Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7)

by Addison Moore

  It takes over an hour to arrive at a beach called Kettles.

  We get out and stretch our limbs, nimble as kittens. The fog has eaten away most of the shore, and the salty breeze licks at my bare skin. I take off my shoes and let my feet sink into the sand, soft as baby powder.

  I have never been to the beach—sure, a lake, a stream, a river but I’ve never seen the ocean. I’ve spent months of my life in a swimming pool, but have never witnessed something so expansive, so majestic that pulls out forever in a span of royal blue. I marvel with an open sense of wonder at how regal it looks, how miraculous it is that the hard cobalt horizon is allowed to kiss the sky so brazenly.

  I don’t dare confess I’ve never set my eyes on this magnificence. That I’ve never tasted salted air, thick as brine.

  “Where you sitting?” Carter asks, following Fletch like an enamored puppy, which I think is really lame since she’s in a committed relationship. She mentioned her boyfriend, Jackson, couldn’t make it, but she didn’t seem too broken up about it. She openly flirted with Fletch in the car, which added to the nausea inspired from my brother’s rollercoaster driving skills. But despite all of Carter’s efforts, it was Grayson who held his attention. It was Grayson who blew up his ego the size of her implants with a steady stream of ill-conceived compliments. Honest to God, after a while, it was starting to sound like some strange demonic chant, oh, Fletch, you’re so good at, fill in the blank, quickly followed up by something to do with her modeling career. Come to think of it, it was totally more of a satirical observation. But still, poor Carter doesn’t have a cheating leg to stand on.

  Fletcher hasn’t changed. He’s still the same fun loving moron he’s always been, in a cold distant way. It’s strange to think of him as gone, and now he’s here, or rather, I am. Death held him in a better light as far as my opinion of him went. For sure, now that I’m reminded of the fact he can so easily portray himself as an ass, solidifies the fact he’s merely my brother—not the superhero I let him morph into after he died. Besides, I like Fletch alive and slightly moronic rather than dead and spectacularly perfect.

  A string of pelicans fly in a low V formation, ditching down toward the water before spiking back up into the pale butter sky. They look ancient—their anatomy so prehistoric, I’m not certain modern man was ever supposed to witness them in flight.

  It makes me think of the sparrows in springtime. Small ebony darts, spearing through an unblemished country sky.

  God—I miss home. I miss miles of golden fields, the small tattered house that holds the scent of refried oil—sweet Lacey’s million-dollar smile. I miss her tiny, plump hand embedded in mine. I wish I could bring her here, show her the God-inspired miracle of something so spectacular as the sea. But in this world there is no Lacey, and no Mom, and no real Jen. Wes and Fletch have whet my appetite to linger, but I know where I truly belong. The fact I haven’t called an airline—hell, Mom, just proves I’m far too willing to falter in this fictitious universe of my own creation. I just need one more moment with Wes, one last kiss before this entire counterfeit world unravels.

  I watch the waves crash and melt into a creamy milkshake as they race up the sand.

  In the distance, Wes emerges from the water like Poseidon rising from his throne. I pull forward like a magnet, forgetting to romanticize the cool sand between my toes, the baptism of the Atlantic spraying over my body in a perfect gentle mist. Instead, I zero in on the rush of foam pooling around his legs as if the mighty ocean were bowing to his feet.

  Wes spots me and heads over in a sprint.

  “You made it in one piece.” He shags out his hair, sprinkling me with the residue. “The way your brother drives, I thought for sure I’d have to backtrack and look for the wreckage.” Water beads over his perfect body, long and lean with muscles in all the right places. Dear God. Wesley Parker is heaven.

  “Glad I survived,” I say, throwing my towel on the sand and dropping to my knees before him.

  “Are you still here?” A voice comes from the other side as a clothing-deficient Kresley scowls back at me. She sports a complicated bathing suit that neither qualifies as a two-piece nor a one-piece since there’s an entire network of floss that connects the scant upper and lower portions—the bottom consists of a precariously small triangle with what looks like a G-string in the back.

