Someone You Love by Kristen Granata

Charly

I slept like a baby.

I thought I’d have a difficult time falling asleep knowing that a complete asshat was in the room next to mine, but I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I tap out a text to Jenny when my eyes pop open as the sun streams through my curtains.

Me: I’m alive.

Jenny: Thank God your rude roommate didn’t murder you in the night. How did you sleep?

Me: Better than I have in a long time.

Jenny: Jealous. Rob snored all night. I thought about stuffing a sock in his mouth.

Me: I have to say, sleeping alone is highly underrated.

Jenny: I give it one week before you’re sharing a bed with Khal Drogo.

A laugh bursts out of me, and I slap my hand over my mouth. I don’t know how thin these walls are.

Sleep with Bryce? Yeah, right. After the way he acted last night, I don’t want to share the same air as him, let alone a bed.

Me: Not gonna happen.

Jenny: Have you spoken to Greg?

Me: No. He left me a voicemail last night, but I haven’t listened to it yet.

Jenny: He came by the diner.

Me: What did he say?

Jenny: The same bullshit. That he’s sorry, and he wants you to call him.

Jenny: Blah, blah, blah.

Me: Did you tell him I’m away for the summer?

Jenny: I told him you were on vacation.

Jenny: I also told him he should go play in traffic.

Me: I wish he’d stop calling and forget about me.

A few days after I caught Greg and Brenda together, I texted him and told him he didn’t need to explain his actions because I understood why our relationship ended the way it did. He’s been trying to get a hold of me ever since, but I ignore his texts, and send his calls straight to voicemail.

I have nothing to say to him, and really, what’s the point?

After choking down a bowl of Corn Flakes I found in Bryce’s kitchen, because I refuse to have breakfast with him at the inn—who actually enjoys a bowl of cardboard?—I venture out to the pool.

Like yesterday, no one is utilizing it, and I have the entire yard to myself. I waste no time diving into the deep end, slicing through the still water. I’ve never been a fan of running, but I get the equivalent of a runner’s high when I’m swimming. The world quiets, and so does my mind. I swim laps across the length of the pool, back and forth, back and forth, losing track of time. And when I finally tire, I lay on my back, spreading out my arms and legs, and float along the surface, letting the sun warm my face.

At lunchtime, a landscaping company comes by to chop down parts of the tree that were damaged from the storm. Between the loud noise of their saws, and the falling debris, I pack up my things and head inside to shower.

I haven’t seen Bryce all morning—which both pleases and irritates me at the same time. He’s probably working furiously to get my room fixed so I can get out of his house, but he could’ve stopped by to talk about last night.

I tighten the towel around my body. “He’s not man enough to apologize,” I say to the empty hallway as I make my way to the bathroom.

“Talking to yourself?”

A blood-curdling scream rips from my throat as I spin around, and throw a blind punch toward the male voice.

Catching Bryce right on his chin.

He rubs his jaw, and grimaces. “Damn. I don’t know what’s more dangerous, your scream or your jab.”

“Oh, my God. Bryce, I am so sorry.” I slap my palm over my racing heart. “You scared me. I didn’t know you were here.”

“It’s my house.”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“It’s gonna take more than a tap on the chin to take me down.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “That was totally more than a tap.”

Whatever he’s about to say dies on his tongue as his eyes flick down to my body. I dropped my towel in my quickness to defend myself when I swung at him, and now I’m half-naked, dripping water onto the floor. With his black onyx gaze on me, the hallway feels a lot narrower, and I struggle to find my next breath. I should grab the towel, and cover up. I should slink past him into the bathroom. I should do something, anything, besides stand here and let him look at me like this.

But I can’t move.

Or I don’t want to.

I don’t want him to take those wild, hungry eyes off me.

Heat smolders in my core, flames licking up my skin, and my nipples harden under the thin fabric of my damp bikini. And he notices. His fists ball at his sides, and his tongue darts out, skating over his bottom lip. I sway closer, unable to resist, like gravity is pulling me toward him. My fingers itch to reach out and touch him, to feel his hard muscles, to trace the curve of his mouth, to run through his hair and grip on.

Wait, no. I’m mad at him!

I snatch my towel off the floor, and hold it against my body to shield myself from his hypnotizing eyes. “I take it back. I’m not sorry. You’re the one who should be apologizing after the way you acted last night. I hope your face hurts.” I move to push past him.

“Charly.”

That one word halts my feet like a command. I lift my chin, and meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat last night.”

“Why did you?”

