Eight Days in the Sun Read online

  I almost stumble on the stairs, taking them way too fast for my own good.

  Her footsteps are fast, coming toward me with hard strides. “Mason, I’m right here.” She touches my arm.

  My heart is liable to beat straight out of my chest. “We have to get out.”

  “It's okay—”

  “Let’s go,” I yell. I feel her jerk back. “Now.”

  “It’s fireworks, Mason.”

  Fuck.

  Did I really just freak out over fireworks? The really pathetic part is even though she’s told me what that horrible sound is, a sound I recognize, I am still going crazy.

  She rubs my arms. “Hey, why don’t you sit down.”

  I do. Right there on the third step. Molly brushes my side. Kiran sits next to me. I hate that she is seeing me this way, weak and pitiful. I bury my face in my hands.

  “I’ll be right back,” she says.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To ask them to stop.” Her voice is determined. “One of your neighbors is letting them off. I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.”

  It’s almost laughable for her to think she’ll make them stop. I reach for her. As much I hate her to see me like this, I can’t stand the idea of being alone. “Stay with me.”

  “Okay.”

  Why the fuck am I shaking? I press my hands against my ears to drown out the noise.

  She crawls into my lap, each movement tentative as if she’s asking for permission. I wrap my arms around her.

  “I’m such a loser.” I didn’t mean to say it aloud, but some thoughts cannot be jailed.

  “You’re the bravest man I know.”

  My response is far too cynical to be a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. You thought there were bombs going off, and the first thing you did was come looking for me. If that’s not brave, I don’t know what is.”

  I bury my head in her shoulder. The pops grow louder, each one causing me to tense. She hums against my ear. Then she sings, her soft breath hitting my skin. It takes me a moment to recognize the tune. “Home.” She’s singing Daughtry’s, “Home.” My go-to, feel-good song.

  I hold her tight, rocking back and forth. Maybe it’s minutes or hours, hard to tell because she doesn’t know all the words. One verse bleeds into another. I’m calmer. I even manage a smile when she messes up a line. She leans her forehead against mine.

  “Are you smiling because I’m a horrible singer?” she asks.

  “I’m smiling because you make me feel good.”

  I run my nose down her neck, inhaling the scent of jasmine and tangerines and Kiran. She’s wearing a thin shirt and shorts. Her breasts are heaving against my chest. I drop my hands so they rest on the staircase in an effort to keep them to myself.

  I fail.

  I feel around until I find her ankle. I circle them and inch higher, traveling the journey up her long, long legs. She lets out a sound of pleasure that undoes me. I grasp her hips. She clutches my shoulders. I move up her sides. Her hair brushes against my face. I tangle my fingers through it several times.

  “Your hair is shorter.”

  “About three inches.”

  “You use a different shampoo now, don’t you? It smells of peppermint.”

  “Peppermint and rosemary.”

  I have to see her…all of her. There is only way I can accomplish that. I place my hands on the sides of her face. I have to touch her now. I slide my thumbs across her forehead, over her eyebrows, down her nose, and across her high cheeks.

  “You didn’t have the scar removed?”

  “No. It’s part of me now.”

  She’s still for me, patient and calm, so I can take my time. I trace my thumbs over her lips. Those fucking delicious lips that put me under a spell. Nothing has changed. They’re still soft and sensual and plump. She has that deep indented line that runs vertically down the lower lip. I remember kissing her there.

  I want more of her. I want to tease and taste and touch. I want everything. The kiss is uncontrollable. I meant it to be soft and slow, but once I press my lips against hers, I lose it. The dance between us becomes aggressive. I crush my mouth into hers, holding her head with my hands.

  I don’t relent. I taste her mouth. I tug on her lower lip. I pull her hair. Blood pumps at an alarming speed through every one of my veins.

  She gasps. “Mason—”

  I keep kissing her, hard, much too hard to be pleasurable or passionate. It’s an aggressive full frontal attack. My lips are chapped. Hers have to be bruised. I am being too rough. Too needy. I know this.

