“Soph.” Jameson’s lips met my forehead. “Wake up.”
“Is it over?”
“The storm is over,” Thomas announced with continued distaste on his lips. “But this is just beginning. You two need to come out here. Now.”
I had blindly forgotten we were with Thomas and Elizabeth. I didn’t even remember if any dreams had passed through my mind while I fell into a haze beneath Jameson’s fingertips against my back.
Thomas was standing against the doorway of the safe room, dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt. His arms were crossed tightly along his chest, almost as tense as my insides were twisting.
“We’ll meet you downstairs,” Jameson told him, poking out from the crawlspace.
“There’s barely a downstairs left,” Thomas scoffed. “There’s a palm tree in the living room.”
“Then we’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“Fine.” Thomas’s footsteps drifted and I waited until utter silence had fallen once again before looking at Jameson. He was kneeling at the door of the crawlspace, holding his arms toward me.
“I can’t leave.”
“I’m right here. The hurricane is over,” he encouraged, the sparkling in his hazel eyes had returned.
His mouth twisted into a smile, a delicious and intoxicating grin just like the first day I had met him. I held his hands and let him pull me out and lift me up toward him.
“See?” Jameson kissed my forehead while holding me against him. “It’s over. At least that part of our storm is over.”
He stood, reluctantly separating our bodies, and held his hands out to support me as we made the treacherous journey down broken stairs and across sand-filled rooms coated with shattered glass and tossed furniture. I didn’t understand how in the middle of everything, the physical hurricane and subsequent emotional rampage, Jameson holding my hand threw my nerves into frenzy.
Elizabeth was holding a measuring cup in her hands, slowly lifting it to her mouth in a daze while she stood in the kitchen. Upon closer inspection, I noticed it was full of her coffee. Then it hit me. The kitchen was the only semi-sustained room on this level. I peered around the doorway of the kitchen into the Kerrys’ massive living room. A palm tree was resting in the center, smashed right onto the couch I rested on when they pulled me out of the water. A chill tingled along my spine with that memory.
Jameson’s throat cleared, announcing our entrance. His arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind, protectively embracing me. Nobody had ever held me like that before, like they couldn’t let me out of their sight and wouldn’t let go of me.
“I’ve tried to get Thomas to calm down because there’s nothing one can do if he lacks all reason.” Elizabeth sipped her measuring cup and smiled at me.
She smiled at me. What a change. I didn’t know if I felt entirely comfortable with her newfound compassion or if it increased my anxiety. Jameson’s arm tightened across my chest when Thomas entered the kitchen.
“We need to figure out why Simon Bellini was having you tracked.” He waved pieces of my phone toward Jameson, not regarding my presence or Elizabeth’s.
“Why would he do that?” I mumbled, my eyes fatefully locking with Thomas’s. Cringe.
“Sophia,” he sighed, almost as though my name pained him. “Exactly how much do you know about Simon Bellini?”
Hold on. How is this even possible? There was a palm tree in the center of their living room. A piece of the roof had been torn from that part of the house. Elizabeth could only find a measuring glass for her coffee. She was making coffee. Like we hadn’t just been through a hurricane?
I glanced out of the kitchen window, mesmerized by a sailboat that now rested against their patio door. The Kerrys had the same view as Simon, having lived blocks away on their peninsula of wealth, and it was haunting to remember recently looking at the same horizon with Olivia. Olivia. I tugged on Jameson’s elbow, rewarded by the soft expression of concern pouring from his sweet hazel eyes.
“What?”
“Is Olivia okay?”
“She’s fine,” Thomas snapped. “I already called our friends and they’re fine. Now, Sophia, answer my question.”
“Thomas,” Jameson snarled. “Chill out. She doesn’t know anything. She isn’t a criminal.”
“I wasn’t suggesting she was a criminal, Jameson, but I shouldn’t be the only one concerned about whether or not her aunt’s boyfriend is one.”
“Simon? A criminal?” The thought made me want to laugh, but looking at Thomas immediately doused the fire of entertainment in my thoughts.
He was livid. I understood entirely how Jameson’s demeanor drastically changed after just a phone call with that man.
