A Brand New Ending (Page 14)

He just didn’t know how it ended. Yet.

An image of Ophelia drifted before him.

Why had taking care of her last weekend felt so right? How had the years and space between them drifted away to nothing, leaving him with an aching heart and sense of loss?

He’d watched over her as she slept, tormented by the past and what he’d left behind.

He knew the connection between them still burned. She’d definitely reacted when he mentioned their past physical intimacy. But it had been that vulnerable flash in her baby blues that convinced him she still had feelings for him, deeper than the physical. He wanted to remind her of how good they’d been together. Every day, he would have a chance to stir up a memory. Every day, he’d be able to learn all the ways she’d changed.

He’d fight to get her back.

Except, the past few days, she’d stuck to her word and barely acknowledged his presence. If they passed each other on the way in or out, she nodded and kept walking. He’d tried several times to talk to her, but her gaze inspected him as if he was a bug under a microscope instead of the man who used to make her shatter and scream. Then she’d coldly dismiss him. He heard her consistently clattering around downstairs, always involved in some type of project. Every time he begged her to give him a few minutes to discuss something important, she shut him down, saying she was busy.

It was humiliating.

And he still hadn’t told her the truth.

Guilt stirred. Somehow, he had to force her to listen. Maybe everything would change once he revealed his discovery. To him, the whole thing was a sign that they had a shot at a second chance.

But first, he needed to concentrate on the mess in front of him.

The blank page.

Kyle shifted in the chair, closed his eyes, and sought his muse. He’d learned through years of hard work the temptress sometimes decided not to show. When that happened, he would write anyway, vomiting garbage on the page until something worth saving appeared. Usually, she got annoyed that he was doing it alone and nosily inserted herself into the process to help him come up with something decent. Eventually, something good. And finally, something great.

The fucked-up, glamorous life of a writer.

After waiting the proper amount of time and realizing she was taking a winter nap, he opened his eyes and let his instincts take over.

This story began with a young girl and boy in love.

They were running away from home, toward fame and fortune.

They lay back on the soft carpet of green grass and stared up at the stars. He didn’t care about the occasional crawly bug on his body, or the swarm of gnats above them, or the threat of ticks feasting on his skin. His focus had narrowed to the girl pressed against him. Her red-gold hair spilling over his chest and her fingers entwined with his drove such earthly irritations away. She smelled of lavender and honey, a mixture of the ingredients she mixed for the body cream she sold at the farmers’ market. He wondered if any expensive perfume could make him as crazed, like a horse ready to breed.

How many years had she annoyed the shit out of him? Sure, they were friends, but she was a girl and always busting in on the cool stuff he was doing with her brother, who was his best friend. Everything they did she insisted she could do just as well, until she was more tomboy than girl. By the time he’d reached adolescence, she was just part of the fabric of his life.

Was she sixteen when he finally realized she was beautiful? Her lips always looked like they’d been stung by a bee, and those jeans and T-shirts she wore seemed so much tighter, emphasizing sudden ripe curves that kept seizing his gaze. Suddenly, those fiery blue eyes held a different heat—one he wanted to delve into and explore. Her brother didn’t seem to notice the strange new vibe in the air when they squeezed into the cracked vinyl booth at the diner in town or worked side by side in the barn, sweat sticking to their clothes and the scent of horses, hay, and hormones hanging thickly in the air.

He wondered what she’d taste like. He wondered how smooth her pale skin would be under his hand. He wondered if she thought of him in the same way, or if he was just being a sick, horny bastard—he was like another brother to her.

Shame and fear kept him from doing anything. He’d tried kissing another girl, but her face swarmed his vision. He backed away, because it felt like a betrayal. He’d never tried to kiss someone else again.

When she was seventeen, they went for a ride in the field and she challenged him to a race. Hooves thundering, he chased her through the woods, obsessed with the way her long hair caught the wind and the perfect curve of her ass as she rose in the saddle and expertly urged her mare to go faster.

The crash of deer in the woods had startled the horses. He’d reined in his mount at the same time he watched in horror as she tumbled off her seat and lay motionless in the grass.

Choking fear vaulted him to her side in seconds. He ran his trembling hands over her body, checking for breaks, cupping her face and whispering her name like a prayer, over and over, until she opened her eyes.

Their gazes locked. The air warmed, hanging heavy and stagnant. The sun burned. A bird screeched in the trees. The snort of horses’ breath echoed behind them.

“Are you hurt? Baby, please talk to me.”

A small smile rested on her lips. “I’m fine. Just got winded. I still won.”

He cursed and pressed his forehead to hers in sheer relief. “I’m going to kill you. You scared the shit out of me. I told you not to go toward the creek path, but you never listen. Why are you always trying to prove you’re better?”

Her arms lifted, and her fingers rested in his hair. “Don’t be mad,” she whispered. Her bright-blue eyes flared with a mix of raw emotions. Heat. Want. Need. “Maybe I just wanted to get your attention.”

The energy shifted. Suddenly, he realized his hands hadn’t moved and his thumbs were stroking the edges of her mouth, his lips inches from hers. Her sweet breath rushed over him, and suddenly he was hard, aching, and insane to touch her, kiss her . . .

So he did.

It was a kiss that had built for a year in his memory, and maybe more in his dreams. With a breathy sigh, her arms tightened around him, and then she was kissing him back. The pleasure was so intense, the ground shifted beneath him.

They kissed each other in the long grass under the stinging sun for endless, stunning moments. He tasted her with his tongue, stroked her hair, and drank in her scent. He was changed forever because he knew he loved her more than anything, this girl who knew every one of his secrets. There was nothing to hide from her, which made the kiss the purest of all—a kiss of innocence, openness, and giving over everything he was for safekeeping.

When he finally lifted his head, they smiled at each other. He pulled her up, took her hand, and walked back to the stables, guiding the horses. There was never any explanation or discussion or questioning about the turn of events. No drama or pain or teen angst that could rip and shred the heart and soul.

After that kiss, everything had changed.

They were just . . . together.

Kyle emerged from the fog. He stretched and read over the words, excitement stirring in his gut.

Yes. This was what he needed. He’d been wrong to try and write it as a script. This particular story needed to be written as a book first, evolving from his memory. Once the images and emotions took hold, he’d be able to structure the script from the novel, swapping out narrative and thought for dialogue and action.

He went back to work.