11. Macy

Chapter 11

Macy

I gasp for air. Dreams of my grandparents chase me awake. The familiar ones where we spend the day together, and every detail is so vivid that I never once question the reality of it, until moments before I wake up, and I realize how out of place they truly are. How they don't belong in this world anymore.

The image of my grandmother's smile is still so clear in my mind's eye. My grandfather reading me a bedtime story echoes as if he's only just left the room. Sobs are breaking through the silence of the night. It feels as though there is no air left to feed my lungs. The wall caging my heart has been blown to bits, leaving the organ exposed to the world.

I think of the deep blue sea. How some days, the water is so still it becomes glass, and others it rages with whitecaps so powerful, the salty water could easily replace the air of the strongest lungs. It deceives as a calm sea until a storm strikes, so similar to grief.

I slip out of bed, cold terrazzo beneath my bare feet. My chest is heavy, and tears stream endlessly down my face as I walk throughout a home that belonged to the people I mourn. I run my fingertips over the familiar texture of the hand-knit blanket my grandma made that rests over the back of the couch. She'd drape it over me when I'd fall asleep watching movies together.

A loud sob breaks free, and I barrel over in pain. My head is pounding, and I can't see anything past my tears. The walls seem to cave in on me.

I manage to open the back door with my unsteady hands. A breeze blows against my face, cooling the wet skin beneath my eyes. I grab onto the wind chime before it's sound touches my ears. I unhang it and set it down, so I don't hear the reminder of what once was. What will never be again.

I curl into fetal position on the porch swing, letting it gently rock me back and forth. I try to forget the pain, block out the truth just for a little while. I close my eyes and make up scenarios in my head like I did when I was a kid.

I used to imagine people and places and conflicts to keep me entertained during the long flights every summer. Sometimes I would continue the scenarios in my head before bed as if it were a TV series.

When I open my eyes again, I see that damn pelican. We stare at each other, and right when it cocks its head, a star draws a line across the sky in my peripheral.

I gasp, my eyes focusing on the spot the flash disappeared. Something magical fills the air. My eyes slowly drag back to the bird. "Hello," I whisper.

It's flapping it's wings as if answering me. My chest squeezes and I almost believe the bird to be a sign from my grandparents. I sigh after a few moments, realizing how ridiculous it sounds, but before the thought can fully form, I look to the left and a bright flash of light blinks into the darkness. My hand flies to my mouth and awestruck laughter falls from my lips. I smile and lift my face toward the sky.

The pelican flies toward the ocean, its silhouette is proud above the horizon, diving into the water and coming up with a tail flopping from its mouth. I laugh.

The ocean has its rough days, but it always returns to its peaceful state. Maybe I need to learn to surf the waves long enough to stay above water.

I finally have a fridge stocked with real food. The gas station snacks weren't going to cut it anymore. Once I unload my last bag of groceries, I give myself a nod of approval.

The handheld dustpan just wasn't going to work, so I bought some modern-day cleaning supplies. I play music on my phone and get to work, throwing my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. My entire playlist runs until I'm done wiping every surface. There's not a speck of dust in sight.

I pick up my phone and find Sarah in my contacts. She answers on the first ring and is cheery when I invite her and Elliot over for dinner tonight. When we hang up, a bead of sweat drips down my temple.

I desperately need a shower, but the ocean is right outside, sparkling under the sun. I change into a bikini and grab a sheet from the closet. I bring my laptop with me so I can write.

My skin warms beneath the bright star in the sky, and I kick sand behind me with every step I make. Once I've found the perfect spot near the water, far enough so a wave can't wet my sheet, I spread it over the sand, using my flip flops to hold the corners.

Hundreds of washed up shells are digging into my bare feet as I amble toward the waves. The water moves up my legs, and once I'm waist deep, I dive in. The chill makes me breathless, but it feels refreshing after all the cleaning I did. I wade out until I feel something round and hard in place of soft sand. I dive down and grab it, and once I break the surface, I smile at the white sand dollar taking up the palm of my hand.

I swim back to shore. I place the fragile sand dollar on my sheet and lay flat on my stomach. The sun beams onto my exposed back. I open my laptop and edit fifty pages by the time I need to get ready for dinner.

