Lost Years Read online

  Oh God…that dimple.

  Dream girl in the flesh. Her hair was shorter but no less vibrant. Her skin was porcelain, her smile pure sunshine. Play it cool, shithead.

  She adjusted her guitar strap, sweeping her bright eyes over the audience. She smiled in my direction. I stood straighter, soaking it all in. But her eyes stopped when she found Russell. His ear-splitting whistle confirmed the smile was for him.

  “Love you, girl,” he hooted.

  She laughed and blew him a kiss.

  “Thank y’all for coming out. This song has always meant a lot to me. Because it talks about how a woman handles a bully. Thank you, Miranda Lambert for ‘Gunpowder & Lead.’ I hope my version does yours justice. Feel free to sing along, folks.”

  Her long fingers strummed that guitar like the instrument was an extension of her body. Her soft voice turned strong and raw with every note. She took in a sharp, emotional breath at the chorus.

  She owned the music.

  She owned the stage.

  She owned my heart.

  I’d never heard it, but it became my new favorite song. Her lips glistened, and I licked my own lips. What flavor are you wearing?

  People did sing along, but her raspy voice owned the stage. Was the song, with clear undertones of abuse, dedicated to someone? My hands fisted.

  Two other girls sang the next song with her, each taking a stanza and blending their voices, swaying their hips, snapping their fingers in rhythm. She announced it as “I Feel a Sin Comin’ On” by the Pistol Annies.

  I’m the sin she’s singing about. She was a thing of miraculous composure, drawing energy from the crowd, all the while flashing them a smile capable of melting steel.

  In my peripheral, Russell swallowed hard. There were several other guys with similar reactions. I couldn’t blame them. She was beautiful beyond words…beyond dreams. But she was real.

  I was a walking cliché.

  Life was good.

  Dreams did come true.

  Everything hopeless in my world had disappeared.

  Russell made his way to her as she walked off the stage.

  He picked her up and spun her around. I worked on relaxing my face into a casual smile, sure my jealousy was a bright green beacon that could be seen all the way to Houston.

  Don’t fuck up.

  A deep ache formed in my gut. Her laugh died when she saw me. She gasped, her eyes widening as she took me in from head to toe. I could almost hear her thoughts. “Stop fucking me with your eyes, Flynn,” she said.

  We stared at each other with a raw intensity, as if we were the only two people in the world.

  “Hi,” she said, her eyes fixed on me.

  “Hi,” I said, wished I’d thought of some better way to greet her.

  Russell coughed obnoxiously, breaking the spell. She exhaled, keeping her eyes fixed on me.

  “Who’s your friend, Russ?”

  “Jury’s still out if he’s my friend. But his name’s Jason Flynn. He’s Rose’s nephew.”

  I took her hand, holding it tighter and longer than made sense. I could feel her pulse as my thumb slid across her wrist.

  “Scarlett Jones.”

  I finally had a name. Scarlett—that sounded right as I repeated it. What would I say to her in this crucial moment where flesh met fate?

  “Scarlett Jones, I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve been dreaming about you most of my life.”

  A slow blush spread across her creamy skin, making the freckles dotted across her cheek disappear for a quick beat. She laughed, a nervous, high, jittery sound as her fingers slipped out of mine. Taking a step back, she placed her hand against her clavicle.

  “Hope you changed the sheets after.”

  Russell’s laugh boomed over the music.

  Fucking idiot, just because you dreamed about her doesn’t mean she did.

  “He’s from New York,” Russell said, as if that explained my insanity.

  “Well, New York, thanks for coming to my going away party.”

  Defeat sank into every one of my bones. I was a walking cliché. Life sucked. Dreams were just nightmares in disguise. Everything bad that had ever happened in my life were paper cuts compared to the stabbing blow she’d delivered.

  “You’re leaving?”

  She swallowed, her mouth tilting down.

