CHAPTER EIGHT
Chelsea
It didn’t bother me that on my one day off it was raining. I pulled my wrap a little tighter against my chest and repositioned a pillow behind my back. The ocean looked flat. The raindrops beat steadily against its waves, creating the illusion that it was calm. I knew it was anything but.
I could sit here all day rocking in the hammock with my guitar and notebook of songs. I was tucked against the side of the house, protected from the wind while the thunderstorm raged on around me.
The way you felt against my lips
The way you—
I changed the key and tried the notes again.
The way you held that kiss
It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. My stomach turned. Just like kissing Derek, this song was wrong. I scratched through the words until they were illegible.
You want to clip my wings
Keep me in your cage
But that’s not who I am
And that’s not who I’ll be
My fingers fell into a rhythm on the guitar as the words tumbled from my lips.
I have my own dreams
No matter what you say
I’m still going to believe
I’m still going to walk away
I stopped to write down the last few lines. These words felt right. They were coming from a place in my heart I knew was true. I kicked along the deck so that the hammock began to swing again. I closed my eyes and strummed, humming the words in my head. I might have just written my own anthem.
***
The rain had finally stopped. I stretched my arms above my head and carefully stepped off the hammock. The only thing I regretted was that it was almost dark and that meant the day was over. Tomorrow would come early, and so would another full day of clock watching at the store.
I padded inside and closed the sliding glass door behind me. The air conditioner had been running all day, and it was chilly in the apartment compared to the humid air on the porch.
I used the pen to secure my hair in a twist. It felt good to get it off my neck. Once I was in writing mode, everything else fell away and out of place. I hadn’t bothered to take a shower all day or even dab on moisturizer. The plus side was that I had written two songs that were nearly perfect.
However, my stomach was growling and my brain would need fuel if I was going to keep up this writing marathon. In ten minutes, I had a pot of water boiling and a bowlful of spinach leaves washed.
I dumped in a handful of spaghetti noodles when I heard the chime on my phone. It was Derek.
I need to talk.
Shit. This was exactly what I didn’t want to do. Lucky for me, yesterday was his day off from work. He told me he was going to surf all day. Today, I was off from the store so we hadn’t talked since the morning after Paul’s party. Eventually, I would have to face him. It was stupid to think two days apart would put me back in the friend zone in his mind.
I tried to think of a casual response to keep things light.
What’s up?
I’ll be over in 5.
I grimaced.
Maybe another time. I’m not feeling great.
It was a complete lie, but I had spaghetti, salad, and an amazing song to craft. I watched my phone anxiously. After a minute, I slipped it into my pocket. Derek must have taken the hint. Relieved, I twisted the cork off a bottle of red wine and poured a glass of the crimson liquid. It tasted sweet on my tongue. It was amazing how it soothed all the stress from my body.
“Chelsea! Chelsea!” Derek’s voice carried through my door along with several heavy knocks.
I coughed on the last gulp of wine and rushed to the door. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Der, what’s going on?” I stepped back as he barreled past me.
He was carrying a straw bag in one hand. From the top, I saw pink petals peeping out.
“Are you ok? Are you really sick?” His brow furrowed as he did a quick assessment of my condition.
“I’m tired. Exhausted actually. I’m having a bite of dinner, and then I’m going to bed. Can we talk another time?” I followed him to the kitchen. Apparently, he thought I wasn’t seriously ill.
The straw bag was on the center of the table, and he began emptying the contents: vanilla pillar candles, pink roses, a speaker, chocolate, and a bottle of wine.
“What’s all this?” The nervous feeling had crept back to my stomach.
Derek shifted on his feet. “The other night. It was all wrong. All wrong.” His hair, damp from the rain, clung to his forehead.
“I know it was.” I sighed, wishing we were on the same page, but knowing that this display of romance said something completely different.
“And I want everything with you to be perfect. So I brought it—the perfect night.” He crossed the four steps between us and wrapped his arm around my waist.
The smell of his cologne and mint gum invaded my space.
