Releasing an exhale, I slip my hand beneath my pillow and hold the small shard of opal in my palm.My savior, I once called it. I absorb the faded red stains, the tattered fraction of a broken flower petal. A tear slips down my cheek, and I curl my fingers around it. Clutching the sheet to my naked body, I silently slip from the bed, make my way to the glass door, and step onto the small balcony. City lights brighten the dark night sky like hundreds of twinkling stars. Detroit has never looked beautiful from where I stood, but hovering sixty stories above my past, an ethereal chill coasts down my spine and raises goose bumps on my arms. I take a step forward, then another. My fingers touch the cold railing, toes dangle off the edge. I shut my eyes and lift my face toward the open sky.
Then I think of her. Of the girl I used to be. Sad, hurt, alone. But mostly, so afraid.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.” My tears fall for her, trailing down my cheek and disappearing with the soft breeze. “I’m sorry ...” A shaky breath leaves my lips. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I told you you were weak. But I see you now ... and I love you.”
Hand trembling, I open my eyes and extend my arm over the railing, palm up. Slowly, my fingers uncurl. Then I release her, my savior, and I watch her glide in an endless fall to join the fluorescent stars of my past.
Easton
(Five years later ...)
Despite the overcast sky, the strong breeze, and the dusting of salt water that cools my skin, I’m fucking sweating. I inhale a lungful of fresh air. It doesn’t help. I stare into the endless sea water, the waves washing up a few feet from my shoes. Still, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest, and the collar of this white button-down is choking me even with the top few buttons undone. I won’t be able to breathe normally until her hand is in mine and I’m slipping on a promise I’ve been ready to make for too long.
“Bro,” Isaac whispers, pulling my focus to the small book in his hands. You know your brother’s got your back when he gets ordained just to officiate your elopement. “Calm down. It’s only the biggest day of your life.”
I shoot him a dry look, and he winks.
“Ha.” Aclicksounds, pulling my gaze to Thomas as he lowers the giant, old-fashioned camera from his face. “Says the guy who was more nervous than a virgin on prom night on our wedding day.”
Isaac chuckles, his neck flushing slightly, and Thomas smirks before he moves behind me and resumes snapping shots.
If it were up to me, this day would have happened before I went through the police academy four years ago. But my fiancée, Miss Independent, wanted to start her Master of Social Work first. My lips quirk as an image of her in her black cap and purple gown resurfaces. She had a degree in psychology under her belt and a stunning grin that rivaled the size of the NYU stage beneath her feet. Proud, tough as nails, and unapologetically herself, I should have known she’d fit right in. Whitney and Zach dragged us along to check NYU out initially, after they each got their acceptance letters, but once Eva and I set foot in the bustling city, there was no turning back.
Zach, my best man, adjusts his yellow bowtie and nods toward something behind me. “Don’t look, but—”
Chest pounding, I start to turn my head, but he grips both my shoulders over my vest and shakes me.
“I said, don’t look, man!”
Isaac chuckles, and a pang of jealousy unfolds when he looks at what I’m assuming is my wife-to-be. The only people who were invited to attend our wedding are the ones in it, which means Isaac’s got a crystal clear view of the person I want to see the most.
“Patience,” Zach says, brows rising. “I was just gonna say, based on the daggers your wife is shooting at your ex, I think she’s going to kick Whit’s ass if she doesn’t stop messing with her hair.”
Pride swells in my hammering chest. There’s something incredibly fucking sexy about the fact my fiancée is never afraid to show what she’s thinking. Moreclick, click, clicksrattle off behind me, and I hope to God Thomas is capturing that spitfire look. I shove my hands into the pockets of my tan slacks, a pathetic attempt to keep myself anchored to my spot instead of succumbing to the painful urge to turn around.
Whitney suggested we get a tent for some separation, but Eva and I both turned down the idea. We only agreed to let her be our wedding planner because she needed it to build her portfolio, but she made the ceremony more traditional than Eva and I intended for it to be. Minus the lack of a guest list and decor we made sure Whitney didn’t mess with, I’m not even sure the wedding counts as anelopementat this point. Now, however, as sweat runs down my back with the effort it takes to keep my eyes off Eva, I’m starting to regret opting out of the tent.
“You might want to warn Whit,” I tell Zach. He’s the only one she listens to anymore.
“Nah,” he says, looking over my shoulder with a little smirk. “They can both handle themselves.”
After Eva and I got out of the hospital and returned to Caspian Prep, Zach took over my deal with Whit. She stopped paying me, of course, but she didn’t hide the fact she loved every minute of playing the jilted girlfriend of the guy who fell for his sister. The extra attention she garnered at school helped ease the stress of her home life, and she milked it even more when Zach rode in like a knight in shining armor to rescue her. At least, that’s how the story goes. Always the gentleman, he offered to keep up with the charade at university, but by then, Whitney decided she no longer needed it. I’m not convinced they aren’t up to something though. They’re together enough the rumors are still circulating.
I pull in a breath, scanning the vast beach. From where we stand by the shore, heavy skies blanket the long stretches of open sand. In front of me, the outline of a single sailboat is visible in the water. We picked a weekday so people would be sparse, but also because I’m hoping fewer people means Alejandro will feel safer about showing up if he can.
“Señor, salvanos debido a este acto de incesto. Soy una espectadora inocente.”
Lord, save us all for this act of incest. I am an innocent bystander.
At the prayer, I cock a brow to my left, where Maria’s Spanish mutters originate. She signs a cross over her chest and finishes with a kiss to the cross at her neck. As Eva’s maid of honor, Whitney insisted Maria wear something yellow, but she’s more of a rebel than I realized. Either that, or she got the occasion mixed up with a funeral.
I chuckle softly, and Maria’s eyes flash to mine in surprise. It’s been two years since Eva and I started learning Spanish in honor of her mother and heritage, and Maria, living several states away, hasn’t quite gotten used to it. “No te preocupes,” I say calmly.Don’t worry. “El Diablo no está interesado en los lazos que se rompieron hace cinco años. Aunque escuché que le agradan las bellas damas. Podrias abrocharte el cuello del vestido.”
She blushes as my words sink in.The Devil has no interest in ties that were broken five years ago. Although, I hear he’s fond of beautiful ladies. You may want to button up your collar.
She shoves my shoulder and smooths her white hair pulled into a tight bun. “Muchacho tonto,” she mutters, still flushed.Foolish boy. Then, she glances away and discreetly buttons up her dress collar.
My lips twitch before Isaac kicks my pulse into gear. “All right, big bro. It’s time.”
