The Story Of Us Part 5

Officer Arrent is gone when I finally look at what he gave me. With trembling hands, I open the envelope. Tucked inside is a card.

"Happy Anniversary!" is printed in red at the top.

The rest of the card is blank.

Chapter 8.

Cancun, Mexico 27 Months Ago Maverick was right about snorkeling: the fish, the reef, everything under the water was more than breathtaking. The colors. Oh, the colors!

We pull into the harbor, and I'm grinning the biggest smile of my life. If I can keep the pictures in my mind as clear as they are now, I might be able to draw them from memory. My biggest concern is the vibrancy of the hues. I haven't used colors in so long, I'm worried I've forgotten how they work.

I'm considering the different underwater scenes when Maverick grabs my hand.

"I'm starving," he says, turning so he's facing me and walking backwards. "There's an awesome taco place right around the corner. You interested?"

"I, uh..." I bite my lip, my gaze shooting out over the ocean beyond the pier. I want to go, but I also need to get these images onto paper before they're gone. "Rain check?"

He slows his steps, smile fading. "Got other plans?"

"No, it's not that." I sigh. I really don't want to tell him, but I don't want to lie to him either. "It's just that what I saw under water won't stay in my head forever. If I want to draw it, I have to get to my supplies. I need to get it out."

He wears a smirk now, then he nods like he understands. I'm sure he doesn't really. Even Finn thinks I'm nuts, and she's known my quirks since childhood.

"Okay." He keeps a hold of my hand and starts toward my hotel. "Can I cash in that rain check for dinner, then?"

"Only if it's that taco place around the corner."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

Finley is still asleep when I return. I'm not surprised; she didn't come back until five this morning. I heard her come in, puke in the toilet, and then slide into the other bed. Seconds later, she was snoring.

I'm quiet as I gather my supplies. They're still out on the dresser from the night before, when I tried to re-create the moon's reflection over the water. After two hours of the c.r.a.ppiest drawings ever, I gave up. Today is different, though. The images are fresh and bright, and I'm not distracted with thoughts of Maverick. Art has taken over my mind.

I step out onto the balcony and close the doors behind me. I grab the oil-based pencils for color, because they're more precise. If I can just get the scenes as accurate as possible now, maybe I'll draw them again in watercolors. My brush pens are dying to be used. Not only that, but according to Finley's list, I'm required to utilize them on this trip. It was the only line-item on her list that I agreed to.

I'm a naturalist; one of my quirks. In elementary school, Finley used to color purple elephants and orange gra.s.s and reverse the colors of the rainbow just to p.i.s.s me off. I'd tattle to the teacher, who'd come over to our table and tell Finley what a great job she was doing. Unbelievable. Who knew eight-year-olds could have panic attacks?

I draw all afternoon. Layers and layers of coral and underwater sea plants that flow in the current. Tropical fish and dark drop-offs for added depth. Seaweed, kelp, Mermaid's Fan, and other plants I can't name, but I remember their textures and how they moved.

I'm lost, reliving the moments in the Caribbean. Allowing them to flow from my eyes to my brain and then, finally, out of my fingertips.

Later, the balcony doors open and Finley peers over my shoulder like she often does when I'm working.

"Don't snorkelers wear masks?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"You didn't put one on Maverick." She points to the picture I'm working on, and sure enough, I'd forgotten to draw a mask on him. "Does he have gills?"

I c.o.c.k my head to the side. "Oh. Oops."

She sits down in the chair beside me. "Honest mistake, right?"

"Is there another kind?"

"The kind where you subconsciously didn't want to cover up that gorgeous face of his." She grins.

I look at the picture again. Yeah, there's some coral in the background. A few swaths of seaweed. A tiny school of fish just off the edge of the page. But the focal point of the picture is Maverick. Actually, he's front and center.

I rip the page out.

"You're blus.h.i.+ng," my best friend says.

"No," I retort, even though the heat creeps up my cheeks. "It's a horrible picture. The lines are wrong, and the colors, and I forgot the d.a.m.n mask." I crumble the paper and toss it in the reject pile on the floor. "So how was your night?"

I instantly regret asking. If I'm lucky, I won't get the play-by-play. If I'm not, well, let's just say the power of words can draw up images as if they're memories.

Finn leans forward onto her elbows. "Not as good as your morning, it seems."

I'm not responding to that. "Did you make coffee?"

"It's five o'clock in the afternoon. You want coffee now?"

"Five o'clock?" I repeat, grabbing my phone. Five eleven, actually. "I didn't realize I've been out here that long."

"You never do, darling." She motions to the balcony doors. "Which is why I have a full pot ready for you."

"I love you."

When I come back outside, Finn is flipping through my notebook. "These are amazing, Ali. You even added teeny bits of super light color to some of them."

"What? No, I added a ton of color to all of them."

She shows me my book and turns the pages. I frown, realizing she's right. For the most part, they're all black-and-white. Only a few have a dab or two of color.

I sink into my chair and give her a cup. "That's not how I drew them."

"That's progress, Ali. See this?" She circles some coral with her finger. "That's pink. Pink, this is Ali. Do you remember her?"

I glare at her. They aren't even close to what I'd imagined they'd be.

"They rock. You're the next f.u.c.king Monet."

"They're all right, I guess." I shrug.

"Shut up, Ali. They're so much better than 'all right.' You have such a gift."

"Chris never thought so." I don't know why I say it. Reflex, I guess, but his name is out, and I suddenly feel like a worthless piece of s.h.i.+t.

"f.u.c.k Chris. That p.r.i.c.k never did anything for you."

