#and seeing him getting reduced to just “asshole prick” drives me up a wall. I know. I know. IDW transformers is a very fluid story. however | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spotlessvast · 5 years ago

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searching for the ends of the earth

(Content warnings: mentions of suicide, animal death, murder, body horror, and blood. On-screen peaceful death.)

Lukewarm dry grass scratches my bare feet at every step. I’m alone. The sky is dark, cloudless, and I’m far enough away from any air pollution to see the stars. I don’t need my walking stick, but I drag it along anyway, because no one’s here to see me use it. It puts my hands to good use in the meantime.

I’m definitely being watched.

I drag the stick behind me. It’s more like a branch, actually. I forgot what kind of tree it’s from, but from the looks of it, probably oak or cedar. I don’t know that many trees. The grass is still scratchy and my feet are numb. No one is behind me, but I can’t shake that feeling off my back. It’s unnecessary and is getting in the way of enjoying my travels to the fullest.

If it were just a big cat, I wouldn’t really mind. This wasn’t a big cat, though.

I remain careful not to wake up any sleeping creatures that surround me. Nearing the edge of this cliff, I look behind me to see the forest’s entrance. I half-expected the source of this looming feeling to reveal itself, but there was nothing. I hold up my walking stick parallel to me.

At the bottom of the cliff is an abandoned city. Lights from old billboards and storefronts mold together and fade the higher they reach.

Won’t hurt to climb down.

I put my walking stick in my belt next to my shovel.

All the walls I’ve ever let go of have claw marks on them. This wall of crumbling ground was no exception, and it would be a nuisance to try climbing back up. I make my way into the city where light is pollution and I’m alone, like always.

I mean, if I wasn’t alone, that would mean this is the first time I’d ever seen someone in so long. Intuition pricks at the back of my neck, so I finally turn around, shovel in hand, ready to attack. “W..who g—” I’m hoarse. I don’t remember the last time I actually said something. I try again, spinning the long neck of the shovel and pointing it like a spear. “Who goes there!”

And I’m facing the cliff, and a shadow cast on the cliff. Amorphous. Probably my own, since I have so much luggage.

“Who goes there?” a voice echoes. My voice, but I don’t feel myself speak. I pinch my lips to see if they’re still alive or if they’ve been frozen to death back in the winter.

“Y-yeah. Who!?” I inch closer to the cliff and point my shovel right at the shadow’s center. The shadow mirrors my movements, and I strike. Dust kicks up in my face while clumps of solid ground pummel my shovel and render it stuck and useless. Damn.

“I’d tell you, but it’s more fun seeing you act like an idiot.” I turn around to face this person. If they’re mirroring my shadow, then they must be behind me!

City lights. That’s all.

Am I hallucinating? Was there something bad in the water? Maybe I hit my head too hard. I pull the shovel out of the ground. There could be land I haven’t travelled to yet, or I have travelled everywhere but me and this other person were never in the same place at the same time. Well, if that’s the case, then there are two survivors on this earth.

“The hell do you got against me, you… you bitch?” If this person was going to keep taunting me using my own voice, I had no problem cursing them out.

“No… don’t tell me, you’ve FORGOTTEN, have you!?”

Something brushes up against my arm and I feel my life being sucked out of my chest. There’s no soft ground to stick my shovel in, so I can’t lean on it for support. Nevertheless, I stand.

Then that thing materializes in front of me, and continues to speak. “I feel insulted, that you forgot all of our travels together! Our journeys fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, explorations across frozen tundras and scorching deserts and everything in between. I remember that wolf you were friends with for a while, Chrome, right?”

“How do you know about Chrome?” I hate how this thing appeared from thin air and the only thing I bother to ask about is my wolf-dog. I named him after one of my old friends, who always looked emo and then died. Achroma made better company than Chrome, but both of them were nice to be around. Then Chrome got old and died too.

Still an amorphous blob, the thing in front of me responds. “I’ve been with you since forever.” So dramatic.

“Well, can you at least, like—” I vaguely gesture with one hand. “Make yourself a bit more human so I’m not so put off talking to you?”

“Oh, is this better?” They expand and contract until they mirror me again. No longer a shadow, but a replication. The same clothes, same equipment. But if that’s me, then… Lord almighty, my face is a mess. A hot mess, at that—

“I appreciate that you think I’m sexy enough to turn into but I’d rather have you not.” It was already unnerving enough that they could sound like me any time they wanted…

“Is this any better now?” Tendrils burst out of shape and adorn themselves with dozens of eyes.

“No! What the shitting hell no!”

I find myself following in their footsteps, or whatever they’re doing. Shifting between different appearances, it’s only easy to keep up with since they’re the only other vaguely human shaped being in my sight. Nothing worthwhile was in that city, nothing natural enough to sleep in. Sleeping on the floor is only nice when there are friends to wake up to the next day, and I have none, so I sleep in the forest.

“The woods sucks.” For a record time of around half an hour, they settled themself to look a few inches taller than me, with shoulder length black hair. Their face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t really pinpoint it to any other person. We had the same clothes, but theirs had different colors.

“You’re so critical of everything I do.” I set down my backpack and spread out a blanket. It’s hot tonight, so I only needed the blanket for the ground. My coats would keep me warm until the morning.

“It’s only practical that you go back to the city, though,” they say from a tree.

“What does practicality mean to you?” I lie down with my arms crossed behind my head.

“Less than what it means to you.” Shut. The fuck up.

Slow down and sleep, and hope that there won’t be any bugs in my head the next morning. That’s how every night goes. There’s less air pollution in the woods, so the night is lit by the moon and the stars. Tomorrow will be an early dawn. I cover my eyes and ears and ignore the world.

“Ah… where to next?” I mumble out loud. Just a few minutes ago, I finished packing my stuff. Today is a hunting day, so I’d have to travel somewhere I could make food. That ghost hasn’t bothered me since I woke up, which was nice. I hope it would stay that way just for a day at the very least. I take a deep breath and wander out of the woods back into the city. The neon lights dimmed down to nothing in the pale sunlight. Windows and doors had already been broken into, so I crawl in and scavenge for anything I could take with me. Other than what you’d expect to find in abandoned storefronts, nothing served useful to me. There was a cool rock, but I decided to leave it.

