“You
don’t sound very happy about it.”
“That
because he’s coming to rescue you from me.”
She
laces her fingers with mine. “I don’t need rescuing from
you. I want to be here and have sex on my honeymoon.”
I
almost choke. “Good to know.”
“Jackson,”
Cameron calls out. “You two okay?”
“No.
It’s zombie us and if you try to dock your boat, we’ll
eat your brains,” I shout.
“Zombies
eating brains?” She wrinkles her nose. “That sounds
disgusting.”
“Zombies
are popular.”
“Since
when?”
Amazing
what this girl
doesn’t
know actually does to me. I feel ashamed for assuming she’d get
my pop-culture reference. “For a while now, but I guess you
haven’t much time for
The
Walking Dead
or
Warm
Bodies
.”
“Maybe
we can watch it one night, after the power’s back on,”
she says lightly.
“You
don’t have to.” I let go of her hand and catch the rope
Cameron throws me, wrapping it around the metal bar on the pier. He
cuts the engine and joins us.
“Hi
Cameron,” Bliss says, smiling at him. My gut churns, jealousy
rising from it.
He
smiles back and I recognize that smile. He might not think of himself
like me, but all men are like me. They all want what they can’t
have. And he sure as hell can’t have Bliss. Unless she chooses
him over me.
With
that awesome thought, I position myself in front of my wife.
“Everything okay at your house?”
“Fine.”
He cocks his head to one side, studying me. “The only reason I
came by was to make sure both of you were okay.”
Wrapping
an arm around Bliss’ shoulders, I pull her to me. “Fine
and dandy here.”
“We’re
having fish for supper. Want to eat with us?” Bliss asks. I’m
not sure if she’s asking because she truly wants him to stay,
or because she thinks it’s the right thing to do.
Cameron’s
gaze goes to me and I raise my brows, daring him to say yes. “Thanks,
but I already have plans tonight.”
“You
sure?”
I
slice my gaze to Bliss. “Yes, he’s sure. He’s
probably doing something humanitarian or something.”
“Exactly.”
Bliss
blinks up at me, green-eyed innocence. “Shouldn’t you
help him, then?”
I
open my mouth to speak, and then shut it.
Cameron
punches me in the shoulder. “Hope Baptist Church would love for
you to help.”
“Praise
Jesus,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Anything
I can do?” Bliss asks, practically bouncing.
“Not
this time, unless you can work a chainsaw,” he says. The sun
chooses that very moment to shine on his head, and I swear to God
that there’s a damn halo surrounding it. “We’re
going from house to house and cutting up trees, only moving the big
stuff.”
She
grins, and I want to punch Cameron for making her smile like that.
“No, sorry. But if you need help with non-chainsaw stuff, then
I’m your girl.”
A
growl actually leaves my mouth.
Cameron
stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah…
so you might want to change. I’ve got gloves you can borrow.”
Of
course he does. “What about looting?”
He
squints, looking over my shoulder. “Couple of guys, a father
and son team, were spotted going house to house, breaking in and
taking stuff. But they focused on the rentals and out of towners.”
“Were
they caught?”
An
uneasy look settles on his face. “Not yet.”
“Then
I’m staying here.”
“Bliss,
do you mind if I have a word with Jackson in private?” Cameron
asks.
“Sure.”
She walks away from us, and I watch as she makes her way to the
house, and it’s not until she’s safe inside that I turn
to my buddy.
“Thanks
for making me look like an uncaring asshole, Cam.”
“It’s
your own damn fault.”
“Oh,
so you’re not being a humanitarian this afternoon?”
Cameron
exhales, taking a hand out of his pocket and running it through his
brown hair. “Already did it this morning. It was mostly water
damage and not wind. There wasn’t a lot to do.”
“Thanks
for asking me.”
“I
was being considerate, dumbass. I figured you wanted time with your
bride.”
“By
leaving us here to die?”
Cameron
shakes his head. “God, there’s no winning with you. Bliss
must love that.”
“Keep
her out of it,” I growl. “In fact, now that you’ve
seen we’re okay, you can carry your tail home.”
“Actually,
I’m feeling faint with hunger.” He places his hand over
his stomach. “Seriously dying.”
