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“No! The only thing that needs to be said,” he shouts, stabbing the air between us with his pointed finger, “Is thatyouneed to get your damn arse to the mainland, Connie.”
“Well that’s just tough shit, Malakai. You can’t always get what you want.” Although I say the words softly there’s enough strength behind them to make Malakai flinch from the sting. “You don’t need to remind me about what I can’t have, Connie. I knowonlytoo well about that!” He slams the glass onto the table between us, nostrils flaring.
I blink at his fury, my own anger only tempered by the fact that I’ve missed him. God, how I’ve missed him. Missed this, thisenergybetween us.
It’s potent and charged and electric. It zings between us both, an invisible link that binds us together even when time and distance keep us apart. The moon might be millions and millions of miles away from the ocean, but that’s never stopped the attraction between the two forces. The ocean would just be a millpond with no life and no purpose without the moon, and the moon would just be a beautiful, untouchable orb with no justification for existing without the ocean’s tides to remind it that life isn’t desolate and lonely but vast and teeming.
“I feel the same way…” I murmur, itching to touch him, hold him,lovehim.
Malakai’s nostrils flare, his body vibrating with pent up energy, desperate to find release because just like the ocean, he cannot resist the pull of the moon. We are joined, he and I.
Every part of me is hyper aware of him, and I know he feels it too. His physical reaction to me is just as powerful as mine is to him. I’m not the only one whose nipples are hardening with need. I can see the dark pebbles beneath his thin white t-shirt. Drawing in a steadying breath, I pull out a chair and sit down at the table.
“Will you please sit, Malakai?”
For a second I think he’s going to refuse me, instead he yanks out a chair and slams his arse onto the seat opposite me.
“Thank you,” I say, meeting his ragged breathing and angry stares with a sudden calmness that surprises him, given the way his eyebrows are halfway up his forehead right now. Instinctively I reach for him, my fingers barely grazing his before he yanks his hand away as though my very touch is painful. Perhaps it is. “I don’t want to argue with you. I just need you to listen,please?”
The only fight I ever want to have with him is when we’re tearing each other’s clothes off. I’m done fighting his reluctance and his constant refusal to acknowledgeus. Because there is an us. There always has been, right from the start.
“Then do as I ask and go to the mainland.”
“I want to tell you about the curse,” I say, changing the subject.
“What?” He looks at me in confusion then, his eyebrows drawing together in that beautiful frown I’ve come to love.
“The Silva women are cursed, or so the story goes.” I smile a little at his incredulity. Believe me I’ve questioned this story over the years far too many times to count, but there’s no denying history.
“Cursed how? What the fuck are you talking about, Connie?”
“Cursed in love.” I let out a small laugh, but it’s sad, hollow.
“What utter horseshit,” he retorts, shaking his head. He moves to pour another shot, then decides against it, pushing both the bottle and the glass away.
“For a long time, I thought so too. I believe it now.”
He stares at me, taking in every detail of my face like a starved man craving sunlight when he’s been hidden in darkness for so long. “Explain,” he demands, one curt word given sharply.
“We’re each destined to find the man we love, but not destined to keep them. Every Silva woman going back in time has been lucky enough to find their one true soulmate…”
“I don’t believe in soulmates,” he cuts in, and whilst his body language tells me that’s true, his eyes… Oh, his eyes tell me another story entirely.
“My parents found one another. Their love was intense, beautiful, something I basked in growing up. Only their happiness was ripped away from them…”
“They died in a car crash, Connie. That isn’t a curse, it was an accident.”
“That’s what it looked like on the surface, yes. That’s what Grandma told the world, including me.”
“What do you mean?” He sits forward, that infernal muscle in his jaw bouncing as he tries to understand.
“I found a letter my mother sent to Grandma two days before they died. It was a…” I suck in a breath, refusing to let the tears fall. “It was a suicide note.”
“WHAT?!” he roars, anguish and anger both fighting for dominance.
“Dad had terminal cancer. It started in his pancreas and spread. They never told me. The day they left the island they’d said they were going on a trip to see a friend. It was a lie. They both knew he had no time and instead of allowing me to spend those final days with him, they decided to end their lives.”
“MOTHERFUCKERS!” Malakai roars. Reaching for the glass tumbler, he throws it against the wall. It shatters on impact, tiny shards raining down over the kitchen cabinets and floor. Neither of us move to clean up the mess. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, because I’m stuck in my seat, the truth about their deaths a secret I’ve kept hidden, even from myself, weighing me down.