I pause, about to leave the store.

Something is wrong.

“Hey,” says a different voice. It’s lower than mine this time. I look behind me and notice the gaping metaphorical hole in my chest upon meeting eyes with the ghost. I have no privacy anymore, no drive, and this asshole was going to kill it even more. But if they’ve been here for so long, all that privacy and drive must’ve been an illusion in the first place…

This time, their hair was shorter and messy. Lighter. Some color that was hard to distinguish between blond and gray from the lighting inside. They were wearing pants and a warm coat. “Good to see you finally got some creativity there, huh,” I say.

They ignored me. “I think you should pick up that rock.” They point to the rock.

“Damn, you’re right. I’m gonna pick up that fuckin’ rock.” I pick up the rock and put it in my vest pocket. “How’d you know I wanted that thing?”

They shrugged. “I know you.”

“Am I hallucinating right now?” I squint. They’re clearly not transparent, and the more I focus, the more familiar they seem. Something is really wrong around here.

“It wouldn’t make a difference on you if I said ‘no,’ would it?”

They take the lead out of the store and I follow them to an old rusty highway. I don’t have any objections, but today was supposed to be a hunting day. The sun is high, and it’s around noon now. The sky looks like it could crumble apart at any moment. That’s when I know the weather will be sunny again for the next few days.

At the middle of the highway, there’s a gap where it got destroyed by a bomb or an earthquake. The way out from the city was familiar, but I obviously hadn’t been there in a long time to have known where this highway leads or how to get across to the other side. I sit down.

We stay unmoving in a silent world, until that silence is broken by the wind. Then the wind drives me to ask what I should call them. They say I can call them whatever. “Okay, Whatever.”

They cringe. “I didn’t mean like that.” They sit down too.

Hack was the name I was looking for. Hack was who they reminded me of earlier in the city ruins. So I would call them Hack, just like he was. It felt disrespectful to reduce them to just a ghost. But this wasn’t Hack. And I had to remind myself that. We fell out, and years later he probably died too. If this was a hallucination, I’m both impressed and disturbed at my own imagination for making me so comforted and disturbed at the same time. “Okay, I’ll call you Hack.”

Not-Hack has a shit-eating grin on their face, almost like they want me to call them that.

We sit in silence for another long, drawling moment.

“How old are you?” Their sudden question makes me flinch.

“T..Twenty-something. Why?”

“ERRRHHH. WRONG!” They imitate a game show buzzer and make an X with their hands. “I know it’s been over a hundred years, I was just curious how more than a hundred it was.”

“It hasn’t been a hundred years!” I stand up and shout down at them. “I swear, I’m thirty at most! Do I really look that old to you? Eat a dick.”

They’re laughing. “You’re funny.”

“Well, you’re an asshat!” I jab them in the forehead, but my finger passes right through them. They jab me back, but they don’t pass through me. Unfair advantage, stupid ghost. At least now I know it’s probably not a hallucination. I sit back down with my legs dangling over the highway’s edge. I want to go back to the woods, or at least somewhere the leaves are starting to change color. The sky’s been raining heat on me for the past few months, so it’s due time. I can’t accurately judge the distance from here to the ground, but I want to risk jumping.

A voice coming from inside of my head asks me if I ever thought of killing myself. I’d be a hypocrite to deny I ever entertained the thought. I hold my head while my elbows rest on my thighs. Only now have I realized that life’s boring after the end of the world. Distractions and the bare minimum only go so far, but what am I supposed to do when something changes?

I jump.

I survive.

Not-Hack is still here.

In the distance I can see a ferris wheel peeking out from a row of buildings. If a ferris wheel is there, then there’s probably no good food over there. It’s all just city and lights. City, lights, and stores. Trees, for air sustenance. I wonder if there were any fruit trees over there. I take a running start.

“Hey!” Not-Hack calls out. “Don’t leave me behind!” They rush to catch up with me. Don’t leave them behind? Not like I had a choice.

“I know this place.”

“You’ve been here before?” I lodge my knife into a cherry tree and I step on it. My backpack and vest are a yard away on the ground. I grip onto a thick branch and hoist myself up. I didn’t have time to study which cherries were perfect or not, I just ate what I could find. Wandering around the area were cats and rabbits, but I don’t like to eat cats or rabbits.

“We’ve been here before.” They burst open again and regenerate with a black sweater over a white dress shirt and well worn black jeans. Their face looks half-dead this time, and their hair is a short bob that gets longer in the front with their bangs covering one eye.

There’s a small hole in their chest with blood darkening their already black sweater and disintegrating when the drops reach the ground.

Right. This is the same place Achroma died. And I survived.

“I don’t like it when you tell me things with his face.” I turn my attention back to cherry picking and then jump to the ground. I refuse to look at them.

“How’s this, then?” They said with a softer, naturally high voice. Bastard tricked me into looking. Now they were wearing a casual dress and boots perfectly fit for a date, and had long purple hair tied up in the back.

“Not any better. It’s embarrassing now—”

Seeing those shapeshifting sequences happen in real time was gross. I know logically that ghost forms should need some sort of connection to something in order to change, but seeing that in-between with dozens of tendrils, colors, and eyeballs really unnerved me. Not like their choices were any better. Why are they only turning into people I know?

Not-Achroma reaches their hand out and gestures for me to follow them. I do.

The stony path becomes gradually more broken as we walk, until the road turns into gravel. This side of the city had the ferris wheel, and since I wasn’t willing to risk getting stuck on a two-and-something-hundred-year-old machine, I carefully ignored and evaded it. Something is off about me being so passive today. Instead of calm, it feels empty. Done. Satisfied with what I’ve been through, but God please let it be over. Still, I’ll walk as much as I can until I die. Either that high fall didn’t kill me or I woke up from a dream. Dying in heat takes time and is uncomfortable.

