Hello, Darlins! Thanks for all the love! Be sure to check out our Facebook group to see the love happening at TFMU! Ariel and Jill will be there tonight and Dani will join in on the fun tomorrow! Thanks to Pamela for all her help!
-11-
Rose
July 4th, 2023
Lighthouse Cove, Maine
We all have our little things that fuel us. For Bella, it's her work. The environment and all the living beings that inhabit it. For Alice, it's Bree and her photography. The ability to capture a memory and keep it forever. To physically hold time in your hands in a permanent way.
For me? It's music.
My medicine. The one thing that cures all that ails me. Whether it be gut-wrenching ballads, bubbly pop, angsty metal, or mellow acoustic, there's a song for every mood. It brings me to life again, reminds me I'm human. I'm flawed, but I'm capable of all of these emotions.
It calls to me now like a siren song, carrying itself over the Atlantic Ocean and making my body move in the seat of the boat from Lighthouse Cove to the shores of Brighton Bay with its beat. It's a full band, from the sounds of it. Not just a singer-songwriter with a guitar and a mic.
No, the baseline is low but the riffs are upbeat, and the contrast works. It's different, and I find myself needing to be there. I have to find out who they are and if they have more than just this one good song.
The shore is lit up with red, white, and blue lights. Even the boats docked by the pier are aglow, some with banners and streamers and people gathered on the bow in patriotic clothing. It makes me glad I chose the red maxi dress I did. It's comfortable, but it hides my problem areas while prominently showing off the girls.
As we get closer, I get a clearer picture of the shops lined up along the boardwalk. Food vendors, artists, fire breathers, fair games, and more. I know if I fight through the throng of people I'll get to the street that runs along the beach. Brighton Bay will have it shut down for a few blocks, and there I'll find the bands. Just a few small stages are dotted along the walkway to promote the local scene.
It's my favorite part of the party each year, and the girls know I'm gonna split off for just a bit to check out who's playing.
Just like Alice sneaks off to snap photos of the festivities and Bella always checks the sand dunes for a peek at the wildlife.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, girls," Carlisle warns with a hearty laugh as he leads us off the boat once we dock amongst the seemingly hundreds of ships that will be sailing out to light fireworks from off-shore.
We giggle and link arms, heading straight to the nearest bar sitting propped in the sand. A little pregaming has been done, but we're free from the real world for the first full night and we're ready to let our hair down.
"Gameplay time?" Alice asks, sipping on her Brighton Horizon — a drink that's become our signature drink over the years and we've even made it back at the house at least once a year. Alice has always been the planner, the problem solver. The "mom friend" that kept us on track with anything we were doing.
"I have to go find out who's playing," I say, eyes scanning the quickest route to the stage I suspect it's coming from.
Bella's smile is knowing, because neither expects any differently. "Girl, get out of here. We'll meet back up for fireworks. We have two weeks with each other!"
I give them hugs and thanks and then I head into the fray of the crowd, hungry for more of that sound that's now drowned out by people and part games and other bands.
I let instinct lead me where I need to be, and as soon as I spot the band's name, Decode, I do a quick search on my phone. Founded only a year ago in Boston, made up of both a male and female lead singer along with three other members. Their fan base is small, but it seems to be growing. Nothing problematic in the news. They're a little rough, but nothing the right manager couldn't make shine. Their sound and look is unique enough on their own, I can tell they're going to be huge. They're the kinds of bands I love finding, ones I can watch rise to the top and bring to Aro the moment they get enough views to be worth his time.
This dress has pockets because every dress I own has pockets—if that technology exists, why wouldn't we use it?—so I tuck my phone back inside and push my way to the front to watch the show. One hand clutching my drink that cools my heated skin, one swaying high in the air to the rhythm of the music, I get lost. I let it take me.
I get so lost, I don't even realize I'm being watched.
Two songs in, my drink is empty, so I make my way to the nearest bar. With the spell the music had on me shaking off with every step, my awareness returns and makes my eyes drift from the ground up to the line, where my eyes spy an all-too-familiar form standing in the queue that makes my heart do a leap.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I yell once I'm closer.
Emmett's head turns and I wonder if I'm imagining the way his eyes light up when he sees me. "You want the truth or my cover story?"
