by Emma Scott
“Almost there.”
Shiloh wore sandals and another pair of billowy, linen pants. We’d both worn hoodie sweatshirts, as she’d warned the wind could be bitter at night, fire or no fire. I followed her slim shape, her long braids flowing behind her, and was relieved to see the terrain grew easier and farther away from the ocean.
We rounded a huge boulder, and there he was. Miller sat on a worn-out beach chair in front of a roaring fire, his guitar case at his side. Ronan Wentz and Holden Parish sat in similar chairs, and they were all talking shit and laughing. The Shack was a little fisherman’s hut built against the rock.
“Hello, boys,” Shiloh said, stepping into the ring of light. She looked pointedly at Miller. “You all remember Violet, don’t you?”
Miller met my eye, and I swear the smallest flicker of a smile touched his lips, then vanished. Shut down. He was guarding his heart the same way I had been for four years.
We’re like a pendulum, swinging back and forth, I thought, wondering when or if we’d ever be unguarded at the same time.
“Miss Violet,” Holden said, rising to his feet and offering me his chair—right next to Miller. “Please. Sit.” He kicked at Ronan’s boot. “Wentz! Mind your manners, for fuck’s sake. We have company.”
Ronan pulled in his long legs that had been stretched out to the fire so I could cross to the chair.
“I come bearing gifts,” I said with a small smile. “An IPA. I hear it’s good.”
“You’re an angel,” Holden said, taking the bag from me and dumping it in Ronan’s lap. “He’s in charge of libations.”
Ronan grunted and shot Holden a scowl, then turned his silvery eyes on me. I knew next to nothing about him, except that he was constantly in trouble at school and that Frankie Dowd had made it his life’s mission to one day kill him. Judging by Ronan’s bulk, his muscled and tatted arms, and the dangerous aura around him, I guessed he had little to fear. He could break scrawny Frankie in half.
But I wasn’t prepared for the shrewd intelligence in his gaze that followed me to my seat.
Holden procured two more chairs, one for Shiloh—between Ronan and Miller—and another for himself, between Ronan and me.
“The circle is complete,” Holden said, and then his smile slipped at a sudden thought. “Almost.”
“Hi,” I said to Miller. Shiloh had assured me he knew I was coming, but I still felt like an unwanted guest.
“Hey.” He took a pull from his beer. I bit back the urge to ask how he was feeling and how his diabetes management had been going. That was Amber’s job now and that of his friends. I wasn’t sure if we were even that anymore.
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Good. You?”
“Fine.”
Jesus. Making small talk with Miller after years of deep, thoughtful debates and bickering conversations about life was torture.
I met Shiloh’s gaze from across the fire. She jerked her head and mouthed the word Go.
I cleared my throat and leaned into Miller. He smelled of smoke and salt and whatever made him, him. “Can we talk? Maybe take a walk?”
He stared at the fire, walls up, his eyes hard. But when he turned to answer me with a no on his lips, his gaze softened slightly. “Sure.”
He stood up and offered me his hand. I took it, my heart pounding. The last time we’d touched was months ago. When he kissed me. His hand was hard and rough in mine, but gentle, and he pulled me to my feet and then let go.
“We’ll be right back,” he told the group, a slight emphasis on right back.
Feeling three pairs of eyes on us, I dusted sand off my butt and followed Miller. The Shack sat in a dead-end where the cliffs had collapsed and slid into the sea. He led us back the way we had come, away from the bonfire, to the relatively smooth patch of sand before the way became trickier again. The full moon provided our light.
Miller was silent, hunched in his plaid flannel, waiting for me to speak. My pulse pounded in my ears like the surf, scared to death that I’d lost him completely and afraid to know for sure. Nancy’s words came back to me, that I wasn’t a coward.
I drew a breath. “I’m sorry.”
Miller frowned, wary. “For what?”
“For what happened between us. For everything.”
His shoulders came down a little. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
The wind blew my hair over my face, hiding the pain that flashed over me. When I could think of nothing else but our kiss, he regretted it. The pendulum had swung to me and wasn’t going to budge.