  She pulls away from me, gasping. “Mason, please.”

  She shivers in my arms. Ever heard the sound of a tear roll down someone’s face? Someone who means everything to you? I have. It tears me apart.

  I hang my head in shame. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I don’t—”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”

  “Then why the hell are you crying?”

  “I wish I wasn’t. I don’t want this emotion right now, but it’s here, and I can’t stop it.” She expels a double-sob in close succession, something only toddlers or folks who are truly emotionally drained do.

  “Kiran, I can’t see your face so you really need to explain to me what is happening with you.”

  “I didn’t pine away for you for the last five years. I lived my life. But you were never far from my thoughts. I watched the news religiously. Whenever I heard about military casualties, I held my breath until they released the names. I died a million tiny deaths in the last five years. Every night before I went to bed, I prayed you were safe. I haven’t reconciled it all in my head. Everything is happening so fast, the tears just came out.” Her voice is quiet and cracks just about every other word. Even in this proximity I have to strain to hear her.

  “And you’re crying because of what happened to me? Who I am?”

  A throaty sound comes from her as if she’s shocked by what I said. “Are you really this blind? I just explained it to you. These are tears of joy. I am so fucking relieved you are safe, and I’m so angry with you at the same time. I don’t know whether to keep kissing you or smack your head.”

  Running my thumb over her lips, I smile. “I vote for the first choice. That is, if I am allowed a vote.”

  I feel her mouth curve as I slide my thumb across it.

  She kisses me this time, a soft sweet kiss. I don’t move. I let her lead us. I understand she had no time to process this. I want to follow her. There is no doubt I frightened her earlier. I hate myself for it. I don’t trust myself not to react like a savage beast again so I give her the control. Her fingers curl into mine. I squeeze her hand. Slowly, my mouth reacts, matching her rhythm. It’s as if I’m learning how to kiss all over again. It’s always been different with Kiran than anyone else, a feeling I cannot define except to say it makes me feel whole.

  We kiss long after the last firework has blasted the sky.

  At least, the ones outside.

  Chapter 29

  Mason

  Jeff gave us a full tour of his boat. I’m surprised at how comfortable I am maneuvering around. Not that Jeff or Kiran will let me fall overboard or get caught in a sail. There are six of us on the boat. We set sail, heading to deeper waters where all the best fish stories start. Kiran is wearing shorts. I know this because the bench seat is narrow and my hand has accidently landed on her bare knee a few times.

  Okay, maybe not so accidently.

  She doesn’t inch away. When I apologize, she just brushes closer to me.

  Flirty Kiran is a dangerous thing.

  We all have a long chat. Kiran gets an earful of our high school glory years and debauchery. There are a few of my more embarrassing moments in there too. The time my buddies and I took a shortcut to school by hopping a fence only to be met with the meanest junkyard dog on the planet is not a tale I enjoy hearing. Especially considering
said mutt ripped the back pocket of my jeans and boxers clean off. I showed up to school reporting for first period breathless and bare-assed. Kiran laughs so hard she snorts, which in turn cracks me up.

  Having a few beers with old friends while fishing are things I took for granted, but now I realize how special they are. I tell Jeff to man his boat and stop hovering over me. Hopefully, his sister will get the same message. Lana has never made it a secret she has a crush on me, although I’ve never returned the feelings. Despite moving away from her and every other non-verbal signal I can manage, she’s right there every two steps. I swear she has more hands than an octopus.

  I’m pissed she thinks my disability entitles her to put her hands on me, using the ruse of being helpful. I tell her in the most respectful way to cut it the fuck out. “Lana, you put your hands on me one more time, I’m blowing a rape whistle.” Okay, so maybe not the most tactful of approaches.

  “Um…sorry. Just didn’t want you to fall. We on are water after all.”

  “I feel the railing.”

