Page 122 of Shallow

“I’m done,” I announce, climbing through the ropes and dropping onto thefloor.

Frankie stands motionless in the middle of the ring, a look on his face that’s a cross between irritation and pity. “Stop being such apussy.”

“Watch it, junior,” I warn, gritting my teeth. “I’m not in the mood forjokes.”

“Oh, I’m not jokin’. I’ve always looked up to you, man, but I don’t know this asshole in front of me.” He rips off the tape on his own hands, never breaking his hard stare. “Whoever he is, he’s not Cary Kincaid. He’s notmyboss.”

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Frankie? Jesus, even after I promised myself I’d stop trying, I still texted her that stupid-ass song.” Tossing the discarded tape into the trash, I stare down at my pale hands, watching as the blood flow returns to my skin. “She still threw meaway.”

“Are you that stupid? She wanted you to make herstay.”

I wanted to make her stay. I wanted to chain her to my bed and keep her locked away forever. But you can’t chain what you never had. She’s like a hummingbird, darting in and out of my life. Hummingbirds are beautiful to look at. But you know what happens when you cage one? It fuckingdies.

“Lock up when you leave,” I say, never looking back as I turn toward the locker room, another place that’s become my personal hell. “It doesn’t matter what she wanted. Or what I wanted for that matter. It’s too late for both ofus.”

* * *

The water’snot hotenough.

My skin is on fire, and the water falling from above my head is scalding my flesh, but it’s still not hot enough. With a complete disregard for my own skin, I crank that motherfucker a full rotation, causing the pipes to scream like a dyingman.

No sympathy here, asshole. The feeling’smutual.

A cloud of thick steam envelopes me—so heavy that I have to inhale in short breaths or risk choking to death. Hell, maybe I should just suck it in, hold my breath and get it overwith.

Frankie’s right. This pussy I’ve become isn’t Cary Kincaid. He’s Carrick Kincaid. I don’t know how she did it, but Shiloh grabbed a hold of time, gave it a good spin, and fucking dropped me right back into 2010. I’ve become the same mopey, sad-ass loser whose life revolved around a woman he can neverhave.

Draping my wrists over the shower head handle, I duck my head under the spray and groan. “What the hell am I gonna donow?”

“Well, for starters, you’re going to stop standing in myspot.”

Every muscle in my back tenses, and I almost convince myself I’m hallucinating. Still gripping the handle, a sadistic need to prove myself wrong forces my chin over my shoulder. Suddenly, the steam is no longer the reason I can’tbreathe.

“What are you doinghere?”

“I missed the ocean,” she says, her voicelow.

“You live thirteen miles from VeniceBeach.”

“Are we really going to do this rightnow?”

I turn completely around, and Shiloh steps forward, the steam thinning as she approaches, allowing me to set my eyes on her for the first time in two weeks. Gone are the simple white shorts and tank tops she’d grown accustomed to while she worked for me. Her face is made, her hair is curled, and a tight purple dress hugs her body in all the rightplaces.

Her moves are cat-like, confident and steady, but not without purpose. I’m speechless, staring at the assertive lift of her chin, and the seductive curve of her lips with a desire that’s drowning me by thesecond.

It’s not until she’s right in front of me that I see it. My hand moves on its own, slicing through the stream of water and tracing the puckered C shape still lining her leftcheek.

“Shiloh, your face.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want them back. Shaming her is the last thing I meant to do. I’m just shocked to see her come back the same way sheleft.

She glances down, her voice soft but assured. “I know. It’s perfect, isn’tit?”

The most perfect thing I’ve everseen.

My body casts a shadow over hers as I lean down and kiss the top of her scar. “I’ve known that for a while, but why the change ofheart?”

She inhales before blowing it out through rounded lips and slowly raising her eyes to meet mine. I expect tears, like so many she cried before she left, but they’re clear. The only thing that reflects in them is the peace she’s searched for her wholelife.

“My faceisme, Cary. It’s you. It’s Kirkland. It’s my reminder that a mirror isn’t a reflection of who I am. It’s a reflection of where I’vebeen.”