  Russell, always helpful, chimed in. “Scarlett’s headed to Nashville tomorrow. She’s going to try her hand at the country music business.”

  “Did you enjoy the show, New York?”

  I returned her smile. We had tonight, and I wouldn’t blow it. “You have an amazing voice, Texas. One I’ll be thinking of for a long time to come.”

  I didn’t know if he disapproved of the way we kept staring at each other, but Russell shoved me. I scowled at him, but he was already standing in front of me, blocking us. “Hey, Scar, want to play one together like we used to?”

  “Sure,” she said, taking a few steps to the side. “Did you bring your fiddle?”

  “Would I leave home without it?” He lifted up the black case on the stool next to him.

  She tied her hair back with a knot; one of the braids didn’t make the cut. “Stick around, New York. You might learn a thing or two.”

  “I’ll learn anything you’d care to teach me, Texas,” I called after her. Russell planted his hand on the small of her back and led her to the stage.

  She pounded out Charlie Daniel’s masculine song, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” like a woman who was meant to sing it. She broke out her fiddle and damned if her and Russ didn’t have an actual honest to goodness, fiddle-off. Holy shit. Who knew the fiddle could be so hot?

  The way she held it in the crook of her neck, moving the bow with perfect precision, made me imagine what other talents she had. They traded verses and threw their respected fiddles to each other, as if they’d done this many times. Everyone sang along with him, encouraging them, lifting their glasses in toast.

  My eyes never strayed from her, even while ordering three bottles of beer from the bar. When she came off stage, I handed her one, letting my fingers linger over hers.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking a long swig. I threw the other to Russell. She wiped her lips, but they remained that pretty shade of pale pink.

  Save some of that gloss for me.

  I couldn’t stop the thoughts if I tried. But I had to be more careful about what actually came out of my mouth. Otherwise, I’d scare the hell out of her. “A woman who’s not afraid to sing Charlie Daniels and plays a mean fiddle.” I let out a low whistle. “Very impressive, Texas.”

  “A New York boy who knows Charlie Daniels and respects the fiddle. Also impressive,” she replied with a dimple-revealing smirk.

  “Yeah, we get it. You guys are fucking impressed with each other,” Russell chimed in.

  “Russ, stop being rude,” she said, elbowing him.

  Some girls called to her, and she excused herself, leaving us both to stare after her.

  Russ leaned against the wall. “You like her.”

  “No shit, Shitty Lock Holmes. You like her, too.”

  “She’s my best friend.”

  “And you wish for more.”

  He glared at me. “Damn straight. But it doesn’t look like either of us has a shot in hell, does it?”

  I wanted to prove him wrong. Had I found her just to lose her? What could I say? Don’t leave, I dreamed you. It sounded crazy even to me, and it would just make her run harder and faster. After all, if some guy said something so ridiculous to Anna, I’d tell her to drop the stalker and run like hell.

  “Guess not.”

  All night, I sought her out. Sometimes her eyes would already be on me. Instead of feeling embarrassed for staring at her, I smiled. Whatever was happening between us, she felt it, too. Russ introduced me to people. I shook hands and exchanged greetings, but I kept searching for her.

  Women asked me to dance, but I declined, using my lack of rhythm as an excus
e. Truthfully, I couldn’t look away from Scarlett Jones if I wanted to. I drank in every inch of her like a man dying of dehydration.

  She approached me again, and just before she spoke, some drunk girl grabbed her in an awkward hug, managing to tug down the strap of her top, exposing her shoulder. The sight of the small yellowish, purple bruise there nearly killed me.

  I crushed the plastic water bottle in my fist until it formed a ball tight enough to bounce. I calmed myself, trying to concentrate on her seductive laugh, the curve of her hips, the swing of her hair. She kissed cheeks, offered hugs, and laughed at jokes. The kind of girl whose smile said, “Welcome.” Everyone loved her.

