The Naked Fisherman by Jewel E. Ann

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fisher was gone,upstairs I assumed, by the time Rose and I exited the bathroom. Rose suggested she and Tiffany leave. I didn’t know what she was going to say to Tiffany, but I felt confident that it might be a “Fisher is a man whore you deserve better” speech.

“Night, sweetheart.” Rory poked her head into my bedroom a little before ten as I reorganized my puzzles after Fisher rifled through them, solving the hardest ones.

After Rory’s bedroom door clicked shut, I texted Fisher.

Reese: Hi. Rose isn’t going to tell Rory or anyone.

Fisher: We leave at six in the morning.

I deflated at his cold response.

Reese: Are you mad?

I waited over fifteen minutes for a response.

Nothing.

So I decided to sleep on it. Things would be better in the morning.

Or so I thought.

When I reached the driveway the next morning, Fisher was already waiting, and it wasn’t six yet.

“Morning,” I smiled, hopping into the truck and tossing my bag in the back.

“Morning.” He gave me a forced smile for less than a second and put the truck into drive.

I gave him time. Five minutes. Ten minutes.

He said nothing and played music with the volume turned way up.

“What’s your car situation?” He broke the silence.

“Car situation?”

“Did you talk to your grandparents?”

“Yeah.” I turned my attention to the brake lights in front of us as we pulled to a stop at the light.

“And?”

“And they’re not going to give me the money for the Porsche, which is stupid because it’s my freaking money.”

“So you get the Forester?”

I shrugged with a single shoulder and sighed. “I suppose so.”

“Great. Get the money in your account and we’ll go get it tomorrow if it’s still there. Or you can go with Rory or Brendon. I really don’t care.”

He really didn’t care. Just what I wanted to hear. Rose was right. Fisher would crush my heart. As we waited for the light to change, my heart took off. Running away.

Away from the naked fisherman.

I wasn’t sure what propelled me to make my next move. I don’t remember my brain making some grand decision. It was instinct. Impulse. Survival.

Snagging my backpack from the back and unlatching my seat belt, I jumped out of the truck.

“Reese!”

Weaving through three lanes of stopped traffic, I sprinted through the steep dip of the ditch, my boots splashing in a small pool of standing water.

Down a less busy street.

Across a park.

Through someone’s backyard.

Down another residential street.

Stopping at a bus stop.

Bending over, I rested my hands on my knees and fought to catch my breath for a few seconds before collapsing onto the bench behind me.

My phone vibrated in the side pocket of my bag. I ignored it.

How did I get there? Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I was on Fisher’s bed. We were laughing.

Touching.

Kissing.

Existing only for each other.

He made me feel hopeful.

My phone kept vibrating, so I pulled it out of the pocket to shut it off.

It was Fisher.

And there were a string of texts from him too.

Where are you?

Answer your phone.

I’m sorry.

Please pick up your phone.

Don’t make me call Rory.

Or the police.

I was eighteen. He wasn’t going to call the police. And I didn’t believe he would call Rory either. Not yet.

When the bus stopped, I got on. And I spent the next three hours taking various bus routes around Denver.

Earbuds in.

Music playing.

My mind sorting through everything.

I just needed time.

After my dad died, family rushed to console me. Feed me. Fix me. So I ran away for twelve hours because I needed time. I took the bus that day too. A bus ride didn’t solve every problem, but it was cathartic. The passing miles. The passengers coming and going. Time to imagine that my life wasn’t any worse than anybody else’s life.

After grabbing a sandwich, I found the bus stop closest to the office and walked the rest of the way.

“Hey!” Hailey jumped out of her chair. “Where have you been? Fisher said you bolted this morning. He told me not to tell anyone, but I’ve been so worried.” She hugged me as I stood limp in her arms.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.”

Except Fisher.

I wanted to make him worry. I wanted him to feel a little bit of my pain. My frustration.

“Where have you been?” She released me.

I set my backpack by Fisher’s desk. “I just needed time to think about stuff.”

“Reese …” She handed me a glass of water. I had a fair amount of sweat pooling along my forehead and running down my back from walking in the heat with my backpack.

“Can we not talk about it?” I gave her my best pleading glance.

With worry lining her face, she nibbled the inside of her cheek and nodded slowly. “Okay. But if you do want to talk, you can talk to me about absolutely anything. Okay?”

Plopping into Fisher’s chair, I nodded.