“Whatever happened, happened,” I said. “I came here tonight for the simple fact that I miss you. I miss my friend. That’s all I wanted to say. That these last months have been really hard without you, and… I just wanted you to know that.”
It was silent but for the wind and the ocean crashing on the shore. Miller stopped and half-sat, half-leaned on a boulder, hands in his pockets, his knit beanie keeping the hair from his eyes as they looked up at me.
“A bunch of stuff to say to you popped in my head when you asked me if we could talk,” he said gruffly. “Cutting or cold things meant to push you away. Keep you at a safe distance. But I don’t want to hurt you. It’s really the last fucking I want to do.”
I shivered, hugged myself in my sweatshirt. “I don’t want you to be hurt either. I love seeing you here with your friends. I’m glad you have them. So glad for that.”
Miller’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Finally, he threw up his hands. “Jesus, Vi. You’re standing there, looking like you do, saying sweet things and making it impossible…”
“To what?” I breathed.
“Nothing. Never mind. I just…I miss you too. You’ve always been there for me. Always. And to not have you…” He crossed his arms, as if holding his walls in place. His voice turned ragged with regret. “But I’m seeing someone else and I don’t take any commitment lightly.”
“I know you don’t. I’m not here to interfere, I promise. But if I am, I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone.”
Even if it wrecks me.
He watched me for a second, then gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “You? Leave me alone?”
I frowned, confused. “I don’t—”
“Dr. McNamara can’t leave a patient alone if she tried. How hard has it been for you to not ask me about my numbers?”
I eased a breath, understanding what he was doing. “Damn near impossible.” I crossed my arms and gave him a stern look, even as my heart was bursting with joy and relief. “Well? How are they? How many beers have you had?”
He chuckled and pushed himself off the rock, toward me. “They’re fine. I’ve had one beer, and I’ll have one more. That’s it.” He was standing in front of me now.
“Good,” I said, my throat thick. “And if you try for a third, I’ll throw sand in it.”
“I bet you would.”
Miller’s smile faded as he looked down at me. Strands of hair were stuck to my cheek by the wind. His hand came up as if he wanted to brush them away, his eyes on my mouth. Then he caught himself and stepped back.
“You’re shivering,” he said. “We should get back to the fire.”
“Okay.”
I wanted a hug to seal the deal. I ached to feel his arms around me, to lose myself in the familiarity of him, but I guessed he felt we weren’t there yet. I swallowed back my disappointment and contented myself with the fact that we were talking again. He had a girlfriend now, and it wasn’t fair—or right—to ask for more.
We returned to the circle of friends. Shiloh immediately read on my face that things were better. Not to where they had been; after the earth-shattering kiss, they probably never would be, but it was a start.
She smiled, and I smiled back.
Holden read the lessening of tension between Miller and me like an emcee reading the room. He was pretty drunk, I noticed, his clear green eyes bleary with whatever he was sipping from
his flask.
“They’re back. Got it all sorted? Got it all straight between you?”
“Shut up, Parish,” Ronan intoned.
“Fuck off, Wentz,” Holden shot back. “The long winter of our discontent and his moping is finally over. Time to celebrate.”
Miller ignored his friends’ bickering and looked to me. “You want a blanket or something?”
“Sure, thanks.”
I scooted from the chair to sit in the soft sand. Miller and Ronan procured more blankets from the Shack, along with hotdogs, chips, and ingredients to make s’mores.
The five of us talked and laughed and ate, Holden louder than the rest of us, Ronan the quietest. I watched him and Shiloh closely without letting on, but if there was something between them, it didn’t show. Their entire conversations that night consisted of trading barbs and sarcasm.
Holden leaned into me. “It’s shameless how they flirt, isn’t it?”
“Flirt? They hate each other,” I whispered back.
“Do they?” He rubbed his narrow chin thoughtfully. “I guess it depends on your perspective.”