“Why are you doing all…” I make a vague hand gesture to their face. “That.”

“Why are you being so uptight? You can talk. Use your words and stop beating around the bush.” Another phrase I remember saying. Another phrase I remember rubbing off on the people who spent time with me. The only thing I was good for on this curse of an earth was giving advice that I don’t take. But now with everyone gone, I didn’t really have any range of choices for my next strength. My actions hold no weight to humanity— The only impact I have now is hunting food.

“Earth to Koya.”

When I hunt, I breathe, pray, and kill.

“Koyaaaaaaaaaaa.”

I have no time to think about the consequences, only time to stick the arrow in and run away.

“Koya!”

And I pray so there can be resolve in untimely death.

“Stop ignoring me.”

I finally halt my train of thought and turn my head. “What the fuck do you want.”

“I’m bored,” says Not-Achroma with a deadpan face.

“There’s plenty to do around here. Why do you have to travel with me if you’re so bored?” I look forward.

“Admit that you need me.” We both stop.

“I haven’t been feeling like myself since you showed up. I don’t need anyone like you.” I haven’t been feeling at all since they showed up. Except for when they jabbed me in the face. I was irritated! And then I wasn’t.

But having someone like Hack around was a little less lonely. It wouldn’t be the same, but I could tell him everything I needed to and then finally die. I just don’t like seeing Achroma like this. Those who are dead are supposed to stay dead, because no matter how much someone misses them, it will never be the same again. I don’t need them, I need my connections back.

“Akoi Koya…” hearing my full name coming from his voice is something I didn’t know I needed, but I did. No one called to me since the disasters, except for my animals, but they just barked at me. “Akoi as a name doesn’t make any sense, you know that?” They continue walking, and I follow them. “It’s like whoever named you was typing on a keyboard and misspelled ‘Aoki’ as ‘Akoi’ and never changed it back.”

“But it flows pretty well all together, right? I never really gave it much thought until other people pointed it out.” Like Hack did. Akoi didn’t have a clear origin, but Koya did. Akoi Koya sounded like some fantasy character name, but just Koya on its own was fine. And a real name.

“It’s pretty.” Not-Achroma turns back into Not-Hack and slows down their pace. I’m in front of them now, and they’re walking close behind. I can feel breezes on the back of my neck and between my fingers. They’re not touching me.

I stop walking. They bump into me. We don’t move.

The sun is still high.

I crash against a wall holding up a bridge. Shade was needed especially now. I’ve been out in the open so much today, I felt like the sun was going to melt my face off. I sink down to the ground and a sigh escapes my throat. Not-Hack is growing accustomed to their role since picking up on my subtle cues. A ghost with no personality and drive except for what they observe sounds like a sad existence. But what could they possibly get out of by acting like old friends? They sit next to me with one leg out and the other leg bent, and their arm around my shoulders. I want to talk to them the same way I used to talk to Hack.

“What was I thinking?” The short sentence just falls out.

“Yeah, what were you thinking? I’m gonna kick your ass.” Their tone is playful in the same way a laser pointer is to a cat.

“Think you can take me?” I make a fist and gently punch Not-Hack in the chest. It doesn’t pass through this time.

“I know I can! Come at me, coward.”

“Not until I eat lunch.” Today was supposed to be a hunting day, and I was supposed to be a nameless survivor with a stolen look. Now I’m Akoi Koya again, and Hack is here if we both survived. I still want food, but a meal can wait. I have cherries.

Tasteless, purple cherries. Tasteless and sour. Somehow they tasted numb with an aftertaste of sweet and sour.

Not-Hack relaxes and leans in even closer next to me. Their head rests on mine, and I wrap my arm around their back.

Even if it’s not the same, they’ll persist until they make it that way. So I ask them “Why?”

They don’t break character. “We were young. And stupid.” They deliberately avoid eye contact and stare into the sun.

“No, I mean—”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Why am I putting on this charade?” That’s more like it. I still felt weird hearing someone talk like that with Hack’s face.

“Mhm.”

“Because you were in love with him.” They really did see right through me. I’ve been living my life followed by a ghost. Finding out today doesn’t make any sense, but it also does. I can’t make sense of it in words, though. And I won’t admit my feelings. ‘Were’ doesn’t mean ‘are.’

“I wasn’t in love with him.” I toss another cherry into my mouth and spit out the pit.

“Koyaaaaa. Lying isn’t going to do anything.” They turn back again. Our faces are so close.

I close my eyes and eat another cherry. This is enough for today.

“Love is loyalty. Loyalty is power, and power is chaos. And Chaos means I’m not bored anymore.”

“So you’re doing this for yourself,” I ask, but it’s more like a statement.

They fall silent. I know they’ll say yes, but I don’t want to hear that. I want to go home. I want my connections back.

Hack didn’t die in front of me. Achroma did. Ven didn’t die in front of me either. I just stopped talking to her. It hurt the most seeing Achroma’s face again, so why did Not-Hack spare me?

“Do you ever think about dying?” They break their own silence.

“More than I’d like to.”

They stand up and I feel nothing. I stand up and grab their hand and I feel something.

I let go once pins and needles shoot from their skin while they change. I knew I was getting too used to them. Looking at the ground, I hold their hand again. It’s cold. Let me fall for it. Please. There’s no blood on that sweater this time. No blood fading when it touches the ground. No blood. No half-dead face. We’re together, suspended in time. And he’s not dead, but he is.

We cool off at an old dock. I take off my vest and hang it on a wood pole, then I take off my shirt. I take off one layer of pants, the layer that has stuff in its pockets, and I lower myself into the water, just low enough to be safe. I have some wounds on my chest that haven’t healed since I got them, and covering them with duct tape only goes such a long way. I’d wrap some more duct tape around once I’m done. My feet are numb now.

I cross my arms over the dock while the rest of me dangles in the water. “Maybe I could try dying here.”