He sighs. “It’s my issue, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You accused me of lying about my mother’s death. What kind of sick person would do that?”

He winces. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

I edge closer to him. “Why would a reporter want to talk to you? Who are you?”

The muscles in his jaw work under his skin. “It’s not important.”

“Come on. I’m all by myself in this place with you. Are you a sex offender? A reformed murderer? Should I be worried? Am I in danger?”

“No.” His eyes widen. “Charly, I would never hurt you. Please believe that.”

“That’s exactly what a psychopathic murderer would say.”

“I’m not a psychopathic murderer. Ask Nana.”

“Maybe she’s in on it.”

“If anything, she’s ready to kill me after the way I spoke to you last night.” He frowns. “I really am sorry. That won’t happen again.”

He’s big enough to take responsibility for his actions, so I drop it. Whatever got him so upset is obviously a sore subject. Maybe this will be a reset for us. I don’t want to spend the rest of the summer tiptoeing around each other here.

“Apology accepted.” I step inside the bathroom, and pause. “And for the record, you might be able to tear a phonebook in half with your bare hands, but you don’t scare me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “How can you say that when you don’t even know me?”

“I’m a New Yorker. Nothing scares us. Plus, I know three ways to bring you to your knees that don’t require muscle or strength.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe I’m the one who should be afraid of you.”

“Sleep with one eye open.” I wink, and close the bathroom door.

“Something smells good in here.”

Beatrice shoots me a quick smile over her shoulder as she stirs a pot over the stove. “Look at you, you bronzed beauty. I take it you enjoyed the pool this afternoon?”

“It was wonderful. I feel so relaxed.”

“Good for you. A little fun in the sun.” She sets the ladle down on the counter. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Look, I know you’re going to tell me you don’t need my help, but I truly want to, and it’ll give me something to do. I like to feel useful, and I miss being at the diner. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do while I’m here.”

Her blue eyes bounce between mine, and I can see the fight reflecting in them. But then she jerks her head to the island behind her. “Grab that recipe over there, would you?”

I hand her the white slip of paper. “What are you making?”

“Bryce’s famous lobster bisque.” She closes her eyes as she inhales through her nose. “He mentioned you liked seafood.”

“I do.”

Beatrice turns to face me. “He’s been through a lot, and he’s rough around the edges, but that boy has the biggest heart. If he knows you like something, he’ll go out of his way to make sure you get it.” She waves her arm around the kitchen. “I wouldn’t have this inn if it weren’t for my grandson. I told him what I wanted to do with this place, and he helped make it happen. He puts the ones he loves before himself. Which can be a downfall at times. He’s been burned in the past, and now he doesn’t trust easily.”

Hence him accusing me about lying last night. A few of the dots connect, and some of Bryce’s picture makes more sense.

I nod, reading between the lines of what she’s saying. “I’m the same way with the people I care about. I can relate.”

Beatrice hums. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy growing up with a sick mother.”

I lift the ladle and stir the soup, needing something to do with my hands. “I just wanted her to get better. Many times, she’d be in remission, and I’d do everything I could to keep her healthy. I made sure we ate plant-based, healthy meals. I made fresh juices for her with organic fruits and vegetables. We exercised together. I thought if I kept her on the right track, her cancer wouldn’t come back. I thought I had it under control.”

Beatrice rubs her palm along my back. “Sometimes, you can’t control the things that happen. They just do, and we have to accept it, and move on.”

“Since I was a kid, I’ve wanted to control things. It calms me, knowing everything is in order.”

Beatrice scoops the soup into a bowl. “But life is full of surprises.”

“It is.” The memory of my father surfaces in my mind, and I don’t know why because I haven’t thought about him in a long time. “My father was supposed to pick me up from school one Friday. He said he bought tickets for us to see Cats on Broadway. I was so excited. I waited outside on the steps after school, and watched all the other kids’ parents pick them up to take them home.” I brush an imaginary crumb off the countertop. “The principal had to call my mom to come pick me up. I didn’t understand what happened, and Mom wouldn’t tell me anything until we got home. He’d packed his bags and left.” I shrug. “I don’t even know if he bought the tickets to the play, or if it was a lie.”

“Why did he leave?”

“Mom said he was sick. I couldn’t understand, and I begged her to explain. But she didn’t tell me until I was in high school. He was an addict.” I let out a sardonic laugh. “I didn’t even know. I thought everything was wonderful in my home. Meanwhile, my father was doing drugs.”

“We don’t see the evils of the world when we’re kids.” Beatrice squeezes my hand. “I bet that made you feel like you had to take care of your mother.”