  “Yup, still here. Present and accounted for.” I try to sound chipper like she didn’t just piss me off. I predict she’ll have an eyeful of sand in less than ten seconds. The situation practically warrants an accidental spraying.

  “I got a callback for that part,” she says it directly to Wes in an effort to cut me out of the conversation.

  “Perfect.” He lands on the other side of me and smooths my towel out with a long stroke of his hand. There’s something sensual in the way he does it, and it makes my skin crave for him to replicate the effort. “That’s what you wanted.” He squints into the horizon, disinterested.

  “That is what I wanted.” There’s a note of defeat in her voice as she looks over my body at him. “I always get what I want.” She needles me with her hatred—hotter and more lethal than anything the ball of fire spinning overhead could ever manufacture.

  I don’t break away from her gaze. There’s no way I’m backing down to a power bitch like Kresley. I may not always get what I want, but for damn sure I’m getting Wes because he was mine to begin with.

  “What about you, Laken?” She annunciates my name with unnecessary roughness. “You ever think of getting into acting?” It comes out forced, full of sarcasm as if to cast a spotlight on her own achievement rather than promote any hidden talent I might have.

  “No,” I’m quick to initiate. “I don’t have time for rehab.”

  “Be nice.” Wes rumbles a dry laugh.

  He falls back on his elbows exposing tan skin stretched over rocks of rippling muscle, and I openly gawk at the perfection he’s become.

  Wesley Parker has turned his body into a bona fide work of freaking art. I don’t remember the curves and crevices enunciated over his abdomen, the girth of his arms—legs as thick as tree trunks.

  I peel off my sweater with knit holes the size of dimes and toss it to the side. I’ve gained a few curves myself while we’ve been apart. I pull back my shoulders hoping Wes will sit up and take notice in the most literal graphic manner.

  His Adam’s apple rises and falls. His neck twitches as if he wants to look away but can’t afford the effort. Instead, Wes lingers. He drags his eyes across my flesh like he’s pulling lead weights.

  “So was it painful?” Kresley leans into me with her lips parted, ready for war.

  “I’ll bite.” I turn my face to the water. “What?”

  “You know, the sex change.”

  I dart a look to Wes. Swear to God, if that’s what this warped fantasy has concocted for me, I’m diving into that septic tank of algae and not coming up for air.

  “Leave her alone,” Wes says it low as if she were a gnat he were tired of swatting. “You’re a beautiful girl, Laken.” He shakes out his T-shirt. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Kresley’s eyes widen, first with horror, then with the intent to carry out a felony.

  I bask in the moment. Based on the not-so-veiled death threat contorting her features, I’ll be paying for Wesley’s proclamation of my beauty later. But no matter what she dishes out, it was worth every syllable.

  “Hey!” Casper, my newfound roommate, bounces over and sinks into the sand. She bites down a laugh, relishing the fact Wes is overtly giving me a body-scan. “It’s two o’clock,” she says, knocking her foot into Kresley. “We need to go. Jen’s got a cooler in the back of her car.” She offers me a short-lived smile. “Kitchen duty follows us everywhere.”

  “Shit.” Kresley stands and slips on a thin voile robe that dusts over her bottom. It leaves the rounded W of her flesh hanging out the back, and it looks more than slightly obscene. She stabs her feet into a pair of flip-f
lops, flicking sand in my direction as they trot toward the parking lot.

  “Remind me to never get kitchen duty,” I say, dusting off my limbs from the peppered assault.

  Wes presses out a devious smile. He licks his lips like he were mapping out what part of me he’d like a bite of first. I want to accuse him of seducing me, tell him that I don’t mind, that I want it, but my vocal cords are paralyzed by the sheer volume of his biceps.

  “You wanna wash that off?” He offers.