Once I'm out of the shower, I throw on denim shorts and a black baby T-shirt. I let my hair air dry into its natural waves and drag a wand of mascara through my eyelashes. The freckles dusting my nose and cheeks are darker, and I have a slight tan for the first time in years.

I'm about to throw the burgers on the grill out back when Sarah and Elliot pull up on their bikes. "Back here, guys!" I call.

Sarah rests her bike against the porch. She pulls a bottle of vodka and cranberry juice out of the basket. Elliot's following on his wife's heals as she climbs the steps. He wraps an arm around her waist and places a kiss on the crown of her head before getting cozy on my porch swing.

Sarah's eyes always seem to smile, but now it's spreading to her lips. She gives me a hug accompanied by the smell of coconuts. "Long time no see. Oh, and I saw Dracula leave shortly after you at The BARnacle the other day," she says while raising her brows. "Did he catch up to you?"

"Unfortunately," I say, leaving out the part about how we've been running together for the past three mornings, and how I'm starting to enjoy his company.

She ambles toward her husband, joining him on the swinging bench. "You just let me know if he's bothering you."

Elliot chuckles. "And what will you do?"

She flexes her bicep, and Elliot's eyebrows raise. I should get her workout routine, but we're just lucky I've stayed consistent with running. I'm not one who enjoys lifting weights.

I chortle. "He's not bothering me. Well, he irritates me sometimes, but not in the way that requires your Super Woman strength." I turn the dial on the grill, but nothing happens. I twist it several times before sighing. "I think the grill is dead."

"Where's the propane?" Elliot asks.

I frown. "You need propane?"

"Probably," Sarah says. "Or that thing is older than us and probably doesn't work."

"I guess I can make the burgers on the stove," I say. I wanted to have a barbecue, though.

The side of my face prickles. I glance over and see Grayson on his porch with my book in his hand. He grins and waves at me. I ignore him, or maybe I'm trying to ignore what the dimples accompanying his smirk does to me.

"You know that guy?" Elliot asks.

"That guy has a name," I say, a touch defensive. "And yes, I know Grayson," I say, forgoing the nickname Sarah assigned to him. I mess with the barbecue, trying to get it to work.

"Dracula is your neighbor ?" Sarah says a touch too loud.

My cheeks warm. "Shh!" I peek at Grayson, who's oblivious to our conversation.

"Now I really need to know why you were avoiding him the other night, since you say he's not bothering you." She grins, her eyes squinted on me like she's working out an equation.

"I told you. He's irritating."

She glances at her husband, still smiling knowingly. "No, you said he irritates you, not that he's irritating."

"That's the same thing," I deadpan.

She elbows her husband for backup, to which he shrugs.

"Well, he has a grill," Sarah notes. I give her a questioning look. She shrugs. "Yours is broken, and your neighbor doesn't look like he's got anything going on. Let's ask if we can use his."

"I'm sure he's busy?—"

"He's always by himself; I'm sure he'd like the company. Besides, he's only reading." She stands and waves before I can protest. "Grayson! Mind if we come over there and make you some burgers?"

He glances at us, solemn momentarily. His head tilts to the side and then he gestures for us to come with the wave of his hand.

I quietly groan and shoot Sarah a look. She shrugs with a smile and grabs the alcohol. I squeeze my fists at my sides before I grab the stuff to make the burgers, taking my time as I do so.

"How long have you lived here?" Sarah asks Grayson as I climb his porch steps. But before he can answer, I step on the back of my flipflop and nearly trip, but Grayson is quick to grab me beneath my arms. Why is this man always catching me? And why am I always falling around him?

I glance up at him and for a moment it's just him and I and unwelcome feelings brewing beneath my skin.

"Hey man, thanks for letting us intrude," Elliot says. Grayson releases me to shake Elliot's hand, then claps him on the shoulder. "I'm Elliot, and the woman asking you a million and one questions is my wife, Sarah."

She shrugs. "I want to get to know the new guy in town. Sue me."

I let them talk while I start on the burgers. Grayson's grill is shiny and new. I wonder if it's ever been used before now. I feel a hand on the small of my back. Grayson's breath touches the shell of my ear. "I'll grab you some tongs."

I quickly notice that even with Sarah and Elliot sharing a seat, there's only one chair left.

