"Things have changed." Sawyer glances at me, but the tension is back behind his eyes. The same tension I thought was gone for good.
"I went looking for him, Jess," I say. "Not the other way around. And I've wanted to see you too—you have no idea how badly."
"Too bad I don't want to see you," he says. "You ruined my life."
"I said that's enough." Sawyer steps toward Jess—and Jess shoves him. Hard. Right as a cop car passes on the road. And a second later the lights flash and beep and the officer pulls into the parking lot.
"Jesus Christ, Jess." Sawyer shakes his head. "You know we can't afford this." He looks at me. "Quinn. You should leave. I'm sorry. Call me later."
"But I still don't have your number," I say, lightly, hoping to make him smile, because my words are ridiculous considering everything we did last night. It's kind of funny, or at least I think it is. But his expression doesn't change. Neither does Jess's. "I'm not just going to leave you guys here, anyway."
And then I regret saying it because the cop who steps out of the car is freaking Officer Vincent. The one with the vendetta against Chase's family. The one who takes pleasure in being a supreme dickhead.
"What's going on here?" he asks. His face is turned toward Sawyer, but his eyes are hidden behind mirrored shades. I slide a little farther away, hopefully not too noticeably. Because my presence here isn't going to do Jess any favors.
"Just a friendly family discussion," Sawyer says.
Jess scoffs.
I take a deep breath.
Officer Vincent cocks his head. "Do I know you?"
I shake my head and drop my eyes, almost expecting to see my stomach there on the ground with how fast it falls.
"I do. I do know you."
Well, shit. Maybe if I'm a brat here, he'll forget about Jess and Sawyer.
I sigh and lift my face—but he's not looking at me, he's looking at Jess. "You're the little smart-ass who mouthed off to me when I busted up that beach fire last week."
"He's had some issues," Sawyer says, stepping to stand just slightly in front of Jess. "But he's cleaning up his act, sir. I promise. I'm sorry for any trouble he may have caused at the beach fire. Really." His voice is so sincere it's almost hypnotic.
"Yeah, well, he's on my radar now," Officer Vincent says. He lifts his shades to look directly at Jess. "You'd best be staying off of it from here on out."
Jess stares at him, sneering. God. I want to reach over and pinch him. But I also don't want to get noticed myself.
Too late, though. Officer Vincent glances at me, smirking. "Great company you seem to keep these days, doll."
He's still shaking his head when he gets back in his car. He frowns at us before driving away.
I turn to Jess with a shaky smile. "Well, if a run-in with the law doesn't bond us, I don't know what will."
"Fuck you."
"Jess. Chill." Sawyer wraps an arm around his neck, holding him steady, but Jess shoves away from him, his eyes hot on mine.
"It's your fault we left," he says, quietly. I think I'd rather he yelled, because my heart is starting to crumble. "And you acted like family—you had my number, my email, my everything, and you never once called. So fuck you, Quinn. You ruined my life. You ruined my dad's life. You should've seen Sawyer. Drunk all day every day, crying like a fucking pussy." His own eyes are bright red now, though. "You didn't even care. You ruined us and you didn't even care."
"You have it backward," Sawyer says, jerking his arm. "Listen to me. It wasn't—"
"Sawyer, don't." I say, also quietly. If Jess doesn't know about his father, he shouldn't find out now. Or ever, if it can be helped. I can't stand my mother for who she is, but it's easier knowing she's not a good person. Brock is a decent man, and Jess shouldn't know him any other way.
"I heard you and Dad," Jess says. "Saying it was all that Westwood bitch's fault. Don't deny it."
"I would never say that," Sawyer looks at me, pleading. But he doesn't need to. I know he wouldn't.
"Dad did. And you agreed."
"Jess," I say. "I'm sorry. I…I didn't understand why you'd all left, and I was really upset. I shut down, okay? And I couldn't get in touch with you later. Your number was disconnected. And you didn't have a Facebook profile that I could find, nothing. I missed you so much, though. Can we start over?"