  There it is again, that lower register in his voice, as if he’s trying to lure me into the bushes. Not that Wes would ever need to lure me anywhere. I’m there at the ready. I’m pretty sure I’ll be taking advantage of him long before I rouse from this bitter realm.

  “I think I got it.” I try to scour the sand off but it’s no use. I’m coated like a powdered donut.

  “How about I throw you in?” His lips curve with devilish intent.

  “I bet you’d love that.” I bow my lashes into him. “Throwing me into freezing water.” It has hypothermia written all over its glacial stare.

  Wes jumps up and snatches at me, touches my bare stomach in one quick stroke.

  “No you don’t!” I hop to my feet and take off as he chases me down the beach.

  I can hear him thundering behind me, creating a heartbeat over the sand with every step he takes. Wes could make the earth quake with his looks alone. It’s a wonder the ground doesn’t open up and swallow him down from the sheer desire to have him for herself.

  I hurdle a patch of knotgrass only to end up closer to the shore than anticipated. A soft bubbling laughter emits from deep inside my chest, happy to be here with Wes—happy to be anywhere with him. I haven’t felt joy like this in ages, not since before that horrible night they were found face down. I still remember the sky lit up like a flame from the ambulance, the fire truck—every faculty of authority too impotent to save.

  He darts around, blocks my path and gives a slow spreading grin before picking me up and racing me into the shock of cold water.

  “Wes!” I scream as a wave douses the two of us in one icy bite. It knocks him off his feet and lands us on the soggy soil below, the water no higher than my waist. “It’s freezing!” I shrill as my teeth give way to an uncontrollable chatter.

  A bear trap clamping over my middle would have been more welcome.

  “You’ll get used to it.” He staggers to his feet and pulls me out deeper until the water laps over our shoulders.

  We swim up over the waves as they roll in, one after another. But I don’t pay attention to the ocean or the unblemished sky, the seaweed coiling around my ankle wanting to pull me down. Instead, I hone my effort in on the beautiful boy by my side, glistening like a long-forgotten jewel.

  A part of me weighs heavy over the fact I’m still here. I should be racing home to Lacey. I should have made a bigger effort to find a phone and call my mother to let her know I’m still breathing, but I’m too far gone, too enamored with having Wes for just a few more hours. I’m half afraid if I do call my mother, it might unravel whatever miracle is taking place—cut short my time in this dreamland and yank me back into a pool of shattered glass. One thing’s for sure. I’m not in any hurry to break this spell.

  I reach over and run the palm of my hand over his newly slicked hair. Wes has graduated from handsome to an extraterrestrial level of gorgeous that can’t be expressed with mere human words.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper.

  “I’m right here.” He squints into me, his dark brows dip in a flirtatious manner.

  I glance back at the shore. Everything has reduced to miniature, the people, the places, the fantasy of it all.

  “So…” My chin trembles. “Did you give Kresley back the earring?” Really I want to know if he kissed her after she beat the crap out of me. Her reaction to the fact it wasn’t a proposal—if he loved her—that kind of damaging information could kill me for real.

  “Yes, I gave it back.” He pans over me with a look of wonder as if he were hardly paying attention to the topic at hand. He looks spellbound, more than a little intrigued by what he sees. “She thought I was giving her a gift.” His forehead creases. “Kresley’s brain automatically reverts everything to cash and prizes.” He splashes a handful of water over his face, washing her away like a bad idea.

  “Did you have your talk?”

  “Kind of.” His eyes slit to shore. “Things got slightly derailed last night by way of you.”

  My stomach explodes with heat. The idea of derailing his plans with anybody of the female persuasion pleases me.

  “This isn’t who you are.” I run my fingers through the back of his hair—slick and glossy, so dark, the darkest black—the deepest part of the night sky couldn’t rival that beautiful color.

  “Tell me who I am,” he says it playful, almost like a dare.

  “You, my love, are Wesley Parker.” I mouth it fully as if some erotic fantasy were about to play out. “You live on your grandpa’s farm with your mom. You love painting more than anything—you mostly paint trees.”

