Not Quite Enough(22)

For Monica, however, not having Katie nearby, and with Jessie spending less and less time in California, made her feel strangely empty.
Where did that leave her?
In a go nowhere place, way too close to her mother.
If there was one person on the face of the earth that didn’t get her it was Renee. Her mother shacked up with whoever the latest guy was, and moved on when the sex grew stale.
Monica didn’t even know her dad. He left when she was hardly out of diapers and she certainly didn’t remember him. He was an enigma. A useless mystery, but a giant question mark in Monica’s life nonetheless.
In short… everyone that should mean something to her had moved on.
Monica leapt over debris swept up by the tsunami and kept running. Ginger thought it was a game and ran ahead only to stop, pant, and keep going when Monica caught up.
People moved on.
Just like Monica would do with the people she’d come in contact with here on the island.
Just like with Trent.
She’d known him for what, three days? Why did she care that he’d seemed desperate for her to leave his space?
Because rejection sucked.
I should be used to it by now.
Monica pushed her body harder, dodged the foamy sea as it rushed her way, and kept going.
The sea stopped her progression with an outcropping of rocks, forcing her to turn back.
She wasn’t ready, but unless she wanted to go for a swim, she’d have to run back to Trent’s home and suffer his indifference through a stiff coffee and a ride back to the clinic.
She’d find a way to avoid him after that.
And she’d be all right. The Ice Queen didn’t crack.
Trent sat on the steps leading to his home. Waiting for her.
Monica slowed as she approached him, but was ready to blow past him with the need for a shower ready as her excuse to avoid him.
She knew he saw her, but he kept his eye on the sea. He glanced at her feet when she wasn’t two yards from him. There was a cup in his hand. “It’s probably cold by now,” he said.
She took it from him anyway. “Iced coffee is the thing back home.” She tried to laugh off his gesture.
One sip and she knew he paid attention. There was a slight taste of sugar mixed with a strong, albeit cold, java. “Thanks,” she said.
Turning her back to him, she took another swallow of the coffee.
“You left,” he finally said.
“I needed to clear my head. Get ready for a crazy day.” Starting with you and ending with God knows what.
After an obscene amount of silence, Monica needed to break free.
“I’ll shower and then… can you take me back to the clinic?” Last night she didn’t feel the need to even ask, but for some reason she did now. The lack of control in her life made her shake. It wasn’t as if she could call a cab… or anyone. She had Walt’s number, but there was no guarantee he was still at the clinic, or that he could retrieve her.
“Of course,” he said as he stood.
Her throat tightened again. So much for the run clearing my head.
He stood rooted on the step so she attempted to move around him. His hand caught her forearm. His touch felt like fire. Hot with a current of its own.
“Monica?”
She stopped and felt the air around her disappear. He stood close, too close to breathe. The pull of his gaze wasn’t avoidable. When she looked, his eyes were focused on her.
Something behind his eyes spoke of sorrow.
He loosened his hold and lightly traced the inside of her arm.
She shivered and felt her breath catch again. In a bar, or a local hangout, the feeling swimming inside her and settling deep in her core would have been welcome. But here, on the beach with the sunrise a recent memory, with more life and death than anyone could ever imagine filling every corner of her world, Monica didn’t welcome it.
It scared her more than being in a helicopter with a barefoot pilot en route to the end of the world.
It scared her more than living life alone. She closed her eyes.
Trent’s warm hand traveled up her arm and he stepped closer.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered. There was no reason to deny the sparks. She hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of her by saying he didn’t know what she meant.
She couldn’t look in his eyes. His chocolate brown eyes would see through her and call her out.
When his hand dropped, she released a breath she didn’t realize she held, and fled up the stairs.



Chapter Eight



Silence came in two categories, quiet and painful, or quiet and comfortable. How she and Trent had gone from comfortably quiet to get-me-the-hell-out-of-this-car quiet, Monica would never know. The way Trent gripped the steering wheel told her he was just as ready to have her out of his space.
Monica reduced herself to closing her eyes and acting as if she was trying to rest the final miles to the clinic. Her heart started to skip as they rounded the last corner and the now familiar town came into view. More people were milling about and there were Jamaican police combing the rubble with dogs. The chances of finding anyone alive at this point would be minimal, but that didn’t stop the collective effort of those still searching for their loved ones.
Trent slowed the Jeep and Monica unhooked her seat belt in hopes of a quick getaway.
“I really appreciate the bed and ability to duck out of here last night.” She did, despite how uncomfortable she was now.
“No problem.” He stopped his car, put it in park.
She reached for the handle to open the door, and gathered her backpack in the other hand. “Thanks for everything, Trent. It’s been a pleasure knowing you.”