Hailey gave me a few easy things to do before grabbing her purse. “Your ride is here. I’m taking off early. Remember, I’m always here.”

I was impressed that it took a full hour for Fisher to arrive.

“Thanks,” I murmured as Fisher opened the door and Hailey squeezed past him, shooting him a cringing expression.

“You’re fired.”

My gaze lifted to Fisher. I wasn’t surprised, yet … I was.

“The tile shop where I get most of my tile, they’re looking to hire someone to answer the phone. I got you an interview. It’s just a formality. They will offer you the job. I’m going to tell Rory I found you a new job because I didn’t want you on the job sites where you could get hurt. And Hailey doesn’t really need your help most days.”

I swallowed the lump of emotion in my throat. “Is this about yesterday? Or this morning?” I managed to say in a shaky voice.

“Yes,” he replied flatly, just as flat as the expression on his face.

“Rose promised not to tell Rory,” I said.

“She lied. Rose will absolutely tell Rory unless we end it.”

I had all these what-ifs lining the tip of my tongue.

What if we told Rory first?

What if we were more careful?

What if the world ended?

What happened to living in the moment? Living your best life? Loving the one you’re with? That was all I did. Rory left me, and I fell in love with Fisher because he was the one I was with. It was really Rory’s fault.

“Rory’s taking the morning off tomorrow to help you get a car. The interview with the tile shop is the following morning. You’ll be able to drive there on your own.”

“Are you mad at me?” I whispered.

He returned a tiny wince before pinching the bridge of his nose and blowing out a breath. “No. I’m mad at myself.”

The only thing more painful than rejection was regret. Fisher brought his A game. One brutal punch after the next.

A stupid, selfish, errant tear made its way to my cheek, and I looked away quickly to wipe it.

“Fuck …” he mumbled. “This is what I wanted to avoid. Rory is my friend. Rose is my friend. I didn’t want to be the villain. The guy who broke Rory’s daughter’s heart.”

I stood and grabbed my backpack, refusing to look at him as I shouldered past him to the door. “You’re such an arrogant asshole.”

Yeah, I said it. No regrets.

“And you’re the most beautiful and infuriating woman I have ever met.”

I stopped at the door like it was a wall that appeared out of nowhere. All the friends of that rebel tear showed up to ruin my carefully constructed facade, busting open the flood gates.

“And in a different time … a different place in our lives, I’d tell Rory and the rest of the world to go fuck themselves. I’d prove them all wrong. We’d prove the naysayers wrong. But … I don’t think they’re wrong. Not now.”

Sniffling and ignoring the unstoppable tears, I turned. “I’m beautiful …” I nodded slowly. “A pretty face. Long legs. Perky tits. And I sucked your cock. No college education. No fantastic job. Nothing … but I’m beautiful. Young. Innocent. And maybe the perfect amount of naive. It makes sense now.” I laughed through my tears. A crazy laugh. The edge of my sanity laugh. “Stupid, stupid me. I thought we were this magical thing that couldn’t be described. We didn’t make sense because magic, fate, and serendipity don’t have to make sense. I actually liked that we didn’t make sense, yet my universe seemed perfect when it was just us. I guess the eight-letter word for that is illusion. You played me. You liked the chase. The game. And what better chase than the virgin wearing a cross around her neck?”

Fisher shook his head slowly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Because I’m eighteen?”

“Because you’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“Failure. Eighteen-letter word. Starts with a K.”

I wasn’t following him. So I said nothing. I did nothing but blink my tear-ladened eyelashes.

“Kakorrhaphiophobia. An abnormal fear of failure. That’s why you’re here and not chasing a dream. Not in college. Not making any plans in your life. Your dad died. Your mom went to prison. And you’ve been left with a Bible that prepares you for death and makes you feel ashamed of anything you do in this life to truly live.”

He opened the door, and I waited for more, but he didn’t give me more. We climbed into his truck and headed home, or so I assumed. We didn’t make it home. We pulled into his parents’ driveway instead.

“Let’s go.” He hopped out.

I didn’t.

Fisher came to my side and opened my door. I assumed my recent firing allowed him to open my door.

“They’re out of town. Let’s go.”

I eased out of the truck and followed him into the house. He opened a door to a storage and utility room, scanning a wall of boxes and plastic containers. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled a box from the shelf and brought it out to the family room.

“Sit.” He nodded to the sofa.

I eased my butt down to it, watching him kneel on the floor and open the box. I couldn’t see what was inside. He paused, staring at its contents.