“Drowning would suck.” Not-Achroma flicks me in the forehead. “Especially for you.”

I didn’t realize I just talked about dying out loud.

It’s officially late afternoon, and the sun will set in an hour or two. I could hunt for fish, but there’s a risk in diving into the ocean. I was never a good swimmer, anyway. “What do you recommend for dying, then?”

“Gunshots are quick and— Ah—”

“What.”

“Forget it.”

I climb onto the dock and splash some water into my face. It’s still hot, but cold water could help for now. I wouldn’t be so hot in the woods. All this talk about death was really new. Well, all that talk about anything is new, but until now I’ve just been living until I get killed or just stop living. Dying by my own will is difficult. “I want to wait until the sun sets.”

Memories that never really left me resurfaced every time they opened their mouth. I follow them through the city to a run down building that, according to nothing but my gut, was supposed to be home. Today is the first time since the disasters I go back, and it’s also the last. I took off that itchy duct tape (that might as well be part of my skin at this point) and had my wounds exposed. I tie my shirt around my waist and leave my vest in my backpack. My feet are still numb, so I lean on ‘Achroma’ to make sure I don’t trip and fall.

The outskirts of the city glow with gold from the sun. It hasn’t set yet, but the shadows are harsh and the scenery is warm. Birds are flying, cats and dogs are wandering, and I’m out of place, walking on two legs. Even more out of place if you look closer to my injuries.

Injuries of an exposed, worn out machine, who, in desperation, attempted to abandon fate and live like a real survivor.

We sit down.

I ask them questions that only Achroma would be able to know, like why he picked out his name, and what he wanted to do in life. Their ad-lib was convincing, and I didn’t want to think about the implications of a ghost using my memories of him against me. I’m dying soon either way. It would suck to have my last hour be miserable.

I loved Hack, I loved Achroma, and I loved Ven. I spent the least amount of time with Ven out of everyone else, but she was wonderful. I tell ‘Achroma’ about Ven, even though they already knew about my experiences with her. They still go along with it, like we really are old friends who were separated from each other for a long time. It’s selfish of me not to care if ‘Achroma’ doesn’t love me, and it’s selfish of them not to love me back. Their stories of life are vivid and pessimistic, but they make humor out of it.

The sun sets.

All these years of searching for the ends of the earth, and I found myself back where I started. I’m ready.

I close my eyes as two hands invade the wounds on my chest. It’s a cold, strong wind, gripping through my ribs and jamming up everything else. I remember everything.

I remember everything.

I fall sideways.

I remember everything.

I love you.

Conscious thought formation ceases.

Tactile data input ceases.

Conscious movement ceases.

Temperature function ceases.

Visual data input ceases.

Auditory data input ceases.

Additional sensory data input ceases.

Emotional data output ceases.

#writers on tumblr #short story #post apocalypse #science fiction #original characters

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anavoliselenu · 8 years ago

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Hiched chapter 8

With a twinge of childish satisfaction, I note that the receptionist is now staring in shock at Brad instead of me. Then I’m filled with shame at my pettiness. This is what Brad reduces me to. One minute in his presence, and I’ve stooped to his level. As if the years since our breakup never happened.

At my derisive noise, Brad pulls his features back into haughty coolness, under the cover of straightening his tie. I remember—all too well—his insecure need to maintain control at all times, even if it’s only the appearance of control.

“You might want to be a lot more careful about how you speak to me, Selena.”

The obvious threat spooks me a little. But I can’t let him know how much his venomous voice still affects me. I force a laugh, knowing that will drive him ape-shit.

“Or what? You’ll bore me to death?”

To my surprise, his smirk doesn’t slip an inch. “Trust me. It’s in your best interests to cooperate with my company.”

Does he actually have something up his sleeve? On the one hand, I don’t want to get drawn into his mind games. On the other . . . my curiosity is piqued.

But before I can decide whether to venture a question, the front door opens and Justin comes in. He stops midstride, looking back and forth between us, obviously sensing something rotten in the air.

“What’s going on here?” he demands.

“Nothing,” Brad replies before I can explain anything, his tone light and his smile polite. “Just talking shop.”

“Oh, really? Is that why I could hear a man yelling all the way from the elevator?”

Brad’s smile instantly drops. “Who are you?” he asks, as if Justin were the one intruding.

“I’m Justin Tate. Selena’s fiancé and co-CEO. Now, who the hell are you?”

I mentally roll my eyes a little at Justin’s lack of subtlety. Especially the way he said fiancé instead of boyfriend. But mostly, I’m just relieved to have some backup, no matter how silly his testosterone-fueled territorial display is.

Brad stares Justin down for a moment, obviously not wanting to roll over and acknowledge his authority too fast. Finally, he replies, “Bradford Daniels. Vice president of Daniels Multimedia Enterprises.”

“And he was just leaving,” I interrupt.

I see a muscle twitch in Brad’s jaw, but he continues talking to Justin as if I never said a word.

“I’ve heard of you, Justin. The late Bill Tate’s son. You two seem to have hooked up right before news of Tate & Cane’s . . . difficulties got out.”

Justin’s next words echo my thoughts. “Are you implying something?”

“Not at all. Just commenting on a stroke of bad luck.” Brad drops his voice to a conspiratorial mutter—although it’s certainly not low enough to stop me from hearing every insult. “In more ways than one. Between you and me, my friend, I don’t envy you. She’s about as exciting as a wet towel in bed.”

Justin’s eyes fly open wide and his face flushes crimson. Instinctively I shy back; I’ve never seen him so angry.

Mistaking his fury for astonishment, Brad continues. “Oh, you haven’t found that out yet? But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always been such a frigid—”

In a flash, Justin has Brad pinned to the wall, his arm twisted behind his back. And all I can do is gape, paralyzed with shock.

Chapter Seventeen

Justin

This is the douche who broke Selena’s heart in college? Without thinking, I jump into action, twisting the prick’s arm behind his back and slamming him into the wall.

