Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction (28 page)

And now, I finally had it. Now I had seen death, though not my own.

But it was enough.

I didn’t want to die.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me, see me off?” Esteban said.

We were sitting in my kitchen, drinking coffee as the sun streamed in through the windows. He had just set down his empty mug and was getting out of his seat, making all the big motions that he was about to leave.

Leaving me alone.

I took a sip of the Kona brew and shook my head. I wasn’t afraid anymore—not of that. I believed Esteban when he said he’d take care of everything. He’d spent the whole night making sure there wasn’t a trace of the incident, while I spent the whole night cowering in a state of shock. I definitely was still in shock, but I was coming around in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

I don’t know what he did with the body, or where he went for several hours in the dark of night, but I knew a man like him made no mistakes. He was the smart one, the good one.

He’d saved my life again, even if he was the one who invited danger in.

But then again, I was the one who had beckoned the danger the moment I stepped on the plane to Kauai. I had wanted nothing but oblivion, a place beyond death. Black space, dark shadows. I flirted with death so many times, from a mere handshake to full-on penetration. I wanted change in the most dramatic way; I wanted death to take me from my meager, loveless existence.

Until I realized that my existence never had to be empty.

Love was still out there, as were hopes and dreams and everything else I pretended I no longer wanted. Esteban opened my eyes, and he did so by showing me death, the devastating permanence of it. He dealt with death every day in his job, and here I was pretending I knew something about it. Pretending that death was a choice I wanted. It shouldn’t have been anyone’s choice. Not the choice of the man who tried to kill me, not Esteban’s. Not mine.

In the few days I’d known Esteban, he’d schooled me on what life was, and more importantly, what life could be.

Light.

Colors.

Paradise.

I slowly got out of my chair, not wanting to say good-bye. I knew I’d never see him again. He had my painting of golden seas to remind him of me.

I had nothing.

“Lani,” he said gently, his eyes swimming with compassion. He pulled me into him and wrapped his arms around me tightly. We held each other for as long as we could. Shallow, silly parts of me wanted to beg to go with him back to Mexico, to be a part of his life. But we knew our lives weren’t meant to intertwine that way. They were meant to meld for a sweet moment, nothing more.

He pulled away and kissed me softly on the forehead. “You’re valuable,” he said as he placed a cold green jade stone in my hands. “Keep painting.”

Then he turned and walked away. With my heart prickling, I heard him get on his motorcycle. The familiar roar filled my ears and then he was gone, the sound fading into the bird calls of midmorning.

I sighed, my chest feeling like an anvil had been placed on it. I squeezed the jade in my hand, knowing I’d never let it go. Slowly I turned and went to the back steps and sat down, staring at the paradise in front of me. The chickens pecked at the grass, not caring about my presence. They just . . . carried on.

And that was when I realized that Esteban hadn’t left me with nothing. I gave him a painting, but he gave me
everything
.

I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed Doug.

I dialed home.

Doug picked up on the second ring.

“Honey?” I said into the phone, my voice soft. Tears were threatening my eyes, my lungs were starting to feel choked, aching for release.

There was a long pause. Finally Doug said, “Lani? What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t heard concern in his voice for as long as I could remember. It was enough to open the floodgates. I cried, tears streaming down my face, and just bawled, everything flowing out of me, my tears taking me to another place.

“Doug, baby,” I finally managed to say, gulping hard for air, my lungs screaming. “Doug, I want to come home. I want to live.”

There was more silence, maybe just to let me sob, maybe to gather his thoughts and figure out what to say. Then Doug said something I didn’t think he would.

“I want you to live, too. I love you.”

The tears continued to come.

So much grief, so much sadness, so much betrayal, so much guilt. So much in my life had gone terribly wrong.

And yet there was so much hope.

And value in my hands.