I nod. “I swore I’d always be there for her, and that I’d be so good, she’d never need anyone but me.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a little girl.”

It was. “We never saw him again. After that, it was like I couldn’t trust anything. If my own father had fooled me, how could I put my faith in anyone else?”

Beatrice fills another bowl. “Not everyone will do what your father did, Charly. Don’t base your decisions off of the actions of one person. That’s what I keep trying to tell my Bryce.” She shakes her head. “Just because some people let you down doesn’t mean everyone will.”

I’m lost in thought for the next two hours—about where Dad is right now; about Mom, and how hard I tried to control her health; about where Bryce is tonight, and what made him freak out when he thought I was afraid of him yesterday. I help serve the guests, and clean up the kitchen in between slurping up spoonfuls of Bryce’s delicious soup. By the end of dinner, I’m looking forward to curling up at the bay window with a good book to escape reality for a while.

“Do you mind if I check out the library?” I gesture to the room next to the main lobby with tall bookcases lining the walls.

“Of course, my dear. Take as many books as you’d like.” Beatrice wraps me in her embrace. “What do you say we head into town tomorrow? I have a few things I need to get before the weekend, and I want to show you a few of the boutiques while we’re there.”

“Of course. I’d love to.”

She claps her hands before turning to make her way to the stairs. “Have a good night.”

Ten minutes later, I’m heading back to the house with a book tucked under my arm. The path is dimly lit with only a streak of moonlight peeking through the trees. I’m not scared being out here at night by myself—New Yorker, remember?—but I’m also not expecting anyone to be outside when I reach the backyard. So, my shoulders jump when a splash sounds from the pool.

I slink against the wall of the inn, and peer around the corner … and my mouth falls open.

Bryce stands at the edge of the pool with his hands on his hips, facing away from me. Water runs down his thick legs from his red swim trunks, which are soaked and plastered to his magnificent, muscular ass. Rippling muscles in his back lead up into the wide expanse of his shoulders. He looks like a Greek god, Poseidon himself staring down into the water.

But that’s not what has my lips parting on a silent gasp.

A long bumpy line of raised skin trails down the middle of his spine, a streak of imperfection across his flawless complexion. It’s a serious scar, and it sends a shiver of horror through me.

What happened?

I inch closer to get a better look, not wanting him to catch me creeping in the bushes.

But then something slithers against my bare ankle, and I let out an ear-piercing shriek.

Bryce

I whip around, and move as fast as my legs will carry me.

I know that scream. I was deafened by it earlier today right before I took a punch to the face.

My heart stops when I spot Charly on the ground.

I crouch down, gritting through the pain shooting through my right leg. “What happened? Are you all right? Where are you hurt?”

Her shoulders shake, and my eyes strain through the dim moonlight to survey her injuries. She turns her face to me, tears streaking down her cheeks, and she presses her palm to her stomach.

My chin jerks back. “Are you …”

She snorts, and clamps her hand over her mouth.

“Are you laughing?”

A loud laugh rips from her throat. “I was hiding … in the bushes … and something,” she gasps for air, “something touched my foot. I thought … I thought it was a snake.” She bursts into another fit of laughter, and rolls onto her side.

My eyes dart around the area. “What was it?”

She reaches toward the patch of mulch next to the path, and holds up a long palm shoot. Her lips wobble as she tries to keep her composure waiting for my response.

I arch an eyebrow. “That’s the snake?”

She doubles over again.

“I thought you were in trouble.”

She sits up, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I guess it’s fair, since I scared you earlier. I’m glad you’re not hurt.” Then a thought crosses my mind. “Wait, why were you hiding in the bushes?”

Her expression sobers, and she clears her throat. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“You said you were hiding in the bushes when you felt something touch your foot.”

She scrambles to her feet, and brushes off her shorts. “I didn’t say that.”

I push off the ground, taking my time to ease myself back up so I don’t tweak my back. “Yes, you did.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, lifting her nose in the air. “You must’ve misheard me.”

My eyes narrow, and I lean toward her. “I heard you perfectly well. Why were you hiding?”

She stretches onto her toes, bringing her face closer to mine. “None of your business.”

Stubborn.

I walk over to her hiding spot, and glance down the path shrouded in darkness. “If you were coming from the inn, you would’ve been in plain sight standing here. So, whoever you were hiding from wasn’t behind you.” I turn my head to the left, and peer around the corner of the building. “They must’ve been …” My voice trails off when my brain pieces it together.

By the pool.

“It was you, okay?” Charly throws her hands up. “I was hiding from you.”