He lets out a helpless grunt and huffs, “What the hell? Did you not hear who I am?”

“I know exactly who you are. You’re the pencil-dick Selena invested years in, only to discover what a selfish child you really are.”

He tugs against the hold I have on him. Nope, you’re not going anywhere, bud.

“Now apologize to her, with a promise that you’ll never say anything like that again, and I’ll think about letting you go.”

“Like hell,” he growls.

“Rosita,” I call out. She’s passing by with her cart filled with deliveries. “Call security.” She nods once and scurries away. I twist Bradford’s arm tighter, higher up behind his back, then lean in good and close. “I said apologize.”

He blows out a deep sigh, his voice taut with pain. “I’m sorry, all right?”

When Selena turns up her nose, I shake my head at the poor schmuck. “You should know better than to fuck with such a powerful woman.”

Two uniformed security guards appear in an instant. “Remove this asshole from the property,” I tell them.

They flank Bradford and escort him back to the elevator. I brace myself for another insult hurled over his shoulder; there’s no way he’s going down without a fight.

Right on cue, Bradford turns to face us before entering the elevator. “When I own this company, I’ll be the one calling the shots, and neither of you will ever work in this town again,” he shouts, spitting the words like venom.

I straighten my posture and pull Selena in close to my side. “You won’t be coming into my building and insulting my girl like that ever again. Get him out of here before I permanently remove his option of ever having children.”

Moments later, the elevator doors slide closed, and Selena sags against my side in relief.

“Are you okay?” I turn to face her, running my hands in a soothing motion up and down her arms.

She nods once, her lips pulled into a tight line.

I lean down and press my lips to hers, needing to erase that pout.

“He’s gone, baby,” I murmur, stroking her hair.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “He’s such a massive A-hole,” she mutters, shaking her head. “What did I ever see in him?”

Her tone drips angry contempt but I can hear the quiver underneath. Brad must have really rattled her. I clench my teeth. Maybe I shouldn’t have let that fucker get away unscathed after all.

“I won’t let him come near you again. That’s a promise.”

She nods. “Thank you, Justin.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, as if neither of us is quite ready to part ways and get back to work. Selena gazes up at me with relief, gratitude . . . and something more? There’s a new light in her eyes. A look she’s never given me before.

“Not that I need you to defend my honor, but . . .” She gives me a small smile. “I’m glad you did.”

Pride and protectiveness swell in my chest. I try to brush it off by joking. “Hey, no problem. His face was begging for a punch anyway.”

She pats me on the chest, and I turn to head down the hall toward my office.

“Justin?”

That one word stops me in my tracks. Her voice is soft, almost shy, yet brimming with emotion. I’ve never heard Selena talk so . . . I don’t know the word. Tenderly? Whatever it is, it floats me up like a boat on a rising tide.

“Yes?” I turn to face her.

Her face is awash in enlightenment as if she’s just been struck by a thought. “I think I’m ready.”

Did I hear her right? I almost don’t dare to hope. “You mean . . . ?”

She nods, biting back the first hint of a grin.

My heart surges. “Then let’s fucking do this.”

She beams at me as if we’re both on the inside of a private joke. And maybe we are.

“Let’s freaking get married,” she says with a giggle.

Chapter Eighteen

Selena

I squint at the clock on my nightstand and suppress a groan. Three in the goddamn morning and I’m still wide awake.

The sheets rustle behind me. “Can’t sleep?” Justin asks. His voice is clear, not groggy at all. Evidently I’m not the only one with insomnia.

Sighing, I shake my head.

“Come here,” he says gently.

I roll over to look at him. Justin is lying on his side, facing me. He holds out his top arm. I hesitate for a moment; I’m still getting used to casual contact with him. But soon I wriggle into his warm embrace, pillowing my head on his bicep.

He pulls me even closer with an arm around my shoulders. I inhale his masculine scent, no less pleasant and exciting for how familiar it’s become, and try not to notice how perfectly I fit nestled in against his side.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“A little nervous,” I confess.

Justin gives a quiet hum of a chuckle. “I wouldn’t blame you. It’s normal to have a few pre-wedding jitters.”

The word wedding sits oddly in my stomach. Despite all the thought I’ve put into the idea of marriage over the past month, it feels totally different when it’s on the horizon. In less than sixteen hours, I won’t be single anymore. I’ll be someone’s wife.

I’ve always imagined myself getting married someday. But in that fantasy, my father would walk me down a wide church aisle, the pews decorated with peonies, as my elated friends and extended family looked on. My husband would be a man who loved me so deeply that he couldn’t stand to live a single day without me.

But the reality of my life is nothing like that sweet story. Instead, I bear the pressure of a legally binding contract, followed by a long, hard battle to keep Tate & Cane out of enemy hands.

The circumstances definitely leave a lot to be desired. My feelings about the groom himself, though . . . those are way more ambiguous.

Things between us used to be simple. Justin was just a plain old pain in my ass. An acquaintance at best; a rival or a pest at worst. His devil-may-care attitude still infuriates me sometimes. And I hate the way he knows exactly how handsome he is, and shamelessly uses his good looks to get what he wants. Although what I really hate may be the fact that his charm works on me too, whether I like it or not. No matter how hard I try, I’ve never been able to completely bury my huge crush on him.

Lately, though, everything is changing. We’re well on the road to becoming friends now. And seeing him leap to my defense against Brad gave me undeniable butterflies.

Justin has lived up to my challenge and convinced me that a relationship between us is possible. Not right away, and not without effort—this isn’t a fairy tale where we snap our fingers and live happily ever after—but if we keep trying in good faith . . .

I’m even starting to wonder if my feelings for him when I was a teenager weren’t totally unfounded. Maybe my younger self was on to something. Maybe she wasn’t just horny—okay, horniness was definitely a factor, but still. She sensed a passionate, fiercely kind heart beating underneath his playboy facade. I’ve learned that just because Justin doesn’t take everything seriously doesn’t mean he doesn’t take anything seriously. His priorities and strategies are different from mine, not necessarily better or worse.