I bring the coffee cup to my lips and blow on the rising smoke. Other than Finn, Chris is the only other person I ever showed my art to. It was my secret thing, the pa.s.sion I kept only to myself, for myself. If I had talent, I didn't care about it back then. When I drew, I was happy, and by showing it to people, it was like I was letting them into my own private happy place. Then, by doing so, it was no longer solely mine.

"I know." I sigh, not wanting to talk about my ex. Then I smile and change the subject to something I know will make my BFF happy. "I'm going out with Maverick again tonight."

Finn sits up straighter, her eyes widening to Disney princess size. "My, my, Ali. Have the two of you set a date yet?"

"Shut up. It's nothing." Because it isn't. Not really. Just a date-a second date ... which Finley knows is a big deal for me.

She quirks a brow. "When did you get so delusional?"

"I've known him for twenty-four hours. Saying 'it's nothing' hardly counts as delusional."

"For the majority of people, I'd agree. But not for you. Besides your a.s.swipe ex, I've never seen you give a guy more than ten minutes of your attention, let alone date number two. Three, if you count this morning."

I give a noncommittal shrug and gather my supplies.

Finn eyes me as I pack up my stuff. This is her trying to figure out my motive, because it doesn't make sense. Honestly, it doesn't make much sense to me either, but I'm dying to see him again.

I have my pencils, rejected drawings, and sketch pad against my chest. I'm purposely not making eye-contact with her. If I do, she might realize something I'm not even ready to admit to myself.

Finally, she grabs our coffees and opens the balcony doors. "Hmm, well. As long as you're moving out of black-and-white, I think I like this change."

Chapter 9.

Present Day 2:48 a.m.

I'm cold sitting in one of the waiting rooms in the ICU. Maverick is still in surgery, the nurse tells me. They'll come get me once he's in his room. It shouldn't be too much longer. No one else is close by. It's just me and my thoughts.

It's strange the things you think of to distract yourself from the real reason you're sitting here. Me, I focus on the oil painting on the wall. Wonder how many people have stared at it and wanted to tear it down. How many liked it. Has anyone noticed that it leans a little to the left or that there's an inconsistency in the corners of the wooden frame? Did anyone deliberate why this painting?

I'm sure it's meant to calm the people who look at it. Doesn't everyone find a lake dotted with sailboats calming? But the colors are all wrong. They don't soothe me. They're bright and bold and demanding. There's too much crimson, too dark of navy.

I have to turn away from it. There're magazines on the tables, but they scream at me too. Loud headlines of celebrities with large divorce settlements, jail time, and plastic surgery. The science ones boast of the newest medical advances and archeological finds. What they don't realize is that in here, life beyond these walls no longer exists. In here, there're only three things that matter: life, death, and the battle between them.

I s.h.i.+ver again. I should have brought warmer clothes.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I focus on the fake plant in the corner. There are no windows in this area, which is how I know it's fake. It might be a fern of some sort, I don't know. The leaves are long and skinny, but again, the color is wrong for this place.

I s.h.i.+ft my attention to the hallway. In here, the lights are dim, but out there they're on full and reflecting off of the cream floor. There's a nurse at the nurses' station, sitting behind a computer. She's different from the one before. A moment later, another walks up to the desk. They keep hushed voices, and I hear nothing. The one at the computer lifts her eyes to me and when she meets my gaze, she offers a sympathetic smile. I don't smile back.

I lower my head until my cheek rests on my arms, and I close my eyes. My skin is ice against my face. Cold is what it means to be alone, and right now, I've never felt more alone. Alone, but not lonely. No, because being lonely is different than being alone. Lonely is a fleeting state that ends. When Finley gets here, I'll no longer be lonely, yet without Mav, I'll still be alone.

I think about the happy moments Mav and I shared. Our time in Cancun. The dance under the stars. His smile. His silly pet name for me.

That was us. The whole, take-on-the-world, in-love us.

The us before we broke.

Chapter 10.

Cancun, Mexico 27 Months Ago "There's another beach party tonight," Maverick says after the best taco dinner I've ever had. "We could try dancing at this one. What do you say, Ali?"

My breath catches at what he just called me, and it takes a second to recover. "Ali? Isn't it a bit too early to shorten each other's names?"

Maverick snickers. "What's up with you and time frames?"

"Nothing. I just ... Pet names are for people who..." I stop myself. I'm treading in deep water, and if I keep going, I might fall beneath the surface. I barely know this man. "Finn is the only person who's ever called me Ali. That's all."

"Okay, so what do you prefer to be called?"

"Ali. Alieya. It doesn't really matter."

Maverick runs his thumb over his chin. "All right. If Finn's already claimed Ali, I'll come up with something better."

"Better than my actual name? I'm worried."

"It'll be fun and cla.s.sy and only belong to me. You'll love it."

I smile. It's cute the way he flashes that half-grin at me, and the lingering tension falls off of my shoulders. Maverick has this effect on me, and I'm not running away. I must be crazy.

We walk across the street, Maverick beside me, but not touching me. This is our second night together, and he hasn't tried anything. The only time he reached for my hand was to guide me through the crowd in the bar hut last night. Once in the clear, he let go. He's only kissed me once too. I'm either sending off a no-touch vibe, or he's really good at this being a gentleman thing. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I shoot Finley a quick text, letting her know where I am. I'm surprised when she texts back immediately, saying she'll join us.

"Okay," I say to myself as I pocket my phone.

I go with Maverick to the beach, a.s.suming he'll head to the bar first like last night. Instead, we round the hut toward where people are dancing close to the water's edge.