Page 34 of Crocodile Tears
I stepped out of his hold, my limbs tingling from being in the same position for so long. Deacon’s hands remained poised on my forearms as I looked up at him, and for a second his eyes dipped to my mouth. I wondered what it would be like if I lifted on my toes and kissed him. Twelve-year-old me was begging me to do it, a redo for the teeth-knocking incident the two of us had shared one summer many years ago. But if I kissed him, I wouldn't be able to handle what came next. And the way he’d said “never” at dinner was still ringing in my ears. I was reading into something that just wasn’t there.
So, I cleared my throat and took a step back, and Deacon's hands dropped to his sides. I swore I saw the faint look of disappointment in his gaze as I did. Or maybe he was just a really good actor and he was trying to comfort me with his crocodile tears. I never knew with him.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For the helicopter and for . . . everything.”
“Anytime you need me,” Deacon said, stooping a little to meet my eyeline and emphasize what he was saying. “Anytime you need me, I will be there for you. Even when you hate me and never want to speak to me again, if you need something that I can help with, ask me, got it?”
“Yeah,” I said as my throat bobbed again.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I should head back. I've got to be up at 4 am for a thing in New York,” he said, hooking his thumb behind him.
“Okay.” I gave him a half wave, unsure of what else to say. Thanks for holding me while I cried? Thanks for knowing I didn’t want to be alone but was too stubborn to ask you to stay? Thanks for knowing me better than I know myself even after all this time? As he turned and headed for the door, I called, “Deacon?”
He paused and looked over his shoulder.
“Sometimes I really, really wish I could hate you,” I said, and he flashed me a soft smile. “But I don’t and I never have. You've always just beenyouto me.”
I could see the way that hit him. I was probably one of the few people who knew him like that. Just as he was one of the few people who knew me more intimately than almost anyone. And all of that history couldn't be erased, no matter how many years passed or how much I tried. We’d both made mistakes. We’d both become people we didn’t want to become for a while. But I knew who he wanted to be, who he was trying to be in incredible and uncontrollable circumstances. And despite the bravado and many masks he wore, I still saw glimmers of the real him underneath it all.
“You've always beenyouto me too, Dove,” he said with a genuine smile, one that was goofy and lopsided and not perfect for camera, just a real smile meant only for me.
And I knew then, as he walked away and my stomach danced with butterflies, that I was in deep,deeptrouble.
Chapter Eighteen
Deacon
Our bird release redo was much less eventful than the toucan one, thank God. We even managed to get some nice B-roll footage of Dove and me talking and smiling to each other. After everything that had happened with the helicopter the week before, Dove and I had fallen into friendlier terms. I knew she was still trying to keep me at arm’s length, but she couldn’t seem to summon quite the same level of vitriol as before, which for me was a huge victory.
After the shorebird release, Dove and I decided to walk back to the zoo since it was only twenty minutes up the beach. Cody disappeared, leaving us in blissful privacy. It was a strange feeling—not having to be on my best behavior, no cameras pointed in my direction.
Apparently, in the off-season, after the last ferry had left for the afternoon, there was barely fifty residents on Prickle Island,which meant no paparazzi or fans or anyone who cared about my IMDB page, just some peace and quiet at the beach.
Dove stretched her arms up to the sun and let out a deep sigh. For once, her shoulders weren’t bunched up around her ears.
That night in the prep kitchens replayed in my mind more times than I cared to admit. The way she’d folded into my arms, had cried while I’d held her . . . something had irreversibly shifted in that moment, if not for her then at least for me.
“How’s Hannah doing?” I asked as I walked barefoot across the wet sand, the ocean water lapping at my feet.
“Good.” Dove let out a sleepy, little hum as if relishing the feeling of the springtime sun on her skin. “Tired, I can imagine, but great. The way they look at Simon . . . I never thought my brother would let anyone in, and now he’s got two people who’ve completely captured his heart.” Her smile was infectious as she squinted across the water at the light glinting across the waves. “They’re coming home tomorrow. I can’t wait to hold him.”
“Hawk?”
“No, Simon,” she said with a laugh. “But I’ll give my brother a hug too.”
“It’s the best feeling,” I said with a grin. “I have three nephews and I cried the first time I held each of them,” I admitted. “You know, ‘cuz I’m the sensitive, artistic type.”
“Uh-huh,” she snarked, elbowing me. “Of course you are. Thank you again, by the way.” She stole a glance at me and then looked back to the hypnotic horizon. “I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if we didn’t have your helicopter. I guess you’re a hero on and off screen.”
“Nothing heroic about it. I’m glad I could help,” I replied. “Sometimes it’s just fate, I guess. Maybe I was meant to be here.”
With you, I wanted to add, but I held my tongue.There I go, being the sensitive, artistic type again.There were probablysong lyrics buried in that sentiment somewhere. Maybe it was time I picked up my songbook and pen again . . .
“It felt pretty lucky that you were about to film a zookeeper movie right when our family needed the money,” Dove hedged. “Maybe that was fate too?”
I only hummed in agreement, not wanting to admit thatthatparticular situation hadn’t been the same kind of serendipity.
“Why did you decide to do a zookeeper rom-com?” she asked skeptically. “Is there even an audience for that kind of sappy stuff? It seems so unlike you.”