  I listened to a bunch of other songs I’d never heard, except for “Old Town Road.” A tall blonde man with dirty jeans and a grungy T-shirt took her hand. He headed toward the exit, almost dragging her out of the bar.

  I threw my ball of plastic into the nearest receptacle. It bounced off the rim. Russ was right at the exit with me. I wasn’t the only one watching.

  “Who is he?” I asked, falling in stride with Russell.

  “An ex. Bad news.”

  We exited the building, walking in brisk strides until we saw them in a far dark corner on the side of the building.

  “I just want to talk to you. I need to tell you how sorry I am,” he said. He held a hand on each side of Scarlett, pinning her against the wall. Her shiver gave her away, but she stood tall anyway, even though he was three times her size.

  “There is nothing left to say.”

  “I don’t believe that, Scar.”

  “Move along, Vance,” Russ said.

  He ignored Russell, keeping his gaze on her. “This is none of your fucking business, Foster.”

  She held her hand up to quiet Russ. “Vance, you need to leave. I have a restraining order.”

  “I will, but only after you hear what I have to say.”

  “That’s not happening,” Russ said.

  “I wasn’t asking you, Foster. I wouldn’t bet your fucking pansy ass could even beat me in a game of rock, paper, pussy. Just leave us the fuck alone.”

  The drunk idiot was most likely clutching the wall for support as well as boxing her in. I’d let this go on long enough.

  “Either you’re hard of hearing or too stupid to understand. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and let you leave on your own.”

  “And if I don’t?” he asked, not taking his eyes off her. He put a hand down on her shoulder. I grabbed his arm and twisted him around so he had to release her.

  “Then I’ll do my best to teach you a lesson without killing you. I wouldn’t recommend making a bet on that. The odds are slim, and my fists are clumsy.”

  “Who the hell are you?” He turned to her. “Who is this, Scar?”

  “Someone you should listen to,” she said very quietly. I had a feeling she believed it.

  I didn’t want to scare her. So I had to try to resolve this peacefully.

  I stood my full height, my shadow falling on him. He clenched his fists and widened his eyes at the same time. Intimidation was the most crucial battle armor. I had plenty of it. He dropped his head.

  “Go before the last ferry leaves,” she pleaded.

  “I wanted to see you before you left. You gave me four years and now you won’t even give me four minutes?”

  “Not even four seconds—you fucking bastard,” Russ answered.

  “I’ll give you four seconds,” I said. “Four seconds to run. One. Two. Three.” He stormed off before I ended my count. We watched him almost trip over a rock in his haste, heading toward the beach.

  “You okay?” I asked her.

  “I’m fine.” She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. It was a defeated stance.

  I wanted to tilt her chin and stare into her eyes, to make it better for her somehow, but I had no idea how to do that.

  Russell smirked at me. “Nice of you to have my back.”

  Funny, I thought I had his front and side, too, but I respected the guy for coming out here. I was bigger than Vance, but he was a higher weight class than Russ. He would have taken a beating for her.

  I nodded, not taking my eyes off Scarlett.

  “I’m going to make sure he and his ugly orange truck get on the ferry,” Russ said in an authoritative voice.

  She gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, Russell.”

  She leaned her back against the wall, braiding a strand of hair. I mimicked her stance…well, minus the braiding part. “You come out to dark alleys with assholes often, Texas?”

  Her laugh was humorless. “What can I say? I’m an asshole magnet.”

  “That doesn’t sound too good for me, because I sure as hell am magnetized by you.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “Cheesy pickup line, New York. You have a lot of cheesy pick-up lines, don’t you?”

  “Guilty.”

  We were quiet for a moment, the faded notes of music and distant crashing waves surrounding us.

  “Do you think people can be better than their mistakes?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  “Me, too.” She turned toward me. “Do me a favor and don’t ask.”

  “Ask what?”

  “The usual questions. How did you get mixed up with the likes of him? What happened? That sort of complicated, depressing thing.”

