Lux

  “This must’ve been a good place to grow up,” Dare muses as he takes in the horizon.

  I nod. “Yeah. I can’t complain. Fresh air, open water… I guess it could only have been better if I didn’t live in a funeral home.”

  I laugh at that, but Dare looks at me sharply.

  “Was it really hard?” he asks, half concerned, half curious.

  I pause. Because was it? Was it the fact that I lived in a funeral home that made my life hard, or the fact that my brother was crazy and so we were ostracized?

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I think it was everything combined.”

  Dare nods, accepting that, because sometimes that’s how life is. A puzzle made up of a million pieces, and when one piece doesn’t exactly fit, it throws the rest of them off.

  “Have you ever thought of moving away?” he asks after a few minutes. “I mean, especially now, I think maybe getting a break from…death might be healthy.”

  I swallow hard because obviously, over the years, that’s been a recurring fantasy of mine. To live somewhere else, far from a funeral home. But there’s Finn, and so of course I would have never left here before. And now there’s college and my brother wants to go alone.

  “I’m going away to college in the Fall,” I remind him, not mentioning anything else.

  “Ah, that’s right,” he says, leaning back in the sand, his back pressed against a splintered rib. “Do you feel up to it? After everything, I mean.”

  After your mom died, he means.

  “I have to be up to it,” I tell him. “Life doesn’t stop because someone dies. That’s something that living in a funeral home has taught me.” And having my mother die and the world kept turning.

  He nods again. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. But sometimes, we wish it could. I mean, I know I did. It didn’t seem fair that my mom was just gone, and everyone kept acting like nothing had changed. The stores kept their doors open and selling trivial things, airplanes kept flying, boats kept sailing… it was like I was the only one who cared that the world lost an amazing person.” His vulnerability is showing, and it touches me deep down, in a place I didn’t know I had.

  I turn to him, willing to share something, too. It’s only fair. You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.

  “I was mad at old people for a while,” I admit sheepishly. “I know it’s stupid, but whenever I would see an elderly person out and about with their walker and oxygen tank, I was furious that Death didn’t decide to take them instead of my mom.”

  Dare smiles, a grin that lights up the beach.

  “I see the reasoning behind that,” he tells me. “It’s not stupid. Your mom was too young. And they say anger is one of the stages of grief.”

  “But not anger at random old people,” I point out with a barky laugh.

  Dare laughs with me and it feels really good, because he’s not laughing at me, he’s laughing with me, and there’s a difference.

  “This feels good,” I admit finally, playing with the sand in front of me. Dare glances at me.

  “I think you need to get off that mountain more,” he decides. “For real. Being secluded in a funeral home? That’s not healthy, Calla.”

  I suddenly feel defensive. “I’m not secluded,” I point out. “I have Finn and my dad. And now you’re there, too.”

  Dare blinks. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “And we’re not in the funeral home right now,” I also point out. We take a pause and gaze out at the vast, endless ocean because the huge grayness of it is inspiring at the same time that it makes me feel small.

  “You’re right,” Dare concedes. “We’re not.” He pulls his finger through the sand, drawing a line, then intersecting it with another. “We should do this more often.”

  Those last words impale me and I freeze.

  Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

  “You want to come to the beach more often?” I ask hesitantly. Dare smiles.

  “No, I’m saying we should get out more often. Together.”

  That’s what I thought he was saying.

  My heart pounds and I nod. “Sure. That’d be fine. Do you care if Finn comes sometimes, too?” Because I feel too guilty to leave him behind all the time.

  Dare nods. “Of course not. I want to spend time with you, however you want to give it to me.”

  Dare grins at me, that freaking Dare Me grin, and I know I’m a goner. I’m falling for him, more every day, and there’s nothing I can do about it. In fact, there’s nothing I want to do about it. Because it’s amazing.

  The Iredale is only a shell of a ship, so the wind whips at us and Dare shoves his hair out of his face. As he does, his ring shimmers with the muted light of the sun. A sudden feeling of déjà vu overwhelms me, as though I’ve watched his ring glint in the sun before, and we’ve been here in this ship, together.

  We’ve been here before in this exact place and time.

  It’s not possible

  It’s not possible

  But it is.

  It has to be.

  Because I feel it.

  That’s all I can think as I stare at him, as I watch his ring shimmering in the light, as I watch him shake his hair in the wind.

  Dare drops his hand and the feeling fades, yet the remains of it linger like the wispy fingers of a memory or a dream.

  I stare at him uncertainly, because the feeling was so overpowering, and because I know what he’s going to say next. I know it.

  Are you ok?

  I wait hesitantly to see.

  Dare draws back and stares at me. “Are you ok?”

  I nod, because Oh my God, I was right. I try to breathe, and try to remind myself that God, it’s just déjà vu, Calla. It happens. But it’s been happening a lot, to me and to Finn.

  And it felt so real. I shake my head, to shake the oddness away. I can’t slip away from reality, I can’t be like Finn. God.

  Dare’s hand covers my own, and we stare out at the ocean for several minutes more.

