you once that he knew what you needed,” I felt the lump rise in my throat. I wanted to go home. “Will you let go and trust him to guide you?”

I nodded, “Only if you promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll plan your wedding and let me help. Promise me you’ll walk down the aisle and marry Jack.”

She hesitated, but I knew she was exactly how I felt. I’d never plan my wedding. I’d never marry the man of my dreams.

That girl was gone.

“I promise.”

Was it okay to feel? Was it okay to smile? I’d never love again. I didn’t want to…But could I smile and know that Thomas was smiling with me?

March 8
th
, 2012.

Mexico was hot. So hot. For the first time since the air gushed in through my smashed windscreen, I wasn’t cold. I laid in the sun and closed my eyes. I laid in silence while the girls talked around me, planning dinner or an excursion.

“Jet skis!” Someone shouted. “Jet skis seventy dollars!”

I sat up and saw a little Mexican man parading the beach with a sign reading “Jet skis – one day hire”.

I looked around and saw them all lined up around an inflatable jetty not far along the beach.

“Here!” I threw my arm in the air and caught his attention. He skipped excitedly over to us.

“You want to ride a jet ski?” Ava asked as I pulled some money from my bag. I ignored the overly comforting tone in her voice and handed Mexican Man his money.

“Gracias.”

The assistant gesticulated heavily with his hands as he began explaining how to use the jet skis. I strapped the Velcro around my wrist, pulled on the throttle and shot off.

I’d ridden a jet ski before, in Jamaica with Thomas. I concentrated on the swish of the water as I remembered our holiday…

My hands were wrapped around his waist, my cheek pressed to his back. We laughed as we rode the waves and the adrenaline pumped wildly through our veins. I loved the feel of the purring engine, the wind in my hair, Thomas flexing as he steered us in donuts. And I loved the feel of the sun beaming down on us, burning with my love for the man who had whisked me away to the Caribbean one week after I confessed that I wanted to make love under the stars.

Beth was right. Ava was right. Being surrounded by the ocean gave me time to think. Thomas
would
want me to live and he would live it with me. I had to believe that. I had three of us to live for now. Oliver, Thomas and myself. I had three lives in the hands that were squeezing the handlebars of the jet ski and I couldn’t waste them.

Fate had been fucking me over my whole life. Fate had been controlling me. What was the point in fighting, slugging the weight and pulling the punches, if I was never going to win?

I was going to fuck fate right back, and hard. I was going to teach it not to mess with Skye the Skillet. I was going to control my fate. Once again, I had to fight to survive. Fate could either submit and give me a break or fight back.

The only way I’d win this was to try.
To live. To hope.

The old
me was gone. I had to shut out the past, lock it away and fight. I had to survive.

Magic.

April 19
th
, 2014.

It was the night before my sister’s wedding. Her dress was hanging from the wardrobe in her hotel room, the rollers were firmly in her hair and she was tucked up in bed, ready to marry the man of her dreams. I was happy for her; her husband-to-be was a great man and I knew he would make her a happy woman. They had both had their fair share of crazy exes and had found each other amongst the madness.

I made my way downstairs to the bar; I planned to have a quick nightcap, head up to bed, sleep and be ready and alert to perform my sister-of-the-bride duties the next day.

I ordered a large brandy as I sat on the stool at the bar. The bartender handed me a snifter of Courvoisier and I swirled the liquid around to coat the glass, inhaling the memories as I breathed in the scent. I looked around me as I took my first sip and noticed I was alone. It wasn’t uncommon for me to be by myself, it was how I lived my life now.

I closed my eyes and inhaled as a soft breeze blew in through the open doors that lead to the hotel gardens; the smell of lavender, jasmine and the blossom on the trees heightened my senses, making me acutely aware of the warm glass in my hand and the soft chiffon covering my body. Unexpected butterflies began a sensual dance in my stomach.

I stood from the stool and made my way to the gardens. Something in the way my mind and body reacted to the light spring breeze called to me, compelling me to step out.

The outside was as baron as the inside, void of life except for the flowers that lined the pathway and the trees that swayed around the bandstand where my sister would soon recite her vows.

The breeze played a hypnotic symphony as it swirled around me; it lifted my dress so the cool air could tickle the tops of my legs and swish my dark hair around my face, bringing my attention to the warm flush on my cheeks. It pulled me further into the garden. My feet took light steps along the path; my mind had no control over the direction they took. I simply allowed the strange magic to guide me. I didn’t fight this time. I didn’t want to.

I reached the bandstand and counted the three steps as I took them up to the platform, set my glass down and curled my hands over the cold, smooth surface of the railing. I inhaled the leafy, woody scent of the trees surrounding me.