A dozen different emotions swirl through me, some good, some bad. But even though Justin asked me, I’m reluctant to reveal them all. Because I don’t want to show vulnerability . . . or because I don’t want to hurt his feelings? I’m not sure.

Eventually, unable to decide how to reply, I just murmur into his chest, “It’s still kind of surreal to me, you know?”

“Yeah.” Justin gives me a reassuring squeeze . . . and presses his lips to my forehead.

I blink at his feather-soft kiss. The unexpected tenderness just muddles my feelings more.

Oblivious to my confusion, Justin lies on his back, drawing my arm around his waist. I try to push my distracting, troubling thoughts away and relax into him. I cuddle closer, pushing my head onto his chest and resting my leg over his. He’s so warm, like lying next to a fireplace.

The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear soothes me to sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

Justin

As far as the media’s concerned, a couple of our status should have a wedding with glitz and swagger, but Selena decided she felt most comfortable having our ceremony at her father’s beach house on Nantucket. It’s a purely legal wedding. No fanfare, just a handful of family and close friends. Even the beach house itself is a quaint place, with just two bedrooms, an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a wide porch looking out onto the beach.

That stretch of beach is where we’ll tie the proverbial knot in about an hour. Drinking beer in the kitchen with Sterling, I watch seagulls land on the folding chairs we set up earlier, scaring a few tiny crabs back into their holes.

This whole affair is the polar opposite of what Camryn told me about Selena’s scrapbook wedding. And I don’t know how to feel about that. Did Selena just want to keep things convenient and cheap? She is the practical type, and she’s been tearing her hair out over Tate & Cane’s expenses recently.

Or is she trying to preserve her romantic dream by keeping her reality as far away from it as possible? I’m not sure I like that idea, considering I’m part of her reality . . .

“Another beer?” Sterling asks.

“I better not.” I glance at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “Fifty-eight minutes till I say I do.”

My best man smirks. “You think she’s actually going to go through with it?”

“You don’t?”

He shrugs. “She locked herself in her room two hours ago and hasn’t been out since. I offered her breakfast this morning, and she said she was too uneasy to eat. I don’t know, mate. It’s entirely possible that she’ll back out.”

“The contract’s all drawn up. We’ll sign it on Monday when we’re back at the office. Why back out now? Selena’s a woman of her word. She’s dependable like that.”

He lets out a grunt of disapproval.

“What’s the big deal? You took a fake date to prom,” I remind him.

I chuckle to myself, remembering the year Sterling took his cousin to the dance. He thought it was genius at the time—no corsage to buy, no need to impress her with a fancy restaurant or limo ride. Until the end of the night, when all the rest of us were enjoying some skin-to-skin contact with our dates, and he realized what a horrible decision he’d made. The only skin-to-skin action he got was with his hand.

“A fake wife is a hell of a lot different. It’s a big fucking deal.” Sterling glares at me over the rim of his beer.

Looking out over the ocean from our spot on the porch of the beach cottage, I loosen my tie, which has grown too tight around my neck, and level him with a dark stare.

“Actually, it’s legally binding, so she’ll be my real wife. Until we got divorced, or got the marriage annulled or whatever.”

I clear my throat, my unease growing. “Oh, one more thing.”

After Selena’s father presented the contract to us this morning over breakfast, I took a copy with me out to the porch while Selena retreated to the bedroom. I didn’t view it as a bad sign, just that we were both taking this seriously and needed a moment to absorb it.

With a cup of coffee, I read the contract in full detail. Page fourteen, section twenty-eight, part B stated that the fulfillment of our contractual obligations as new owners of the multi-billion-dollar conglomerate was also contingent on Selena getting pregnant. Within ninety days.

I stormed inside to talk to Fred immediately.

“An heir clause? Is this your sick way of ensuring the family name carries on? You actually expect me to knock her up?”

“It’s part of your father’s will, Justin. Bill and I both wanted a grandchild before we died. Surely you can understand that.”

“And what has Selena said about that?” I asked him.

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “We haven’t discussed it yet.”

That was this morning. And I’m pretty sure that’s the reason Selena locked herself inside her bedroom and hasn’t been seen since.

Taking a deep sigh, I watch my best man carefully as I drop my news. “I need to knock her up.”

Sterling spits out his drink.

“There’s an heir clause in the contract,” I say dryly.

Wiping beer from his lips, he narrows his eyes on mine. “You’re telling me you need to impregnate her?”

“Uh-huh.”

The fucker actually laughs at me, then takes another sip of his beer. “If I know the first thing about Selena, it’s that she’s not going to want your bun in her oven.”

“O, ye of little faith.” I smirk at him.

“Has she even touched your cock yet?”

Aside from grabbing it through my slacks once at the restaurant, no. But that doesn’t mean anything. We’re building on something good here. It’s only a matter of time.

“Don’t be an ass.”

I stand up and cross the porch to the railing, leaning on it as I look out on the endless pool of blue lapping at the shoreline. I may be putting on a cool and unaffected front about all of this, but in fact, I’ve been losing my shit ever since I learned about the clause in the contract this morning. I can only imagine how Selena feels. I don’t even know if she wants to be a mother. Probably not, seeing as she eats, sleeps, and breathes her career.

“You’re good, buddy, I’ll give you that, but even you won’t be able to pull this one off.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Watching the water is hypnotic. It makes me feel slightly calmer. But only slightly. I’d probably need horse tranquilizers to get anywhere close to a normal heart rate.

“And what about you? The reigning party animal is seriously going to have a baby?”

I turn back to face Sterling. He’s kicked back in a weather-beaten rocker on the porch, one leg hooked over the arm of it. With no good answer for him, I just give him a cocky wink.

“I’ll figure it out.” I hope.

His mouth drops open for a second. Then he throws up his hands in a dramatic shrug. “It’s your life, mate.”

“I’ll take my chances. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on my bride.”

