by Rose, Emery
Yeah, it was like that.
15
Remy
It was wrong to ask this of him. I knew he had a hard time denying me anything I wanted. I knew it would tear him up inside, make him question his lack of judgement. But I asked anyway. I wanted him to put it all on the line for me. To give me something to believe in.
I pulled the blanket over him to cover us on our bed of cold, hard sand. We were alone on this beach. Under the stars and the moon, the waves crashing like cymbals, beating in sync to the rhythm of our heartbeats.
“I’ll wait for you,” he said, taking one last stab at trying to stop this before it went too far. “You’re worth the wait.”
Hearing those words, spoken with so much sincerity, should have been enough for me. The tortured look on his face, his heart and mind at war should have prompted me to push him away. But I was selfish. And I was greedy. I wanted it all. Right now. I wanted his everything.
“I want this. Us. Everything.”
His eyes searched mine as I undid his jeans. He hissed when I wrapped my hand around his cock, as if I’d done it hundreds of times before. It was hot, smooth and velvety, and hard as a rock.
“Remy,” he said, his voice strained. His eyelids fluttered closed, torment etched on his features as I gave it a squeeze and circled my thumb over the slit, catching a drop of pre-cum. “Fuck.”
He knelt over me and unzipped my jeans, pulling them down my legs with my underwear. Then he took off my boots and left my socks on so my feet wouldn’t get cold.
“This is so romantic,” he said as he pulled a condom out of his wallet and pushed down his jeans, so they were around his knees.
“I don’t want romantic. I don’t want easy. I just want you.”
He shook his head. “SOS.”
We laughed, and I watched in fascination as he rolled the condom over his erection. He settled his narrow hips between my thighs, his face hovering above mine.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured.
My heart thrashed in my chest.
The first thrust was almost too much. My body tensed, and I held my breath, trying to adjust to the fullness. He stilled. “Open your eyes, Remy. Look at me.” I opened my eyes and looked at his face. It calmed me. I loved his face, his hair tousled and messy, falling over his forehead, and his eyes locked on mine. “Now breathe.”
I breathed and relaxed my muscles as he rained soft kisses on my lips, my neck, my jaw. He started rocking his hips, moving inside me carefully and gently, like he didn’t want to hurt me. It almost made me cry again, this gentleness. My throat burned from holding back the tears, but if I let them fall, he would misread them and think it was because he was hurting me which he was, but not in that way.
My hands lifted to his face, and I rubbed my thumbs over his cheekbones. He looked down at me, his eyes hooded.
“You’re going to break my heart,” he said, his voice husky and his face serious, as if he’d suddenly had a premonition. As if he was seeing into the future and knew what it held.
“Or maybe you’ll break mine.” That seemed more likely, but I didn’t want to think about broken hearts or Russell or Billy who called me hot and got me drunk then bent me over the hood of his car. Or Tristan who played mind games with me.
I lifted my hips to meet his, my muscles clenching around him as he glided deep inside my walls. He groaned, and something inside me unfurled. I tightened my grip on his shoulders, and his thrusts became harder and faster, hitting a spot over and over that made me cry out, my breaths coming out in little pants.
“I think I’m going to…”
Oh. Oh God. A loud moan escaped my lips, and I fell apart.
Shane cursed, and seconds later, he collapsed on top of me, his body shuddering with his release.
He buried his face in my hair and for a few long seconds, neither of us moved.
“Fuck.”
When he pulled away, it started to sink in. What we had done and what this meant. Would he regret it? Resent me for asking him to give me this?
He stood up and pulled up his jeans while I scrambled to get dressed. Without his body to keep me warm, I was suddenly freezing. I lay down on the towel to pull on my jeans then sat up and stuffed my feet in my boots. He gathered up the towels and the blanket, bundling them under his arm. While I just sat there, afraid to look at his face and see something I didn’t want to see.