Back with a pair of tongs, Grayson carefully hands them to me. The tips of my fingers brush his and he quickly clears his throat. "I'll just be inside," he says wryly. He turns to walk away but I quickly reach out.

Before I realize what I'm doing, his hand is in mine. "Stay. Meet my friends," I say so only he can hear.

He stares like he's trying to read me. "If that's what you want."

"It is."

He nods, then backs up and sits on a chair across from Sarah and Elliot.

"Do you drink vodka and cranberry?" Sarah asks him.

"Sure," he says.

"You want any?" Elliot asks me.

I nod. I feel like I'm going to need a drink or two tonight.

I turn on the grill and start cooking the patties. Elliot starts pouring our drinks. He places two on the patio table and Grayson grabs one. I feel the heat of his stare as he's walking over to me. He puts the cup in my hand.

I take one large swig. "Is there even any cranberry juice in this?" I laugh, scrunching my face in disgust.

Grayson lifts an eyebrow, takes my cup out of my hand, and slowly brings it to his lips without breaking eye contact. "I think he's trying to get you drunk," he says.

"No offense, Macy, but you seem like you can use some…loosening up." Elliot calls from his chair.

Sarah laughs.

I scoff at them. "I am plenty loose?—"

Grayson's teeth skim his bottom lip to hide his amusement. I shoot everyone a look. "Whatever. You can expect your burgers to have spit in them."

I pad by Grayson to the empty chair and collapse onto it while the burgers cook. The smell of burning charcoal fills the air. I swish the vodka around in my mouth, having a hard time swallowing it. I place my cup on the table.

Grayson still stands by the grill, as if he's unsure of what to do with himself. Where he fits. I clear my throat to get his attention and scoot over so there is space on the chair.

His expression doesn't shift, but I see his chest slowly rising as if he's taking a deep breath. He saunters over and places his palm over my knee to lower himself. I stiffen once he's beside me, so much of our bodies touching one another. He drapes his arm over the back of the seat, and then he turns to me and says so only I can hear, "I'm not going to bite you, Mace."

I don't want him to know how much his proximity unnerves me. I glare at him and slowly relax my body. The base of my neck rests against his arm.

I hear a photo being taken. I swivel my head forward to see Sarah lowering her phone. I shoot her a pointed look.

"What? You guys are funny with his smug expression and your evil glare."

Elliot chuckles.

"I'll send it to you later," she whispers with a wink.

I feel myself blanch.

"So…" Elliot changes the subject. "Where are you from?" he shoots that question toward Grayson since he already knows us.

I feel his arm flex for a moment before it relaxes. "Fort Meyers."

"Oh, so not far from here." Sarah says.

"Where are you guys from?" Grayson says, as if he's trying to get the attention off himself.

"We're all from here. Well, except Macy. Technically she's from Idaho but she's just as much from here as we are. She lived here during the summers. We grew up together, actually," Sarah says. "Oh, and you have such a nice house by the way. Most of the ones here aren't modern like yours. What do you do for a living?" Sarah's conversation style gives me whiplash with every direction it goes.

Grayson talks a little bit about his job, and once he's finished, Sarah says, "Macy is an author."

He slowly turns to me with a grin. "No kidding."

"Yup," I say, since he clearly knows this already, and I'm not fond of Sarah trying to play wing woman. She means well though. "I'm going to flip the burgers," I say, about to stand.

"I've got it." Grayson gets to his feet by using his ginormous hand to hoist himself up on my knee.

Sarah and Elliot start talking among themselves, so I take the opportunity to watch Grayson flip the burgers. He's wearing all dark colors, making him look like a storm cloud. Wispy pieces of hair are sticking out from his hat, and his toned arms flex as he works the burgers. He's all rigid and sharp lines, making everything about him masculine. He closes the grill, forcing my gaze on his hands. I can feel his phantom touch against my torso, his palm taking up most of the space.

His eyes immediately shoot to mine, as if he could hear my thoughts. Something about the way he's watching me feels intimate, as if he's running those hands across my skin and memorizing the dips and curves of my body.

Fire creeps into my cheeks and I look away, realizing Sarah is watching. Suddenly she's standing up grabbing my hand. "Let us know when the burgers are ready," she says.

