Kimberly Meter - A Real Live Hero

“And you’ve always known that I have big dreams that aren’t here.”

“Yeah, well, what does that have to do with getting married?” he asked, irritated and defensive. He’d always thought her talk of running off to California was kid stuff, not the kind of real-life aspirations that adults followed through with. He’d assumed she’d use her degree to get a job with the local television studio in Anchorage, certainly not something in Hollywood. But even so, he didn’t understand why she’d reject everything he was offering based on that reason. “I mean, we could still get married, you know. We’d work something out.”

“And if we did, you’d want me to stay here, and I’m not going to stay here. I’ve been saving up for a plane ticket to California and first month’s rent and security deposit for an apartment.”

He stared. “You’ve been planning to leave?”

“Yes. I told you that was my plan after graduating college. I stayed a year past my plan, and I’m not going to stay here another year.” Her eyes, so beautiful to Trace, seemed to harden into green chips of stone as she continued. “You never listen to me, Trace. You’re a country boy and I’m made to be a city girl. I thought we could make it work, but the fact is I’ve been realizing that we’re not meant to be like I thought we were. I was going to tell you...”

“When?” he demanded to know. “After I’d purchased our first home?”

She graced him with a look. “Sarcasm? Is that necessary? This is hard enough to do without you being mean.”

“Forgive me, I just had my dignity stomped into the ground,” he replied caustically, tucking the ring box into his jeans when he really wanted to chuck it as far away from him as he could throw it. “So, are you breaking up with me, too?” At her silence, he swore under his breath, unable to believe this was happening. It was like a bad, bad dream. “You have excellent timing,” he said, happy to use anger as a shield against the pain that was coming. “Excellent timing. I thought I was at my lowest with my baby sister being murdered, but you showed me I had so much further to fall. Thanks, babe. You’re a doll.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her face flushing. “I should’ve told you sooner, but then everything happened with Simone and...”

“And what? You wanted to wait to rip out my heart?”

“I was trying to be considerate.”

“Well, thank you for your consideration.” He scorned the sudden appearance of tears in her eyes, saying as he walked away, “Good luck in California. I never want to see you again.”

“Trace...”

But he kept walking. Closing his heart for good.

Trace opened his eyes and realized his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles had whitened and he’d carved little half-moons into his palms. Eight years was a long time, but apparently not long enough. Seeing Delainey again brought all the rage and hurt right back to the surface, spilling over the sides and contaminating everything around it. He hated her. God, he hated her. She’d used him, played him, and then when he hadn’t been of any more use to her, she’d left him behind.

So now Delainey needed him for something? She could go hang herself and see if he cared. Whatever trouble she was in, she could just figure out a solution without his help.

And what the hell had she done to her face and hair? She looked as fake as a three-dollar bill with her platinum-blond hair and button nose. Not much of an improvement, if his opinion mattered much. He’d preferred her light brown hair, which had complemented her green eyes, giving her a mysterious air that was almost bewitching. Now, she just looked like every other plastic woman running around trying to be someone she wasn’t. And she was way too thin. He could practically count the ribs in her side when before Delainey had always been a little on the soft side—not thick by any means, but soft and feminine with full, rounded hips and nice, healthy breasts. Alaska was a harsh place, and having a little meat on the bones helped insulate against the bitter cold. At her current frail size, Delainey was likely to freeze to death waiting for a latte.

He groaned when he realized he was still spending way too much energy thinking about Delainey, and he knew he needed to occupy his mind with something else before he lost it. He dialed his sister Miranda and tapped his finger with agitation as he waited for her to pick up.

“Hey, Trace,” she answered with a smile in her voice. Obviously, she wasn’t aware that her former best friend was strolling around town. Should he tell her? He didn’t want her to be blindsided as he’d been, right? “You’re never going to guess who showed up on my doorstep.”

“Churchgoers trying to save your soul?” Miranda guessed, half joking.

“That would’ve been more welcome than who it actually turned out to be.” He waited a half second before continuing, “Delainey Clarke.”

“What?” All laughter fled from Miranda’s voice, and he could actually imagine his sister sitting straighter in shock. “Are you kidding me?”

“I would never make a joke in such bad taste,” he said. “She knocked on my door looking for a favor of all things. Can you imagine?”

“Wow, that’s either really brave or really stupid,” she said. “So what did she want? Is she dying or something? Or maybe she’s started a twelve-step program and she’s trying to make amends for something.”

“It’s work-related, I guess. She wants me to sign on for some show of hers.”

“You? Plainly she’s forgotten how antisocial you are.”

“Yeah, plainly.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“What do you think? I told her to get off my property and lose my address,” he growled, surprised his sister had to ask. “I don’t owe her anything, and I certainly don’t feel like handing out any favors after what she did to me and my family.”

“Yeah, it sucked,” Miranda agreed, but there was something else in her voice that puzzled Trace.

“She abandoned you, too. You were best friends.”

“I remember. And trust me, I totally understand why you’re not happy to see her again. But aren’t you the least bit curious as to what she’s been doing for the past eight years?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Should I be?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d be curious. How’d she look?”

“Like someone who spends all day staring at food they’re never going to eat.”

“Huh?”

“She’s too skinny.”

“Anything else?”

“Her hair is platinum blond and she definitely had a nose job.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of change. I wonder why she did all that. She was always a pretty girl without all that stuff.”

Pretty didn’t accurately describe Delainey Clarke. She’d been gorgeous, at least to Trace. She’d always been embarrassed by the bump on her nose, but Trace had found it endearing—just one more part of her that had made her unique. Now? She looked plastic. “She wore fake eyelashes, too. And her forehead didn’t move. She probably had her face shot up with that cow pee that everyone talks about.”

“Cow pee? You mean Botox? That’s not cow urine. It’s the bacteria that causes botulism. And if her forehead didn’t move, it’s likely she’s had it done. Scary stuff. But I’m sure in Los Angeles that’s as normal as going to the grocery store to pick up eggs.”

“Yeah, well, she can go right back to L.A. and fit in with her people because there’s sure as hell no place for her here anymore.”

“Is she staying with her dad, I wonder? They didn’t part on good terms, either. She burned every bridge on her way out.”

“No clue. Harlan’s a hard man and always has been. I can’t imagine he’d welcome her with open arms any more than I was willing. But she is his daughter, so who knows.”