Giving In: The Sandy Cove Series (Book 1) (13 page)

Oh, shit, how do I remember that?

“You, um, you told me that during one of our conversations out on the dock one morning.”

She shakes her head.

“No, no I never said that to you, this summer. I said it to you last summer during our little, you know…”

No need to hesitate.

She’s right.

I scratch my head, wishing I didn’t say it all out loud, but I did. No turning back.

“So. Your name’s weird. Of course I’d remember a story like that.”

She waits a second, takes a step forward, and then retreats. She thought of something, contemplated saying something to me, but backs away, still standing near the sofa, but a few inches away.

My sudden urge to cover this up makes me take desperate measures.

“Ok, fine. I’ll watch your stupid chick movie, full of sappy love shit and tragedy. But if they break out in a musical number, I’m fucking out of here.” She claps her hands in an exciting way and shoves the DVD into the player.

I like playful Harlow Hannum.

When the music for the intro of the movie starts, I already know I’m in deep shit. I hope there’s a knife handy, so I can slit my throat. Harlow sits at one end of the sofa, hands me a blanket, and grabs one for herself. She covers herself in it and snuggles down to make herself comfortable in the crook of the sofa. I look at the blanket, then to her.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Cover yourself up with it, get cozy, and enjoy the movie. That’s what you do. That’s what I always do.”

She smiles at me, and for some ungodly reason, it makes me feel… I don’t know how to explain it, a little warm and fuzzy maybe. So I do what she said, hoping there are no hidden cameras for anyone to take notice at what a pussy I am.

The heat from the blanket suddenly wakes me from my sleep. I can feel more weight on me, around my chest, and a softness under my one hand. I shake off my sleepiness and open my eyes, confused and not remembering where I am at that moment, until I look down. Then I remember. I see the top of her head. The thick strawberry blonde hair of Harlow, and when I shift my body, her arm tightens around me, and she purrs. Soft, little snores come out of her with every breath. I can smell her hair under my nose, a scent that awakens me even more than the feel of her soft hair. Do I wake her up? Do I tell her to go to bed, or do I just fall back asleep, which is what I really want to do because the heaviness in my eyelids tells me so. Leaning my head on the back of the couch, I contemplate what to do next. I try to pull my arm out from under her neck, and when I do, the strands of her hair go through my fingers, and it feels like silk passing through them. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’ve felt and pulled a lot of hair in my day, but this feels different. My fingertips spark at the sensation. It flows up my hand to my arm, and I’m awake more than I was five minutes ago. Harlow doesn’t move. She’s so still and so deep in sleep. I’m not sure what my next move will be.

Do I even want to move?

I’m exhausted, but I don’t do this. I don’t cuddle with chicks. How’d she even get this close to me anyway? She was on the opposite side of the sofa when the damn movie started. I can’t even remember when I fell asleep, or when she did for that matter.

I push any thoughts I have of staying on this couch out of my head. I look at the clock which reads 2:15. I didn’t hear anyone come in, so maybe they went to an afterhours place, or decided to stick around Jax for a bit after closing. Her friends will get the wrong idea if they see us this way. Hell, my friends will get the wrong idea if they see us, so I make my move.

I gently nudge her arm, making sure not to startle her.

“Turnip. Turnip, wake up. Time to go to bed.” I stroke the top of her head, thinking this may not be a good idea.

She doesn’t make a sound, not even a stir, or a flinch, nothing. The only thing left to do is carry her to her room and leave.

I struggle to get her body off of mine and slip out without disturbing her. I slide an arm under her legs and support her back with the other. Gently lifting her off the sofa, her arms find their way back to my chest. I cradle her as I carry her to her room. When we reach it, I lay her down, trying to pull back the comforter from the bed, and one by one I take off the shoes that are still on her feet. She moves her body involuntarily to her pillow and tucks her hands underneath it, supporting her head even more. I pull the comforter over her body, and my hands do something my mind tells me not to do. They make their way to her hair again, stroking it, feeling the softness I felt out in the living room, waiting for that sensation. As soon as it hits me, she moves, and I pull away.

A little too soon.

“Chad?” I hear her croak out.

Who’s Chad?

“Chad, I’m sorry. Please. Stay with me. I’m so sorry.”

She’s dreaming, but who is the Chad she’s dreaming about? I don’t remember a Chad from the movie we watched tonight, and the guy from earlier wasn’t Chad. I’m too tired to figure it out. She’s still asleep, and no longer talking to this Chad person, so I get up from the bed and make my way to the door. But before I leave, I take one last look at this tiny person lying there, looking so young, so innocent as she sleeps.

I walk out of her room, lock her doors to the house, and go back to mine. I lay in my bed, wondering who Chad is, and why just a few strands of hair made me feel… something. Not knowing what it is, or what it was, I know I saw a softer side of Harlow tonight, one that I liked. One that could make us be better friends, closer ones even. I think about the way she looked in that bed, so vulnerable, warm, content. I’m too tired to jerk off tonight. Morty will just have to wait till tomorrow.

The last thing I think about before I fall asleep is the peacefulness I saw in her as she slept. Her hair splayed across her pillow, the soft sounds she made as she breathed in and out. She looked like an angel, and here I am, thinking of her like the devil.

