“Are you hungry?”
I swallow and nod against him. He presses his wet lips to mine one last time and then he takes my hand, leading me over and helping me to sit down so I’m facing the front of the boat and have the most perfect view of a glowing Seattle.
He drops a blanket over my legs and pours me a cup of coffee, handing the steaming mug to me. I take it, thankful for its warmth on the chilly night.
Keith settles in beside me, tugging on me until I’m resting on his chest. The air is cold, especially out here on the water in the dead of night. But I don’t mind it enough for it to detract from the splendor.
“How did you arrange this?” I ask as we set out a little deeper into the dark waters, the twinkling lights of the city growing fainter.
“Will it sound terrible if I tell you there is very little money can’t buy?”
I smile, knowing he can’t see it. “Terrible? No. And since you did this for me and I’m having the best time ever, I’m not complaining about whatever small fortune you spent on this.”
“For once.”
“For once,” I concede.
“You like it?”
“At the risk of using a particular four-letter word, yes, I like it.” He squeezes my side and I burst into giggles. “Quit that. You’ll make me spill my coffee.”
He wraps his arms tighter around me, holding me as the boat glides effortlessly through the water. With the city asleep and us watching from afar, it makes me feel like we’re in our own private world. We fall silent, letting our own introspection take over.
But I can feel Keith stirring behind me. I can feel something brewing in his mind.
I’m just not sure I want to know what it is.
It can’t be good if he’s not saying it, can it? He and I talk. We freaking share and even overshare. We don’t do the hold back our thoughts and feelings well. But in this moment, I don’t mind that he’s holding his thoughts close. I’m doing the same.
I have a lot on my mind and not all of it is Keith or this tour.
My father’s call tonight has been weighing on me. It’s something he hasn’t done, well, ever. Certainly not since I left after screaming at him for putting me in debt and under the thumb of a notorious mob boss. I told him I never wanted to see or hear from him again, and now, today, he calls. All his voice message said was that he wanted to talk. About what, I have no clue. Cryptic bastard knows how to build up my curiosity.
The only thing I can come up with is that he’s looking for money.
I set my now empty mug of coffee down, and pop a chocolate into my mouth and nuzzle in deeper into Keith who seems only too happy to have me do that. His lips drop to the crook of my neck and for the longest of moments, he just breathes in and out, the weight of what’s troubling him building momentum.
Then suddenly it hits me. Like a fucking kamikaze.
Amy.
And though I don’t want to ruin this magical, most romantic night in the world, I want to know about her. Not only do I sort of deserve to know since I resemble her, but the more time I spend with Keith, the more I want him to let me into places he doesn’t let anyone in.
Not even the guys.
Sucking in a deep breath, I prepare myself to be ripped apart once more. Because let’s face it, hearing about a woman he loved who is now dead is going to brutally suck. Because—
“I haven’t talked about it since that night,” he says out of nowhere, like he was freaking reading my mind. Again.
I still.
“Did I say something out loud?”
“No. But I know you, Maia. I know your body language. I can practically hear your thoughts as you plaster them all over yourself so well. And, well, it was on my mind too.”
“Oh.” I lick my suddenly dry lips. I barely move. Hell, I’m terrified to breathe. “You don’t have to tell me now. I’m sorry if I ruined this perfectly romantic and wonderful boat ride.”
He chuckles into me, kissing my skin. “You didn’t ruin anything. And in truth, I should tell you already. I should talk about it. That’s what people tell you to do, right? Talk about it. It’s been a decade and I couldn’t even say her name until you came along. Until I crashed into this beautiful blonde woman who resembles a girl I once loved. A girl who died.”
My eyes pinch shut, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. How easy he says he loved her. How deep that love must have gone. I ache for him and that loss. I ache for the girl who died. And I ache for myself knowing I’ll never hold his heart the way she did.
“Amy moved to our town sophomore year of high school. I didn’t notice her so much at first. She was quiet and stayed to herself. Junior year we started talking at a party and I asked her out. And for the first four months we were together, everything was perfect. She was still quiet. Reserved. Sweet as the day is long. She certainly never talked back to me or pushed me to the brink of my sanity.”
He tugs on my braid a bit, so I know he’s talking about me now, as if I had any other illusions. But still, I appreciate him making the point of how different we are.
“How long were you two together?”
“Eight months when she died.”
I swallow a lump of sadness with that. I can’t comprehend that level of grief.
He wraps my hair around his hand a little tighter. “About four months into dating, I started to notice some things she had been really good at hiding from me. Things like how she wouldn’t eat or sometimes when she did, she’d go to the bathroom immediately after and throw up. Things like how she would cut herself in places she didn’t think I’d find. Things like how sometimes she couldn’t get out of bed or she’d stare off into space for long periods of time, lost in her head. She cried a lot. And shut down whenever I tried to talk to her about any of it.
“She was in therapy and on a lot of different medications. And some days, weeks, were better than others. She never wanted me to bother with any of it. Told me that’s what her parents and doctors were for. But when you love someone the way I loved her; all you want to do is fix them. Is make them better and happy. And no matter what I did, how hard I tried, I couldn’t do that with Amy.”
“She was sick,” I whisper.
“Yes,” he answers even though it was a statement and not a question. “Amy was very sick. Had been since she was a little girl. Then one night I dropped her off at home after a party. It had been a good night. I was always stressed, you see. Always tense and on edge around her because I never knew what was going on in her head. Which way her mood would swing. In truth, she scared me. But that night, she was great, and I was so happy. I kept thinking maybe she was starting to get better. But as I drove away after dropping her off, something was troubling me, and I couldn’t figure it out. It was just a bubble of panic in my gut and no matter how hard I tried; I couldn’t talk myself out of it.
“I was halfway home before I turned around and raced back to her house. She always slept with the window open, so I lifted up the screen and climbed into her room. I called her name, but she didn’t answer. All the lights were on in her room, but she wasn’t there.”
His body starts to tremble against mine and I wrap my arms around my chest, holding onto his that are surrounding me. Tears streak my face and I’m so angry with myself for doing this to him. To us. To this night that was so perfect.