Page 6 of A Little More Hope

I kept staring until the picture turned fuzzy, and gentle fingers removed the frame from my grasp, placed the photograph carefully on the sideboard, and enfolded me in strong arms.

“We’re all so sorry,” Sawyer mumbled and held me until I cried myself out.

I was alone again. The same as always.

“Come on,” Sawyer encouraged me, turning me toward the sliders leading outside. “The bar can wait. Let’s go sit out on the deck.” He motioned to Cam. “There’s beer and chips in the cooler in Matilda.”

Cam grinned and disappeared down the hallway.

A few hours and a fair number of beers later, mellow and relaxed, we’d caught one another up on the last four years. Flynn had gone to college but returned after graduation. He’d become a full-time artist. Painting, ceramics, jewelry, recycled art—you name it. Pretty good, by all accounts, and beginning to make a name for himself on the scene, whatever that meant.

Cam had always loved working with his hands and had gone into a carpentry apprenticeship with old Mister Johanson. When he retired, Cam bought the business. In addition to kitchen and bathroom cabinetry, he made top quality furniture and was also getting attention through his website and word of mouth.

Sawyer had done what everyone suspected and become a mechanic. When I’d asked him if he’d ever thought about doing any other type of job, he’d given his usual lift of the shoulders and replied, “I was never good for nothing but mending cars.”

I’d evaded their questions with vague answers on what I did for a living, not wanting to be embarrassed after listening to their achievements, since being a full-time drifter wasn't exactly up there on the career ladder. I tried college but academia wasn’t for me, so I dropped out after my first semester. Not wanting to embarrass my aunt for being a failure had been the catalyst for me leaving Melrose Bay. Not that she’d have cared one jot what people thought, but I did.

Telling her friends I traveled around the country getting new life experiences was a far better story anyhow.

We drank and ate all afternoon. Later, after they’d gone and with arrangements to meet up tomorrow for dinner, I took my beer and sat hunched up on the steps leading down to the beach, letting the gentle roll of the waves welcome me home. The warm night air and distinctive scent of the sea provided a soothing balm to my aching soul.

A door opening on my left had me lifting my head to the beach house next door as a man stepped out onto the deck and headed to the railing, leaning his elbows on the wood, the light from the interior bathing him in a golden glow.

Tall, six two, possibly six three, his wide shoulders and broad back pulled at the material of the plain white T-shirt clinging to his body. The big arms filling the short sleeves had my blood pumping quicker in my veins. Black, or possibly navy, shorts sat low on his hips, the muscles of his strong legs shifting as he changed position.

Dark blond, mid-length hair, pushed back from his face, curled around his ear. The light sea breeze gently ruffled a few loose strands and had me itching to run my fingers through them to find out if they were as soft as they looked.

I shifted on the step, and the movement must have alerted him, as he chose that exact moment to snap his head my way. I held my breath when our eyes connected and had to grip the wood underneath me hard to ground myself as a jolt of awareness rippled along my skin.

His face, a lot clearer now as the glow from the house highlighted his profile, was stunning. Like Hollywood-actor stunning. Strong jaw, straight nose, and angled cheekbones were accentuated by the light. Pale eyes zeroed in on me like a laser freezing me to the spot. But it was his mouth that sent the butterflies fluttering in my belly. His lips were full, the top slimmer than the plump bottom one, and as if he instinctively knew exactly where my gaze had stuck, his tongue slipped out, gliding slowly over them, leaving them wet and glistening, the action holding all my attention. That was the only excuse I could think of for why it took a moment for the expression on his face to filter through my mind, allowing my brain to catch up to the situation.

Shock, followed by fear marred his features in the space of a few seconds. He inhaled sharply, his body tensing up. Then, turning abruptly, he shakily stumbled into his house, slamming the door hard behind him. A second later, I heard the turning of locks and the sound of drapes being pulled across the windows.

I sat there dazed, completely taken aback by his actions and abrupt departure. I’d done nothing to warrant his extreme response, so I had to wonder, what the hell had happened to cause such a drastic reaction?

Chapter Three

Mason

Slamming the deck door shut and turning the locks wasn’t enough. I needed to be safe, hidden, so I tugged at the drapes, yanking at them until they covered the huge windows to block everything out.

Breathe.

Cold sweat clung to me, chilling me to the bone even as my lungs burned, the lack of oxygen making my head spin. My chest grew tight, restricting movement, like an iron band strapped around me, pulling tighter and tighter, sucking the life out of me.

Breathe.

I fell to my knees, my whole body shaking as I desperately sucked in some air but couldn’t seem to get enough. I continued to try, again and again, but nothing worked, my lungs refusing to cooperate, to function.

I was suffocating.

My vision dimmed, turning black around the edges, fading until I lay in the dirt and the grime of the alley, strong hands holding me down, the cold steel barrel against my head.

“No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”

I blacked out before the gun fired.

*

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