THE END

About the Author

With her
USA Today
best-selling contemporary romance novel,
Love, in English
, and
The Artists Trilogy
(published by Grand Central Publishing), numerous foreign publication deals, and self-publishing success with her Experiment in Terror series, Vancouver-born Karina Halle is a true example of the term “hybrid author.” Though her books showcase her love of all things dark, sexy, and edgy, she’s a closet romantic at heart and strives to give her characters a HEA . . . whenever possible.

Karina holds a screenwriting degree from Vancouver Film School and a Bachelor of Journalism from TRU. Her travel writing, music reviews/interviews, and photography have appeared in publications such as
Consequence of Sound
,
mxdwn
, and
GoNomad Travel Guides
. She currently lives on an island on the coast of British Columbia where she’s preparing for the zombie apocalypse with her fiancé and rescue pup.

Karina may be found on social media at:

Facebook:
Karina Halle

Twitter:
@MetalBlonde

Website:
www.experimentinterror.com

Website:
www.authorkarinahalle.com

Books by Karina Halle include:

The Artists Trilogy

Sins and Needles

On Every Street

Shooting Scars

Bold Tricks

Experiment in Terror

Darkhouse #1

Red Fox #2

The Benson #2.5

Lying Season #4

On Demon Wings #5

Old Blood #5.5

The Dex-Files #5.7

Into the Hollow #6

And With Madness Comes the Light #6.5

Come Alive #7

Ashes to Ashes #8

Perception (Collection)

Dust to Dust #9

Other Books

Donners of the Dead

The Devil’s Metal

The Devil’s Reprise

Love, in English

by Joanne Schwehm

Newly divorced Sophia DeMarco returns to her childhood home ready to pack up her past and begin her new life. What she discovers is there are parts in her past that aren’t so easily left behind.

I set the pen down on the long document and peered across the table at my now ex-husband. He seemed more like a stranger rather than the man I spent the last nineteen years with. His lips curled and I knew a smug look was next. I gracefully pushed my chair out from the table as my attorney took the paperwork and put it in her briefcase.

“After I file this with the clerk, we’ll be all set.” My attorney was matter-of-fact because to her this was work. To me, this was the end of something I thought would last forever.

I shook her hand and gathered my purse. “You have my name-change papers, too, right?”

“Yes, you will be Sophia DeMarco as soon as these are filed.”

I was going to thank her when Jake’s voice startled me. “You changed your name?”

I let out a surprised half laugh. “Yeah. Did you think I would keep yours? I’m going back to my real name.” I looked at him as I leaned over the table. “I will never be referred to as Sophie McKenna again. Do you know how happy that makes me?”

Completely deadpan and devoid of any emotion, he said, “You’re a bitch. Thank God I’m free of you.”

Jake’s comment should have stung, but he had hurt me so much over the past few years that the comment didn’t faze me, mostly because I was so glad his last statement was now a fact. I picked up my bag and walked past him. Before I walked out the door, I looked at him one last time and decided to be the better person.

“Have a good life, Jake.”

He didn’t say anything but I didn’t care. I felt like I had just lost 190 pounds of dead weight and was ready to float out of there until I was greeted by Jake’s girlfriend, lover, or whatever the hell she was. She stood in front of me, smiling widely and rubbing her now-protruding baby bump.

I was so over all of this. Not saying a word, I continued to walk out the doors into the humid Pennsylvania air. I had a trip to make, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that.

• • •

Going home was something I had never intended to ever do. I shouldn’t refer to it as “home” because I hadn’t lived there since my father passed away eighteen years ago. My aunt Trudy lived in the house until she recently decided to move to Florida, which was probably more appealing than living in western New York.

I was surprised, to say the least, when Aunt Trudy called to tell me she would be moving. Since the deed was in my name and I didn’t want to live there, I decided to sell the house, and put it on the market. She had packed up most of the contents, but left my things for me to sort through. Now I needed to sign the sale paperwork, which meant I had to go home whether I wanted to or not, so I was meeting with a real estate agent tomorrow.

I left home to attend college in Pittsburgh, met Jake during freshman year, and never went back. We had been together ever since, until now. Now, it was just me .
 . . and that was just fine.

