decadent.
The hard part was glancing up into Felicity’s soft, watchful eyes as she studied his face as if she’d be quizzed on it later. “What happened when you were a little kid, Zane?”
There it was. The question he tried never to think about, the memory he’d do anything to erase. But sitting on the hood of Felicity’s car and staring out over the merciless vastness of the ocean, Zane felt the memory swirl up to the surface of his mind, unchangeable and undeniable as the tide.
“I grew up in Pennsylvania, in farm country. My parents used to have a vacation condo, though, on the coast. We went there every summer, my parents and me, and my older brother, Michael.”
Felicity perched next to him on the car, the sweet line of her body warm even against the chill of the wind coming off the water. “You have an older brother?”
“Had,” Zane said tightly, around the ache in his throat and the burning behind his eyes. “Past tense. Michael died when I was ten, and he was thirteen.”
“Oh, Zane.” Felicity reached out to him, anguish in her voice and sympathy in her gaze.
It was a fight to let her touch him, not to jerk away from the softness of her curves leaning into him, the steady support of her arm around his shoulders. Part of Zane didn’t want the comfort, didn’t want to think he needed it—and maybe didn’t think he deserved it. But through sheer force of will, he stayed still and let Felicity tug him close.
“I’d say we don’t have to talk about this,” she murmured, pressing her forehead into the space between his neck and his shoulder. “But honestly, I think we do. Or at least, you need to talk about it with someone. And I’m here.”
“Do you think I’d discuss this with just anyone?” Zane grated out, every muscle tense and straining. “I don’t talk about Michael. Ever.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” The words ripped out of his chest, cracking him open. “It’s my fault he died.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Felicity gripped his shoulder more tightly, pulling back to stare seriously up at him.
Startled, Zane jerked away from her. “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know you were ten years old,” she said firmly, with no hesitation. “You were a child. No matter what happened, no matter how you feel about it now, it wasn’t your fault.”
Zane smiled, bleak and wintry enough to hurt his cheeks. “Ah, Felicity. You, more than most people, know how much responsibility a child’s shoulders can carry.”
“And, as someone recently pointed out to me, that’s not exactly healthy. But go on—you were about to tell me what happened.”
Striving for the light, easy storytelling tone that had never eluded him before, Zane said, “I’m sure you can fill in the blanks. We were at the beach, and I swam out too far. The waves were bigger than I thought, rougher. I couldn’t keep my feet.”
Without warning, the flat words gained depth and dimension in Zane’s head, sucking him down into the stinging cold blackness of the waves closing over him, picking him up and throwing him down onto the scraping ocean floor. He gulped for air, gasping in shock when he breathed easily.
He wasn’t that kid anymore. He was safe. And Michael wasn’t. “You know, it’s strange. In movies and on TV, when they show a person drowning he’s always waving his arms and calling for help—but that’s not what it’s really like. I just sank. I kept trying to get upright, to push down on the water with my arms, but I couldn’t get them above the surface. And I definitely didn’t have the breath to shout or scream. To this day, I don’t know how Michael even realized I was in trouble. But he did.”
Felicity remained silent, but her slender hand found his much larger one and squeezed. Zane didn’t understand how such a small thing could give him the guts to go on, but it did.
Staring out over the empty, calm ocean, Zane said, “Michael swam out to
The hard part was glancing up into Felicity’s soft, watchful eyes as she studied his face as if she’d be quizzed on it later. “What happened when you were a little kid, Zane?”
There it was. The question he tried never to think about, the memory he’d do anything to erase. But sitting on the hood of Felicity’s car and staring out over the merciless vastness of the ocean, Zane felt the memory swirl up to the surface of his mind, unchangeable and undeniable as the tide.
“I grew up in Pennsylvania, in farm country. My parents used to have a vacation condo, though, on the coast. We went there every summer, my parents and me, and my older brother, Michael.”
Felicity perched next to him on the car, the sweet line of her body warm even against the chill of the wind coming off the water. “You have an older brother?”
“Had,” Zane said tightly, around the ache in his throat and the burning behind his eyes. “Past tense. Michael died when I was ten, and he was thirteen.”
“Oh, Zane.” Felicity reached out to him, anguish in her voice and sympathy in her gaze.
It was a fight to let her touch him, not to jerk away from the softness of her curves leaning into him, the steady support of her arm around his shoulders. Part of Zane didn’t want the comfort, didn’t want to think he needed it—and maybe didn’t think he deserved it. But through sheer force of will, he stayed still and let Felicity tug him close.
“I’d say we don’t have to talk about this,” she murmured, pressing her forehead into the space between his neck and his shoulder. “But honestly, I think we do. Or at least, you need to talk about it with someone. And I’m here.”
“Do you think I’d discuss this with just anyone?” Zane grated out, every muscle tense and straining. “I don’t talk about Michael. Ever.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” The words ripped out of his chest, cracking him open. “It’s my fault he died.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Felicity gripped his shoulder more tightly, pulling back to stare seriously up at him.
Startled, Zane jerked away from her. “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know you were ten years old,” she said firmly, with no hesitation. “You were a child. No matter what happened, no matter how you feel about it now, it wasn’t your fault.”
Zane smiled, bleak and wintry enough to hurt his cheeks. “Ah, Felicity. You, more than most people, know how much responsibility a child’s shoulders can carry.”
“And, as someone recently pointed out to me, that’s not exactly healthy. But go on—you were about to tell me what happened.”
Striving for the light, easy storytelling tone that had never eluded him before, Zane said, “I’m sure you can fill in the blanks. We were at the beach, and I swam out too far. The waves were bigger than I thought, rougher. I couldn’t keep my feet.”
Without warning, the flat words gained depth and dimension in Zane’s head, sucking him down into the stinging cold blackness of the waves closing over him, picking him up and throwing him down onto the scraping ocean floor. He gulped for air, gasping in shock when he breathed easily.
He wasn’t that kid anymore. He was safe. And Michael wasn’t. “You know, it’s strange. In movies and on TV, when they show a person drowning he’s always waving his arms and calling for help—but that’s not what it’s really like. I just sank. I kept trying to get upright, to push down on the water with my arms, but I couldn’t get them above the surface. And I definitely didn’t have the breath to shout or scream. To this day, I don’t know how Michael even realized I was in trouble. But he did.”
Felicity remained silent, but her slender hand found his much larger one and squeezed. Zane didn’t understand how such a small thing could give him the guts to go on, but it did.
Staring out over the empty, calm ocean, Zane said, “Michael swam out to
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