I'm next to him now and he's looking too fucking good, all tall and tan, hair a wavy mess on the top of his head and faded on the sides, and it's sinful how he's killing off a Hawaiian shirt and black shorts and flip flops with all that ink that makes me want to run my tongue all over him.
Okay so, it's been a while since I've seen him. My exposure therapy is low.
Emmett McCarty has been the only man in the past year I've wanted and not let myself have. He's the forbidden fruit that wanders into my mind on the nights I'm alone and I itch to cross that line and text his phone.
But he's a colleague. He may not work directly for my station, but he works with me on at least a monthly basis and his talent isn't the sort that's replaceable. He brings his own listeners to the station just by writing for the website. And that makes him strictly off-limits.
"Both," I say, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes, attempting to appear intimidating in some way.
"Well the story is I'm following them," he nods his head toward the band we were just listening to. "And I am, sort of. I went to college with a few of them, so I figured I'd come to watch and get some work out of it."
I nod, both of us moving forward in the line, and I find my smile growing a little flirtier than I normally allow around him.
"They're really great, I was just checking them out myself. They're gonna be huge."
"They are. And I'm gonna help them get there."
"And the real reason you're here?"
When he looks at me this time, honey-brown eyes raking over me with a heat that sears me from the inside out, my knees nearly buckle at the intensity of it.
He's never looked at me quite like that before. Hell, I don't think anyone has.
"I think I'll keep that to myself for just a little bit longer," he states, head tilting forward again while the corner of his lips turns up in a wicked smirk.
"Fine, keep your secrets. I'm just glad I tapped into this one before I knew you spotted them," I shrug, nodding back in the direction of the band breaking their set down.
"But not before I had spotted them. I've been following them since they started." Motherfucker winks and I have to actively look away from him because he's too tempting. Too cocky, but not in a bad way. Too charming.
And too off-limits.
We continue to talk shop until we get our drinks, and before I know it my feet are carrying me right alongside him. Step by step. It's instinctual, to follow him. To trust him on a subconscious level.
"How's your trip going so far?" He asks, whirling lights that dance around the various fair games also dancing in his eyes and shining off the hair I want my hands buried in.
"Amazing," I sigh, unable to contain my smile. "I almost didn't show up. Stupid, right?"
"That is stupid," he's not mean when he says it, not in the least. How could he be mean smiling down at me like an absolute cherub? "I know what this trip means to you every year. As soon as the snow starts melting it's all you talk about."
"It's the most important thing I do all year."
"I'm glad you did it. I'm glad to see you taking time for yourself. You deserve it, ya know."
I know he's right, but part of me still fights it. Maybe I'm fighting more the fact that I'm hearing those words from someone besides Alice and Bella. I've always been expected to put everyone's needs before my own. First with my family, then with Royce. Having someone—a male someone—point it out to me in such blunt terms is alarming. Especially when they're words I don't fully believe myself.
"Hey," Emmett stops dead in his tracks, eyes locked on the machine at the end of our walkway. It's one of those silly towers with a hammer that you hit to test your strength. "Want me to win you something?"
I don't doubt with arms like that that he could win the biggest prize offered if this game wasn't rigged. And I want to be indignant and tell him, no, it's fine, it's not appropriate.
But I've had a few drinks in me and there's a much larger part of me that wants to see his muscles flex while he brings down that mallet.
And I happen to know Emmett is a little competitive and always driven by being told he can't do something.
"No, don't worry about it," I wave my hand, turning to head back in the direction we came. "They make those things way harder than they should be because they don't want you to win a prize. No offense, but you probably couldn't get it to the second level."
Emmett gives me nothing in response but a look as if to say 'fucking watch me' before he marches towards the game. Confident. Sexy. Manly.
I follow along and stand to the side while he hands the man running the thing his money, then long, adept fingers grip around the handle. Arms and shoulders and back all flex, and I have to stop myself from openly drooling as he throws the hammer down with all his might and…
It lifts about six inches off the ground. Not enough to win anything.
I open my mouth to tease him, but he looks right at me and points a finger in my direction.
"Not a word from you, Hale."
I laugh, openly and unashamedly, and he pays for another try.
And then another.
And one more.
He's so determined, and I can't breathe I find it so funny, but then somewhere around the fifth or sixth try, it happens. He hits it just high enough to earn a first-level prize.
