Page 13 of Keep Me

I let out a long, ragged breath, my shoulders dropping an inch as the tension finally started to bleed out of me. I did not tell him about Alex. I did not tell him about the terrifying thought that I was only visible when I was breaking. I just reached over to the nightstand, my fingers finding my phone, and unlocked the screen. I held it up so he could see it. The grainy, sun-bleached picture of the hummingbird hovered in the dark between us.

Zane took the phone from my hand, his thumb brushing against mine as he pulled the screen closer to his face. He stared at it for a long moment, his eyes taking in the blurred wings, the feeder, the complete silence of the message thread.

“Your dad?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Just the picture. Nothing else. Lucy said I shouldn’t try to decode it. She said I should just let him reach.”

Zane set the phone down on the mattress, face down, the sudden dark returning to the room. He shifted slightly, pulling me closer until I was tucked entirely into his side, my face hidden in the curve of his neck.

“Lucy’s right,” Zane said, his fingers tracing a slow, absent line up and down my arm. “He’s not a guy who has a lot of words.”

“I was going to text him back,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his skin. “But I don’t know what to say. It feels like if I say the wrong thing, the bridge breaks.”

“It’s not that fragile,” Zane said, his grip on my shoulder tightening. “And you don’t have to fix it tonight. You’re exhausted from talking to a screen for an hour. Figure it out tomorrow.”

I closed my eyes, his warmth rising to meet the chill that always lingered in my bones after therapy. Tomorrow.

I could do it tomorrow. There was no rush. Tom was on his porch, the birds were at the feeder, and the text wasn’t going anywhere. I had time.

Waterfront

The noise of the pier restaurant hit us the second the heavy glass doors swung open, a wall of clinking silverware, low-frequency chatter, and the sharp scent of open sea water. The place was packed with people who looked like they had never had a difficult day in their lives, all under low-hanging lights that cast a dark, golden glow over the tables.

Austin had finally gotten back from Florida, and for some reason, the first thing he wanted to do was take us out to eat. Here, of all places. It was exactly the kind of restaurant this updated version of Austin would pick. It was arrogant, overpriced, and positioned aggressively on the waterfront so you couldn’t forget for a single second that you were paying for the premium view.

“Portwood. Four,” Austin said to the hostess. He didn’t wait for her to ask. He was leaning against the high host stand, his dark blond hair a little too long, wearing a heavy black jacket over a tailored shirt that looked expensive but worn. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear out of pure habit, completely ignoring the No Smoking sign three inches from his face.

The hostess blinked, her eyes darting from his sharp jaw to the gold watch on his wrist, her face turning a sudden, bright pink. Austin had that effect; he didn’t ask for room in a place, he just took it with an unbothered presence that made everyone else feel like they were getting in his way.

Blair stood right beside him, looking like a million bucks in a pale-yellow sundress, her hand tucked firmly into the front pocket of his jeans. Austin’s arm was wound around her waist, his grip keeping her pulled flush against his hip, pulling her to him like she was the only thing in the room that mattered. He looked down at her once, his gruff expression softening for a split second as he murmured something against her hair that made her smile.

“Right this way,” the hostess muttered, she was having trouble looking Austin in the eyes. We were led to a circular booth right against the panoramic windows. Outside, the dark water of the harbor moved in waves against the pylons, reflecting the city lights like spilled oil.

“Sit on the inside,” Zane said quietly against my ear. His hand was pressed against the small of my back, not as if he was guiding me, but just so I knew he was close. But his chest was a solid wall behind me, blocking out the traffic of the waitstaff until I safely slid into the curved leather of the booth. He dropped down next to me, his knee finding mine and staying there.

Austin slid in opposite us, but not before he practically lifted Blair into the booth first, making sure she had the better view of the water. He settled his heavy frame next to her, his arm went back around the top of the booth, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck.

He grabbed the oversized menu, his eyes scanning it with a slight scowl. “We’re getting the oysters,” he announced, “dozens of them. I don’t care if you hate the texture, Seren. You’re in college now, grow up and stop eating like a child.”

“They look like snot, Austin,” I said, the familiar, easy friction of our bickering settling over me. I missed him. “They taste like the bottom of a boat.”

“They taste great,” Austin countered, cutting his eyes my way with a lazy, sharp grin. He reached across the table, his hand coming down to give the top of my head a brief, rough squeeze, before Zane casually leaned forward, his shoulder cutting off the space. There was no real heat in it; Zane just didn’t like people in my periphery, and Austin knew exactly where Zane’s lines were drawn. He just smirked and pulled his hand back, settling it on Blair’s thigh.

“Get whatever you want,” Zane murmured to me, his voice dropping below the restaurant’s roar. His fingers quietly pushing the basket of warm bread closer to my side of the table, so I had something safe.

“Don’t let him bully you, Seren,” Blair said, leaning her head against Austin’s shoulder. She looked completely relaxed under the weight of his arm. “He’s been talking about this place since we hit the highway. He thinks because he and Levi are spending more time in Florida, he’s a seafood expert now.”

“I know what’s good, Yellow,” Austin laughed, though the look he gave her was complete adoration, his thumb tracing a slow circle through the fabric of her jeans. He flagged down a waiter with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Bring us four dozen of the coldest oysters you have, a bottle of whatever white wine my girl wants, and whatever the lady across from me points at that didn’t come out of a shell.”

“You seem happy,” I said to Austin, watching the ease that came from his movements and the absence of that tone he usually uses that makes everything sound vaguely threatening.

“Life’s good,” Austin shrugged, his neck tattoo disappearing into his shirt for a second with the movement. “I have my girl,” he paused to look at Blair, whose blonde hair was catching the last breath of the sun. Austin pulled back from Blair and looked back at me, “I have my other girl,” he pointed at me as if I wasn’t aware who he was talking about. “And I guess I have Zane, too. Whatever that’s worth.”

Zane shook his head, a small chuckle coming from his throat. “Business is good, then?”

“Business is great,” Austin said, leaning his weight back against the leather booth. “Levi and I just cleared the title on that warehouse property outside of Jacksonville.”

“Proud of you,” I told him. “Who knew Austin Portwood would grow up to be such a success?”