December: Okay, and I also wanted to thank you. You know, for tonight? You’re always there for me.
My hand wavered, and I eyed my phone before taking off my suit jacket. The humidity in the room didn’t help, the air heavy and suffocating.
Me: It’s no problem. You know that.
I’d do anything for her, still would. Hell, if she got to the airport and said, “Hey, Arizona, I changed my mind. I don’t want to leave. I…”
And that out of everything was what scared me the most. That somewhere deep inside I wouldn’t know what to do. If she came back, said things that I wouldn’t know what to do with it all, if I’d make the right choice.
I didn’t know if I’d do the right thing.
The possibility of that sobered the hell out of me, that I could in some deep dark place be just as fucked up as my father. That I could create just as much chaos in someone’s life that he had and not just to mine. My father, Ibrahim Mallick, left so many casualties in his wake.
December herself included.
This was my reality, my pain as much as my passion. I would take over my father’s businesses, but I’d do it in an honest way. I’d run business in this town as a good man, not one who took advantage of others and lead only by his own selfish gain.
December: You’re good people. Rare.
She said this like she knew my thoughts, my body hitching a seat against the pool’s handrails. I’d hung my jacket there and leaned against it.
Me: I’ll always be there for you. Always.
Famous last words, words that killed me, but I wouldn’t let them. I stayed strong. Even when she texted me goodbye. Even when I said goodbye back and knew she was on that next leg of her journey. She was heading into the night of her fairy tale, found her literal prince, and I was in the other kingdom, a place where she hadn’t chosen to stay for her reign. That castle would remain dark, dormant.
Angling my phone in my pocket, I flicked the Zippo at the joint in my mouth, attempting to light it.
But then a plop.
That shit came out of nowhere, above.
Plop.
Another, the pool expanding in ripples. Peering in, something dark landed in the shallow end, about a foot or so away from something also dark.
What the fuck?
I arched my neck in the direction of the ceiling, finding the high dive. Imagine my surprise to find a woman up there, seated and dangling her legs over the side. She kicked out bare legs from beneath a black dress, a flourish of chiffon and never-ending tulle. I’d seen enough of it inside bridal shops.
Her fingers on the sides, she craned a look over the edge.
My heart rattled.
The woman was easily more than one story up, sitting on the edge of a high dive like she wouldn’t mind falling off. Hell, she would fall off.
Tossing the joint at the bleachers, I advanced toward the high dive, scaling the steps in quick time. Even with as much cardio as I did (I ran five miles a day), it still took me a moment to get up there, and I was out of breath by the time I did. I think mostly from adrenaline. The woman sat at the edge, her back to me, but shit really hit the fan at what I saw sitting beside her. A bottle of wine.
And the empty glass beside it.
Chapter Three
Ramses
I obviously approached this situation with caution, not knowing what else to fucking do. A woman was up here with a bottle of wine, an empty glass, and fully dressed like she wanted to take that evening gown out for a swim. I didn’t know if she wanted to just be alone or what, but this felt like a really weird situation.
“Everything okay up here?” I asked, completely bothered when she didn’t even move.
Not an inch.
Not a flick of the shoulders, a flinch of the fingers. I made myself known, and she still sat there.
I swallowed. “Miss?”
Say something, goddammit.
I approached her slow, casual with a lifted hand. I didn’t know what she’d do honestly, why she was up here. If she wanted to jump, she definitely could. I looked around. “Probably shouldn’t be…”
Eyes, dark eyes like onyx glass in an ebony sea. They pinned me in place, a fan of her hair gracing her shoulder. A tumble of dark waves cascaded down the bare flesh of her back, the woman honeyed like pure caramel and just a shade or two lighter than me. She either held a glorious tan or some kind of distinct ethnicity, my guess Latina. Though I wasn’t sure. People often guessed wrong when it came to me, half Syrian on my dad’s side. It gave me thick curls and hair only slightly lighter than this woman’s. Though just barely.
And woman, she was. Not a miss, or a girl. A straight nose sloped and complemented her cupid’s bow, her lips like two full strokes of a paint brush. I didn’t paint a lot, more a fan of physical art with hard metals and fortified steel. I was into metalwork when I could, sculpting.
She had hard yet striking angles to some of the more softer elements of her face, her nose buttoned at the tip and her overall face shaped like a heart. She was also intentional and completely deliberate in the way she stared at me. It took me a second to realize her ruby-red lips were actually speaking to me.
And when I did, I questioned verbal assault.
“Can I help you?” she gritted, the stark raven glow of her eyes glaring at me. Her head lowered. “Are you hard of hearing?”
The fuck?
Now, I didn’t come at this woman wrong at all. Actually, I came as a concerned citizen.
I was questioning that now, a slow raise of my eyebrow. “I suppose I wondered if you were all right up here.”
She had been up here… by herself, alone and with a bottle of wine.
I eyed it. Though, she refused to peel her gaze away from me. If anything, she watched my shoes, as if cautious for an advance. I stayed in my place. “I wanted to know if everything was okay.”
“Obviously.” Another heated jab. This woman was goddamn beautiful, but her tone certainly didn’t match. At least, not at the present. She angled a look over the side. “You can carry on now.”
Wow.
I didn’t consider myself a glutton for punishment, but this woman didn’t seem all right and was up here by herself. I shifted, and that dark mane of hers sliced the air so quick when she turned, I questioned the whiplash of her neck. She kept her eyes trained on me, obviously not wanting me to move.
Yeah, she wasn’t okay.
This didn’t feel okay. At all.
Again, I stayed where I was and to let her know I’d continue doing so, I placed a hand on the high dive’s handrails. “What are you doing up here?”
She said nothing. I guess not one for small talk, but she did face forward. Her fingers curled so hard on the edge I questioned if she would push off, go in.
Would I catch her? Go in after her? Chivalry wasn’t dead in me so I probably would, but I wondered if she’d hit me or something if I tried. This woman seemed a little unbalanced.
I lowered and found her eyes on me again, calculated and intensely observant. What I wouldn’t give to have her in front of a canvas. She actually made me want to paint, funny enough. “Can I have your name?”
A new angle and definitely going out on a limb. She hadn’t answered me the first time.
“Brielle.” An arctic bite to the word as her gaze appraised me, not completely hopeless tonight in the five-thousand-dollar suit Prinze also made us buy. He’d wanted us to match him and honestly, the cash was a drop in the bucket for most of us. Many of our fathers, uncles, and grandfathers built this town, my dad an immigrant but held so many small businesses and real estate properties under his name, he had enough to buy out many of Maywood Heights’ founding members three hundred times over. Shit, this town had even given him the key to the city.