“Um…” I swallowed, trying to hide behind Jameson. “…I don’t know much about Simon. He’s just my aunt’s boyfriend and that’s all I know him as. I don’t see much of Simon anyway. They’re always at Simon’s house. He’s been kind to me.”
“He would be,” Thomas scoffed, standing from the kitchen table. I noticed half of it was covered in sand.
“He would do anything to get your trust, Sophia. I don’t mean this to be offensive, but you’re an ideal target.”
Target. No. That word alone was enough to undo every ounce of resolve holding my trembling body together. Jameson’s arms reached behind him, pulling me against him. I knew he could feel my rapid heart against his back. He spun around, continuing to keep me within his arms.
“That word,” he mentioned while my head shook in a pathetic attempt to calm my nerves. “Let’s go outside.”
I methodically followed Jameson as he turned me away from the kitchen and guided us through the shattered living room. We stepped through the broken wall, walking alongside the invading palm tree, rather than going through the patio door. It was startling and humbling to see the devastation around us. Boats from the marina were everywhere; through houses, on houses, upside down. That could have been me. I wobbled, feeling uneasy and anxious while following Jameson through the sand, which poured into homes from the beach.
“Walk with me,” he whispered, holding his left arm out for me.
My fingers trembled, delighting in the spark that rushed along my soul as our skin met. I glanced up at him, mesmerized by the way with which Jameson smiled at me. My ankles hurt with the extra effort required to walk over the sand that contained so much debris. Chairs, clothing, an empty dog crate, insulation…
“Thomas has a great knack for considering the feelings of others, doesn’t he?” Jameson’s tone was filled with spite, but the sarcastic chuckle that followed only reminded me of how miserable he must have been living in their prison for so many years.
“I’m sorry.” The whisper blurted from my mouth. He stopped, searching my face with his beautifully concerned hazel eyes.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“It isn’t fair that your life is how it is.” I struggled to show him my compassion, sure that I sounded like a blabbering moron with each second he watched me in silence. “It isn’t fair that your parents are dead, that you’re stuck here with them, that you can’t be who you really are.”
“This is me though.” He lifted our intertwined fingers to his lips, pressing softly and filling my soul with his healing aura. “There isn’t a single thing about me that you don’t know anymore. I’m not going to keep anything from you, Soph. If this is going to work, we have to promise to be honest with one another. No running.”
“It’s what I do,” I mumbled, feeling my eyes gloss over while watching his mouth again touch our fingers.
“Then we’ll run together.” He shrugged.
My response was silence, probably because I couldn’t fathom what I had done to attract Jameson to me or why he persisted on intertwining not only our fingers, but joining the violent trauma we shared.
“I hate that word,” I released through shaking breath. “The…my mom’s…that’s what he said she was. We were.”
“Targets?” His free hand found my cheeks, cupping to support my stability while his eyes glowed golden into mine like perfectly lit halos of peace. Jameson’s fingers combed through my hair, placing some behind my ear while his eyes scanned my face.
“You never were one,” he assured me. “And I will never let you be one.”
“Sophia!” The scream pulled my attention from Jameson as I turned to see the source.
Jameson stepped in front of me, holding my right hand behind him. He was protecting me. I squinted my eyes to see, blinded by the reflective white sand that covered almost everything. I peeked over Jameson’s shoulder, covering my forehead as I scanned.
“Sophia!”
“It’s your aunt,” Jameson whispered, his head tilting to speak to me over his shoulder. “She’s alone.”
I stepped from behind his protective shadow, clinging to the fabric of his sweatshirt. Jules was waving frantically, climbing along the beach over barricades of debris.
“What do I tell her?”
“Whatever you want,” Jameson offered. “I wouldn’t tell her Simon chipped your phone yet though.”
“Of course not.”
“And don’t tell her about Gabe,” he swallowed, the name painfully leaving his lips.
“Of course not.” My right hand clung to his right arm while my left hand held his.
Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone about Gabe. The way Jameson mentioned his own name as though Gabriel was a stranger broke me. He really had to pretend his life before coming to Florida was all a nightmare and assume Jameson’s identity. He truly was forced to erase all the happy memories from his childhood, and there I was like a fool, bragging about my favorite flavor crepe.