  His hand is warm and strong, and I relish it, and I push away all disturbing thoughts because honestly nothing matters right now but this.

  I relish the way Dare rests his hand against my back as we walk down the beach toward his bike. And I relish the way I fold against him as we ride back home. I relish it all because it’s amazing. No matter what else is going on, this is amazing.

  I feel like I’m floating as I slide off the bike and stand in front of him.

  We pause, like neither of us wants to call an end to this day.

  Finally, Dare smiles, a slow grin, a real grin that crinkles the corners of his dark Dare Me eyes. He reaches up and tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, and I swear to God I have to force myself to not lean into that hand.

  “I’ll see you soon, Calla-Lily,” he promises huskily. I nod, and watch him turn and walk away.

  God, he looks good walking away.

  He pauses, and turns, and I think he must’ve read my thoughts.

  “Calla?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in fate?’

  I smile, because what a silly question. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do.”

  I’m filled with warmth and I float up to my room.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I wake the following morning, the first thing I notice is piano music.

  Since I know there isn’t a funeral today, this is very odd. My mother was the only one who knew how to play in our family.

  I crawl out of bed and pad down the stairs, inching into the chapel, not sure what I expect to see. But nothing I expect prepares me for what it is.

  Dare sits at the piano in the front, the sunshine pouring in from the windows above and reflecting off of his dark hair, like he’s been chosen by God Himself. His eyes closed in concentration, he plays as if the music flows through him like blood or air, like he has to play to live.

  I lean against the door, watching his hands span the keys, ur
ging the music from them, with all the grace of an accomplished pianist. I don’t recognize the song, but it’s beautiful and haunting and sad.

  It’s just right for this place.

  And even though Dare is wearing dark jeans and a snug black shirt and that trendy silver ring on his middle finger, he’s right for this place too.

  Because he’s playing the piano as it should be played.

  With reverence.

  Here in this chapel, it’s only right to revere our surroundings, the quiet peacefulness of a room used to honor the dead.

  I close my eyes for a minute, unable to stop myself from imagining what it would be like if his hands worshipped my body in the same way as they worship the keys. My dreams have been like foreplay, because every night, he touches me. He claims my body as his own, and every night, I enjoy it. Right now, I recall those dreams, and my cheeks flush as I picture his fingers trailing over my hip, up my abdomen, pausing at my breasts. My lips tingle from wanting his kiss. My breath hitches, my tongue darts out, licking at my lips, my face slightly feverish.

  It’s only now that I realize the music has stopped.

  I open my eyes and find Dare turned toward me, watching me. There is amusement in his eyes, like he knows exactly what I’d been daydreaming.

  If ever there was a time to wish the floor would open up and swallow me, it is now.

  “Hi,” he offers. “I hope I didn’t wake you. Your dad said I could come in and grab some orange juice. I saw the piano and…well, I intruded. I’m sorry.”

  His accent makes everything ok. And the fact that he plays the piano. More than ok, in fact, it might make him the sexiest man alive.

  “You’re not an intrusion,” I tell him. Or if he is, he’s a welcome one. “You play beautifully.”

  He shrugs. “It was one of my step-father’s rules. Everyone in his family had to learn to play because that’s what refined people do.” He looks bored with the sentiment and closes the lid to the keys.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you? Refined, I mean.”

  He smiles. “I’m a bit of a rogue, I’m afraid.”

  I’m not. Afraid, that is.

  “Your dad said to tell you that he had to run into town,” he offers as he gets up and lithely moves toward me. I can’t help but draw a parallel… between Dare and a graceful jungle cat. Long, lithe, slender, strong. He and I are connected by an invisible band, and he flexes that band as he strides down the aisle of the chapel before he stops in front of me like a panther.

  Am I his prey?

  God, I hope so.

  In the light, his eyes are golden, and I find I can’t look away.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “I bet my brother went with him.” I don’t mention that my brother slept in my bed last night, because that would seem weird. Like always, I have to hide certain things for appearances’ sake.

  “I don’t know about that,” Dare answers. “I haven’t seen Finn today.”

  “He must’ve,” I murmur. In fact, my father probably took Finn in to his Group. I’m free to focus on what is standing in front of me.

  Dare DuBray.

  His smile gleams.

  “I have another question to ask you,” he tells me, with a certain smug look settling on his lips. I raise an eyebrow.

  “What, already? You just asked one days ago.”

  He chuckles. “Yep. But not here. I want to ask it somewhere else.”

  I wait.

  And wait.

  “And that is…where?” I finally ask.

  He smiles. “Out on the water.”

  I pause. “On the water? Like, on our boat?”

  He nods. “Is that ok?”

  Of course it is.

  “It’s just a little boat,” I warn him. “Nothing fancy.”

  “That’s perfect,” he answers. “Because I’m nothing fancy, either.”

  Au contraire. But of course I don’t say that. And it’s a good thing I slept in my clothes because this way, we can go straight there without pause. But of course I don’t say that either.

  Instead, I simply lead the way outdoors and to the beach, not hesitating in the rain.

