Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) (23 page)

As he buried himself inside of me one last time before we begrudgingly rolled out of bed, he asked me again to stay with him, to not go home yet. But my answer stayed the same as it was last night. I can’t give up being
me
to be with
him
, and that’s the only way
we
can ever be an
us
.

He disappeared from the suite for a bit while I was showering and packing, and at first I thought he was mad at me for saying no, but when he returned, he had two hot cups of coffee and an order of beignets for us to share. I smiled with relief when he pulled me into his lap and fed me, claiming he needed to make sure
his girl
didn’t go hungry.

“You guys are flying Delta, right?” Levi asks no one in particular as we pull up to the departures gate.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Emilia answers, the sadness evident in her voice. Even though she and Gunner will stay in contact with Levi, and they already have plans to take a delayed honeymoon in Europe at the same time as the World Championships in October, she’s having to say farewell to one of her best friends too.

The black SUV comes to a stop at the curb, and we all climb out with the enthusiasm of attending a funeral. After Gunner and Levi retrieve all the luggage from the back, the two of them exchange a sentimental bro-hug before Emilia squeezes the life out of Levi’s neck, not bothering to hold back her tears.

“You better text regularly, and if you need anything at all, you call us,” she asserts through her sniffles. “I love you, big guy.”

“I will, and I love you too, Emmy Sue,” he assures her. “Don’t cry. We’ll see each other real soon. Okay?”

“Okay.” Wiping the wetness from her cheeks, she shuffles over to Gunner’s arms to be comforted by her husband then shifts her mascara-streaked eyes to me and tips her chin toward the building. “We’re gonna wait inside for you. Take as long as you need.”

I nod, trying desperately to swallow back the knot in my throat, but it refuses to budge.

Once it’s just the two of us, Levi eats up the pavement between us in one long stride and crushes me against his body, engulfing me in his arms. My arms loop tightly around his waist as I bury my face in his chest, wishing things could end differently, but knowing they can’t. Not until now have I ever understood the old adage “Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.” ’Cause man, this is so fucking hard . . .

“Sunshine,” he whispers into my hair, demolishing the dam holding back my tears with a single word. So much for not crying.

Pulling back a little, he looks deep into my eyes with his tender, heartbreaking gaze. “I’ll never forget a single moment of these two weeks. You rocked my world like I never thought possible, and if you change your mind and ever want to rejoin the crazy bus, you know how to get ahold of me. We’ve still got a lot more ghosts to hunt down when you’re ready.”

“I know,” is all I can manage through the hiccupping sobs.

His mouth collides with mine in a passionate kiss, fervent lips and frantic tongues desperately clinging to each other one last time. When the emotion gets to be too much, when I’m a heartbeat away from saying the hell with my life back in Denver and jumping back into the Suburban, I break away and step back. I just can’t.

“Thank you for everything, Hulk. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t come back from the World’s without the title.” I force a tiny grin. “I’ll be cheering for you. Always.”

Then, with a final wave, I pivot around on my heel and walk inside the airport, unable to look back at the man I’ve fallen in love with.

MONDAY, JULY 2

NEVER HAVE I EVER CRIED
over a chick.

Until now.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 4

WHEN I WAS A KID
, I looked forward to the Fourth of July like most kids look forward to Christmas. Barbeque, horseshoes, music, and fireworks. Four classic summer ingredients that, when paired together, end up in an epic day of fun and laughter with family and friends. These are the days I’ve always lived for.

So why is it that as I stand freshly showered in the bathroom, staring at my glum reflection, the last thing I want to do is go outside to my parents’ annual Independence Day party? I’m not hungry, every song reminds me of him, I don’t feel like playing games, and the last thing I want to see is a beautiful, romantic light show in the sky that makes me want to kiss someone.

And the fact that I feel this way makes me even angrier with myself today than I was yesterday. I’m allowing my stupid sadness over the loss of a guy who I only knew for a little over two weeks to ruin my favorite holiday. Fucking pathetic, Dakota.

