Page 28 of Every Heartbeat After

I’m sticky from the humidity or the nerves of being around Kit or both, and my heart is about to beat out of my chest. I quickly strip off my tank top and jeans, which I leave in a pile by the door with my discarded purse, and step into the bathroom.

A cold shower. That’ll fix all my problems, right? It works for the athletes I see on TV, at least.

Wrong. So wrong. Within a second, I’m turning the water two degrees shy of blistering. Why the fuck would anyone subject themselves to the misery of a cold shower?

The tension melts from my muscles. For the longest time, I don’t even bother with the shampoo or soap. I just wither beneath the stream of boiling water, hoping this is the thing that will fix me. Praying it’ll wash away the sadness and desperation both, leaving behind some version of me I can actually be in front of Kit, since he’s obviously not going anywhere.

When thoughts of him standing before me in the sea-green glass-tiled shower, all long, muscled limbs and bare, steam-pinkened skin fill my mind, when the temptation to touch myself just to ease the ache between my thighs becomes all consuming, I realize all hope is lost. There’s no fixing this kind of insanity.

There’s no choice but to endure. Or to get out of the shower.

I’m ashamed to say I choose the former.

ChapterEleven

Kit

Tess isthe perfect amalgamation of her parents. Not just their names (Ted + Marissa = Tess, if I were a guessing man) but also in appearance. The black-and-white photo is cast in an orangey glow that spills through the windows onto the wall where it’s hung, just to the left of the hallway that leads to the elevator bay. The sun has only just risen, and the lobby is quiet save for the gurgle of a coffee machine coming from the opposite corner of the room. A bored barista looks on while the girl who checked me in stands next to her, mixing up a concoction of epic proportions, complete with a mile-high whipped cream topper. She pops a straw in before returning to the middle registration pod, drink in hand.

I turn back to the photo, noting Tess’s small face and twinkling eyes mirrored in her mother. Her father is tall, and I’m guessing she gets her sharp wit from him given the open-mouthed smile he’s aiming at the person behind the camera. Each parent braces a hand on a little Tess’s shoulder. While they pose for the picture, she’s busy staring up at her dad with a gap-toothed grin.

In Loving Memory,the plaque reads.Ted and Marissa Monroe.

A quick Internet search brings up articles about the tenth anniversary of their passing. TheFly Hollow Chroniclenotes their lasting impression on the community. A photo of two wooden crosses in the grassy margin just before a bridge concludes the write-up. They’re draped with flowers, and an elderly man who vaguely reminds me of Gary stands behind them.Marissa’s father, Ron, passed last year,the photo caption reads. I check the date on the article. It’s already been a couple years since it was released.

They’re all gone.That’s what Tess said when I asked about her family last year. She truly meant everyone. I push a palm to my aching chest. She stands so tall for a woman carrying so much. Part of me wonders if anyone ever told her she shouldn’t have to.

I snort under my breath. What a fucking hypocrite I am. Here I stand, wishing she’d open up and let someone (me) take care of her, and yet I’ve spent God knows how many years trying to handle everything—my failed relationship, a high-stress career, my brother’s issues—all by my lonesome. Pot, meet kettle and all that.

Courtney was the only person I ever opened up to about my brother. Had to, since a big portion of our savings went to his last rehab stint. I couldn’t burden my parents with the stressors his addiction caused, not when the entire reason I was handling things was to keep them from having to. But my ex-wife was sure to throw even that in my face, there at the end. All the more reason to keep it locked up inside.

Maybe the reason I’ve been unable to resist Tess is because I sense, deep down, how similar we really are.

I peel off my baseball cap and place it over my heart, meet Ted Monroe’s eyes as though he were standing right in front of me, and smile. “Your daughter is amazing.” My gaze slips to Marissa, with a face so similar to her daughter’s that I feel like I know her. “You both would be so proud.” A guest walks past, casting a curious glance my way, but I ignore him and press on. “She’s stubborn, but I’ll find a way to be there for her. Just give me some time.”

I dip my chin toward the photo and replace my hat. As I turn toward the door that leads out onto the pool deck, I lock eyes with the girl behind the registration desk. She smiles like she knows what I was doing. I wink, and hope she gets the message that this is to be our secret.

It’s early yet, but the air is already balmy. Immediately, sweat pools in every crevice I have. Some I didn’t even realize were there. Heat in the Gulf has a way of seeping into your very bones and then turning them sopping wet.

It’ll make for an interesting morning jog on the beach.

The gentleman skimming the pool waves, and I return the gesture. On the water’s surface, the reflected sunrise is split in two by his net. It looks more like sherbet than pool water, and I’m already craving a refreshing swim when this run is over. Maybe I could even convince Tess to join me.

Fat chance, given how things went at the bar last night.

But if she thinks for one second that I missed the way she responded to my touch, however brief, she’s got another thing coming. I’d recognize that little gasp anywhere. The way her skin pebbled before she pulled away. All the details that have been seared into my brain since our kiss at the Horseshoe. I doubt she’s even aware of her reactions, that’s how primal they are. But I want more of them. More of her.

And despite every alarm bell going off in my brain, I want to take care of her. This place clearly means something even deeper to her than I realized, and the pain wrenching her face over the changes being made gutted me. Tess’s features are hardwired for joy. Her white-blonde hair, her sun-kissed skin. Lips that curve into a smile like a flower blooming. Seeing sadness take root not only hurt, it felt wholly unnatural.

My shoes hit the sand and sink in. I wobble like a newborn deer for a moment. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve come home. Stepped foot on the beach. It’s hard to believe my brother and I were once water babies, nearly addicted to it for the week we’d spend at Orange Beach each summer while growing up. Our mother had to pull us from the ocean by our ears when it was time to head home back then.

I don’t know what it feels like to be Tess, but when I think of my brother and how life used to be, I imagine it comes somewhat close.

Once I’m on firmer ground near the surf, I take off. The beach is empty save for a few surfers testing the measly waves kicking up this early in storm season. It doesn’t take long before my limbs grow heavy and my lungs squeeze tight. I push through the burn and, on the other side of it, find the type of quiet my brain only encounters on a run.

The sun is baking my neck by the time I’ve looped around a pier a few miles from the resort and made it all the way back. It’s still early, but I spot several people enjoying their breakfast on the wooden patio that juts out from the pool deck. To my left, a woman floats on the still surface of the ocean, a few yards out so she’s clear of the waves breaking. My steps falter without me realizing why. Then she shifts to a standing position, and as the water sluices from dark blonde hair onto the narrow wings of her shoulders, recognition slaps the back of my head like a gong.

“You do realize sunrise is, like, prime feeding time for sharks, right?” I call out.

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