I knock on the closed door of the bedroom Selena set up in and hear the two feminine voices inside hush.

“Yes?” Camryn opens the door just a crack.

“Can I have a minute with Selena?” I ask.

Camryn’s brow furrows. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

“It’s okay,” Selena says from inside.

“Fine. You can talk with her for five minutes.” Camryn glancing at her watch and then skirts around me into the hall.

When I push open the door, I find Selena seated at a vanity, and our reflections meet in the mirror. Her eyes are rimmed in red, and I wonder if she’s been crying.

Guilt stabs at my chest and I suddenly feel short of breath. “Are you okay?”

I can’t believe how much my relationship with Selena has grown, how real my feelings have become. The thought of her so upset feels like a physical shove.

She nods. “I think so. Today’s been strangely emotional. All these things I haven’t thought about in a while, like my mom not being here, my dad’s health . . . it all hit me this morning.”

“Come here.”

I pull her to her feet and into my arms. As I bring her close to my chest, her hands settle on my back. I hold her for several minutes, neither of us speaking. When I let her go, Selena looks more composed. I wonder how she feels about the heir clause—wonder if she’s on board, indifferent, or terrified. I’m guessing the latter.

“I’m okay. I promise.” She gives me a small smile.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her, meaning every word.

She looks down at her simple cream-colored sundress with lace trimming the bust, and smooths it over her hips. “Thank you.” Her honey-colored hair flows in loose waves over her shoulders, and her makeup is light and natural. She looks like the perfect casual beach bride, fit to grace the cover of one of those bridal magazines.

“Are you sure you aren’t going to regret this?” I ask, the moment taking a turn for the serious. I probably won’t love her answer, but I still want to know her honest feelings.

She shakes her head. “All I’ve ever wanted is to run this company. My dad’s been grooming me for this moment for fifteen years.”

I nod, understanding perfectly. We’re in the same position.

“And if I have to do it with you by my side, so be it.”

Selena thrusts her chin up in the air, and I’m again struck by guilt. She’s putting on a brave front, but I need to know she’s okay. Otherwise, I’m not sure I can go through with this.

“I need to know if you’re really okay doing things this way. Doesn’t every girl dream about a white dress and a big party under a tent?” I know for a fact that Selena does. But I don’t mention that; she may not have wanted Camryn to tell me something so personal.

She gives me a sympathetic look. “We’ll make it work.”

“It might not be the wedding you envisioned, but I want you to know that it is to me. I really would take care of you if anything bad happened. I know what we have isn’t love, and that you deserve to be loved and cherished by your husband, but I need you to know I’ll always step up and be there for you. So in that sense, my vows will all be true.”

She swallows, and I wonder if there’s a lump stuck in her throat like there is in mine. That thought eases some of my guilt the smallest bit.

“Thank you for that. I know you’ll be there for me when it matters,” she says, her tone soft.

“Damn straight, I will.”

“Thanks, Justin.” She smiles at me.

I pull the creased contract from the inside pocket of my jacket. “I went ahead and signed this. So, whenever you’re ready.” I hand her the contract, and she sets it down on her vanity table.

“Thank you.”

I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “See you out there.”

She nods. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll send Camryn back in.”

As I head out into the hall, I’m struck by the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Sterling is wrong, and all of this will unfold naturally between me and Selena.

Call me crazy, but hell, it may just work.

Chapter Twenty

Selena

I’m at my family’s summer cottage on Nantucket Island, motionless while Camryn puts the finishing touches on my eye makeup. This bedroom is still decorated according to my tastes in my high school days—which apparently involved a lot of tie-dye, mandala posters, and framed rain forest photos. Heh . . . I’d forgotten I had a hippie phase. At its small whitewashed desk, where I sit now, I did my summer homework and wrote in my diary.

Thank God for Camryn. She drove over early to lend a hand before the ceremony. As far as primping goes, I didn’t really need her help. I’m not doing anything special with my hair or makeup. My only concession to the special occasion is a cream-colored dress, and even that is pretty plain: just a knee-length wrap with a little lace at the bust. I look more like the mother of a bride than the bride herself. What I did need—desperately—was my best friend’s moral support. Her calm, matter-of-fact presence soothes my frazzled nerves.

I don’t even know why I’m wound so tight. Our “wedding” is just Justin and me meeting with a justice of the peace to sign the paperwork, while Dad and a few other family members and close friends stand by. No tuxedo and gown, no vows, no reception party. As short and simple as humanly possible. This marriage isn’t even real . . . and yet I have a textbook case of cold feet.

“And boom,” Camryn announces proudly. “Eyes are all done. Take a look.”

I open my eyes and blink at myself in the mirror. Wow, I look . . . hot. My usual makeup style is pretty minimalistic, since I rarely go anywhere besides the office, but Camryn has given me a subtle smokiness that’s sensual while still being demure enough for a daytime event.

“This looks great. Thank you.”

“Am I good or what?” Camryn grins. “Do you want anything to eat? Now’s your last chance before I do your lips.”

The kitchen counters and breakfast bar are piled with casseroles and salads and finger sandwiches from the catering company Dad hired. I told him I didn’t want a reception with a fancy meal afterward. But he insisted that our guests, as few as they are, still need to eat before heading back home. So this was our compromise, self-serve casual fare on paper plates.

I shake my head. “No, thanks. My stomach is flip-flopping like crazy.”

“That bad?” Camryn asks, her tone rising in sympathy.

I let out a deep sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel.”

I really do believe that Justin and I can work as a couple. But I’m still on the verge of panic. Marriage is such a huge commitment. Thinking about taking that step—oh God, and in less than an hour too—makes me break out in a cold sweat.

If Camryn hadn’t been here to steady my nerves, I might have seriously considered bolting. Especially when Dad handed over a copy of the contract at breakfast—all looming and official with its sixteen numbered pages. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it. But I already know what it says, anyway. What’s the point of stressing myself out even more? I’ll just sign it when the time comes, quick and easy, like ripping off a bandage.

