Things like, I’m sorry.
Things like, I love you.
Things like, I can live without you…but I don’t want to, anymore.
Inside the boathouse, my father’s navy blue picnic boat rocks quietly in her berth. As I climb the ladder up into the rafters, I struggle to keep the memories of prom night at bay. They claw at me insistently, demanding my attention.
Archer and me. Skin to skin, heart to heart. Hands tugging at shirt-hems, fingers fumbling for buttons. A sting of pain. A slow-build of pleasure.
If I’d known that night was the only one I’d ever share with him, I would’ve never closed my eyes. I wouldn’t have wasted a single second on sleep. I would’ve held him so close, nothing — no one — could ever pull us apart again.
I grip the rungs tighter as I reach the top, moving carefully as I haul myself through the gap in the floorboards. I maneuver slowly around the low-ceilinged space, picking a pathway through the boxes. Cursing lowly as I stub my toe on Miguel’s old toolbox, I flip the switch on a small camping lantern. It emits a dim glow, lighting the rafters in shades of dusky orange.
Shaking the dust from one of the wool blankets, I spread it across the floorboards and settle atop it. It smells familiar — the faint scent of leather and fresh cut grass clinging to it, conjuring images of a boy with hazel eyes and dark hair. I burrow deeper into the fabric, arms curled around my knees, eyes fixed on the lapping waters of the cove below. The moon’s reflection shines like a spotlight on the surface.
In the dark, my fingers creep to the wall, tracing the gouges like Braille. Over and over and over again.
AR + JV
4EVA
I must’ve nodded off, because I wake with a start to the sound of footsteps coming from below.
Someone is inside the boathouse.
For a second, I think it must be the maintenance man. I quickly dismiss the idea — it’s still dark outside. Nowhere near dawn. I’ve been asleep mere minutes, not hours. Whoever it is, they aren’t here to service the Hinckley. Worse, they’ve undoubtedly seen the light from my lantern. It’s too late to hide.
Why didn’t I bring my damn cellphone?
The sound of footsteps is replaced by the groan of the ladder as the intruder climbs slowly up the rungs, into the lofted space. I look around, searching frantically for some kind of weapon. My hands land on the old toolbox, plucking a rusty hammer from the depths. I cling to it, wishing my palms weren’t so sweaty.
There’s no place to hide. I duck my body behind a stack of boxes, partially shielded from view. My eyes are locked on the shadowy gap in the floorboards, straining to make out details. The light from the lantern barely reaches back there. When the top of a head appears, I suck in a sharp breath, steady my shoulders, and call out to the stranger.
“Stop right there! I have a weapon and I will use it!”
The head stops moving.
For a moment, there’s only silence. But then, in a voice choked with barely contained laughter, the intruder calls back to me.
“Don’t shoot. I come in peace. And, if memory serves, you’re a lousy shot. Remember the paintball incident of sophomore year?”
The hammer slips from my grip, falling to the floorboards with a thud. I very nearly fall down after it.
“Archer?”
He pulls his long limbs up into the loft, his grin flashing brightly in the dim light. I can’t think as he makes his way to me, moving methodically around stacks of boxes and haphazardly piled furniture. His eyes are locked on mine, pinning me in place. I don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe, as he comes to a stop before me.
“Hey, Jo.” His voice is whisper-soft. “What are you doing up here?”
I blink stupidly at him. “What am I doing up here? What are you doing up here?”
“I saw you walking down the lawn about twenty minutes ago. When you didn’t walk back, I figured I’d check on you.”
“I fell asleep…”
“I suspected as much.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here — at Cormorant House, I mean.” My brows furrow in sudden agitation. “I’ve been looking for you!”
His mouth parts in surprise. “You were looking for me?”
“Yes! I went to your apartment. I knocked for ages.”
“When?”
“Yesterday! I thought…”
“Thought what?” he murmurs when I trail off.
I thought you didn’t want to see me.
I thought I wouldn’t get to say goodbye.
I swallow hard. “It doesn’t matter! The point is, I was looking for you. And you’re telling me you were right here this whole time?!”
“Not the whole time. I only got here about an hour ago.”
“You came here in the middle of the night?”
“Yeah.”
He’s staring at me with such intent focus, it steals my breath. His face is distractingly close. I can’t think straight with his mouth mere inches from mine. I try to step back, but there’s nowhere to go in the tiny space.
Why is he here?
Why now?
“So…” I whisper breathily. “You just thought we’d have a quick chat at two in the morning?
He laughs, but can’t quite disguise the strain in his voice. “Afraid not. I’m just here to keep an eye out in case my brother shows up.”
“Why would Jaxon come here?”
“He’s on the run. The DEA is hunting him down. That’s the reason I wasn’t home last night… there was a raid at the docks. Jaxon and his crew have been trafficking drugs through Gloucester Harbor. I helped the agents get enough evidence to shut it down. They arrested everyone — Jaxon’s whole crew. But he somehow slipped away during the chaos.”
My eyes have gone wide. I can feel them, saucer-like on my face, staring at him. “You helped the DEA conduct a drug raid?”
He nods.
“That’s so dangerous!” I smack him on the arm.”What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking it’s about damn time someone put a stop to my brother.”
“What if you’d been hurt? What if—”
“I’m fine!”
“But—” I splutter into silence as he reaches out and takes my hand. His callused palm scrapes lightly against mine as its enveloped in his strong grip. I bite back an involuntary gasp as the feel of his touch radiates through me, moving from my fingers up my forearm, straight into my chest, where my heart is pounding a mad tattoo.
“Jo.” His hand tightens — strong and sure, steadying me instantly. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Okay,” I breathe, barely trusting my own voice. “Okay.”
“Why did you come looking for me yesterday?”
The question catches me off guard; I don’t have an answer at the ready. “I wanted to tell you…” I struggle for the right words. “I’m leaving.”
“Oh.” He stiffens. Something like defeat flashes in his eyes. “You’re going back to Geneva, then. You’re going back with him.”
“No!” I tighten my grip when he starts to pull his hand from mine. “No, Archer. I’m not. I’m just leaving Cormorant House. Or…Technically, I’m being forced to leave. My parents are changing the access codes tomorrow.”