  “We can still go,” I tell him. “It’s just a little rain, the waves aren’t bad.”

  “I’m not worried,” he grins. “I’m used to rain.”

  “That’s right,” I answer as I motion for him to climb aboard. “I forgot.”

  He steps across and I untie the boat from the dock, before I toss the rope to him. I leap before the boat can float away, and land unceremoniously beside him.

  He lounges against the hull as I steer through the bay, and suddenly, the rain stops as suddenly as it started. The clouds part, the sun shines down upon us and I lift my face to the warmth.

  I live for times like these, when my grief pauses long enough for me to enjoy something.

  And I have to admit, I’ve been enjoying more and more moments since Dare came to my mountain.

  “You make me feel guilty,” I tell him quietly, opening my eyes. He’s sprawled out, his legs propped up on a seat. He glances at me, his forehead furrowed.

  “Why in the world is that, Calla-lily?”

  The name makes me smile.

  “Because you make me forget that I’m sad,” I say simply.

  Softness wavers in Dare’s eyes for a minute before they turn back into obsidian. “That shouldn’t make you feel guilty,” he tells me. “In fact, that makes me happy. I don’t like the idea of you being sad. Come sit by me.”

  He opens his arms and I sit on the seat next to him, leaning against his hard chest and into his beating heart. His arms close around me and for the first time in my life, I’m lounging in a guy’s embrace. And not just any guy. Dare DuBray, who I’m guessing could have any girl he wants.

  And right now, in this moment, he wants me.

  It’s unfathomable.

  It’s the perfect temperature as we drift in the sun, as the warmth saturates my shirt and soaks into my skin. I drag one hand over the side, letting it float on the surface of the water as I listen to Dare’s heart.

  It’s strong and loud against my ear.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The rhythmic sound reminds me of the day he was punching the shed.

  I pause, then freeze, my fingers on his chest.

  What day was that?

  I focus and focus, trying to recall the memory through foggy haze, but all I get is an image of Dare punching at the woodshed like a machete, or a machine.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, staring down at me.

  “I…” I don’t know what to say.

  “Sometimes, I have memories that don’t seem real,” I finally admit, not caring how it makes me look.

  He stares at me for the longest time, his gaze so deep and penetrating. “How do you know they aren’t real?” he finally answers.

  I cackle a hyena-like laugh. “Because they can’t be. If you could see my memories, you’d understand why.”

  “I’m in your memories, right?” Dare asks, and each word is sharp.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Usually.”

  He starts to answer, but I interrupt him, because he has taken off his shirt and his skin is getting a bit red.

  “You’re going to get skin cancer,” I stare at him.

  “I’m not,” he answers. I don’t argue because I like his bare chest, and the way the muscles ripple across his shoulders as he moves. I pause on my way to the helm, long enough to run my fingers over the letters of his tattoo. His skin is hot beneath my fingertips, and the friction makes me grit my teeth.

  “I’m going to show you someplace new,” I tell him, guiding the boat out of the bay and toward a small rock pier down the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get there, and I urge the boat aground so that we can step out onto land.

  I hold my hand out to Dare and he takes it, climbing down next to me. We walk all the way out to the tip of the land finger, where the fingernail would be.

  Dare sits,
and I sit next to him, our feet splayed out in front of us on the rocks.

  We’re surrounded by nothing but the air and water, we’re utterly alone out here, with no one to overhear or watch us like we’re fish in a bowl.

  The salty breeze blows Dare’s hair around his face and I turn to him.

  “I’m ready to use another question,” I tell him. He grins.

  “So soon? It’s only been days since the last one.”

  I ignore that. “Why are you such a gentleman?”

  Meaning, why are you so resolute to keep your distance until I figure my shit out?

  He shifts his weight and crosses his feet at the ankles. “So you’ve noticed.”

  His tone is wry. I roll my eyes.

  “Seriously. Why are you trying to force me into doing something for my own good that I don’t want to do? All for the sake of being a gentleman? Maybe being a gentleman is overrated and archaic.”

  He scoffs at that, shielding his eyes from the sun with long fingers of one hand. I stare at his silver ring glinting in the light.

  “It’s not, trust me.” The way he says that is so knowing, so strange.

  I raise an eyebrow and he sighs.

  “My step-father, while refined and rich, was not a gentleman behind closed doors. From the time I was very small, I decided that I would always be the opposite of him. I used to read my mother’s journals, because that’s all I had left of her, and she always spoke of wanting me to be a gentleman when I grew up. She spoke of those traits with such…reverence that I knew that’s what I wanted to be.” He pauses. “Are you going to make fun of me now?”

  He stares at me, his jaw so sculpted, his eyes so guarded. I find all I want to do is reach out and stroke the coarseness of his stubble with my hand. “No,” I tell him. “Not at all. Why did you have to read your mother’s journals?”

  “Because she died when I was small.”

  God, he has made that hidden part of me ache, the maternal place, the place that wants to protect him from everything, even if that means from me.

  “What did your step-father do?”

  My question is quiet in its simplicity and Dare sighs again.

  “You’re really burning through your questions today.”