Breaking the Rules

by Katie McGarry

  Noah kisses the top of my head before cradling me to his chest. I love the sensation of my cheek against him, the protective shelter of his arm around my waist and the sound of his steady heart. If I could live here for the rest of my life, I could be happy. But at some point, he’ll have to let go, and then I’ll be back where I started: alone.

  “What if this is all I’ll ever be? What if this is only a small taste of what’s waiting for me at home?” I whisper. Chilling adrenaline drips into my body at the rawness of the statement. This week we’ll no longer be heading away, but going back. “What if I’ll always be the person on the outside? The person who doesn’t belong.”

  “You belong, Echo,” he says against my temple. “Right here with me.”

  Noah

  Rays of the late-evening’s summer sun stream through the crack of the curtains. I lay on the bed with Echo curled tight next to me and my arms locked around her. Our shoes are still on and so are our clothes. The roses are bunched together on top of the bedside table.

  We’ve lain like this for an hour, maybe two. We’ve been quiet the whole time, but sometimes we both say more within a silence than we can in hours of words.

  She needs me. I need her. I never knew what peace there was in being wanted, but I hate how today has gone. I hate how one phone call and one asshole’s comment have caused her to withdraw. I hate how I fear and long for one email.

  The email. I should tell Echo about Vail and Isaiah and Beth. Denver. I’ll wait until after the gallery in Denver.

  I sweep my fingers along Echo’s arm to the tip of her fingers to wake her in case she’s drifted to sleep. She swipes her thumb across my hand in response.

  Parts of me stir with her touch. Echo has no idea how sexy she is and how I dream night after night of completely showing her how much I worship her body.

  I tug at the ends of her sweater near her wrist, and her fingers twist up in defense. Nope. Not having it. First chance I get, I’m throwing every long-sleeved item in the trash and burning it with a single match and a gallon of gas. She’ll be pissed, but I won’t watch her backtrack.

  Ignoring her hold, I pull at the material, easing the sleeve down.

  “Noah,” she whispers in reprimand.

  “You’ve never complained when I’ve tried to undress you before.”

  Echo readjusts so she can see me, and for the first time since this morning, those eyes dance. “Yes, I have.”

  “When?”

  “The last day of school.”

  “So you’ve complained once.” When I led her to the nook of the abandoned hallway in the basement near my locker. I only meant to sneak in for a kiss during lunch, but things got hot and heavy and well...sue me. “I didn’t buy a yearbook, so I was memory-making.”

  Her mouth gapes. “They would have kept us from participating in graduation if we got caught.”

  “Walking across stages is overrated.”

  “Is not.” She lightly kicks my shin. “It was awesome, and you know it. Did you forget the dressing room at the mall?”

  Forget? I have wet dreams involving that day. “That’s not my fault. You asked how you looked in those jeans.”

  “Good would have sufficed. Attempting to take them off wasn’t necessary.”

  “They did look good. Good enough that I wanted to touch, and then I wanted to touch more.”

  Echo laughs, and the sound warms my heart. “They have security cameras. People go to jail over stuff like that.”

  I roll onto my side and drape my leg over hers. “I had you covered from sight. Very covered.” Backed her up against the wall and covered her body with every inch of mine.

  That siren smile that I love so much crosses her face. Her fingers reach up and trace the line of my jaw. “You are the most impossible person I know.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “That’s not always a good thing. Sometimes you make life more complicated than it needs to be.”

  “Never said I was going to be easy.”

  “I know,” she says as her smile fades. “I never said I was going to be easy, either. In fact, I promised the opposite.”

  “I like you just the way you are.”

  My fingers tease the end of her sweater again, but this time Echo doesn’t stop me as I edge the material off her arm. In fact, she leans forward so I can slip the entire sweater off and toss it to the floor where it belongs.

  I skim the length of her arm, specifically the longest scar from top to bottom. “Why, Echo?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why hide them again?”

  She’s silent, and we won’t leave this bed until she answers.

  It’s hard to imagine her lying in a pool of her own blood. It drives me crazy that I almost lost her before I had the chance to meet her. I’m schooled in loss and understand its permanence.

  Just the thought of losing Echo creates an anger bordering on fear. It’s a dangerous combination, and I hate her mother for causing such suffering and pain.

  Echo’s breathing hitches when I slide my thumb along a smaller scar. She likes that spot. I’ve memorized it. A centimeter below the crook of her elbow. Her skin is sensitive there, and when I kiss it, Echo normally falls apart and nearly shatters.

  I gently press my lips behind her ear, and Echo nudges closer to me. “Why, Echo?”

  “Because.”

  I nip at her earlobe, and she shivers. “Because why?”

  Her shoulder moves under my body. A half shrug maybe. “It makes me feel better.”

  Fuck that. “Why?”

  A kiss on her neck. A long one. A lingering one. God damn, Echo tastes so good. Her skin is soft and tempting. But I want answers.

  “Because sometimes I want to blend in.”

  I raise my head and stare straight into her eyes, spotting the plain honesty. What she doesn’t understand is that she could never blend in. Blazing red hair. Bright emerald eyes. The most beautiful girl in the world. She’d turn heads regardless of a sweater.