I'm unable to protest when she tugs me down the porch steps and toward the shore. Once we are far enough that the boys can't hear, she says, "No judgment here…but are you cheating on your fiancé with Dracula?"

"No!" I say defensively.

Sarah holds her hands in the air. I sigh, sitting down in the sand and bringing my knees to my chest. Sarah does the same. "I'm not engaged anymore. I broke it off." I tell her about the text I sent to Walter and the conversation we had over video chat, and then I find myself spilling everything he's ever done wrong.

"Screw that man. Wait no…" She looks around, considering her words for a moment. " Boy ," she corrects. "I think this vacation is exactly what you need." She turns around and I follow her line of sight to Grayson, who's sitting across from Elliot. His hands move while he talks, and it brings a sense of pride to see him break out of his shell.

Sarah grins at me. "Maybe you need a steamy fling with Dracula."

I laugh. "Never."

"Can I give you some advice?"

I nod.

"I wouldn't be too quick to shoot down whatever is happening between you and Grayson. That brooding vampire looks at you like he's obsessed ." She stands and says, "I think you could use some of that right now." She winks, then walks back to our small group, her short hair bouncing as she goes up the steps.

I hoist myself up, wiping the sand off my butt and rinsing my hands in the water. Remembering Grayson's lack of dishes, I make a quick trip to my house to grab two extra plates.

I notice a new chair on Grayson's back deck, one of his barstools. He brought it outside so we wouldn't have to share the seat. The three seem to be falling into easy conversation. Sarah is laughing at something Grayson says, and I can't help but realize how natural he fits in. Like he's been the missing link in our group all along.

When I'm within reach, I hand him the extra dishes. The four of us eat and talk easily, and I find myself laughing more than I have in a long time.

Once we finish, I take all the plates to Grayson's sink and wash them. He follows me inside shortly after, grabs a dirty dish and takes the sponge from my hand. He starts scrubbing, so I open his dishwasher to unload it, but there are only two mugs, a bowl, and a spoon. "Wow, you've really been living it up," I tease, grabbing the dishes and opening cabinets until I find the appropriate ones where they belong.

The sliding glass door squeaks open, followed by Elliot's voice. "Hey, Macy, do you remember when you and I won Manhunt and Sarah pushed me off my grandma's dock?"

I let out a laugh. "She was never good at losing."

"No one is good at losing," she recalls. "I want a rematch."

"Bring it on, Presley." Elliot says, calling her by her maiden name like he did when we were kids.

"What's Manhunt?" Grayson asks.

"You've never played Manhunt as a kid?" Elliot asks.

Grayson shakes his head.

"You can be on the winning team then." He smirks. "With Sarah and I."

"Hey!" I complain.

"Macy has to hide outside while we count to one hundred. It's basically hide and seek. The three of us will split up and find her. Once someone does, they have to hide with her and try not to be found. So as soon as you find someone, you join their team. The last person to find everyone loses."

Once we finish cleaning up, everyone gathers inside while I find a hiding spot. I already have the perfect one in mind. I sprint a few yards to the lifeguard stand, sand getting kicked up and hitting the back of my legs. There is a smile on my face when I duck beneath the stand and bring my knees to my chest to make myself as small and hidden as possible.

The sky catches fire and ignites the water beneath it, at least that's how it looks. Magical things happen at sunset. My skin tingles and a jolt of excitement shoots through me like it did when I hid as a kid.

The artwork hanging in the sky keeps changing and by the time I hear faint footsteps, the sun has just hidden beneath the horizon. Everything has a purple hue, and it won't be long until it's completely dark. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping whoever it is doesn't spot me right away. I peek behind me to see if they left. My hand flies to my chest.

Grayson's breath trickles against my lips. "Caught you." His voice comes out low. I swallow and his gaze flickers to my throat. "Scoot over, Mace."

"Why?" I whisper.

He chuckles and the frequency of it touches every inch of my skin. "Aren't those the rules? Once I find you, I get to hide with you?"

"Oh, right. Yes."

He's paradoxically too close, yet too far. His face gets impossibly closer, the tip of his nose skims mine. I suck in a breath when he climbs over and sits beside me, so he's hidden.

Painted in shadows, he looks nightmarish, except for the dimple peeking out of his cheek. It truly doesn't belong on such a sharp face, yet it makes my heart stammer.