During the five-hour trip, I passed the time with my playlist and an audio book, and before I knew it, I was taking the turn into my old neighborhood. This being July, the middle of summer, people were out in their yards mowing grass or tending flower beds, and there were even a few kids running through a sprinkler, which made me smile.

As I drove down the street, I inhaled the wonderful aroma of fresh-cut grass and wondered about my old neighbor and childhood friend, Grayson Scott. We had been inseparable when we were kids. I would go to his house and be forced to look through numerous baseball cards, which at the time I thought was horrible, but I eventually knew so many stats I impressed myself and most of the guys I met. The best times were when Grayson came over to my house and I made him play dress up. I laughed at a memory of him with a princess tiara on his head. He was the cutest boy in elementary school and the hottest guy in high school, partly because he was a star baseball player. But he was just Grayson to me, my friend and the guy I wanted to call my own more than anything, yet never did.

I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home and just sat there in the car. I couldn’t believe I was back. It looked exactly the same, down to the shrubs that lined the sidewalk in front of the porch. My gaze went to the maple tree and I smiled. It was where Grayson had first kissed me. We were in the seventh grade, and we had to go to our first boy/girl party that night. I was terrified I would end up playing a game like spin the bottle and not know how to kiss, so Grayson graciously offered to be my first kiss. I remember feeling light-headed afterward. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was afraid of being caught by my father, or due to the kiss itself.

Grayson was the recipient of most of my firsts: first kiss, first dance, first boy I held hands with, and the first boy to get to second base. I fell hard for him during our junior year in high school, but when he took Mary McArthur to the prom, I was so devastated that I threw myself into my studies and we grew apart. Then I left to attend college in Pennsylvania and met Jake.

I got out of the car and looked toward his old house. My aunt said she saw Grayson occasionally, but he was always entertaining. I knew what that meant; I certainly wasn’t a kid anymore. At thirty-nine, I could definitely read between the lines. I got out of my car and pulled out the boxes from my trunk.

When I walked in, the house reminded me of when I had lived there. Even though most of the furniture was already gone, my aunt had hardly changed a thing. I ran my hand along the back of the chair where I would sit and read for hours; that was definitely my favorite thing to do. Inspired, I set the boxes down and sat in my chair, looking around and taking everything in. All my memories hit me like a tidal wave, like having dinner with my father, or playing cards with him and just talking about our day. This house definitely held good memories, and at this point in my life, that was all I had.

My energy faded, and I decided I needed a burst of caffeine. I had a cooler in the car with my Mountain Dew in it, which I knew would help. When I walked out the front door, I heard cackling, so I paused on the front porch. I looked toward the sound and saw two attractive young women getting into a car in Grayson’s driveway. The car pulled out and one of the blondes waved. I turned my head and saw Grayson leaning up against his front door in low-slung jeans, no shirt, and what looked like just-fucked hair. He bent over to light a cigarette, and every muscle in his torso was prominent and perfect. His face looked the same, but his body was definitely not what I remembered.

He looked my way and tilted his head. Ignoring him, I turned toward my car and went to get my soda, praying he didn’t recognize me. Compared to the women who just left, I must have looked like an old hag. My hair was in a messy ponytail secured by a clip on the top of my head, resembling a bird’s nest, and I was rumpled from being in the car for eight hours. At this point, I probably didn’t have any makeup left on my face.

As I leaned in for my soda, I glanced at my rearview mirror and confirmed that .
 . . yeah, I looked like death warmed over. Which totally sucked because I’d been told that I was pretty. I took enough yoga and spin classes so my body stayed toned, and I wasn’t old enough or droopy enough yet for my nipples to reach my waistband. I just wished I looked better at this moment.

I heard movement behind me and prayed it wasn’t him, but my prayer wasn’t answered.

“Soph?”

His voice was deeper than I remembered, and hit me like a dart right in my chest. I turned and tried to look as unfazed as I could.

“Hi, Grayson.”