  “Will you teach me to fish, Mason?” Kiran asks, maybe to help extricate me from Octagirl.

  “I’d love to.”

  We find a quiet spot on the port side. Several people offer to help us with our lines, what with Kiran being inexperienced and me being me. I refuse, though. It takes a while and Kiran has to help, but we finally manage to rig up our tackles.

  “Thought we’re supposed to use worms,” she says.

  “Shrimp are better in my opinion. I prefer live, but looks like Jeff went with frozen. It’ll still do the job.”

  “That’s a relief. I don’t think I could handle wriggling worms. I’m having a hard enough time with this shrimp.” She sighs in frustration, her pole falling to the ground.

  I laugh as I imagine the disgusted look on her face. “Give it here. I’ll set you up.”

  I pray I don’t look like an idiot and hook myself. Like everything else in my new life, it takes a while to figure it out, but I finally do. Then I bait my own line. “You ready to cast off, Shenoy? Hopefully, we can lure ourselves a little dinner.”

  “Let’s do it.” She casts out. I follow.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we wait.” I hold up my beer. She clinks hers against the glass. The waves are peaceful, almost lulling. The sun is low, casting an orange aura over everything.

  “I read your book,” I say, two beers later. “I enjoyed it.”

  “What?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I have an app on my phone that read it to me.”

  “You’re kidding. How did you even know I wrote a book?”

  I shrug.

  She bumps my shoulder. “Seriously, tell me.”

  “I cheated. I looked you up a few times.”

  “Yeah, I thought you cheated. Dana said you read my article too.”

  “I’ve read everything you’ve written. You’re definitely following your calling, Kiran.”

  “Did you really enjoy it?” The question is full of nerves and self-doubt.

  “I did.”

  “It wasn’t successful. Only ten people bought it, and I’m not skewing those numbers. It’s a fact.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell her only three people bought it. I know this because I purchased seven copies for myself. “That doesn’t mean it’s not good, Kiran. Will you write another?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “You should.”

  “Tell me the truth, Mason. Don’t lie to me.”

  I read the missing words in her sentence. Don’t lie to me again. Don’t send me fake letters and tell me you don’t care about me. She’s right. She deserves better. “I’ll tell you it’s not my typical genre, so I may not be the best judge.”

  “There is a conjunction missing in that sentence. Spit it out, Cutler.”

  “I liked it. I did. With that being said, I felt it was a little idealistic.” I close my eyes, reciting the last line. “He takes her hand and leads her into the horizon toward an uncertain future, but they both know their love will overcome any obstacle in their path.” I wondered, after reading that line, if that’s what she wanted for us. What she wanted from me. What I didn’t have the courage to do.

  She chuckles. “Yeah, I suppose. But then again, I’ve always been a dreamer.”

  That’s what I love about you, Kiran. “Thank you for coming with me. I know this isn’t your thing.”

  “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

  I’m about to call out her lie when she squeals. An honest to goodness girly squeal. “I think I’ve got something.”

  “Well, hold on to it, girl.”

  She stands. Her feet stomp as if she’s trying to gain traction. She’s about to snap her line with all that moving. I reach for her hand. “Steady. Be steady.”

  “I can’t hold it.”

  “You can,” I say, my voice calm, almost at the opposite end of the spectrum to hers. “Pull back on the reel…slow.”

  I lean my chest into her back. Several pairs of footsteps head in our direction, signaling we’ve drawn a crowd. They yell out advice, one voice muffling into another.

  “Quiet,” I say. “She’s got this.”

  Her body tenses. “I don’t think I do.”

  “Relax. Let me help.” I run my hands down her arms until I reach the reel. She doesn’t move. We work together. This fish is definitely a fighter. It wriggles and squirms. We’re patient, letting it tire. When I feel her tense, I take over the reel. When she relaxes, I hand it back to her. We’re at it for an hour. When our catch finally emerges, Kiran shrieks in delight.