Before I could ask him what that meant, he turned to Miller. “Hey, superstar. Stop being so stingy. It’s against some law to have a perfect night, a beach bonfire but no music. Play.”
Shiloh and I clapped our hands and whistled, and then Holden joined in.
“Okay, okay,” Miller said. “I didn’t want to be that asshole.”
“Too late,” Ronan and Holden said together, and clinked beer bottle to flask.
Miller flipped them the bird and set his guitar on his lap. His fingers took their places on the guitar as if they’d been born there, and he launched into an acoustic cover of “Take Me to Church” by Hozier.
Miller’s voice wasn’t as deep as Hozier’s, but the rough-around-the-edges growl Miller had made the sex-drenched lyrics even sexier. I sat straight, eyes on the fire, even as every molecule in my body wanted to turn to Miller playing beside me. Wanted to crawl into his lap, tear the guitar out of his hands and kiss him hard and deep. I wanted to taste those lyrics on his tongue, drink them down, and drown in Miller’s talent, the essence of him that made him so extraordinary.
God what is wrong with me?
When the pendulum swung, it slammed hard. Miller’s kiss all those months ago had woken up something deep in me. Changed me. Changed the love I had for him, altering its chemical structure to include my body, my hormones, my need. Months apart had only fermented it until it was strong and potent. I wanted Miller, and the fear I had that we’d ruin our friendship had taken a back seat to basic, red-blooded lust.
The song ended, and the small group stared for a moment. Then Shiloh fanned herself. “I said, goddamn.”
“If you could bottle that and sell it at sex shops, you’d make a killing,” Holden said.
“Not in the plan,” Miller said.
“There’s a plan?” I asked, risking a glance at him.
“Evelyn is sort of…helping me.”
“Oh right. I saw her vlog.” I smiled. “Slightly better than my little YouTube channel.”
“Your video is what started it all,” Miller said. “Whatever it is.”
“It is you getting all the recognition you deserve.”
He met my eyes, and I sank into them, the rest of the world falling away…until I heard a loud sniff. I glanced up to see the others staring at us, Holden pretending to dab his eyes.
“Shut up,” Miller said, “or else the next song I play will be something from Nickelback.”
Everyone groaned, and the mood lightened. Miller played a variety of songs, but none of them his own. The tension in the air was blown away by the ocean wind and filled, instead, with his voice.
The night deepened, more beer was drunk, and the others slid from their chairs to huddle under blankets in the sand. Shiloh shivered, and Ronan took off his jean jacket with the faux lamb’s wool collar. Wordlessly, he took the blanket off her shoulders, draped his jacket over her, and then tucked the blanket back around her.
“Thank you,” she said grudgingly. Softly. I noticed something like a truce pass between them. He sat beside her, and by the time Miller ended his song, her cheek was pillowed against Ronan’s arm.
Happiness and sadness warred within me. Happy for Shiloh and sad that I’d grown so far apart from everyone in the last few months. I’d retreated to nurse my bruised heart and had missed so much.
“It’s late,” Miller said, making to put his guitar away.
A chorus of protests went around.
“One more, kind sir,” Holden said, tiredly, his voice tinged with sadness that made me want to put my arms around him too. “One more to close out the night.”
Miller nodded, set his guitar on his lap and gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. Then he began to hum the soft strains of Billie Eilish’s “when the party’s over.” He sang the first few lyrics acapella, only bringing in his guitar at the first chorus.
The four of us listened, rapt, as Miller’s masculine voice turned the soft song into something with a little more edge. More masculine in its painful longing.
“I'll only hurt you if you let me,” he sang from beside me, the words pouring in my ear. My heart. “Call me friend but keep me closer…”
I closed my eyes, sank deeper into my blanket, into my mistakes, as Miller’s voice lulled me to sleep.