  “Trees?” He leans in. I can feel his warm breath rising over my cheek as the current presses us together.

  “Because you know I love them.” I blush when I say it, locking our gaze with something just this side of a promise.

  “Okay,” he whispers. “Tell me something about you, other than the things with the trees.” He gives a brilliant smile like he’s playing along with my insanity—only I get the feeling that deep down inside he really wants to know. He can’t hide his curiosity. It elongates like a spool, and I run with it.

  “I love frozen grapes.” I bite down on my lip. “I have an aversion toward girls named Kresley.” It comes out far more truthful than it does playful. “I write silly things on the back of leaves and give them to you.” I don’t tell him that I wrote “I love you” a thousand times or that he was my everything or that he saved every leaf I’d ever given him in a box beside his bed—that I did the same with the ones he gave me. “You used to help me pick Maple leaves off the ground. We would measure them against our hands.” I spread my fingers out of the water as if to demonstrate.

  “Whoa,” he says rather calm while eyeing a monstrous wave behind me. “Under.” He pulls me down by the waist, and my ears fill with the stillness of the ocean—nothing but the sound of air bubbles rising from my lips. His fingers press in just above my hips, and my insides tremble with pleasure.

  It feels intimate like this. It feels right.

  I wrap my arms and legs around his bare flesh tight as a coil. I’m so thirsty for Wes. Every cell in my body drinks down his touch as the wave sweeps softly overhead.

  We pop back up to the surface, and I forget to let go.

  Wes rumbles with a nervous laugh at our newfound position. I press my chest into him—let him feel the warmth from my body as I take in his.

  “So, did you break up with her?” I’m not really interested in the answer. The girl on the shore, whatever her name was, however big her claim was to Wes, she’s already history—nothing more than a freckle on our existence.

  Wes brightens and holds back a smile as though he heard every word.

  “I may have.” He gives a little laugh, his chest rumbling over mine.

  “Good.” My breathing becomes erratic. It’s bliss like this with Wes, my knees high over his back—my ankles interlocked, securing us together. I never want to get out of the water. “She’s not your type.” My heart picks up pace, delivering one blow after another from my chest to his.

  The smile dissipates from his lips as his eyes magnetize to mine. It’s undeniable, this powerful, unbreakable bond—this love affair that spans two lifetimes. Death couldn’t keep us apart. I doubt Kresley, in all her wicked glory, could do much better.

  “What’s my type?” It comes out breathless as his arms secure themselves over my back and he pushes me in ever so slightly.

  “I am,” I say, edging my mouth
toward his.

  “Laken.” He breathes my name as if this were so utterly insane, so unforgivably impossible. “We shouldn’t.”

  But his lips ache for a kiss.

  Everything in him screams we should.

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  Acknowledgements

  To my family: thank you from the bottom of my heart. A special thanks to my husband who graciously does all of the cover art for the books and never bats a lash when I tell him to start from scratch. To my four awesome children, who are all so much more emotionally mature than I will ever be.

  To my wonderful, spectacular, awesome, fantastic, out of this world editors, Amy Eye and Sarah Oaklief (and no, I won’t reduce my adjectives in that sentence). I am so happy to have you both overlooking the wellbeing of my novels. Thank you for talking me down from a few grammar ledges.

  Thank you to Rachelle Gardner, the world’s best literary agent, who lets me do whatever the heck I want. For that, I will always be grateful. Rachelle, you are the best cheerleader ever!

  To my wonderful readers who make my adventures in Paragon a whole lot sweeter knowing that I can share them with you. You bless me far beyond words.

  To Him who holds the world in the palm of His hands. To your name be the glory, and power, and honor, forever. I owe you everything.

  About the Author

  Addison Moore writes young adult fiction and romance. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she's not writing, she's reading.

  Feel free to visit her blog at: addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/Addison-Moore

  Twitter: twitter.com/Addison_Moore