Page 28 of Property of Player

“Not really.”

“How is it being back home?”

I shrug. “Good and bad. The house is the same—even my room is unchanged—but the town is so different. There are so many new businesses I don’t know.”

“A lot of the old ones are still here. Some are ingrained in this town. The ice cream place, the beach bars that have been here since the fifties… I don’t see those ever going out of business. They’re a tradition around here.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Even your pop’s place. The Rusty Pelican is part of this town.”

I nod and rub my upper arms. With the wind off the ocean, I feel a misty chill.

Player has a hoodie on under his cut, and he shrugs out of his leather, then pulls the hoodie off and passes it to me. “Here. Put this on.”

He slips his cut on over the t-shirt he had underneath, and I don’t argue with him, accepting the gesture.

The moment the soft sweatshirt material goes over my head and down, I’m enveloped in his scent. A woodsy, leather scent I know is part the soap he uses and part his leather, and all him.

It’s like wrapping a cloak of protection and security around me. It reminds me of the us we used to be when I felt so close to this man that I thought nothing would ever come between us.

How wrong I was.

Just when I think the wall between us that keeps me from reaching out to lean against him will never come down, Player moves behind me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me to rest against his chest.

I don’t fight it. For one brief moment, I want to pretend we’re still together.

He dips his head and brings his lips to my ear. I feel the soft brush of his facial hair.

“This is nice. It feels right.”

I’m afraid to voice it, so I just nod.

We stand that way for a long time; I don’t think either of us want to break the spell.

A fish jumps in the water, and I jerk with a jolt, and we both laugh.

It’s the first moment of joy I’ve let myself have, and suddenly I feel like a damn has broken. My eyes fill with tears, and I start to sob.

Player turns me in his arms and holds me, his hand stroking my back.

He doesn’t shush me or tell me everything will be all right. He lets the feelings roll through me for as long as it takes.

His hand strokes my hair, and he presses the side of his face against the top of my head.

I feel safe in a way I haven’t in a very long time.

He was always my safe place.

And then he was gone.

My hands tighten on the leather edge of his cut, and I cling to him. I want my safe place desperately, but I know this is only an illusion that will disappear the moment we leave this beach.

Still, it’s nice while it lasts.

Somehow, I feel like Cinderella gone to the ball, dreading when the clock strikes midnight and it all goes away.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice says.