“Der, I’m really sorry about the other night, but—” Before I could protest, his lips landed on mine and his hands worked their way under my shirt. Tomorrow, neither of us would feel great when I didn’t return his affection. Maybe in some other world I could use him this way, but we had known each other too long, and I would always be in this place with him—not moving forward. I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to keep that promise to myself.
“Derek.” I shoved against him until I was out of his arm’s reach. “No.” I hated the confused look on his face. “We both agreed. It was the last time.”
He approached me. “But there’s something here. There’s always been a thing between us.”
If I told him I agreed we had great physical chemistry, it would only lead him on. He hadn’t read all the signals wrong. But it was too fucking confusing to sort that out.
I shook my head. “Derek, we have been friends forever.”
“Don’t give me that damn friend speech. I don’t want to be friends. I want to be with you.” His eyes blazed. “And you’re being stubborn about it as usual.”
“It’s not going to happen.” I crossed my arms. “I tried to tell you.” I realized then that I hadn’t done a good job of explaining my position. Every time I said no to him, it was accompanied by kisses. Kisses that led to other, hotter things. Shit. I could see how the guy was tangled up in the mess I had created.
“Nothing? You can honestly stand there and tell me you feel nothing?” His fingers reached for my neck, but I stepped away. The last time really had happened.
“I guess that’s my answer, isn’t it?” he whispered.
I didn’t recognize the look in his eyes. I had known him since we were kids and thought I knew every expression on his face. It hurt to see him look at me as if I were a criminal. The kind of criminal who picks up a knife and plunges it deep into someone’s heart.
“I am sorry. You know I care about you, don’t you?” I tried to explain.
This was the worst possible ending. I had to make him understand. I was trying to keep from hurting him more. He had to see that.
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “I don’t need to hear it. This probably has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with that.” He pointed at the guitar resting in its stand. I had dropped it there on my way through the door.
It was as if he had attacked my child. Protective instincts rushed through me, and I stepped a little closer to the instrument. I always thought Derek liked my songs. It didn’t occur to me until now that maybe he only listened to them so he could spend more time with me.
“You know what music means to me.” The realization that he might not understand or even like my music seemed like sudden betrayal.
“Yeah, I do. It means more than me, or any one else on this island,” he accused.
“You aren’t being fair. You know I could leave any day. I’m sending out songs every week. One of the labels is going to call me. I am leaving, and then what? You’re going to pick up your surfboard and follow me to Nashville or Austin? There’s no ocean in either of those places.”
“I took geography,” he snarled, leaning against the door. “You know there’s more to me than surfing and working at the store. There are things I want to do too.”
I studied him. I could name his favorite foods, his favorite bands, his beer of choice, but I had no idea anything else interested him. He was bluffing.
“Ok, then tell me. What do you want to do? Do you really want to pack up your life and leave Brees Island?” I had never asked because I didn’t need to. Derek was an open book. One that I had read repeatedly.
His groan filled the room. “No, I don’t want to leave. Why would I? Our families are here. The beach is here. Everyone we know is here. I wish you would stop thinking that you could be happier somewhere else.”
I folded my arms. “That’s what you don’t get. I have been happier somewhere else. I went to college. I went to grad school. I loved Carolina. Every single day I was in Chapel Hill was better than being stuck here. But you wouldn’t know anything about that since you refused to live life off this piece of sand.” I gritted my teeth.
He peeled away from the door. “I can’t believe you.”
“Der, don’t go like this. We shouldn’t be arguing about this stuff. It’s always been this way.” I pulled on his arm. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Believe me. I didn’t want this to happen. This is everything I tried to avoid.”
His eyes narrowed. “Crazy, because when you were begging me for it the other night, I thought you wanted me.”
I slapped him across the face harder than I meant to. It was the first time I had hit anyone. My palm stung.
His eyes dropped to the floor before he opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him.
I went straight to the kitchen and inhaled the glass of wine. Maybe it could soothe me again. I opened the sliding door and tucked my feet under me as I sank into the hammock. I didn’t know when they started, but the tears were there, running down my face like the rain.