Eva loved summer storms, and today, the heavy weight of dense grey clouds rumbled with the promise of rain. Last night had been hell. A study in torture. Plagued with haunting dreams of Marshall--from his impressive body to his talented tongue--Eva woke in a tangled, knotted mess of unspent lust.

And, like those storm clouds, on the brink of erupting.

A strange and unfamiliar sensation she wasn't accustomed to. To say she'd never enjoyed or cared overly much about sex wasn't far of a stretch. Nate hadn't been especially gifted...or interested in doing much more than climbing on and getting off. Randy...well, he'd certainly seemed to enjoy her more than she had him.

Then there was the odd one night she'd taken for herself, here and there, and though they'd satisfied the itch, Eva couldn't say any of those had been much to report. So why was she all worked up over a kiss?

Because that kiss had done more to her body than any previous lover had ever come close to accomplishing. Because that kiss had awakened stirrings she didn't even know she had. And because she felt, based on an easy sort of primitive knowing, that this one was going to be different. Knowledge born from instinct and intuition.

The house was quiet. Too damn quiet. She'd sent the girls over to Lottie's for the day so she could have a few hours to work without distraction or disruption. With the weather a roiling mass of pent-up frustration, much like herself, Eva had decided that today was a day for focusing on her prints and edits, rather than beating the boardwalk for pictures.

Though the gloom and sepia tones would have lent itself to some impressive images, Eva wasn't sure she could trust herself being close to Marshall just yet.

Not while she had some much going on inside of her. He'd said he'd wanted more. Not necessarily a committed serious relationship, because that would be just plain weird, but possibility. And that was the one thing she couldn't give.

With Eva there could be no hope for that. All it would take would be one slip of the tongue, one tiny misstep and they'd be whisked away again. Ripping the girls from Nate was a hard reality she'd had to atone and accept responsibility for. Whatever her personal feelings towards him, he was a father who had lost his children.

There could be no greater agony.

She would not--could not--do that to someone again.

Shuffling through a sea of faces, Eva stalled on one she'd snapped of twin girls in matching sundresses. One in pink polka dots, the other in blue. Their hair pulled up high in curly little ponytails on top of their heads, standing with their parents, a couple of tourists puzzling over an island pamphlet.

They way their faces turned to each other, full of impish humour, a moment shared between them as they communicated without words, in a way only twins could. The same way she and Alyssa had so many times before.

Even as grown women they'd shared a connection no one would rival or come close to matching. An unbreakable bond.

Seeing those beautiful dark skinned faces with large, expressive brown eyes, brought back the hollow ache and brutal pain of loss experienced every Christmas, every Thanksgiving and birthday; a jolting, slap in the face reminder of the gaping hole in her heart.

A heart she'd locked away for fearing of losing anyone else. And now folded in on itself like an origami square, compressing into tight, packed little folds, so small it practically disappeared. 

And even now Eva trusted that somewhere in the world, Alyssa could feel her pain. Her grief and love and terrible aching loneliness, etched deep inside where no one else could see, or touch or know...

I miss my sister.

Pushing away from her desk, Eva shuffled down stairs to her kitchen, in search of something sweet and sugary and comforting. She'd lost the only person who'd mattered to her, and her girls would never be free of the shadow of his threats looming over them like a deathly shroud.

While Randy had lost nothing. If the case didn't hold up in the courts, if the charges were dropped, he could walk away tomorrow a free man. His life picking up and moving on exactly as he'd left it.

How was that fair? A voice inside of her seethed, ripping open a packet of jellybeans left over from Easter with her teeth. Why should he win? Why should he succeed in taking any more from them, from her, then she'd already sacrificed? Marshall wanted possibilities, well she fucking deserved them!

Eva palmed a handful of colourful candy coated beans, tossed them in the garbage on a muttered curse. If Alyssa were here, she'd tell Eva to go for it. Seize her happiness, in whatever form that may be. To live life without hesitation, or worry or fear.

Lightning flashed, filling the room, followed by aloud crack and rumble, and rain poured, falling in heavy, driving sheets.

The storm had finally broken. And, mind set, Eva snatched her keys from the counter.

#

Drenched in sweat, Marshall bent at the waist, letting his arms hang and his back relax, stretching out all the tight and tense muscles straight through to his hamstrings. Exhausted, sandy mess, LeBron slumped at his side, tongue lolling with heavy pants.

The three mile run had been a needed burn of energy, sexual frustration and the dregs of last night's whiskey. After a gruelling, toss and turn sort of night, Marshall woke in a funk, kicking himself for his stupidity at turning down a sure thing.

Why? Because he wanted possibilities. What. The. Hell.

Uncapping a bottle of water he'd left on the porch, he sucked it back in strong, demanding chug. Overhead the clouds thickened and swelled, black as chimney ash before exploding with a booming crack of thunder. Rain fell in fat, heaving drops that soaked and saturated within seconds. Too beat to enjoy a romp in the rain, LeBron yawned and rolled onto his back, the sound of the storm lulling him to sleep.

  His phone shrilled in his pocket and, grateful for the distraction, he answered on the second ring.

"Mouse, how's the search going?"