CHAPTER 7

Fireworks

Harlow~

I can’t believe the 4th of July is in two days. The summer is flying by. It’s somewhat the idea of what I wanted it to be like. Hanging with the girls, relaxing on the beach, going out at night. It’s everything I wanted out of this summer and needed. I see that it’s almost time for my first scheduled call of the week with Dr. Goldberg, my therapist. So I tell the girls I’m headed for a run. I take my phone with me and run to the spot on the beach I always go to when I have to speak with him. I dial in, and his secretary puts me through to him.

“Hello there, Harlow. How’s your week going?”

“Hi there, Dr. Goldberg. It’s good. I’m feeling ok.”

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Not too bad, as long as I take the meds. I did miss a night or two, but I realized I didn’t need them, and slept for a solid six hours.”

“Good, good. Glad to hear it. Have you heard back from any of the schools you applied to for a job?”

As much as I want to tell him yes, I can’t and it frustrates me.

“No not yet, but I’m not worried, just anxious.”

“Are you feeling the anxiousness only with the job situation, or are other things making you anxious?”

I look out at the water, which is far enough from me not to make me anxious, and I tell him about the feet in the water incident with Cruz. I conquered a fear and Dr. Goldberg seems pleased to hear about it.

“I think you are making great strides, Harlow. Now about this friend you talk about so often, Cruz is his name? The cop?”

“Yes, that’s him. What about him?”

“Well, you talk about how in the beginning of the summer you were ready to leave because of his antics, and you weren’t comfortable with him living next to you because of what transpired between the two of you last summer.”

Yes, I told Dr. Goldberg about Cruz. About the night we got together. About the one whose name we do not speak was there making out with that girl. I had a session with Dr. Goldberg a few days later and told him what I did. I needed to get it out and tell him, which in hindsight, was actually progress considering I wasn’t locked up in my room somewhere, rocking back and forth like a mental patient.

“Correct, and believe it or not, we have settled on some kind of friendly ground.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The one thing I’m so surprised at out of this whole summer is the relationship Cruz and I have established. I’ve never really had any guy friends, well, except Craw, but he’s my brother and one of my best friends. However, the more time I spend with Cruz, the more he’s, I don’t know, what word should I use to describe him… let’s call it human?

I tell Dr. Goldberg all of this, and I can tell he’s writing it all down, making notes, and just listening to me.

“And does he know about what happened and about him?”

Oh, God, I wish I never have to tell him.

“No, he doesn’t. Only my brother and Willow know.” And Cruz will never know.

“You know, Harlow. It sounds like from what you tell me, this young man is having quite a good influence on you. I hear a change in your voice when you speak about him. I know he gave you a rough time in the beginning, but sometimes the ones who we least expect to open us up to a new way of thinking, a new way of learning. Then there are the ones we feel so comfortable opening up to and having conversations with that make you feel calm and at peace, that’s therapeutic.”

Maybe Dr. Goldberg is right.

Our conversations are great. We have a better understanding of each other’s personalities. I’m not much of a talker at times, especially when I’m in a down stage, but for some odd reason, beyond my comprehension, when I feel that way Cruz seems to be there, making me laugh, or grossing me out.

“I guess, Dr. Goldberg. I do feel myself opening up a lot more around him. I’m not used to doing that with a guy. I mean Craw is different, but still, I’m not so sure how it’s therapeutic for me.”

“It’s therapeutic because it’s the unknown. He’s the unknown. He doesn’t know what happened to you and can’t judge you for anything. You say he listens to you. He knows about your dream of becoming a teacher, how hard you worked for it. He knows about your family, the history there, so by just talking to him about random, daily events or things from the past, not directly related to why you speak to me, that’s therapeutic.”

As I sit on this beach, listening to the waves crash on the shore, the sun beating on my face, I shut my eyes, take a deep cleansing breath, and think about it all. I think about what I’ve been through. The things that ‘he’ has done to me. He left me with no self-worth, leaving me to think I’m just not good enough, and sometimes I think he’s right. But lately there are those times when I’m around Cruz, he can make me feel like I am good enough.

My session with Dr. Goldberg goes on for a little bit longer. He tells me no need to up my meds, that he thinks I’m making great strides and he will talk to me after the holiday, but encourages me to enjoy the new found friendship I’ve found in Cruz.

We are still doing our little morning ritual when he’s not sleeping from working a long shift. We sit on the dock, drink coffee, watch the sun rise sometimes and talk. I attempt to dangle my feet in the water, if I’m in an up mood. The water is somewhat therapy for me. Even though I don’t go in it, just the movement of it, the calmness it distributes, makes me feel a sense of calm inside this unbalanced head of mine. That and the combination of Cruz’s and my early morning talks. He’s almost like Dr. Goldberg. It’s as though I’m in session, but now it’s this guy I live next to, who I had sex with a year ago, without knowing him.

Jesus, I did that and didn’t know him.

Sometimes that seeps into my brain, and I can’t shut it off. I’ve never been a highly sexual being. Only being with one person besides Cruz, that’s what you can call me… quite inexperienced.

But I was a different person that night. I was uninhibited, lustful, greedy even. My dominant side shone through in my actions. Actions I can’t take back if I tried, and once in a while Cruz will remind me of that.