Summer Sunsets Read online

  Summer Sunsets

  by

  Maria Rachel Hooley

  Summer Sunsets

  ©2011 Maria Rachel Hooley

  Cover Art by IStockphotos.com & Yuri Arcurs

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Chapter One

  It’s been almost two years since I saw Skye Williams. Two years. Now, standing in my dorm room for the last time, I look around. The walls are bare, with plenty of nail holes to mark how many pictures I’ve tacked up—more than a few of growing up with her. Just because she’s never been to the University of North Carolina doesn’t mean she’s never been here…if you know what I mean. There hasn’t been a day gone by I haven’t kept some part of her with me.

  I sit on the bed and stare at an empty room just waiting for its next student, and part of me is ready to give it up. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed my five years here, but I know where I belong and whom I belong with. I guess the real test will be what happens now. I grab the last box and head out.

  I’ve just locked the door when my cell rings. Propping the box against the wall, I check the display: Skye. I smile and flip open the phone.

  “Hey, Stranger. You on the road yet?”

  “No.”

  Her voice is breathy and panicked. The sound of it tenses my back and shoulders. I force calm into my voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing, Devin.”

  I nod, aware that whatever it might be, “nothing” isn’t it.

  “C’mon, Skye—I know you better than that.” I press my face against my shoulder to cradle the phone. “Just tell me.”

  “I…think there’s this guy following me,” she whispers.

  More tension threads the muscles in my back, and I take a deep breath, knowing Skye could have someone following her, but, more likely, she thinks she does.

  “Calm down. Are you near a public place?” I keep my voice even. The last thing she needs is me reacting.

  “Yes.” Tears deepen her voice. “The student union is just ahead.”

  “Okay, go inside and see if he passes.” I get into the elevator and push the button for the ground floor, waiting. This isn’t new for Skye, but that doesn’t mean it makes it any easier when I get a call like this. Every few seconds, I want to ask her what’s going on, but I have a feeling she’s going to tell me she’s inside, safe. It’s the middle of the day, and her university is probably a lot like mine—buzzing with all the students heading home.

  A few seconds later, the elevator doors open, and I step out, heading to the parking lot. I hear her softly breathing in the phone.

  “Are you inside yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he follow you?” I set the box in the back of the truck and unlock the door.

  “No, he’s moving on.” Her voice is faster with relief. “Thank God.”

  I smile, also relieved.

  “Are you packed and ready to hit the road?” I start the engine.

  “Yeah, I’m going to get a soda, and I’ll head out. Sorry for the false alarm.” She’s breathing more slowly, which is a good thing.

  “Anytime, Skye. You know that. I’ll see you at the usual spot.”

  “’Kay.”

  I disconnect the call and sit a moment, still holding the phone open. I stare at the picture—one of me and Skye taken during her high school graduation. She’s wearing a blue cap and gown that makes her look dark. I mean, she is dark, probably because of the Hispanic genes and all, but her smile is kind of uncertain, like she hadn’t shaken off some of the baggage. Then again, I think, leaning back against the seat, that made two of us.

  Sophomore year—that’s when everything went south. Up until that point, Skye had been my best friend since we were kids, and I had been in love with her. She just didn’t know it. And when she tried to kill herself, I fell apart. It’s been years, but certain wounds never heal. That’s just the way things are.

  This is going to be a long road ahead to Colgate, Mississippi, the little town where Skye and I have met up twice in college, the same one where Skye’s mom took us on vacation years ago when Skye and I were kids. Without realizing it, my hand drifts to the shell necklace Skye made for me. I rarely take it off, not that I’d tell her that. Stuff like that’s liable to freak her out because even though Skye knows how I feel, I’m not sure she’s ready for anything that serious.

  Late afternoon sunlight spills into my eyes, forcing me to turn the visor down to cut the glare. I peer over at the passenger seat where the folder of pictures I took down sits. One of them has slipped free, and I pick it up once I’ve merged onto the highway. It’s a picture of Skye and me on the trampoline. We’re sitting close, and she’s lifted one hand to form bunny ears above my head. We’re probably twelve or thirteen, back before things changed, and I’d give anything to be back there, to be able to take Skye back to that time for both our sakes.

  Chapter Two

  The house is still as I rush up the front steps and begin slamming my fist against the door. “Skye, it’s Devin! Open up!”

  I wait. Nothing. My heart is ramming in my chest, and I don’t understand what’s happening. Warren sounded desperate when he called. He said Skye was in danger.

  I pound on the door again. “Skye, let me in!”

  No answer.

  Unable to take the stillness, I throw the screen wide and grab the knob. The door’s unlocked, thank God. I run inside, yelling.

  “Skye? Where are you?”

  I scan the downstairs and find emptiness settled like dust. I have to find her.

  “Skye? Answer me!”

  Taking the stair two at a time, I pass the bathroom and give it a half glance, at least until I see the pill bottles strewn across the counter and pills scattered all over the floor. That stops me, and I want to pretend I’m not seeing what’s right in front of me—that it doesn’t mean anything. But it does. God, it does.