"No. You broke your promise and you acted like I never even existed." He snaps his mouth shut, like he didn't mean to admit as much.
"My promise?" I can't believe it didn't dawn on me that he'd remember what I'd said.
Pain flashes across his face and I hate myself for causing it. "Of course you don't remember. You're so fake it makes me sick."
"I never forgot that promise, Jess—I just wasn't given an opportunity to keep it."
"What promise?" Sawyer asks, looking between us.
I open my mouth, but Jess beats me to answering. "None of your business." And he shoots me a look of half fury, half panic. He doesn't want me to say anything in front of Sawyer. So I press my lips together even though I'm dying to prove to him that I do remember. He was bullied. He trusted me enough to tell me, and I promised I'd look out for him.
And a week later, he was gone.
"It doesn't matter, anyway," Jess continues. "I hate you, Quinn. I don't give a shit about some stupid promise anyway."
"Enough." Sawyer's word comes out in a growl, and he moves toward Jess.
I'd step between them, but I can't. Can't move. Can't breathe.
I'm in too much pain.
I hate you, Quinn.
Jess pulls something from his pocket, flings it at Sawyer. It flashes and bounces off of his chest onto the grass. Neither of them look down.
Still practically crippled with pain, I slowly, slowly, lean over to grab it. A silver coin, with a triangle in the middle and "To Thine Own Self Be True" and "Twenty-four Hours Recovery." I think it's a sobriety coin for AA.
"You're getting sober?" I ask, trying to infuse my tone with warmth, no matter how broken I'm feeling. "That's great, Jess."
But he doesn't even look at me, just keeps his gaze even with Sawyer's. "I don't know—am I? Because the only way I'll be able to handle you being with her, is with a drink in my hand."
And just like that my heart closes in on itself. "Jess…"
"This is a family matter, and you aren't a part of it anymore." He still doesn't look at me.
Neither does Sawyer.
Oh, God.
"You guys remember when Sawyer tried to teach me to skateboard?" Now I begin to ramble, desperation to make some connection cutting through the pain that froze me. I hold up Jess's board. "Should we try again? See if I can get a matching scar on my other knee?"
Finally, Sawyer looks at me. "I need to handle this. Just call me later, okay?"
I hate how unemotional his tone is. I hate everything about this entire moment. I hate the way my voice shakes when I repeat myself. "I…still don't have your number."
He reaches for the phone I still clutch in the hand opposite the skateboard. I hand it to him and he adds his number. And I say goodbye and don't even have a chance to kiss him, and my heart hurts because I'm afraid I won't get to do it ever again. This feels that huge.
I place Jess's skateboard on the grass beside him. I try to catch his eye, but he refuses to look at me and I refuse to cry, so I turn and I walk away, trying really, really hard to figure out what just happened and how the world's shifted. Trying really, really hard to keep my balance.
When I reach my Jeep, I turn back, but Sawyer's looking at Jess, and Jess's shoulders are heaving like he's breaking down, and I want to crumble to the pavement and have a breakdown of my own because it's not just my heart in pain. I hurt everywhere. Somehow I started the day in complete bliss and it's turned into a complete nightmare.
I close my eyes and when I open them again, I focus on Sawyer a second time. Faith. I need to have faith in Sawyer. He'll work this out with Jess. Everything's going to be fine
.
And until then, I'll surf. I'll hit the waves and clear my head until my shift this afternoon. And by tonight everything will be fine.
…
Okay, that's total bullshit and I can't even come close to making myself believe it. I'm off balance, and I'm pissed, and I want to roar. And a good rough surf will help get it out.
When I open my door to grab my board, it's gone.
"Mother fucker." I glance around, but other than a family with three kids getting out of a minivan, there's nobody else in the parking lot.
Then it hits me. "Jess."
But…
My board was in my Jeep when I went to find my phone to text my mom—and I ran into Jess right there. And have been with him ever since.
Not Jess. As much as it would make sense for it to be him.
Fuck.