He flicked his cigarette away and pulled me into a hug. I inhaled deeply, detecting smoke and something else on his skin, maybe it was remnants of the ladies who had just left, and for some reason that made my stomach churn. I tried not to let my hands wander up his back, and since I was tempted, I let them fall away.

“It’s so good to see you.” Grayson pulled back but held me with a firm grip on my upper arms. “Let me look at you.”

As I looked into his eyes, all the feelings from years past came flooding back into my heart. I had no clue what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I stood there and stared at this man who was my close friend so many years ago, and the man I’d always wanted. Then I remembered the blondes who had been at his house, and moved away from his grasp.

“God, Soph, you grew up nice. Your aunt didn’t tell me you were coming. I knew she was moving, but she never mentioned you coming back.” He frowned slightly as he added, “I would have been out here waiting.”

I shrugged. “That’s okay. You seemed like you were busy anyway. I don’t want to keep you if you need to go.”

Where did that come from? However, I did wonder if there was another woman stashed inside.

He looked toward his house, and then back to me, “Oh. They were just clients. Where’s Jake?”

Annoyed that this subject came up so quickly, I looked down and fidgeted with the top of my soda can, idly wondered what type of clients they were. Realizing it was none of my business, I quickly cleared my head of that thought and said, “I assume he’s with his girlfriend.”

I looked up and Grayson’s eyes filled with .
 . . concern? . . . and an agitated look ran across his face. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes, as of nine a.m. this morning, we’re divorced.” I held up my left hand, which was now devoid of a ring. I popped open the Mountain Dew and took a sip. “Would you like a soda?”

He shook his head. “No, I just wanted to know if you’re okay. Are you moving back here?” His voice sounded almost hopeful, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.

I half laughed and possibly snorted a little. “No. I’m just here to get the house ready for the new owners. I just leased a place in Philly.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it sold. How long are you staying?”

“I leave tomorrow. I need to sign some papers. It’s just a formality, since the new owners are the agent’s son and daughter-in-law, so the sign didn’t even have to go in the ground. I’m meeting with her tomorrow. It feels strange being here, you know?” I took another sip. “There are a lot of memories in this house. I need to pack them up and start fresh.”

Grayson pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, then tilted the pack toward me. “Smoke?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you, but you go ahead, I need to get back inside and pack.”

He slid the unlit cigarette back in the pack and smiled. “Want a hand?”

“You want to help me pack?”

“Sure, why not. I don’t have plans tonight.”

I snickered. “Need to regain your energy?”

His eyes instantly shuttered and the friendly look on his face cooled somewhat. Oh my God, what the hell was wrong with me? This was my friend, not Jake.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “That was out of line. You can do whatever and whoever you want. I shouldn’t have said that. It isn’t any of my business.” I closed the car door and he backed up a few steps.

“Whatever and whoever?” His tone told me that Grayson definitely didn’t appreciate that comment.

“I’m sorry. Like I said, I shouldn’t have said anything.” I turned toward my house and walked away.

“Does that include you?” he asked in a low voice.

I froze and paused, considering. Maybe he did appreciate my comment. Then I turned to face him. “What?”

“Whatever and whoever,” he repeated. “Does that include you?” His deep brown eyes bore into me, seeking a response.

Completely out of my depth and taken off guard, I was unsure of what to say. “Um .
 . .”

Grayson laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you have a lot of men back home waiting for you now that you’re available. I was never your type anyway.”

I shook my head in disbelief and turned to walk back to the house. I had just walked in the front door and turned to say good-bye when my body collided with his. The only thing in between us was the soda can in my hand.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I didn’t know you were behind me.”

Embarrassed, I looked away and dropped my gaze to his bare feet, then slowly brought it up to his messy midnight hair, taking in every delicious sight in between. God, he was gorgeous. A smile made my lips twitch because I was tempted to touch him all over. Not wanting to make it obvious I’d been ogling him, I lowered my head.

He put his index finger under my chin and lifted it. “Let me help you. I haven’t seen you in years, and I’d love to catch up.”