Rebel North by J.B. Salsbury

Twenty-Four

Gabriella

“I love you.”

With my tongue buried into a scoop of rocky road, I stare across the table at a grinning Kingston.

“Don’t look at me like that. I do.” He scoops a bite of rainbow sherbet into his mouth.

“You, Kingston North, are a romantic.” Even though his words do gushy things to my insides, I can’t help but be realistic. And common sense says he doesn’t know me well enough to love me.

“Unlike most men, I’m not afraid of my own feelings.” His gaze follows the people that walk by. It’s a casual glance that is relaxed and at ease. In love?

“Hmm… that might be true, but what happens when you discover something about me you don’t like?”

He shakes his head. “Impossible.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, what if I told you that I like to sleep with socks on?”

“I’ll make sure I have plenty when you sleep over.”

“And if I decide I hate the city?”

“I’ll find a place in the country.”

“What if I want to go camping…”

His eyes widen.

“In a tent…”

He cringes.

“With only what we can carry on our backs.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “Then I’ll have to trade in my designer pajamas for long underwear.” He takes a bite of his sherbet. “I believe Jean Paul Gaultier makes them in cashmere.”

“You have an answer for everything.” I pop the end of my cone in my mouth and try not to look like a total neanderthal while I chew it.

He frowns and pokes at his ice cream. “Not everything.”

I swallow and wash it down with some water.

“I got fired yesterday.” He pushes what’s left of his dessert away from him and slouches in his seat.

A boisterous group of people stumbles past us, and I wait until they are quiet to ask. “What happened?”

He relays a story that is as infuriating as it is heartbreaking.

“None of them took your side?” I could smack every single one of those North boys, but I’d have the best time bitch-slapping Hayes. “That’s awful.”

He shrugs. “The good news is now they know. No more secrets.” His gaze drops to his lap, where he tries to hide a scowl.

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You’re finally free to pursue whatever career you want.”

“True,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like he agrees.

“I can help you.”

“You don’t have to. I can do—”

“Kingston,” I say softly. “Accept the help.”

He grins sheepishly and nods. “Okay. Oh, one more thing? As of next week—”

“Kingston motherfucking North, is that you!”

Kingston’s entire body turns to granite. The only part that moves is his eyes as they lift to mine.

I don’t hold his gaze but instead look toward the man approaching our table. He looks to be about Kingston’s age, with dark hair, almost black, and a short beard.

“Holy shit,” the man says as he stops a foot from our table. “It is you!”

Like a robot with rusty joints, Kingston turns to the guy and flashes an uneasy smile. “Remy. Long time, man.”

They smack hands loudly.

“What’s it been?” Remy says. “Three years?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Kingston eyes me briefly but makes no introductions.

“I’m out with some friends grabbing a drink. You should come with—” Remy looks at me, and his words die on his tongue.

“No, thanks, but,” Kingston stands and motions for the guy to step away from the table with him, “maybe another time.”

Remy’s eyes are still on me. He studies my face. Mostly, he studies my scars.

“It was good seeing you,” Kingston says, now physically directing Remy by the shoulders to turn away.

Remy allows himself to be turned, almost as if he’s too stunned to resist. “Dude… is that—”

“Hit me up in a couple of weeks, and we’ll grab a beer,” Kingston says, walking Remy further away from the table.

Remy takes another peek at me from over his shoulder.

A vision slams against my memory.

Two men.

A bar.

Their backs toward me.

Remy is one of them. The other is faded. Foggy.

As soon as I reach for the image, it’s gone.

Dammit!

I press against my eyelids, rub, and blink, hoping the vision will come back, but as soon as it appears, it disappears.

I watch Kingston and Remy talk closely, fiercely, at a near whisper. Remy’s eyes dart toward me a few times until Kingston changes his position to stand as a barrier in front of me.

They shake hands, and I expect another vision to surge, but there’s nothing. No vision. No imagery.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Kingston says as he reclaims his seat at the table.

I watch Remy rejoin his friends, and I catch him look one last time before disappearing down the street.

“Old friend?”

“Yeah, we went to prep school together.” He avoids my eyes, looking everywhere but directly at me. “He’s a belligerent drunk. I didn’t want him saying anything rude to you.”

“He seemed pretty sober to me.”

Kingston clears his throat. “Yeah, well, he hides it well.”

“You don’t need to protect me. I can handle myself.” I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.

His eyes finally come to mine. “I know you can. But I want to protect you.”

In a single blink, I get a flash of the vision from earlier.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I look to the spot where Remy was standing at our table. “I get the feeling that I’ve met him before, or maybe…” I shake my head. “He probably just has one of those faces.” I blow out a breath and try to rid myself of the eerie déjà vu.

“He definitely has one of those faces. Come on.” He stands and holds out his hand for me to take. “Let’s go have some fun. I have a whole new life to start, and I want to do it tonight. With you.”

