Page 22 of Brushed and Buried
“Are you hiding from the crowd?” I murmur. “You’ve had eyes on you all week.”
He makes a sound in his throat, something halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“Well, what’s a football star to do? Half of the resort wants your autograph, and the other half wants your room key. I’m honored you came to hide here instead.”
He turns his head slightly, though his eyes stay on the ceiling. “Maybe I just wanted to go to someone who doesn’t expect anything.”
The words hit me harder than they should. Here he is seeking refuge in the last place logic would suggest. I am the one he has been running from, but also the only one familiar enough to feel like a sanctuary.
I roll onto my side so I can look at him, though his gaze remains fixed upward. “Or maybe you’re just tired of running away.”
He doesn’t answer, but the silence isn’t angry this time. It’s heavy and uncertain, but not closed off.
To break it, I start talking about the past. “Remember that day in art class? When Jackson somehow managed to fling clay across the room, and it landed square in your hair? Ms.Henderson made you sit with it the entire period. She said it gave you character.”
A low sound escapes him, the closest thing to laughter I’ve heard from him in days.
“You threatened to shave your head if anyone brought it up again,” I continue, smiling despite myself. “Half the class couldn’t stop staring. It was glorious.”
This time, he actually lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly against the pillow. The sound loosens something tight in my chest.
“My friends,” I start again, voice softer now, “They used to shove me toward you all the time, thinking if I got close to you, they’d get close to you too.”
Vince quirks an eyebrow. “And did you?”
“Did I do what?”
“Play along, let them use you to get close to me? Is that why you befriended me?”
I shake my head, a small smirk tugging at my lips. “I’m not that noble. I wanted you all to myself. So, no, I didn’t become friends with you for their sake.”
Vince lets out a low chuckle, the sound easy and familiar, but carrying that edge like a warning and a memory all at once.
We fall into silence again, but it feels different now. It does not feel final or hopeless. His breathing steadies, and I notice it begins to fall into rhythm with mine. Our arms are close enough that the back of his hand brushes against mine, whether byaccident or choice, I can’t tell. I don’t move it away. He doesn’t either.
Somewhere in that quiet, my body grows heavy and my eyes close. The comfort of him being there, wordless but near, is enough to pull me under.
When I wake up, pale morning light seeps through the curtains. The other side of the bed is empty. His place is cold, the sheets smoothed as though he was never there. There is no note, no trace beyond the very faint smell of smoke and salt that lingers in the air.
9
Adrian
Sunlight cuts across the resort lawn as I drag myself toward the breakfast buffet, voices threading through the morning air. Holly bounces past, hair still damp from her shower, eyes bright as broken glass. “Best sleep ever,” she chirps, bumping me with her elbow. “That massage at the spa last night? Totally worth it, happy ending included.”
I snort, shaking my head at her grin, while the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs pulls me forward like a siren song.
The morning feels different, lighter somehow. But beneath the surface runs an undercurrent of something electric, like the air just before a summer storm breaks open the sky. I find my fork hovering over the scrambled eggs on my plate without really tasting them, my attention snagged and held by Vince across the table. When our eyes meet for just a heartbeat, he offers a polite nod, nothing more, yet that small, casual motion sends sudden warmth rushing through me, and I catch myself smiling just slightly. I’m careful not to show too much, notletting myself hope. I am simply savoring the fact that he’s here and noticing me at all.
Of course, that’s when the bridesmaids sweep in like hurricanes, all glossy hair and practiced smiles, their spa-night glow on full display. They settle on either side of Vince like bookends. Busty and stylish, each one knows exactly what kind of attention she draws. Leaning in with laughter that slices through the morning quiet, it’s too sharp, too early, and too much. Vince responds with that maddening politeness of his, smiling when one brushes his arm, nodding at their chatter about cocktails and beach yoga. Perfectly neutral and infuriatingly courteous.
When Stephanie drapes her hand around his bicep like she’s claiming territory, I swear the vein at my temple could power a small city. Murder feels like a perfectly reasonable breakfast activity.
Lance notices, because of course he does, and that sly grin spreads across his face. “Hey, Vince, maybe let the ladies have their fun with you. It could do you some good too, you know? You’ve been sulking around like someone canceled Christmas and kicked your dog. With all due respect, obviously.”
The table explodes. Vince just exhales through his nose, long-suffering, like he’s built up immunity to Lance’s special brand of bullshit. The girls giggle louder, feeding off the audience, while I try not to snap my fork in half.
Trevor bounds past, clapping his hands like a drill sergeant who’s had too much coffee, cocktail sloshing in his other hand. “Right then, crew! This ain’t your average Sunday arvo snooze-fest. Today’s our official wedding games! Races, dares, and probably some properly bruised egos. So, grab yourselves a drink, stretch those legs, and meet me on the lawn after brekkie, yeah?”