  “Consider it dropped.” Dropped but not forgotten.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “I did. Although I wish time were one thing we had more of, Texas.”

  Her smile, sad and soft, had the power to wilt wildflowers. “Thank you for what you did.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Will you do me a favor, though?”

  “I suppose it depends on the favor.”

  “Walk with me on the beach?”

  She nodded and led the way. She deposited her sandals on the rock—our rock. I stopped in my tracks. It was huge and flat on top. Just the right size for the two of us to sit on. I’d recognized every dip and line of that boulder in my sleep…literally.

  “Well, are you coming?” she asked.

  I took off my sneakers and socks and rolled up my jeans. I doubled up on my steps to catch up.

  My feet sank into the soft sand. The water, warm and relaxing, lapped against us. Her long flowing skirt rustled alongside me. The breeze did magical things to her hair. The reddish strands snapped and blew as we strayed down the beach. I purposely hung back a little so I could watch her.

  When I’d turned eighteen, I’d backpacked across Europe. Between the drinking binges and chasing girls, I’d had a coherent moment when I stopped at the Uffizi Museum in Florence. That’s where I’d first laid eyes on Botticelli’s Venus. I stopped in my tracks to admire the painting of a Goddess emerging from the shore. She was born of sea spray and blown here by the wind.

  Staring at Scarlett, I understood what drove men to pick up paints and charcoal and clay. The need to freeze this moment in my own hands seized me. Hell, I would have made a sand sculpture of her body if she’d let me.

  I shook my head, focusing on the present. I wanted to ask about Vance and the bruise on her shoulder, but she’d asked me not to, and I didn’t want to ruin this moment anyway. It felt as if it might disintegrate like flash paper.

  The beach was quiet.

  She took a small tube from her pocket and ran it across her lips. She pursed them together. I wanted to taste that flavor so bad.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets.

  “I don’t understand where all the tourists are. The diner was crowded today,” I said.

  “There’s an old rule in our books that prohibits hotels on the island. You’re not even allowed to rent a room in your house.”

  “That’s right. Aunt Rose told me.”

  “The ferry brings them and takes them away at the end of the day. The beach belongs to us at night.”

  “You love it here.”

  “Yes. I’m a BOI, but I’d probably be an IBC a
nyway.”

  “Come again?”

  “Sorry, I forget you’ve only been here for a day. I’m born on the island so I’m BOI, but some people are on the island by choice. Either way, we’re all natives.”

  “I get it, but if this is where you’d choose to be, then why Nashville?”

  She shrugged, and her pause stretched between us. She contemplated as if she didn’t know the answer, either. “If you want to be a pop star, you head off to LA. If you want rock n’ roll dreams, then Portland’s the place. And if country’s your thing, then it’s Nashville. At least that’s what they say.”

  “You have talent.”

  “Are you a fan of country music?”

  “I’m a fan of yours, Scarlett.”

  She smiled. “That’s a little smoother.”

  ”I’m learning. I take it country is your favorite kind of music?” I asked.

  “I love all kinds of music, but country is in my soul.” She placed a finger against her bottom lip. “Plus, whatever comes out of this mouth just sounds country.”

  I smirked. “I bet country tastes delicious.”

  She laughed, pointing a finger at me. “You’re dangerous. You flirt like this with all the ladies?”

  I wished I could tell her no, but she deserved an honest answer. “Yes.” I wanted to take it back when her smile tightened. All those years of trading warm bodies to still my constant loneliness made me sad. She was what I’d been missing all along. “Would it make me sound more like a douche bag if I said I never meant it like I do now?”

  “There isn’t enough honest in the world. Watch your step.”

  “What? Too forward?”

  “No, I mean stop.” She held up her arm in front of me. She took a few steps and bent down to pick something up. “Stupid tourists,” she said, throwing a plastic bucket. Then she lifted the creature underneath it and held it out to me.

  “Did you know he’d be under there?” I asked, staring at the tiny turtle she held in her hands with no fear.