My eyes fluttered shut, just for a second, to bask in the surreal calm that washed over me.

I opened them again quickly when I heard footsteps.

A dark figure emerged from the trees and stopped at the threshold of the forest beyond. I was overwhelmed by the rush of something unfamiliar as the tall frame of the unknown man moved closer.

I was frozen to the spot but unafraid.

The man was a stranger. He had no name. He had no face; it was hidden by the dark shadows of the trees. But he had a power; a power so strong I had no choice but to succumb to it, to let it overpower me. All I could do was let the intensity of his presence pull me in, and flourish in the effects as the soft heat that had been forgotten for so long began to swim through my veins.

He stepped up onto the platform and my body instinctively turned to him as he stopped opposite me and leant back on the railing.

I walked towards him.

My destination was decided.

Fate had made a move.

The charge in the atmosphere sucked more air from my lungs with each step I took until I was breathless and standing inches from him. His presence drew me in, pulled me closer and I was the helpless little moth edging ever nearer to the smouldering flame. I was no longer the Skillet; I was closing in on one.

My mind separated from my body as he reached out, took my hand and encouraged me to take the final step. My body met his; his hard, mine soft, and we shared the heat – I warmed his and he fuelled mine. It passed between us like electricity. I physically felt the spark that drew my mouth to his, and my heart leapt as if it had been shocked when our lips touched.

I didn’t know him, this stranger who had captivated me. But I felt like I did. I was somebody else the second he touched me. As his soft, gentle kiss sent bursts of adrenaline, desire and longing through me, I was transported to a place where I knew him. For a moment in time our souls were joined as one, the chemistry so strong it was as if we were one person
living in two bodies and I was no longer in the garden. I didn’t know where. I didn’t know when. I only knew that I was far, far away and I felt like I had been there before…

(Twisted #2)

Sometimes life is shit. In fact, it’s always shit. For people like me, at least.

What hope do you have when you lost everything before you knew what it meant to have it?

That happened to me at just five years old. It happened again at twenty-five. If that was the pattern, I dreaded what was going to happen when I hit forty-five. Hell, maybe God would finally do me a favour and put me out of my misery before I reached it.

You know that age old saying, “life is too short”? Yeah, well, mine was too long. I hadn’t lived a life; I’d been forced to stop over in Hell and they forgot to tell me my plane back to normalcy was ready for take-off.

They could have told me my plane was delayed because I was being upgraded to first class. Maybe if they had, I would have done something to earn it. I really wanted to deserve it.

But I was that poor, unfortunate soul. I was that five-year-old boy stuck in the
past, punishing the world for the life I lived.

My story?
Yeah, why not?

This is me…Cut Throat Curtis.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, the most important acknowledgment has to go to my son, Alfie. We’re a team – I do this not only for me, but for him. To show him that dreams come true. Just 18 months ago, I was too afraid to do this; to put myself out there. But it is watching him grow, raising him, teaching him, encouraging him in everything he does, that has allowed me to grow, to learn, to dream with him. It is the love I feel for him; a love so strong no words can describe, that has given me the strength to tell stories – to try to portray a love that is even a fraction of what I feel for him.

To my muse, thank you for giving me this story. If I didn’t know you, I couldn’t have written it and connected with it as strongly as I have. The parts of you that you have allowed me to see went into this story, so thank you for the tenderness and protection, the naughty and the nice, the guarded and the open, the dirty, the flirty, and everything in between. No limits, no expectations – just an island.
Our island. You, Tiger, are something else.

To Paula Radell. Thank you, BB! I heart you hard. We have worked tirelessly on this project. You have done so much for me that “thank you” doesn’t even begin to convey the gratitude and honour I feel to have you in my life. No getting rid of me now! You are a diamond. We are a team, nothing will change that. To many more sleepless nights, virtual tubs of ice cream, bottles of wine, hugs and tears.

To Catherine Scott, my right arm, my walking virtual calendar, my friend. Thank you for reading my stuff when it’s nothing but scribbles and jibberish filled with typos and “wtf does that mean?” moments. Thank you for taking over and giving me a break. Thank you for sending me to write, and keeping me motivated. As you often tell me, “next step greatness”.

To my beta readers:

To Mary E
Palmerin : A great writer and lady. A great mother and dreamer. A great friend. Thank you.

To Edward A
Stanbridge : Thank you for always making me smile. Thank you for always offering words of encouragement and for fixing my medical ‘glitches’. Thank you for reading again and again and never getting bored. Thank you for being you.