  Jeff claps me on the back. “Congrats guys, that’s gotta be the biggest Spanish mackerel I’ve ever seen.”

  “The way it fought, I thought it was a shark,” Kiran says.

  I laugh as I pull in our catch. “Honey, if it was a shark, we’d both be its dinner because it would have dragged us overboard.”

  Once we get it into the ice, I tell her to sit. I massage her arms and shoulders until I feel the tight knots unraveling. When we dock, we cook the day’s catch over an open flame.

  “Good job, darling.” I polish off my plate.

  She leans her head against my shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” Her sentence is interrupted by a yawn.

  “What do you say we bid our thanks to Jeff and say our good-byes?”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “Positive.”

  The whole way home, we play old forgotten country songs and sing along. We’re both tired, but it’s that good kind of exhaustion. The kind that’s ripe with accomplishment.

  “Are you expecting someone?” she asks as we pull into the driveway.

  “No.”

  “There’s a car in the driveway.”

  “What kind?”

  “A black car.”

  “I’m gonna need more specifics.”

  “A black car, stained with rust spots, and a broken taillight.”

  “Not what I meant, Shenoy.”

  “Sorry, Mason, guess we’ll just have to find out because I probably couldn’t tell the make and model in the daytime, let alone in the dark.”

  It doesn’t take long to find out.

  “Mason!” she yells. “We’ve been waiting for you all day.” The voice is loud enough to penetrate through the closed windows.

  “You recognize her voice?” Kiran asks.

  “Yeah.” I wince, wishing we could back out the driveway and keep on driving until we hit the ocean.

  “Who is she?”

  “A woman who once rented me space in her womb for nine months, and I’ve been paying back rent ever since.”

  Chapter 30

  Kiran

  Mason’s mom is attractive, but it’s clear from her wrinkled face and the way she carries herself she’s had some difficult years. She has the same honey-colored hair as her children and Mason’s blue
eyes. She’s wearing a low-cut dress and worn tennis shoes.

  “What can I do for you?” Mason asks, as soon as he steps out of the car.

  “I’m over here, Mason.” She puts her arms out and takes a few steps toward Mason. He holds his hand up, gesturing her to stop.

  “I know exactly where you are. Stay there.”

  “What kind of way is that to talk to your mama?”

  “What do you want?” There is a cold sharpness in Mason’s tone I have never heard before.

  “To see my son.” She blinks at me a few times. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Kiran. I’m helping out while Dana is away,” I explain, not wanting to put anything else on Mason’s shoulders. He’s tense, struggling with something deep and dark.

  “And where is Dana?”

  “In Antarctica,” I say.

  The woman gives me a sideways glance before she bursts out laughing. “Are you pulling my leg?”

  “She’s not,” Mason answers. “It’s been Dana’s dream for at least ten years. Of course, you wouldn’t know that.”

  The woman fidgets with her dress. “Now, now, son, no reason this can’t be pleasant.”

  “Mrs. Cutler,” I say, stepping between Mason and her. “Maybe you can come back in the morning?”

  “Hardly, I’m only passing through.” She knocks three hard, loud raps on the car window. “Gerald, get up.”

  I touch Mason’s arm to let him know where I am. “There is someone in the car.”

  The man takes his time stepping out of the vehicle. He runs a hand through the few flyaway wisps on his head before making his way toward us.

  “Come and meet your new stepdaddy, son.” She holds up her hand to reveal a small stone. When Mason doesn’t react, she puts her arm down. “Oh sorry, I’m still getting used to you not being able to see.”

  “Used to it? How did you even know?”

  “I still have friends in this town, Son. I called as soon as I found out. Didn’t Dana tell you? I wanted to visit earlier, but she said not to come. She told me you didn’t want to see me.”’

  “She was right.”

  Gerald takes a few steps forward, his face fitted with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hi, Mason, Carla has told me a lot about you.” He reaches his arm out.