He reaches out and brushes his thumb across the corner of my lip. "Sand," he supplies.

"How would there be sand on my?—"

He interrupts me, pressing his pointer finger against my lips. "Keep quiet. You wouldn't want us to get caught, would you?"

I shouldn't breathe so heavily.

He takes his finger away from my lips and drags his knuckles along my jaw. He tucks a stray hair behind my ear.

Suddenly, I see a light getting closer. A flashlight. I hear Sarah's giggling and I stiffen.

Grayson reaches forward and grabs a bleached piece of coral from the sand. I don't have the chance to ask him what he's doing. It thuds off something in the distance, then Sarah's footsteps go toward the sound. Away from us.

I face him then. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to see him, but everything surrounding us has turned black without the sun. I can see the stubble on his face and the veins pulsing on his temple this close.

He wears a serious expression. Gone are those heartwarming dimples. My stomach is flipping the way it does moments before the jump scare in a horror film. My heartbeat slams against my ears so rapidly. The second my eyes drop to his lips, his tongue swipes across them, leaving them glistening. His right dimple appears. Then the left. "You're staring at my lips, Mace."

"No, I'm not."

"You want to kiss me," he rasps.

"I would never want that."

"No, you don't want to want it." He's closer. "But you do." I gasp as his lips angle down to mine, making soft contact but not pressing. "I'm not going to kiss you, Macy," he whispers.

Warmth erupts in my stomach.

"I won't do anything to you unless it's your decision." His eyes flit to mine. "All you have to do is apply a little pressure and you can have me. Any way you want." He sounds desperately pleading when he says, "Just kiss me."

He lets out a deep sound when my mouth parts, and I flick my tongue across his bottom lip. He pulls back for a moment; every emotion one can feel seems to swim in his eyes. He slides his hand beneath my shirt, his callouses scrape against my back, and then he pulls me to him.

The warmth in my belly presses lower when he folds himself over me, my back against the sandy Earth and his weight pressing in all the right places. His lips skim over my jaw, and he nibbles my earlobe, coaxing a sound from my lips.

I want more.

I arch my hips into his, feeling just how much my feelings are reciprocated. He cups my jaw, his eyes waterfalling into mine. "So beautiful," he whispers.

"I think they're under the lifeguard tower." Elliot's whisper is loud enough for us to hear.

I push Grayson away and sit up right as the spotlight lands on us. I squint my eyes against a flashlight, feeling the flush in my cheeks.

Another flashlight hits us, followed by Sarah's laugh.

Elliot says, "You lose, Presley. I found them first."

"Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?"

Elliot clears his throat. He looks between us and his wife. He sighs. "Sarah won. Sorry guys."

I force a laugh, crawling out from under the tower and brushing sand off my butt.

Sarah brings her fingers to my waves. "How did you manage to get sand in your hair?"

My face heats down to my neck. "How weird."

"I think we're going to call it a night," Sarah says. "Thank you for dinner, Macy. And thanks for letting us use your grill." She aims the last sentence to Grayson.

"Any time. Nice meeting you guys," Grayson says like nothing is amiss.

Elliot hands him his phone to input his contact information. We say our goodbyes, and I watch my friends become smaller and smaller as they walk away. Once I'm alone with Grayson, I can't think of anything to say. It's as though a bucket of ice water was poured over our previous moment.

He sits down in the sand. "It's peaceful out here," he says. "If you're in no rush to leave, I'd thoroughly enjoy your company." He grins.

I can still feel his hands on my body. He's gotten under my skin from the moment we met but now I can't shake him. He covertly implanted himself within me, and I've realized too late because now I seem to burn everywhere, which is unacceptable.

Grayson is a maddening itch I can't scratch.

"I'm exhausted. Have a good night," I mumble. Have a good night? Who says that after what we just did? I drag myself from him and pull all my clothes off the minute I'm inside my house. I turn the shower on cold, and the wind gets knocked out of me the second I will myself beneath the stream. I'm scrubbing away the fire from Grayson's touch, but it doesn't do anything to stop my swirling thoughts. Once I'm tucked in bed, my silly, stupid heart hijacks my brain. I dream of how good it would feel to scratch that itch.