He held out his hand to me. I lifted my eyes to his face.
“Come home with me.”
I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. He pressed a gentle kiss on my lips that felt like a promise and not like regret.
Our drive back to his place was quick and silent. We kicked off our shoes in the hall and left a trail of sand from his door to the bedroom. It was warm and cozy inside his apartment, quiet except for the hum of the heating. Inside his bedroom, silver in the moonlight, he undressed me, his hands warm caresses on my skin. He gave me one of his T-shirts, soft and faded blue, and we slept.
I loved him. Hopelessly and tragically.
16
Remy
“I wish that was my tongue,” Shane said, his voice low as I licked the salt off my lips from my virgin margarita.
“Me too.” I grinned and took another bite of my fish taco—uncharted territory for me, the girl who had claimed she hated fish when I met Shane. Turned out that I loved fish tacos.
Or maybe love changed everything—food tasted better, colors more vivid, the sunrises brighter and the sunsets more hopeful.
The sky glowed pink, the sea breezes lifted my hair, and the heat lamp warmed my skin. Shane was watching the ocean. I would forever be losing him to it. But he was here now, sitting across the table from me on the outside deck at the marina, his leg pressed against mine, his index finger absently stroking my pinky.
His gaze returned to my face and he bit the corner of his lip in that sexy way I loved. He was gorgeous. With a hint of scruff covering his square jaw. Little lines around his eyes from squinting into the sun. A year-round tan that never seemed to fade. Golden.
But I was losing him to the world again, and the ache of that loss made me feel rudderless. I knew it was dangerous, loving him the way I did. Like he was the North Star, the only one in the universe who could guide me home.
“Do you want to come with me?”
“Where?” My heart soared.
“After you graduate, you can travel with me.”
My lungs ceased to function. I was holding my breath, waiting for him to tell me he was joking, that he hadn’t really meant the words.
He leaned forward, his eyes pinned on mine. Swirls of green and brown flecked with amber. “I promised you we would never say goodbye. I want you to come with me.”
“And what will I do?”
“Take photos of all the beautiful and ugly and interesting things.”
“How will I pay my way?”
“I have an idea.” His eyes gleamed with excitement. We were planning a future. Together.
He told me about his idea on the drive home.
I was all pumped up about the future, buzzing with excitement, the possibility of forever so close I could almost reach out and touch it.
“If you need anything while I’m away, my dad will be there for you.”
“You haven’t told him anything, have you?”
He sighed loudly as he unlocked his door and pushed it open, gesturing for me to go in ahead of him. “No. But it feels wrong, Remy.”
“It’s just a few more months,” I argued. “Just… Dylan and I will be fine.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. I didn’t want to talk about my mom. She was gone and this time, she wasn’t coming back. A few weeks ago, I’d come home from school and her bedroom door was wide open. All her clothes were gone. All traces of her vanished.
She’d left a note on the kitchen counter. I met someone. He’s different from the others. We need a fresh start and you know I hate being tied to one pla
ce for too long. I’ll let you know when I get wherever I’m going. Goodbye, my babies. Take care of each other. You’ve been doing just fine without me for years so I’m not worried. Love, Mom xoxo
She wasn’t worried. Good for her. She got to sleep peacefully, her conscience untroubled, believing that we’d be just fine without her. She needed a fresh start, without us. As if we were a burden. Baggage she needed to unload before she could move on with this guy who I was sure was no different from the others. Rae St. Clair had lousy taste in men.
She’d sealed the note with an imprint of her red-painted lips and left us some cash, almost enough to cover the rent, but like everything else about Mom it had fallen short. Dylan called it the ultimate kiss-off. He crumpled the note in his fist and tossed it in the trash. After he’d stalked out of the kitchen and went for a run, I’d retrieved the note and smoothed my hand over the paper. It lived in my shoebox of memories now. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. If I let myself dwell on my mom’s actions, her abandonment, it would make me want to curl up into a ball and cry my heart out.