“Punch
to the head could cure you of it.”
“Is
your answer always violence?”
I
narrow my eyes. “With you it is.”
He
holds up his hand, palms facing up. “I’m just giving you
a hard time.” He steps into his boat and starts up the engine.
I toss him the rope. “Should I stop by tomorrow and check on
you guys?”
“Only
if you think getting your nuts cut off is fun,” I say
cheerfully.
Cameron
maneuvers the boat away from the pier. “Be sure to tell Bliss
that I said bye, and I’m looking forward to having her in
class.”
“That’s
the only place you’ll have her,” I mutter, and then raise
my voice. “Later, Cam. Much, much, later.”
I
don’t head back to the house until he disappears around a bend
in the sound. The door opens and Bliss comes out, wearing one of my
t-shirts and that’s it.
Running
an appreciative gaze down her, I wink. “Nice outfit.”
Glancing
down at the shirt, she lightly tugs on it. “This old thing?”
She laughs. “I always wanted to say that.”
I
wrap my arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck. “Anything
else you always wanted to say?”
“I’m
hungry.”
For
the past two days, Bliss has centered our schedule of doing things
around meals. If we go anywhere, even five feet away from the house,
she brings a snack. Yesterday, I wanted to clean out my truck,
anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off crewing her. So what
does she do? She finds some ice cream sandwiches and eats one so
slowly that my dick gets all hard.
But
she’s happy, so I’m happy.
“Shall
we resume fishing for our dinner?”
“By
the time we catch something and cook it, there won’t be
anything left of me.”
“Complaining?”
“Maybe
a little.” She grins. “Sorry, I’m excited about
eating fish.”
I
bump her with my shoulder. “I’m excited about eating fish
with you.”
She
bumps me back. “Maybe tomorrow we can have crab?”
“Already
thinking about your next meal? Man, I must not be doing a good enough
job keeping you satisfied,” I tease, keeping my face serious.
Her
smile fades. “Sorry. It’s just… um, I’m…
Thank you. I’m having a nice time.” She looks down, her
hair falling to hide her face from me.
“Bliss,
hey.” I hook my finger under her chin, but she refuses to move.
“I was only teasing. You can request whatever you want, as long
as it’s seafood, until either cell service starts working
again, or someone magically appears with a boat to ferry us to the
mainland.
“Who’s
not Cameron,” I add. “But with the cleanup going on and
all the trees down on Highway 74, I doubt anyone’s concerned
about some rich guy and his mansion.”
“I’m
happy with whatever you fix us,” she says quietly, still not
looking up at me.
I
let my hand fall to my side. “So you’re fine with eel,
then.”
She
swallows, and then nods.
“Ever
have sushi?”
“No.”
She shakes her head.
“Raw
fish guts, rolled up in rice and seaweed,” I lie. “Sometimes,
when they put in the calamari, the tentacles are still wiggling
around.”
Her
head snaps up, eyes huge and face turning a pale shade of green. Puke
green, I believe it’s called.
“So
good. You’ll love it.”
“No
thank you.”
Finally
.
“Excuse me?”
“I
said, no thank you.”
“That
wasn’t so hard,” I say, pushing back the glasses that
have fallen down to the tip of her cute nose. “You’re
allowed to say no, baby doll.”
“I
don’t like saying no when it comes to food.”
Although
I know I’ll regret the answer, I ask my question anyway, “Why
is that—hate being rude?”
“Because
when I was homeless, I never knew when I’d eat again.”
Stepping back, she turns and runs to the house, bare legs flashing.
My shirt rides up her ass, and I can see the blue panties she’s
wearing.
I
let her go, mostly because I’ve made a complete jackass of
myself.
Where
did you think she lived after she ran away from home, you dumb
shit—The Gaylord Hotel?
“So
much for that charming way you have with women,” I mutter to
myself. I reel in my line and throw the half of piece of bait into
the water, gather our supplies and heading to the garage.
What
I didn’t mention to Bliss is that I have a deep freezer in
here, full of fish, shrimp, and crab Cameron and I caught last fall.
The meat’s good for a year, so I still have plenty of time to
eat it, and no danger of food poisoning.