“Poor thing.” Camryn sighs. “Let me get you a drink. You need a little something to take the edge off.”

She bustles out of the bedroom to visit the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of merlot. My best friend knows me well enough to forgo the bottle of chilled champagne nestled in its ice bucket on the kitchen counter. Champagne is much too celebratory for the mood I’m in.

I accept the pleasantly chilled glass and take a deep swig. The small dose of alcohol subtly warms and loosens my muscles, and I let out a quiet sigh. She was right; I did need this.

“I really think this will be okay,” Camryn says. “From what I’ve seen, it seems like Justin’s been pretty sweet and attentive toward you.”

“Yeah, I do think he’s really trying.” I take another sip of my wine. “Even if his ultimate goal is just to get into my pants.”

“And that would be the worst thing in the world, why?” She raises her eyebrows at me with a devilish grin. She’s continuously griping about the state of my nonexistent love life.

I snort, smiling back despite myself. “I have about as much interest in riding his knob as I do in jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

Except when the jerk does something sexy and all the blood in my brain suddenly flies south for the winter. Which seems to be happening more and more often lately.

“Ladies . . .” Sterling pokes his head around the door frame, smirking like he heard every word. “Knob riding will commence after dinner.” Then he tips his chin toward us and leaves.

Fuck. The last thing I need is Justin thinking that tonight will feature any wedding-night hanky-panky. Frustrated, I growl and slam my eyes closed.

“We need something stronger than wine.” Camryn charges back into the kitchen before I can stop her. I can hear clattering as she searches through cabinets. Soon she returns, holding out a bottle of vodka. “Here we go.”

“No, that’s okay.” I wave her off. “I don’t really want to get too tipsy right now.”

She sets down the vodka on the desk. “Good point. We should wait until after the ceremony.”

“Actually . . .” I sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be in the mood to socialize tonight. I need some time alone to figure stuff out.” Or bury my head in work like an ostrich and avoid my situation entirely. “Thank you for coming all the way out here.”

She nods. “Of course I came, Selena. I can head back to the city early, no problem. It’s a long trip back anyway.” Her gaze wanders over toward the deck where Justin and Sterling sit with their backs to us, looking out over the beach. “Then again, Sterling’s pretty fucking hot. I could probably busy myself with him tonight.” She grins wickedly.

“Knock yourself out,” I say with a shrug. Someone around here should have fun, after all. “In fact, go ahead and get him now. I can do my lipstick by myself.”

We share one last reassuring hug before she leaves me alone in my childhood bedroom, taking her drink with her.

I push up the window and inhale the saltiness of the humid ocean breeze. The afternoon is warm, and mist rises from the blue harbor. For a minute, I watch a handful of distant sailboats, dim white dots bobbing on the horizon. I try not to obsess about the ceremony that will be starting in just half an hour. Letting the peaceful view fill my mind, I feel my tension start to melt away.

But the blessed silence shatters when my phone rings. Grumbling, wondering who the hell would call me right now, I dig it out of my purse.

I frown at the screen. Since I don’t know this number off the top of my head, I answer with a brisk, “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Selena.”

My stomach contracts into a tight, painful ball. That voice . . . For a moment I can’t speak.

“You really should check your e-mail more often,” Brad says.

Chapter Twenty-One

Justin

I’ve been standing on the beach for fifty minutes. Beads of sweat dot my forehead, but they’re not from the sun. That set ten minutes ago.

“Where is she?” Sterling hisses under his breath.

“She’ll be here,” I say through gritted teeth, checking my watch yet again.

After everything we’ve built . . . living together, working together . . . it all feels so fragile and pointless if Selena doesn’t follow through today.

Guests are starting to look at each other, and hushed whispers rustle through the small crowd.

The officiant shifts her weight, looking as uncomfortable as I feel. Then she leans in toward me. “I’m terribly sorry, but I have an appointment in twenty minutes. I can’t wait much longer.”

I nod and look to Fred. His features are twisted with worry. When he tips his chin toward Camryn, she scurries off toward the house. I take off after her, stepping into the footprints she leaves in the sand.

We head straight for the bedroom. The house is dim, and the feeling that something fundamental has changed rips through me. The door is still shut, and I’m afraid of what we’ll find when she opens it. Afraid of what it will mean.

Finally, Camryn opens the door. Everything is quiet for a minute.

“She’s gone,” she says, her voice shaky.

I swallow down a wave of emotion and look around the room. Selena’s makeup and toiletries are still scattered on the vanity, but she’s not in the room.

I stare out the window at the sun setting over the ocean, and let out a heavy sigh. “She’s gone.”

What in the hell could have possibly happened since I last saw her? She was ready. Everything seemed fine. I notice the contract is no longer sitting on the vanity table. She’s taken it with her. I’m not sure what that means.

I turn to face Camryn. “What happened? You were the last person to see her. Was it nerves?”

Camryn shakes her head. “She seemed fine.”

I push my hands into my hair. I don’t fucking like surprises, and I’ve never been stood up before. But getting left at the altar? This is beyond any anger and panic I’ve ever felt.

I want to go out drinking and find some random girl so I can fuck out my aggression. And I know Sterling would be game. But then I think of Selena’s shy smile and her sweet honeysuckle scent and the way her lips part when I kiss her . . . silently begging me for more.

“Fuck this,” Sterling says from behind me. “We’re leaving. Come on, Justin.”

His hand closes around my arm and starts tugging me down the hall. I know he has the exact same thought I did about thirty seconds ago. Booze. Girls. Massive hangover tomorrow to mask the pain of today. But I know nothing could blot out this memory.

If it weren’t for this ache in my chest—this empty spot she’d begun to fill—I’d leave and never look back. But part of me needs to know the next chapter in our story.

I’ve fantasized about Selena for the last twenty years. She’s the girl I squirted with the water hose when I was young, the woman who gave me butterflies in my stomach when I was older.

And now, just as I’ve started to think of her as mine . . . she’s gone.

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