The only bright side to Mom’s leaving was that Dylan finally had his own room.
But I didn’t want to think about Mom or about Shane leaving to catch a plane for Australia at five o’clock tomorrow morning. Or about his duffel bag and surfboards packed and waiting by the door.
No. I wanted to live in this moment. Remember every whisper, every touch, every stolen glance. And when he was gone, I could dream about the future. Only ten weeks until graduation. Only ten weeks and one day until my eighteenth birthday. Even though we had already crossed every line, I knew he would still be relieved when I was of legal age. He hated sneaking around and I hated feeling like we were doing something wrong.
* * *
I lifted my head from his chest and checked the time on the bedside clock—twenty past twelve. He would be leaving in four hours and forty minutes. Careful not to wake him, I lifted his arm and slid out from under it. I got dressed in the dim shadows of his room and watched him sleeping for a few moments. His chest rising and falling, his breaths deep and even. As if he sensed the loss and realized I was already gone, he mumbled something in his sleep and rolled onto his side, his arm wrapping around my pillow. I took a mental snapshot I could carry around with me and pull out anytime I was missing him.
I didn’t want to say goodbye, so I whispered, “I love you, Shane. See you soon.”
On my way out, I stole one of his hoodies hanging on a hook in the hallway and pulled it over my head, threading my arms into the too-long sleeves, and burrowing my nose into the collar. It smelled like him. Like the sea. Like summertime. Clean and manly and intoxicating.
The street was quiet. The night air chilly. But I felt warm in Shane’s hoodie. Unlike the other times before he left to go on tour, I didn’t have those same fears. Like he’d forget me while he was away. I believed him when he told me that we would make this work. I meant it when I said I would wait for him. How could he even question it? There was nobody else I wanted to be with.
“If it isn’t Shane Wilder’s dirty little secret.”
Ice froze my spine. My steps faltered, and I tripped over my flip-flop, stubbing my toe on the asphalt. I lifted my head to see that familiar smirk aimed at me.
Tristan Hart was leaning against his BMW, arms folded over his chest. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that he had an unobstructed view of Shane’s apartment.
I swallowed hard and forced my feet to move. “What are you doing here?”
“The fun and games are over, Remy.”
“Wow. You sound like a villain from a B-List movie.” I tried to laugh it off, but dread filled my stomach.
“Get in the car, Remy. We need to have a little chat.”
“Tomorrow at school works for me,” I said, my tone breezy as if he was just paying me a social visit. I kept walking, my footsteps taking me to the metal staircase, my heart hammering in my chest.
A hand shot out, yanking my hair. I let out a surprised yelp. His hand covered my mouth and he dragged me by my hair and slammed me against his BMW, caging me in with his arms.
“What do you want from me?”
Wrong question, Remy. His erection pressed against my hip, leaving no question as to what he wanted. This was payback. When I had come back to school after Christmas break, after the first time I had sex with Shane, I’d decided that I wasn’t going to put up with Tristan’s shit anymore. He pushed, and I pushed back harder. He taunted and teased and threatened, and I had laughed in his face, telling him there was nothing he could do to me. I’d been vocal, loud and bold and defiant.
“We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” Tristan said. “Your call.”
I tried to shove him away. He laughed. “Let go of me, asshole,” I gritted out.
“I want you and I’m going to have you.”
So cocky and sure of himself. I laughed. “Haven’t I made myself clear? There’s not a chance in hell I’d ever be with you.”
“Oh, I think there is.”
“What are you going to do? Force yourself on me? Are you going to rape me, Tristan?” I was feeling cocky. Tristan was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a rapist. Even he had lines he wouldn’t cross. I’d studied him for eighteen months in this game of cat and mouse we’d been playing.
He took a step back, a smug smile on his face. “No. You’re going to come to me of your own free will, little lamb.”
“You’re insane.” I sidestepped him.