  “Skye!” I yell, desperate this time as I dart into the bathroom. Only one bottle has the lid off, and that’s the one I take with me as I charge towards her bedroom. The world seems to have slowed to half-time, and all I can hear is my heart. It’s so loud, and it seems to take forever just to get where I’m going. I nudge open the door.

  Skye lies in bed, her face turned away from me, one hand just above her head. She looks so natural I want to believe she’s only sleeping.

  “Skye?” I prod, expecting her to turn and answer, but she doesn’t. I edge towards the bed and see make-up ruined by tears. Although a blanket covers her from the chin down, it fails to conceal her still chest.

  “Skye!” I yell, thinking that will jumpstart her heart. Oh, God.

  I grab the cordless by her bed and call 911. The operator answers, and I say things. I don’t remember what. The voice tells me to start CPR. I go through the motions.

  She’s never going to wake up.

  I jerk upright in the bed, feeling night pressing down on me so it’s hard to breathe. I’m crying. Imagine—a six-foot-four guy crying like a baby. That’s me. Skye’s name is on the tip of my tongue, and my body is bathed in sweat. I calm myself by rocking back and forth, then head to the window to peer out at the beach, watching the roll of the tide, comforted by the sound of the water.

  I look back at the bed. There’s no point in returning to it, no matter that it’s the middle of the night and I’m tired as hell. I rake my fingers through my hair and try to relax. My heart is still racing when I pick up the phone and dial Skye’s number. Two rings later, I hear her sleepy v
oice.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, you,” I whisper, closing my eyes to focus on her voice. I pad back to the bed.

  “Everything okay?” She asks, and I can hear her shifting in bed.

  “It’s fine. I just wanted to check on you after this afternoon, so don’t get up, okay?” I lean forward, resting both my forearms on the flats of my thighs. Right now, I don’t want to close my eyes for sleep, not until that dream is a less powerful force. I used to have it every night after it happened, but the years have blunted it some. When it hits, it puts me back in high school again.

  “You sound weird,” she whispers. “And it’s three in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t have called.” I know this, but I wanted to hear her voice. “What time you think you’ll get here?”

  “That depends on how much sleep I get,” she replies. “Maybe by 2.”

  “Good,” I say sit up straighter. “I should let you get back to sleep.”

  “’Kay. ‘Night.”

  “’Night.” I hear her disconnect the call, and for a moment, I just sit there, the phone still pressed against my ear. I don’t know why. I guess I learned early on that the small things sometimes hint at the bigger ones, and any time I feel currents in the water, I sense a shift coming, even if there isn’t one. Perhaps I’m not so different than Skye in that regard; we just fear different things.

  Setting the phone on the nightstand, I grab my keys and head for the beach. The night air is heavy with June, so the fact I’m only wearing jeans isn’t a problem. It’s probably still 75 out. As I step out into the oncoming tide, I look up and down the beach, realizing I’m the only sleepless soul taking refuge in the surf. I let the warm water wash over my feet and in the full moonlight start looking for shells. It’s not that I collect them; Skye does. She has a thing about them.

  A flash of white catches my eye and I bend to find one I know she’ll like. Yeah, it’s going to take some cleaning, but that’s all right. I don’t mind. I wipe away the grit and shove it into my jeans pocket before I start walking. I’d forgotten how the sound of the ocean relaxes me, the way the moon spills across the water, burning with night. It would all make a great picture, but I’m no photographer.

  I stop and stare at the moon, recognizing this is the place I want to propose to Skye, but part of me is terrified. It’s taken us years to get past what happened in high school. Years. The last thing I want to do is hurt her or remind her of something she can’t bear, but I can’t imagine my life going on with her just in the periphery. I reach into my other pocket and drag out the ring. Staring at the diamond and white gold setting, I know it’s not nearly as much of a ring as I’d wanted, but if I knew one thing about Skye, she liked the simple things—no flash and dazzle would catch her heart. Besides, she would know the ring was a symbol, that if she married me I would love her forever.

  As hard as it was to think about, even if she didn’t say yes, I’d still love her forever. I’d been doing it so long I don’t think I’d know any other way to exist. I give the ring one last look before shoving it back into my pocket and moving on. Ahead, I see a fishing pier jutting long and forlorn into the caps, silhouetted against the moon, and it’s as good a place as any just to sit.

  I feel the grit of sand stick to my wet feet as I trudge to the pier. There are a few lights strung along its length, at least half of which are burned out, a sign that while this place used to be a big tourist spot, it’s lost its charm somewhere along the way, not that it matters. Its charm resides in my memory, a time when things were simpler and I didn’t understand the way life could come unraveled so completely. There is a measure of safety in blindness, but you can’t find happiness in safety, no matter how much you want to. That’s my argument with Skye, I guess. She feels safe in hiding, always has. I know she’s afraid of being hurt or of hurting someone else. Maybe she thinks that’s all there is to love, but she’s wrong. I just need a chance to prove it.

  I look back at the house, wondering if I should try to go back and get some shut-eye, but the remnants of the dream are too close, and I don’t fancy another round. I figure I’ll just stay out here, where it’s cooler, anyway, probably thanks to the breeze bracing off the water.