I woke, blinking, with the sun’s first rays peeking over the horizon. The vestiges of sleep cleared from my eyes enough to see blue plaid, a white T-shirt, smooth skin that grew shadowed with stubble at the jaw…
A little gasp escaped me. I was wrapped completely in Miller, both of us under a blanket. He held me tight to him, my head was perfectly tucked under his chin. Our jean-clad legs entwined like vines, and his chest rose and fell against mine.
Moving only my eyes, I peeked around. The bonfire smoldered. The beach was empty. We were alone.
I should’ve sat up. I should’ve disentangled myself, grabbed my stuff and left. But my body felt heavy and satisfied. Perfectly content. The restless nights of the last few months were washed away, and I couldn’t move and didn’t want to.
Just a little longer…
I let my eyes drift closed and dozed.
When I became conscious again, it was in a murky, half-sleep, half-dreamy state. Miller’s arms around me tightened, and his nose was in my hair, nuzzling. His lips touched my forehead. A feather light kiss. I tilted my chin up slightly and my mouth brushed his neck. Half awake, unthinking, I put a little kiss there, open-mouthed, tasting the salt of his skin with a flick of my tongue.
He shifted against me again, and I felt the heavy erection pressing against my center. His hands roamed my back, slipped into my hair, pulling just hard enough. My mouth opened wider, and I sucked at his neck lightly, biting, and then running my tongue over his skin.
Miller’s hand made a fist in my hair, pulling my head back. Now I trailed kisses up his jaw, feeling the stubble under my soft lips, scraping myself against it, until I found his mouth. With a growl, Miller rolled me to my back and sank his weight against me, his groin digging between my legs, seeking entry through our jeans, just as his mouth crashed to mine, seeking entry there too.
I gave it willingly. Eagerly. Taking his kiss with long sweeps of my tongue that slid against his. God, Miller’s kiss… Just like him. Hard, intense, but beautifully considerate too. Biting teeth and soft lips. Rough stubble around a soft mouth. Muttered curses uttered on soft breath.
He propped himself on one forearm, that hand gripping my hair, holding me in his kiss with delicious possession. His other moved down my body, skirting around my breast, knowing I’d never been touched like this before.
I wanted him to touch me. I’d never wanted anything more.
I took his hand and guided it under my hoodie, under my T-shirt, so he could fill his hand with my breast. He caressed and explored, hefted the weight of it. My soft moans and gasps spurred him on, and he w
ent under my bra where he found the nipple, hard and aching. He pinched and tweaked while I moaned into his mouth, my hands sliding down over his broad back and then up again into his thick hair.
His hips crashed and ground into mine. I lifted mine to receive him and wrapped my legs around his waist. There was so much clothing between us; the denim rubbing a sweet ache in me as his hard erection sought my soft heat.
“Miller…”
The name fell out of my lips between kisses. Escaped. Because in that moment, he was my entire world. All I knew was him…and then he was gone.
Cold air swooped in as Miller tore himself off of me with a ragged cry and a vile curse. I felt as if I’d been violently woken from the sweetest dream. I sat up slowly, Miller beside me. He grabbed a handful of sand and hurled it at the smoldering embers, then shot to his feet.
“Fuck,” he said, scrubbing both hands through is hair. “Fuck!”
I smoothed my rumpled clothing and pulled the blanket tight around me. Regret, remorse, guilt… They all flooded in, dousing the heat we’d built. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the words torn away by the wind.
“I’m not this guy,” he shouted, his beautiful voice now raised in anger. “I never wanted to be this guy. A guy who fucking cheats.”
“Miller, I’m sorry,” I said, tears building but I willed them back. “But sit and talk to me. Please. We need to talk. Really talk.”
He whirled on me, eyes blazing with pain. “I’m tired of talking. We’ve been talking for four years. Which is why the fucking second you’re near me, I have to touch you and kiss you…” He drew his hand down over his mouth as if wiping us away. “But shit, now? I’m with someone else.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not all on you,” he said. “That’s just it. I did this too. I let this happen, and now…”
He fell into a frustrated silence, shaking his head at the ground.
“You care about her,” I said softly, remorse making me shudder.