I plant one hand on my waist, looking from Charly to the pool. “Why?”

She groans. “You were standing there, looking all wet and sexy with your rippling muscles. I couldn’t help myself.” She waves her hand at me. “Look at you! Can you blame me?”

She thinks I’m sexy?

Pride swells in my chest, but I shove it down. “So, you were spying on me.”

She stammers. “N-no. I didn’t mean to.”

“How does one spy on accident, exactly?”

She sputters, trying to explain herself. “I mean, I was watching you, but it was only for a second.”

“Would’ve been longer if you hadn’t gotten scared off by a plant snake.”

“I’m sorry, Bryce.” She takes a tentative step toward me. “I know it’s an invasion of your privacy, and it was a childish thing to do. It won’t happen again.” Her head tilts. “Are you … laughing?”

My wide smile breaks free. “I’m just fucking with you.”

She growls, and smacks me on my arm. “You jerk!”

My head tips back, and I let out a belly laugh. “First you punch me. Now you’re hitting me. You’re assaulting me a lot today.”

“You deserve it.” A disgusted noise sounds in the back of her throat. “For the record, I wasn’t spying. I was just—”

“Checking out my sexy rippling muscles?”

“Sure, kind of like the way you were checking me out in my bathing suit earlier.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Now we’re even.”

I haven’t been able to get the memory of Charly’s tiny white two-piece out of my head all damn day. She dipped and swelled in all the right places, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her beautiful, luscious curves. I wanted to trace the droplets of water running along her skin with my tongue, pull on the strings tied around her hips and find out if she tastes like peaches. God, the way her nipples pebbled under my gaze ...

Stop. You cannot get hard in your swim trunks right now.

“That your book?” I point her attention away from the tent I’m dangerously close to pitching in my shorts.

“Yes. I threw it at the snake.”

“Because snakes are afraid of literature?”

She giggles, and brushes the mulch off the cover. “It was the only thing I had to defend myself.”

My heart skips a beat when I read the title. “Peter Pan?”

“Have you read it?”

I puff out my chest as we make our way to the pool. “I played Peter Pan in my fifth-grade play.”

She tilts her head back as she lets out a genuine, hearty laugh. “Oh, my God. You in green tights? I cannot picture that.”

I scoff. “I have nice legs. I rocked those tights.”

That makes her laugh harder.

I grab my towel off the lounge chair, and when I turn around, Charly’s eyes flick up to mine like a child who’s been caught looking at something she shouldn’t. She fidgets with the frays on her shorts, chewing on her bottom lip.

Disappointment slams into me. My scar. That’s why she was staring at me.

Part of me wants to face this, and get it over with so it isn’t the elephant in the room. The other part of me—the chicken-shit part—wants to go to my room, and close the door so that Charly never has to know about that side of me.

I shoot for somewhere in the middle. “That’s the real reason you were spying on me, wasn’t it? You saw the scar.”

She drops her gaze to the concrete. “I did see it, but that wasn’t the only reason I was staring.” A pretty pink flush rises up her neck and into her cheeks. Then she huffs out a soft titter. “But you’re probably used to girls staring at you all the time.”

“You’d be surprised.”

She edges closer. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar though.”

My throat constricts, making it hard to breathe. It’s been a while since I talked about it. Been a while since anyone asked without assuming they knew my story. “I had spinal surgery six years ago. I, uh, had an accident, and was temporarily paralyzed.”

She lifts her fingertips to her lips. “Oh, Bryce.”

I feign nonchalance and try to make light of it. “Swimming is my therapy. Helps keep me in shape because I can’t run miles like I used to. I do it every night, though nobody usually hides in the bushes to watch me.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry about catching you tonight.” She walks ahead of me toward the house, and when she gets to the porch, she glances over her shoulder and throws out one last comment, wearing a mischievous smile. “Your body is a work of art, Bryce. Scar or not, I’d have been staring.”

Is she ... flirting?

I’m assaulted by a fantasy of the two of us in the pool. Nothing but skin on skin, surrounded by the cool water, and blanketed under the starry night sky. My dick hardens as I imagine the way my name would sound on her lips, the way she’d come apart under my touch.

No. That can’t happen.

I shake the image from my mind, and head to the bathroom to rinse off the chlorine in an ice-cold shower.

Only later as I’m lying in bed does it dawn on me: Charly didn’t pry when I told her I had an accident. She didn’t ask for more information than I gave. I should be thrilled that I didn’t have to tell her.

But it doesn’t change the terrifying fact that I want to.