And just like that?

Eerie déjà vu is gone.

Kingston

I don’t know how I knew Gabriella wasn’t in the bed with me. Maybe I felt her shift off the mattress sometime in the night. All I know is that the second my eyes open into the dark room, I know she isn’t with me.

I throw back the comforter and snag my drawstring pants off the floor where Gabriella left them last night when she pulled them off my body.

“Bee?” I check the bathrooms and the spare room and sprint toward the front door, ready to run out into the street and hunt her down.

I skid to a halt when I see a shadow at the window. She pulled a chair from the dining room table and has it facing the city. Her chin rests on knees that are pulled to her chest.

“Hey,” I say softly as I come up behind her. “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer me.

My pulse, which was already kicking double-time, picks up the pace. I crouch beside her and lean around to gauge her expression. Her eyes are lifeless and cold as she stares forward, unseeing. “Talk to me.”

Again, no response.

My stomach turns over on itself. “Please, Bee, you’re scaring—”

“That name,” she whispers.

I don’t trust my voice, not my words… I don’t trust myself to say the right thing, so I say nothing.

“It was Remy. Seeing him triggered…” Her eyes widen as if she’s seeing him again, right there in front of her. “I thought they were nightmares. But I think they’re dreams of memories,” she says softly. “I was on a boat. He was there. I hit the water.”

Emotion clogs my throat. My legs lose the strength to keep me upright. I fall to my butt and stare helplessly at her in the dark.

“When I woke up, I couldn’t breathe.”

Silence fills the space where words should be. I should say something. She deserves something. But the fear of losing her locks my jaw.

“It wasn’t an accident. Was it.” She’s not asking me a question. She’s stating a fact. “You. Passed out behind the hospice building. You knew exactly where you were, didn’t you? You knew who you came there to see.”

I swallow past the swelling in my throat, the dryness in my mouth, the anxious knot in my stomach. “Yes.”

I expect my answer to rock her, to release a wild fury that she’s more than right to feel, and yet, she stays still. Staring. Silent.

Her eyebrows pinch together. “How could I not see it?” A single tear falls from her lower lashes and trails down her scarred cheek. “Everyone stares. They ask me what happened. You…” She swallows hard. “You never asked. You never asked because…” Her bottom lip quivers, and another tear streams from her eye. “You already know.”

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve considered all the different outcomes of our relationship. I hoped she’d never find out the truth about me, that we could live the rest of our lives without ever having to bring up the past. But Gabriella is smart, and I knew she’d figure things out eventually. I prepared for her anger. I was certain I could handle her disappointment, even her distrust.

But the pain. The hurt that is etched into every angle of her face. The tears that come in multiple streams. I never prepared myself for her pain or for how deeply hurting her would affect me.

“You were there.” She sniffs but makes no attempt to wipe the tears from her face. “The night that I died. The accident that even I can’t remember. You know all about it because you were there.” Her head turns, and those cold, angry eyes sear into mine. “And you didn’t tell me!”

In a flash, she’s out of her seat. She darts away from me and toward the front door. I scurry to stand up and hurdle the couch to catch her. I slam my palm against the door over her head.

“Don’t leave. Not like this.”

“You lied to me!” She’s crying hard now. Sobs rip from her chest, and the sound shreds me.

“Let me explain. Please.”

“I don’t give a shit what you have to say.” She turns and presses her back to the door. “I don’t remember why we were both on that boat, but I can see you on it. And I don’t know how I ended up in the water, how I—” She grips her throat as if the memory of her lungs filling with water brings back the feeling.

“I was there. You’re right. I was on the boat with you. And I can explain everything.”

“Why should I trust you? You’re a liar. You manipulated me and my feelings for you. Why would you do that?” Her voice grows hysterical. “What do you have against me that you’d take advantage of my memory loss just so you could fuck me!”

I recoil and step back until I hit the couch. “Is that what you think I did?”

“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious what you did. I’m here wearing nothing but your T-shirt!”

My eyes burn.

“I need to leave. I just… I need to get out of here now.” Her eyes are frantic and searching, and the fear in her expression cuts deep.

“I’ll get your things.”

When I come back from my bedroom with her clothes and purse, I half expect her to be gone. Instead, she’s pacing the length of the kitchen. She startles when she sees me.

I set her things down on the island. “I’m going to go take a shower. Go ahead and change and call an Uber. I’ll be in there for a while, and you won’t have to see me.” Her eyes are wide, as if she touched an electrical wire. “You’re safe, Bee—”

“Don’t call me that!”

I hold up my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

With that, I head to the bathroom and lock myself inside.

I can’t promise her that I’ll stay out of her life forever—or lie anymore and hide our past—but I can give her this. Twenty minutes of time to get away from me. To go home. To feel safe again.

If only I’d played by the rules in the first place. If only I’d listened, I could’ve saved us both from all this pain.