  I get to my feet and head back to the shore to grab a stick. Between the moonlight and what feeble glow the lamps provide, I start drawing in the sand. At first, I think I’m just kind of doodling, that I haven’t really figured out what I’m doing. Skye’s eyes begin to emerge, then her hair. Granted, I’ve always had artistic ability, and I’ve sure never chosen to use it—and I’ve never used wet sand and a stick as a medium before, but nightmares and boredom usually help me figure new things to try.

  An hour later, I’ve almost finished the rendering, and I put the last few strokes in her hair to give it that wild carefree look before I stand to take a look at my work. Smiling, I see her face, almost as good as if she were really here. And that’s from memory. Imagine what I could do with her near me, not that she’d approve of my model selection. That’s another funny thing about Skye: she’s amazingly beautiful but blind to it. Perhaps that’s one reason I love her so damned much. Who knows?

  For a moment, I just stand there, staring at her perfect face, the one I’ve taken such care to remove the pain of the past from. She is carefree and unbidden by things she cannot control, things none of us can control, and I only wish I had the power to really grant her that gift in life. Slowly, I turn toward the ocean, aware that in a few hours the tide will inch higher and higher on the shore until it washes up at my design, eventually eroding it. Turning and trudging back toward the house, I tell myself it’s all right; no matter what tide seeks to destroy it, I know it can’t. The best parts of Skye are locked inside my heart where I protect her. One last glance, and I smile at her beauty.

  Once at the house, I fall back across the bed, exhaustion reaching for me yet again. I knew it would. I kick off my shoes and slide under the covers to welcome unconsciousness. The last thing I remember is wondering what time Skye will arrive and whether I will be conscious by then.

  Chapter Three

  “So are you planning on getting up, sleepyhead?”

  I slowly open my eyes and find sunlight blooming in around the beach house curtains, haloing Skye’s face as she hovers near the bed. Raking my fingers through my hair, I slowly sit up, trying to orient myself to the fact that it’s a new day after a night of restless sleep. “See what happens when I leave the door unlocked? Just anybody can walk in.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees, setting her duffle on the dresser. “Just anybody.” She’s turned toward the window so she’s not aware of me rising and swiftly rushing toward her until she feels my arms envelop her and my chin rest on her shoulder.

  “Okay. I’m up, wiseass. Now what?”

  “That was quick.” She kind of jumps like she always does when she doesn’t hear me approach. She’s often told me I’m one of the quietest people she’s ever met. Lots of people have told me that.

  For a moment, we just linger like this, and I close my eyes, so glad to feel her this close. I don’t know she shares it. Five years ago, she told me that we both needed to find some space and attend different colleges to give us room to grow. I’ve often wondered if she actually meant to give me time to rethink my feelings. Trouble is, my feelings have a mind all their own, one that definitely includes Skye in the final picture.

  “I’m glad to see you,” I say, giving her one last squeeze before untangling my arms from around her.

  She turns slowly, her hair dark auburn in the sunlight. A small smile tugs at her lips. “I’ve missed you, too.” She lurches to her tiptoes and kisses my cheek but pulls away before I realize it. She smiles brightly. “Your hair is longer than before.” Her fingers tousle it. “And definitely a mess.”

  “Thanks, Skye. You’re so sweet.” Sarcasm drips from my tone. I peer at the clock. The red digital display tells me it’s just after 12 p.m., and I wander towards t
he kitchen.

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to get here until this afternoon.” I go to the coffee-maker and start a pot. “If you’d let me know, I would have been up by now.”

  She plunks down at the table and shakes her head. “Well, I was going to wait until later to head out, but somebody woke me at 3 a.m., and I just couldn’t go back to sleep. Any ideas who that would have been?” she asks me pointedly.

  I shrug. “Absolutely none. If you find him, shoot him.” I turn to face her and lean against the counter. “Seriously, what happened yesterday when you called? It seemed like you’ve been doing so well.”

  She pushes a strand of hair from her face, and her dark eyes peer at me. Once again, I see the past well up in her eyes. It’s only there for a second, but I see it nonetheless. It’s always going to be there, I think, but that doesn’t mean it has to hurt her like this. She chews her bottom lip for a couple of seconds before finally answering.

  “I was probably just dealing with a lot of stress I couldn’t seem to bleed off, and there was this huge jock that reminded me of Tyler. You know, the kind who has money and thinks every girl belongs to him. He just got too close, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. That’s it.”

  As I stand there, I watch Skye fold her arms across her chest over the Tinkerbelle t-shirt she wears. Her chin tilts downward, and she refuses to meet my gaze, making me wonder if that were really all that happened. “You sure?” I ask softly, bracing my hands on either side of the counter.

  “Yeah, that was it.”

  I step toward her and wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her forehead. “You know Tyler has no power over you anymore. You left him in the past years ago.” I lean there, wishing I could make her see she had nothing to fear, certainly not Tyler Rutherford.

  “I know.” She slowly pull back and nods while taking a deep breath. “I mean, my head knows that. Sometimes it’s just the other part of me that gets it all mixed up.”