  As I open my mouth to respond, my phone rings.

  Echo

  Noah drops his forehead to my shoulder and groans. Good God, I completely understand. My body pulsates like a five-alarm fire. I kiss his collarbone and rub my hand along his spine, in regret...in apology. His phone rings a third time. “You should answer.”

  “Fuck.” He presses his lips against my neck before drawing away and yanking his phone out of his back pocket. “Yeah.”

  Noah’s eyes meet mine, and I tilt my head in question. I exhale when he subtly shakes a no, telling me the call is benign.

  “Yeah,” he says again then flashes a smile promising lots of naughtiness. “I understand.”

  Noah cups my waist and swipes his finger underneath the material of my shirt. My mouth pops open. No way. There is no way he means to explore while he’s on the phone. His hand begins to travel for my bra. Holy freaking crap. I bat at his arm and mouth. “No.”

  “Why?” he mouths back, but his grin grows.

  “Because,” I yell-whisper.

  Noah lowers his arm away from my bra and instead snakes it around my waist, gathering me to his side. He nuzzles my hair before saying into his cell, “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Thanks.”

  He ends the call and slides his phone back into his jeans. “Tell me I’m forgiven.”

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  In lightning-fast movements, Noah rolls us both, and his heavy weight pins me against the mattress. “Say I’m forgiven.”

  “For what?” My brain goes blank. Noah’s on top of me, and subconsciously my legs hook around his. Through his jeans and my jean shorts there are parts of him that are sweetly touching parts of me.

  We haven’t made love yet. I think o
f it. I dream of it. Sometimes I wake up so on edge that I worry I’ll explode, but when it comes to it, I haven’t found the courage to cross the line. And Noah’s always patient...so patient. Even when he has to resort to cold showers or really, really long hot ones.

  I don’t ask what he’s doing in there, but I kinda can guess, and that only makes me feel epically worse.

  “For upsetting you this morning,” he answers. “Tell me I’m forgiven.”

  I nod because I love him, and I can’t imagine not forgiving him. “Just don’t do it again.”

  Noah rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes as if I handed him a death row pardon. “I love you, Echo.”

  The pterodactyls that only he can create lift their wings and soar in my stomach. I love those words out his mouth. Almost as much as I love his hands on my body and the way his eyes devour me. Almost as much as I love him.

  He kisses my lips and before I can repeat the same to him, he’s off the bed. “I’ve got to roll. The last Malt and Burger jacked up my hours in the system, and they want me to go into a local one and fix it.”

  I sit up on the bed and bite the inside of my lip to keep from throwing a fit like a toddler. “How long?”

  “An hour. Maybe longer.” Noah places one of the room keys on the dresser next to the television. “By the way, I want to take you out to dinner in Denver to celebrate. Someplace nice.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “For when you blow those pretentious assholes away with your paintings.”

  I smile, amazed by the roses, by his faith in me and by the fact that he’s absolutely fantastic. “Thanks.”

  Noah gently pulls one of the curls. “Damn, baby, don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want me to kiss you.”

  But I do want him to kiss me. Instead, I shove at his wall of a chest, and he winks at me before he grabs the keys to the car and walks out the door. The air conditioner kicks off, and I lean against the headboard, staring at Noah’s roses on the bedside table. I pick one up, inhale the sweet scent and wonder, when it comes to it, why I’m waiting.

  Noah

  Time sheets from two weeks ago hang on the overpinned bulletin board, and balls of wadded paper overflow from the trash. I’m not feeling that this Malt and Burger is organized. In the cramped back office, I reenter my time from last week then roll back my chair to give space for the manager to approve it.

  “The guy at the store down south said you’re a great worker. That you’re fast and keep your grill clean.” The manager, Jim, according to his name tag, wears pants that are too long and not in the girl-catching way.

  I nod at his statement. I’m good at what I do, but being a fry cook isn’t my die-hard aspiration for a career. My goal’s to be a man that Echo will be proud to walk down the street with. What I am now won’t be enough to keep her for life.

  He leans over, and his tie hits the screen. “Want to take a few shifts here?”

  “Not staying in Colorado Springs long enough. Thinking about heading to Vail. Any stores there?”

  “Yeah. I know the manager there and could give him a call if you want.” Jim minimizes the screen.

  Personal recs make getting in easier. “I need to check an email to see if Vail is an option.” I motion at the screen with my chin. “Mind if I use this?”

  “Go ahead.”

  One of his employees calls his name, and the two have a conversation at the door of his office. With a few clicks I’m into my personal email account, and my gut coils like a damn snake. Carrie sent the email.

  I run my hand over my head then hover the cursor over her name. This could change everything.

  Echo

  There’s nothing like the rush of being chased by the great Noah Hutchins.

  Yesterday, we stayed the night in a hotel room. Tonight, we’re at a campground outside Colorado Springs, but I don’t mind it. Especially since the two of us have left behind the problems we ran into in Alamosa and have returned to complete and utter freedom.