“What do you think would happen to Shane’s surfing career if he got slapped with statutory rape charges?”
Statutory rape? “Shane and I are just friends.”
“Just friends,” he repeated. “From where I’m sitting, you are very close friends. Friends with benefits.”
He had no proof. He couldn’t prove a thing.
“My father is all about protecting his interests. It’s all about the bottom line. Do you think my father shells out hundreds of thousands of dollars without expecting his golden boy surfer to deliver the goods? Not only does Shane need to win, he needs to show that he’s a model citizen. He’s a brand. And you are a liability to his career.”
“So that’s why you’re doing this? Because you care so much about Shane?”
“I don’t give two shits about Shane Wilder. But you do. You go over there at night, sneaking around under the cover of darkness. You let him fuck you, don’t you? Or maybe you’re the one who instigated it. Yeah, that sounds more like it. You’re a dirty little whore. Like your mother. And come to think of it… your brother too. Must run in the family.”
I tried to block out his words, the truth in them. Nobody could prove we had sex. He saw my hesitation though and he used it.
“If golden boy screwed up, my father would drop his ass so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him.”
“It’s not statutory rape if two people are just friends. This is ridiculous. We’re done here.” I shoved past him. He grabbed my arm and yanked me back, his grip on my arm so tight, his fingers dug into my skin through the fabric of the hoodie. I’d have bruises tomorrow. Bruises from Tristan Hart’s fingers. He shoved me into the passenger seat, scrolled through his cell phone and tossed it in my lap. “Maybe you should brush up on the law.”
I picked up his phone and skimmed the words on the screen. The terms of statutory rape. Rape was such an ugly word. It shouldn’t even be applied to what Shane and I had. Bile rose up in my throat and I swallowed the bitterness as Tristan settled into the driver’s seat.
“Ready to play along?”
This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening. It seemed that the law wasn’t too concerned about two teens fucking each other’s brains out. It was the age difference that mattered the most. That’s what I got out of it, anyway.
“I’d be willing to bet that he’d come clean,” Tristan said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “He’d never lie under oath, would he?”
<
br /> A whimper escaped my lips. I hated myself for showing a sign of weakness. Tristan smiled smugly.
Shane wouldn’t lie. He never lied. He believed that people had to be held accountable for their actions, and he would take the blame.
Oh God. What have I done?
What have I done?
“He has a promising career ahead of him. Do you want to be the girl responsible for ruining it?”
No. I didn’t want that. Tristan had done his homework. Eighteen months of watching me had paid off. Somehow, he had seen right through my insecurities. Had figured out how to manipulate me. How to hit me where it hurt most.
Shane.
My fear of ruining something good.
Bullies preyed on people’s weaknesses. But I wouldn’t let this asshole ruin Shane.
His surfing career meant everything to him. It was his life. His dream. It had been stupid to pin my hopes on a future with him. Hope is such a dangerous thing.
My gaze drifted across the street to his house. He was sleeping peacefully, unaware of what was happening out on this street, in this car. For once, I wished I’d stuck around long enough to say goodbye. If I had stayed the night, safe and warm in his arms, I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. But Tristan would have found another opportunity. I saw him nearly every day. He knew where I lived, where I worked, where I surfed.
When your life is falling apart around you, there should be some warning. A crack of thunder. The jagged flash of lightning splitting the sky. But there wasn’t. It was quiet. Nobody could hear the sound of my heart shattering. Nobody could hear me crying on the inside. That was how these things happened though.
And it was all because of sex.
Sometimes it was beautiful and soul-deep. Loving. Healing. Sometimes it was dirty and ugly. Sometimes it could be used as a weapon or a bartering chip.
“Now, are you ready to play along?”
I gritted my teeth, not answering him. He took his phone from my hand. His fingers moved on the keypad and he put the phone on speaker. A dispatcher on the end of the line answered. Costa del Rey Police Department.