"Came up dry, man. Like Sahara shit," Mouse said, the line buzzing with static. Probably interference from the storm, he thought, casting his eyes to the heavy curtain of rain. "Eva Turner's trail stops dead after two and a half years. Can't find no credit trail, no former place of residence. No job history. School. Zilch."

Crossing the threshold, Marshall closed the door, leaned back against it. "Okay. She's had a name change. A recent one." Not entirely strange. Lots of people did and for a variety of reasons.

Fresh start, mostly. Establishing a new identity. But the question then became why? And the only way to find the answer meant he was going to have dig deeper.

"Yo, you there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just thinking. Any way you could track down her previous identity?"

"Not that simple. I'm holed away in exile until the dust over my last stunt settles, for one. And two...there's some tape on this I can't cut through without drawing heat, seen?"

"I thought name changes were public record?"

"They are. But hers is sealed. Usually only minors get the tape."

"She does have three girls." And that would mean if Eva's records were tied up, then it was because she'd not only changed her name, but theirs as well. Now that made things more interesting. "Come on, Mouse. Can't you just, I don't know-sneak through some hacker backdoor?" 

Mouse snorted. "You watch too many flicks, son." And paused on a thought. "Give me another week, maybe two. My boy knows a guy who knows a chick that might be able to pull something up. Gonna cost you the rest of my usual," he said. "And a finder's fee if this contact pulls through. Ten percent."

"Consider it done."

"Got anything on her to narrow the scope of the field?"

Finished the water, he lobbed the empty bottle at the wastebasket. Plastic clattered against wire, tumbled inside for an almost smooth three-pointer. "Like?"

"Why you asking me, man? You're the field reporter guy. DOB, middle name...something, son."

Marshall sighed. Wracking his brain for the smallest crumbs he'd uncovered. "Grew up with a single mom. No father figure. Alyssa, she mentioned the name. Could be something. Could be nothing, but see if it helps."  

"Cool."

"Thanks, Mouse." Ending the call, Marshall swept a hand through his hair.

He'd barely tucked the phone in his back pocket, turning his thoughts towards a long shower to wash off the sweat and tension, when the door rattled with a strong knock. Turning around, he opened it to find Eva, streaming wet, on his porch.

"Hey," she lifted a hand in a stiff wave. "Can I come in?"

Stunned, unsure what to say, Marshall held open the door and she walked inside, leaving a trail of pooling water in her wake.

"Shit, sorry. I'm a mess."

"I can get you a towel."

"In a minute. I just..." Eva began to pace, agitated. The space was small but tidy, which surprised her. She would have thought a single guy, someone unused to maintaining a home, would be like a whirlwind, leaving chaos to spread into every corner. But the tables were clean, the furniture mostly dusted and the kitchen, from what she could see, near pristine. Lottie would be so proud.

And Jesus, she was stalling.

Turning around, she faced him, resolute. "I want you to know I like you. I really like you."

"Good," he said, crossing muscular arms, bared in a sleeveless tank, his expression more than a little confused. "I like you too."

"This," she gestured between them, scattering droplets, "is complicated for me, okay? For so many reasons. Mainly because I'm not used to being with someone. Or wanting to be with someone."

Marshall crooked a brow. "Don't tell me those girls were Immaculate Conception, or something. Cause I call bullshit."

"No," Eva laughed. "I mean relationships. I'm out of my depth here. I was married for seven years and single pretty much ever since that collapsed. I don't know how to be with someone."

Sliding his tongue along his teeth, he assessed her for a moment, quietly. Calmly. Then lowered to the armrest of the couch.

"It might surprise you to hear that I'm more or less in the same boat. I've had my share of ups and downs with women. The last of which...ended rather badly." Scraping a hand over his hair, damp and loose, Marshall sighed. "I'm not saying we've got to get all serious, Eva. I don't even know what the heck my game plan is a month from now. Two months from now. My life is all up in the air." He mimed juggling balls for effect. "But here's what I do know." Rising, he set his hands on her shoulders, slid them up and down her arms.

"I admire you. The more I get to know, the more fascinated I am. You're more than a job or an article to me, Eva."

Something moved through her, he saw it in her eyes a second before she found her voice.

"I have things in my past that need to stay there, alright? Please stop pushing; stop fighting me at every goddamn turn. It's painful and I need you to accept I don't want to talk about it. Who I was before has no bearing on who I am today."

And why did that simple declaration strike him right in the heart? Make him ache and wish to know what was so traumatic that this bright, strong, capable woman before him could be reduced to fearful silence? That she would rather face it--carry it alone--then turn to someone to help shoulder the burden? 

"Alright, I'll make you a deal. I won't push you, Eva." Drawing her closer, a low, simmering kind of heat built between the narrow space between their bodies. A kind of chemical reaction at having her so close.

As he ran tips of his fingers over the curve of her shoulder to the buttoned v of her shirt where a hint of cleavage peeked, Marshall could see she felt it, too.

  "If we do this than it's you and me for however long as we decide to keep it that way. I may be one of seven," his eyes dipped to where his fingers hooked above that top button, and sliced back up hers, "but I don't like to share." Not the things that matter. 

Eva drew in a sharp breath. Nodded. "Okay." And vaulted.