  The bark of the huge tree I hide behind is rough on my back, and I slowly slide against it as I chance a glance behind me. The fading evening light dances in the thick forest and reveals the green on the trees and the dirt of the ground, but what I see deceives me. If only by sense, I know Noah is close.

  Twice he has almost caught me and twice I’ve eluded his grasp. Both times, if Noah wanted, he could have trapped me, but like me, he loves this game.

  It’s like I’ve merged into my namesake: the true Echo, the wood nymph my mother loved in stories. But I’m Echo before the nightmare that created her myth—a girl I’ve never understood before this summer, a girl that Noah helped bring to life. I’m playful, and I’m free.

  Two words no one would have ever associated with me.

  A twig snaps, and I jerk back behind the trunk. My pulse speeds up as I fold into myself. A few feet in front of me is a clearing full of wildflowers—white, yellow and purple. My fingers twitch. For two months, I’ve stopped and drawn anything I craved for as long as I’ve desired. I’m spoiled, and while the field before me is beauty that deserves to be immortalized on paper, there’s a game that I plan on winning.

  I inhale through my nose, and the scent of pine fills my lungs. This national forest has become our playground. It’s awe-inspiring and magical, and I almost believe that we’ve been transported to another realm...another time. No worries. No past. Just us. As if we’ve stepped out of the black-and-white and into the brilliant and majestic Land of Oz.

  I hold my breath and strain to listen past the late-day birds singing in the branches above. The fine hair on the back of my neck rises as if Noah has appeared behind me and deliciously blown over my skin. I close my eyes. He’s so near I can imagine his body wrapped around mine.

  Noah is wily and good at seeking, but I’m crafty and better at hiding. I edge to the side again and in painfully slow movements look behind me and...

  “Gotcha.”

  I scream. Loudly. My heart ramming through my chest. Birds’ wings beat together as dozens of them take to the sky. The moment I spot the laughter in Noah’s chocolate-brown eyes, my scream quickly morphs into a fit of giggles. He reaches for me, but I stumble back from the solid arm attempting to sneak around my back.

  “You’re not getting away this time.” Noah’s deep voice vibrates down to my soul.

  Noah’s arm slides one way and in a maneuver so slick it seems choreographed, I slip to the side, once again barely dodging his grasp.

  “You’re too slow,” I taunt as I gain traction and sprint for the field of untamed wildflowers. The white-and-yellow daisies brush against my legs as I push forward. My skirt swishes against my thighs, and I love how the smooth material grazes my skin. Clean air fills my lungs, and my blood beats manically in my veins. Never in my life have I felt so alive. So high that I’m soaring.

  “I’m letting you win,” he calls out.

  “You are not.” I slow and pivot to watch as he struts behind me. The tall grass and flowers reach his jean-covered legs. For once, his dark hair doesn’t hide his eyes, and I love the spark of naughtiness in them. “You’re sore that you’re losing.”

  He flashes the type of grin that encourages tingles. “You’re becoming cocky, Echo.”

  I laugh, and the sound causes his smile to widen. Even though he’s slow in his approach, his wide gait closes the distance between us faster than I’d like. I steadily walk backward, unable to tear my eyes off the fluid way he moves. “Now, now. Out of the two of us, we both know you own that title.”

  “Own it, wear it, I am it. I’ve never claimed differently.”

  Nope, he never has. Noah is exactly who I see. A few months away from Kentucky, away from home, the rough foster kid is evolving
into a man.

  “Hey, Echo.” Noah gestures with his chin that he has something important to say, and I stall, watching as his gaze falls to my midriff. “Your tank rode up.”

  I peer down and in a heartbeat realize my mistake when grass rustles and Noah grabs my waist. In a dizzying circle, my arms wrap around his neck and somehow we both end up on the ground. Me on top. Noah on the bottom. As always, Noah becomes my safe place to land.

  With a wink, Noah rolls us, reversing our positions, but I don’t complain. I dream of his body over me. The heavy sensation is familiar and addictive. Noah skims his nose along the side of my neck, and the pleasing tickle causes me to suck in air.

  “I won,” he whispers against my skin.

  I find myself in a waking dream as I savor his caresses. “Did not.”

  Noah presses a kiss to that sensitive spot behind my ear. A stream of warmth floods my body. Longing for more, I twist to expose my neck.

  “Did, too.” His hands roam, sliding to my side. I melt and tense at the same time. We’re in the wide open, but I can’t stop the way my body molds to his. My fingers bunch the material of his shirt as I play with the idea of removing it. We’re far from the walking trail, far from the campsite. How many people, besides Noah and me, allow themselves to wander to the point of being lost?

  “You said you could find me in five minutes,” I say softly. “That was longer than five minutes.”

  “Echo,” he says as he raises his head. His fingers begin this little dance. Moving up then slowly down. Each down is slightly lower and promises very wicked things.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve got you beneath me and not a person in sight. That’s winning.”

  A peacefulness unfurls within me. I have to agree. That is winning.

  I scan our surroundings, and a snippet of concern enters my brain. “Are we forest-ranger-can-find-us lost or one-of-us-better-know-how-to-start-a-fire-with-twigs lost?”

  Noah shifts to the side, leaving one leg and arm draped over me. “Look to the left.”