So in broad daylight and in a matter of, like, minutes, someone stole my surfboard from my locked Jeep. Regardless of the daylight, I get the chills, suddenly feeling insecure in the town where I've never felt anything other than safe.
Which is really the last thing I need right now, on top of everything else.
I tick off the count on my fingers. Surfboard. Spare tire. Wakeboard. Sunscreen. Car charger… What else?
There's a hundred-dollar bill in my glove box for emergencies—and it's still there when I slide in to check. So either this thief is a moron or they're trying to make me paranoid. In which case, mission freaking accomplished.
I glance in my rearview mirror. Sawyer and Jess are still arguing. I can't go running to Sawyer for comfort, not when the last look I saw pass through his eyes was defeat. Jess looks my direction and I start my Jeep, backing up right away. I've already taken too long to leave, and I don't want them to think I've been sitting here watching them. But as I pull out of the parking lot, I can't decide where to go.
Police station? Ugh. The thought of returning there after my first experience… I'd almost rather leave my doors unlocked with a sign for the thief to take whatever the hell he wants next time. And after a second round with Officer Asshole just a second ago? Forget it.
Home? So I can pace aimlessly before I have to work? No.
My parents' house? Don't make me laugh.
And then I know. Gianna's working today.
As soon as I walk into her shop, as soon as she smiles at me and I feel the coil of tension unwind in my stomach, I know I made the right decision. This is where I should be.
"Excuse me, miss, but we don't open for another hour," she says.
I try to smile. Fail.
"Oh, shit." She crosses to me from behind the counter immediately, pushing me into a metal chair at one of the small round tables filling the front of the shop. "What's wrong?"
She slides into the chair across the table from me, expectantly, but I don't have the words yet. Instead, I reach into my bag and pull out the Mason jar I brought in from my car. "Here, I made this for you."
She drops her attention from me to the jar and I watch her take it in. The burlap fabric covering the bottom quarter. The few circles of lace wrapped haphazardly (yet, in reality, oh-so-painstakingly) around the glass. The three dried red-turned-burgundy roses, angled and gorgeous, trapped permanently beneath the metal lid.
"I can't believe you made this—I mean I can—but God. I just remember when you were learning how to dry flowers and they always crumbled…" She rolls the jar gently in her hand. "But this is so delicate. It's gorgeous. It's going on my nightstand. No. Wait. On our entryway table so everyone can see it."
"Cool." The word comes out flat. I sniffle and try to pull myself together, try to put more emotion in my next sentence. "They're the flowers Chase brought to me the first time I met him."
She's quiet for a moment, looking from the flowers to me and back again. "That seems…weird."
"I thought so too, at first," I admit. "But if he hadn't taken me out, you guys never would've met. So it's like…our date was really fate's way of bringing you two together."
She lifts a brow, considering. Lowers it, accepting. "I'll buy that. This is too pretty to feel weird about." She places the jar gently on the table between us, studying it a few seconds longer. Then she meets my eyes and asks a second time, "What's wrong?"
"Well, someone stole my surfboard." I'm able to keep my tone light, almost bored like it's no big deal. "And I think they've been stealing shit from my Jeep all summer."
"Holy shit." Her eyes widen—and then narrow. "You wouldn't be this pale over a stolen board. What else is wrong?"
"I'm pretty sure it's over with Sawyer, Gi." And this time my voice breaks. I'm so scared it's the truth. There was something in Sawyer's face. In the set of his shoulders. In the fury of Jess's expression. I tell her everything, the words flooding out of me so fast and so broken, it's a wonder she understands me at all.
But she does. "No way," she says. "There's just no way you could've finally waded through all the bullshit keeping you apart, just to have one night together before losing each other again. I refuse to believe it. And so should you."
I shake my head, but she stays on me until I promise not to give up hope.
Then she brings over a tub of ice cream, and we both dig in.
"You want me to come stand guard outside your car tonight?" she asks through a mouthful of mint chocolate chip.
"No. But I love that you really would if I asked."