After his single text Monday night to ensure I made it home safely, and my response that I had, it’s been radio silence between me and Levi. Keeping a line of communication open between the two of us will only make things harder than they already are, so despite my constant desire to pick up my phone and send him a message telling him how much I miss him, I don’t do it. But, God, how I want to.

“No!” I say sharply to the sulky girl in the mirror. “You’re not that girl. You’re not weak and dependent. Stop being ridiculous.”

Rolling my shoulders back, I stick my chest out and lift my chin, at least pretending to believe my own words. Then, cinching the belt of my robe tight around my waist, I march down the hall and into Hudson’s room to get dressed, determined to at least
try
to have a good time today.

The first roadblock I run into is what to wear. If I’m going to be in a good mood, I need to wear something bright and cheerful, something that I’d usually wear to an outdoor summer party. But as I sift through the clothes in my younger sister’s closet, I realize that’s easier said than done. I’ve never noticed it before, but everything she owns is either black, brown, gray, or army green. There’s not a single stitch of yellow or orange in the entire assortment.

Grumbling, I glance down at my bags from the trip on the floor, in the exact same place I dropped them Monday afternoon when I got here, completely untouched. All the clothes I brought from home are in there, plus the things I picked up on the road—all washed and folded by the hotel laundry staff and begging to be worn. Especially that pineapple romper. But I still can’t bring myself to unpack it quite yet. The memories are still too fresh, too raw. I know the minute I see each thing inside there I’ll remember what day I wore that with Levi and what we did. And then there’s no way I’d ever make it outside.

“Kota, you almost ready? People are starting to arrive, and Grams needs your help frosting cakes.” Hudson’s voice startles me from my pitiful thoughts, and I snap my eyes over to where she’s standing in the doorway. Her expression is full of sympathy and compassion, and even though I haven’t told her everything that happened or the extent of my feelings for Levi, she knows something’s up.

The most generous and selfless of all the Shavell sisters, Hudson—who’s almost three years younger than me—and I just recently got close at the end of last year, when she became interested in Crew Elliott, her now serious boyfriend. We bonded one night over her guy troubles, and even though at the time I was living with Nali and Juno, our two older sisters, Hudson and I started hanging out quite a bit, and became pretty close.

“Yeah, I’ll be ready to in fifteen minutes.” Nodding, I offer a faint smile. “I just need to decide what to wear and put my hair up.

“You can wear anything of mine you want. My denim shorts are in the third drawer over there,” she offers, pointing at the dresser across the room, “and there’s tanks and tees in the top one. Whatever you find . . . knock yourself out.”

“Thanks, sis,” I reply as I abandon the prospects in the closet, hoping for something a little more vibrant in the dresser.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, I’m bounding down the steps of the front porch, off to the lodge to help Grams. My hair’s piled on top of my head in a messy knot and I don’t have a stitch of makeup on, but hey, at least I’m out of bed and dressed. I even managed to put together a somewhat-patriotic-themed outfit that includes a vintage Rolling Stones tee with an American flag tongue logo, faded blue jean cutoffs, and white All-stars. It was the best I could do with my options and lack of enthusiasm.

“Dakota! There you are, love!” Grams exclaims gleefully when I shuffle into the commercial-grade kitchen that my family uses to cook daily breakfasts and Sunday dinners for the resort guests. It’s also where we do all our holiday party preparations as well. “Come put an apron on and grab a spatula. The cakes off to the left are cool and ready to be frosted.”

“Afternoon, Grams.” Kissing her cheek as I walk by, I do as I’m told, slipping the apron over my head and picking up the offset spatula. “Where’s the rest of the fam?”

Ignoring my question, she scuttles over to the refrigerator to get something, but appears to forget what it is when she gets there, because she walks back over to the bowl she’s mixing in then goes back to the fridge and grabs the milk. The entire time she’s talking to herself, but I can’t understand what she’s saying.

“Grams!” I call her name out sharply, causing her to startle and look at me. “Is everything okay? Did you hear me?”

Shaking her head, she furrows her brow with confusion. “I feel fine. Why? You asked me something? I didn’t hear you say anything.”