He's panting now, sweating, pissed off but still smiling. He's a fucking beautiful beast that I'm dying to ravage. And something in my chest slips a little when he analyzes his options and then chooses this tiny little stuffed otter, barely bigger than my hand.
My favorite animal. Though I can't think of any earthly reason he would know that about me.
He's towering over me, breathing like he just got done fucking, and handing me this gift that he worked so hard to get for me, and it takes everything in me not to read more into it.
Colleagues that happened to run into each other hanging out.
That's all this is.
"Thanks," I offer shakily, taking the stuffed animal from his hands. "I, uh, I don't think anyone's ever won anything for me before."
"That's a damn shame, and a fact I intend to change."
I don't have the courage to ask for clarification. I think part of me is afraid of the answer. So we keep walking until we're in front of another bar.
My head is spinning and I don't know if it's him or the alcohol, but the fireworks are going to be starting any minute now and I need one more drink before I get back to the girls.
"You never did tell me the real reason you're here," I finally say.
"The real reason…we'll let's just say I happen to have some insider intel on this girl I like. She comes here every year and I was kind of hoping I could come out and sweep her off her feet." He shrugs like it's simple. Like he didn't just drop a bomb on me that has me reeling.
Men like Emmett don't like women like me. He's successful. Good looking and funny. He listens to what you say, he pays attention, and he cares. He's kind, but there's an edge to him. A little bit of a mystery, mostly because I don't really know anything about him.
And yet I've always still wanted to know more about him.
Or maybe I'm overreacting here and he means someone else entirely?
I don't like that thought. I don't like that I don't like that thought, either.
"Rose, can you just turn your brain off for a second?" He sighs, his fingers gently grabbing my chin and guiding me to look at him.
My heart doesn't race quite like this for men. Ever. A few stutters, sure, but not the racing he kicks off when he actually touches me.
"What do you mean?" I ask, a little indignant. But I don't dare make a move that would remove his fingers from my skin.
"I see your gears spinning. Stop it."
"Yeah, 'cause it's that easy to just stop a brain." Okay, I may be slurring a little.
Emmett laughs, pulling me up to the head of the line, where he orders us both a Brighton Horizon along with a glass of water. As soon as the bartender holds our drinks out, I'm grabbing for mine but Emmett gets ahold of them and takes them both before my arm reaches.
"Nuh-uh. Water first, then I'll let you have another. You need to pace yourself."
"Who are you, my daddy?"
He shoots me another one of those looks. The new look. The one he's never given me before that makes my legs shake a little.
"Just drink the water."
I follow his orders, surprised by how badly my body needs the hydration, and I empty half the glass before I can speak again.
"Anyways, this, you and me, it can't be a thing, Emmett. We work together."
Before I'm done speaking, he links one drink-laden arm around my waist and ushers me to the side, in between two buildings. There's a window into one of the buildings behind me, and he sets the drinks on the ledge and takes mine from my hands, and in one swift motion, his body is plastered against mine. It's hot, and hard, and gods I want to sink into him. He smells like clean laundry and sweat and something sweet I can't quite identify and I want to forget everything I've said about how I can't have him.
"I've been respectful, Rose. I kept my mouth shut when you were with that asshole, and I've given you your time and space since you opened your eyes and left him. But if I let a woman like you slip through my fingertips because I was too scared to take what I want, I'd never forgive myself."
His words scorch right through me, but it's nothing in comparison to what I feel when his lips crash against mine. It's hot and needy, but there's something more there beneath the surface and fuck I want to dive into it.
And maybe I do. For a little bit. Maybe my hands find out what those muscles feel like. Maybe I let my tongue taste him until we're gasping for air and it takes more strength than he mustered with that hammer to flatten my palms against his chest and push him away.
"I can't do this, Emmett," I can barely whisper with how badly my breath had been taken.
"What do you mean? What's stopping us? Work? I'll stop doing work for the station, I don't give a f—"
"No," I push him harder, and he relents, stepping back to give me the space I need. "No, that right there is the point. I don't want you to stop working for the station. Just go home, Emmett. I'm sorry."
"Rose, I just—"
I hold my hand up to stop him, and before my stupid instincts can tell me otherwise, I leave him and my drink in the alleyway.