* My Forever Family *
1. My parents. No. Just no.
2. Sawyer. Pretty sure he's out now, too; no matter how positive Gi's trying to be, my gut tells me I'm losing him.
3. Brock and Jess.
4. Gianna.
* * * * * *
I might not have Sawyer. I might not want my parents. But I have Gi. She's my family. She always will be.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
SAWYER
QUINN'S TEXTED ME four times. Once each day since we last saw each other. I've texted her back once each day in response. That's it. I should give her more; she doesn't deserve this after everything. But if I give her more than this, the dam I have in place will bust and I'll give her everything. Which will leave nothing for Jess.
How are you? Working on Jess.
Any better? No.
I love you. I love you.
This is really painful.
I don't know how to respond to her most recent message because I'm not sure a word exists to describe how I feel. I want to break something. Or someone. Which is why I'm cleaning dishes in the kitchen of my dad's place instead of watching baseball in the living room with him and Jess.
Jess, who's been attached to my damn side for four days. Certain I'm slipping off to see Quinn every time I try to go somewhere without him. He isn't wrong.
The easy solution here is to tie him up, toss him on his bed, and do what I want to do. But I can't take the easy solution when it comes to Jess. He's a disaster. My dad's a disaster. But they're trying, for me. My dad made us scrambled eggs for dinner last night, but his hands shook the entire time because they don't remember how to be steady without a drink. I can't slip out and leave them on their own now. Jess will find a way to drink to rebel and, like a two-person domino set, my dad will tumble down the exact same way. Fuck.
I slam my fist on the counter and they both turn to stare at me. I level Jess with a look and jerk my head for him to join me. He rolls his eyes, but when I very slowly put down the plate I'm holding and turn as if I'm coming to him, he hops off the couch and heads my direction.
My dad lifts his eyebrows, but goes back to watching the game when I motion for him to stay where he is.
"It wasn't Quinn's fault we moved away," I say quietly, for the hundredth time. "How long is this going to last, Jess? You're punishing the wrong person."
He shrugs. "As soon as you stop caring if I drink or not."
What he's really saying is as soon as I stop caring about him. He's sixteen and a mess and acting like a little shit, but I get it. I just don't get why he'
s blaming Quinn for this. "What promise do you think she broke?"
He shrugs again. "It doesn't matter. That's not why I hate her."
"You were twelve the last time you saw her, Jess. Memories can play tricks on us. You missed her, you even cried."
"No, I didn't."
"Well, now I know there's something wrong with your memory." I try to smile. "What I'm trying to say is, maybe it hurt too much to miss her and you let yourself hate her instead."
"No. I actually hate her." He sets his jaw, for the hundredth time.
I fucking lose it. I shove his shoulders, walking him back until he slams into the refrigerator. "Why, Jess? Tell me. Now. Before I dropkick it out of you."
He stares at me, jaw still jutting out, defiant because he knows I'm full of shit. My dad clears his throat from the living room, but I ignore him because he also knows I'd never actually hurt Jess.
It's unspoken, but there, between Jess and me not to mention anything about the situation with Quinn to my dad. I can't bring myself to tell him because if he confessed what he did to Jess, confessed that it's his fault we had to leave, I don't know what Jess will do. He's already on such a bad path himself. And if I tell my dad about Quinn and he doesn't try to help by telling Jess it's actually his fault? I won't be able to forgive him. So instead Jess gets to never forgive Quinn.
"Okay," I say, resigned, a chainsaw of regret tearing through my gut. "You win."
"She sucks, Sawyer." He sounds so whiny, so snotty, so goddamn sure of himself, I have to push myself away from the fridge and turn from him because I actually am tempted to dropkick his scrawny ass.
When I look at him again, though, he's picking at a pimple on his cheek and the fact that he's sixteen hits me in a new light. He's young. When I was sixteen, I met Quinn. I had a stable home. My father wasn't a drunk—not like he's been the past years anyway. Jess has…well, he has me, and he has a father doing his best to get sober. A father he can still respect because, aside from all the drinking, he has no clue the sort of man he's been in the past.
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