Page 44 of Tempt Me

Tears sprang to my eyes without permission, and I swiped at them with my gloved hand. She caught sight of me and walked over to my spot by the vacant buffet trays.

“Hey there, Faye,” she said, picking up a single cheese cube on a stick and popping it into her mouth.

“Hannah. My god. Hi. It’s been—”

“Six months. Yeah. I know.” She looked away sadly, speaking toward the distant star-filled sky.

I bit my lip, thinking I was stupid to mention it. Hearing out loud the length of time my brother had been gone was eerie, leaving a sour taste in my mouth despite the delicious food.

I sat down my plate, my appetite evaporating like the fog on the pier.

“Have you…picked out a name for your baby?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

She rubbed her big belly softly, humming and smiling just the slightest bit.

“Yes,” she said with that smile growing. “Xavier.”

I grinned. That was a beautiful name, and it was fitting for the little one. Noah always loved names that began with ‘X,’ and I did, too. There was something about the uniqueness of using an ‘X.’ It wasn’t common, and uncommon things were celebrated, rare, and treasured.

“Do you think I could see him when he’s born?” I said, hopeful, imagining my brother’s eyes reflecting back at me.

“I’d never keep you away from him, Fallon,” she said, that soft, sad air to her proper voice shifting back into place. “He is just as much your family as my own.”

“I just…” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t want to lose every piece of Noah. I feel like we’ve already lost you a bit, too.”

She looked at me, her eyes welling over with tears, her big pregnant belly squished into my ribs, squeezing me in a reassuring hug.

“Lost but not soon forgotten sister of mine,” she recited, and it was my turn to cry.

Those were the words my brother used to say to me all the time. He’d said them when my dog died from some asshole driving too fast in the streets, or when my friend decided they didn’t like me, or when I was grieving the loss of my freedom, the loss of not being able to marry for love.

He always told me that anything lost would never be truly gone as long as it wasn’t forgotten. People, pets, ideas, and even things lived on in your memories and, therefore, could be retrieved someday.

However, death was a bit different.

There was no finding what was lost there, only visiting the remains of who you loved. It was why I often went to the cemetery and told him about my weeks.

I hadn’t been back since I ran into my professor there.

We didn’t exactly have a great meeting, but now I felt terrible knowing his daughter was buried in the same dirt as Noah.

I promised to message Hannah for a girl’s day out and made my way back over to the railing. I expected to hear more cursing and planned to revel in his angry-cat-grumpiness, but instead, I didn’t hear cursing.

In fact, I didn’t hear…anything.

I peered down into the darkness where Pharaoh had fallen, and I couldn’t see or hear shit.

Fuck.

I leaned forward on the railing, going as far as I could without tripping over the stupid ledge. My heartbeat quickened when a familiar black-haired head was bobbing above the water, but his face was down in the cool bay.

“Damnit!” I pulled from the reserves of my swim classes my mother forced me to go to, said a quick prayer not to die from a shark ripping me apart, and dove into the deep.

I landed with a loud thud, and the impact felt like concrete, smacking me in the face and lungs. Breaking back through the top of the water, I inhaled, trying to catch my breath, the weight of my dress pulling me down like an anchor.

Thrashing around, I panic-searched for that dark head of hair.

After a moment, I smelled the weed in the water, the skunk smell clinging to me already—a combination of wet dog and skunk ass.

---