After
cleaning up my equipment, I head to the freezer and take two bags of
flounder out, then head up the stairs to defrost them. The house is
quiet and, while I’m filling up one side of the sink with cold
water, I’m wondering where Bliss has gotten off to. She can’t
be far, because the island isn’t that big and there’s no
way off.
“I’m
sorry for running off like that,” Bliss says from behind.
Breathing
out a sigh of relief, I wash and dry my hands, turning off the water
with my elbow. “Fishing’s not everyone’s favorite
activity. Tomorrow you get to pick what we do.”
“I
didn’t run away from you because I didn’t like fishing,”
she says as I turn to face her.
“You
don’t have to explain yourself.” I lean against the
cabinets and cross my arms over my chest.
“But
I do.” She walks to me, stopping just shy of touching me. “I’m
tired of being ashamed of my past, of being homeless and uneducated.
If I can’t be proud of me, then how can you be proud of me?”
“Do
you really think, with all my faults broadcasted all the time, that I
have any right to be ashamed of you?” Yeah, I’m answering
a question with a question, because I’m wondering how people
will react when it gets out that the nobody I married used to be
homeless and never graduated from high school. My fans and the press
will either love or hate Bliss. Some will even accuse her of being a
gold digger. Hell, I’d thought that.
Will
she be able to stand before those people, like she’s doing now?
Even
bigger question—will I be able to stand up to those people and
defend her? I’d like to think I could, but my past behavior, my
past cowardice and selfishness, speaks volumes.
“That’s
not an answer.” She sighs, and then turns away. “It’s
getting late. I’m going to bed.”
“But
it’s five in the afternoon, and we haven’t eaten.”
“I’m
used to going to bed with an empty stomach.”
“Damn
it, Bliss. Stand up to me. Tell me no. Tell me to go to hell. Quit
being so damned nice and forgiving.” I’m so mad at
myself, at her for being exactly what I need, and a system that let
her down, that I lash out like a moron. “Stop being a fucking
martyr. If I piss you off, say so.”
Suddenly,
Bliss snaps, her face turning red and her gaze full of fire. “You
know what happened to me the majority of the time I stood up for
myself or voiced an opinion? I got smacked, dragged by my hair to my
room, or worse. So I learned very quickly not to rock the boat, to
always
be sweet and agreeable, while forgiving the people who should be
taking care of me. That’s how I survived my life,” she
says, her chest rising and falling. “And that’s how I’ll
continue to survive.”
Gutted.
Now I know exactly how that word feels. “I didn’t know.”
I can’t think of what else to say, so I apologize. “I’m
sorry.”
“I’m
done with your apologies.” Turning, she marches away from me,
head held high. Up the third set of stairs she goes, the one that
leads away from my bedroom and to the opposite side of the house.
As
soon as she’s out of sight, I pick up the nearest object and
throw it across the room. “
Son
of a bitch
!”
But the wooden cutting board didn’t satisfy my inner rage, so
I start throwing everything around—glasses, plates, cutlery,
knives.
I’m
pissed and helpless, and pissed at feeling helpless. The only other
person who has ever made me feel this way is my dad, and Violet, but
that was entirely Everett’s fault.
A
smear of red catches my eye, and I look at my hands. There are tiny
cuts all over them, blood oozing everywhere. “Shit.”
I
make my way out of the kitchen, to the closest bathroom, and bandage
up my hands. Then I grab some cleaning supplies and start picking the
debris left by Hurricane Jackson. By the time I’m done, the
fish has thawed.
I’m
not really hungry but Bliss might be later, so I prepare it as usual
and bake it in the oven. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I head out
on the deck. Only a sliver of the sun is left, casting dark orange
light everywhere.
Movement
catches my eye, and I spot Bliss. She sitting in the swing, inside a
gazebo that the first property owner built for his bride. There’s
even a picture of the Beaumonts, standing in that very gazebo, fresh
from their honeymoon, in the town’s local history museum.
“Want
some company?” I call out.
Bliss
starts, then looks up at me and crosses her arms over her chest.
“No.”
I
grin at that no, wait another minute, and ask, “What about
now?”