“I told you I played sports. And I loved construction. But my real talent came in the form of spelling bees.” He pulled out a stack of plaques, certificates, and trophies. “I took first place at a national competition.” His face held a bit of harnessed pride as he set everything at my feet. “I liked words. Dissecting them. Studying their origin. A full year of Latin. My mom used to say I’d never find a woman who really appreciated my word-loving soul. And she was so disappointed in me when I let that love of words die, when I found my new favorite words like…” he smirked “…well, most of them were and still are four-letter words. Sometimes simplicity is best. So gone were the days of winklepicker shoes and ulotrichous women. I gravitated toward fuck, fucker, and fucking. It helped me fit in.”

His gaze seemed to be focused on the past or maybe whatever was still in the box. “Who would have ever imagined that a girl … a young woman ten years younger than me would breeze into my life. Beautiful? Yes. Quirky? Absolutely. Innocent? Painfully so. But also a cruciverbalist.” Shaking his head, gazing in the box, and irony curling his lips, he pulled out tablets and notebooks, tossing them at my feet with the spelling bee awards.

I bent down and picked one up. Inside, it was filled with hand drawn crossword puzzles.

“Cruciferous …” I whispered, easing my head side to side. He pretended to not know what a cruciverbalist was. Fisher did play me, just not in the way I thought.

“An eighteen-year-old cruciverbalist. Really, what were the chances?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I glanced up at him.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “I don’t know. I think I was in shock. And maybe a little awe was involved. A suffocating dose of confusion. A little anger at the timing, at your age. At the fact that you’re Rory’s daughter.”

I thumbed through more pages of his notebook. “Do you love me, Fisher?” My gaze remained on the notebook, my voice steady, almost passive as if I was asking him about the weather or his day.

“Reese, it doesn’t matter.”

My head inched side to side. “You mean it doesn’t change anything. And maybe you’re right. But …” I lifted my gaze. “It matters.”

He climbed to his feet and drifted to the windows overlooking the backyard. Hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I think I loved you before I met you. But we don’t always get what we want. I let go of my crossword puzzles and word obsession because it didn’t fit into my life any longer. The thing is … I don’t know where you fit into my life. And I know, I know you don’t like your age to matter, but it does. I won’t be the reason you don’t take chances in life. Don’t make marriage and sex your life’s goals. If Rory found out, she’d want to know why. Why I would get involved with an eighteen-year-old girl? And I don’t think cruciverbalist would work. Maybe if our ten-year-age gap was more like twenty-five and thirty-five, I could make a case for word geeks and kismet.”

He turned to face me, every ounce of his vulnerability on full display. No walls. No lies. Just the hard truth. “Loving you is my favorite thing to do. It’s automatic and effortless. And you’re right, that matters. But …”

“It changes nothing,” I whispered, setting the notebook on the sofa and pressing my hands to my legs as I stood. Gazing up at the ceiling, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and blew it out in one big whoosh. “Naked fisherman, you are incorrigible. Moody. Bold. Unpredictable. Brash … and a million other things that are bad for me. Yet it felt like you were the first person in my life who just … fit. The version of myself I dreaded … the version I blamed on your bad behavior, I came to love it. It started to feel like my true skin. It felt good to smile without something in my brain telling me I should smile. You gave my days this vibrant color, and I don’t know what I will see when you’re not…” I drew in a shaky breath as emotions stung my eyes “…when you’re not mine.”

His arms slid around my waist, his chest to my back, his face bowed to my shoulder. And I shook as emotion took my body like an earthquake. Unsettling emotions needed to be released. Grief suffocated my lungs. Reality tore at my heart.

Fisher turned me in his arms and pressed my cheek to his chest. He soothed me with soft kisses to the top of my head and gentle strokes from his other hand down my back.

I was so tired of the unfairness in my life. The unanswered prayers. The testing of my faith.

My dad died, and it made no sense. And I didn’t want anyone, not even God himself, trying to convince me otherwise.

Rory’s decisions made no sense to me either. It was like one day she was my mom, my world, and the next day she was this stranger being sentenced to five years.

Did I have an unnatural fear of failure? Yes. Success felt like a myth. Happiness … an unreachable destination.

And love … well, it was something blurry and always changing forms in my life. I chased love.

Love for my father.

Love for God.

Love for Rory.

But it always felt just out of reach. Until Fisher. With him, I touched love. I held it in my hands, like reaching the end of a rainbow or lassoing the moon.