Beach Town Bad Boy: A Briarwood High Novella

by Dallen, Maggie

  I couldn’t tell if the ‘sure’ was sarcastic, but he didn’t look like he was trying to be mean, even though his response was hardly enthusiastic.

  “Anyway,” I said, hoping to lighten the moment. “We tourists enjoy a bonfire just like everyone else.”

  He gave a short laugh at my haughty tone. “Okay then. Fancy dinners and clubbing can wait till another night.”

  I grinned at the thought of me and Deacon doing anything fancy. That wasn’t really our style, considering most of our meals together had included plastic silverware and paper plates. But then I had this image of me and Deacon out together—like, properly out together, like…on a date. The image popped up in my mind’s eye and refused to disappear.

  What would it be like to go on a date with Deacon? To share a romantic dinner with him, to hold his hand in a movie theater, to have him walk me to my door afterward…

  What would it be like to kiss Deacon?

  And just like that my entire body craved it. I bit my lip and shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. I watched his lips, which were still quirked up at the corners, the dimples just ready to pop out. I took in his arms, which had gone from scrawny to buff, the chest that had filled out in a way the football players at Briarwood would envy.

  I turned my face down to the sand and hoped against hope that this was not one of those times when Deacon Turner could read my mind.

  “Yo, Deek!” A guy’s booming voice cut through the night and I looked up to see that we’d reached the edge of the crowd. Deacon—or rather, Deek—was welcomed by everyone. Me? Well, I got more than my fair share of questioning looks, but no one outright spoke to me, and Deacon didn’t seem inclined to stop and chat with anyone in particular. Instead, he headed straight toward a keg with me in tow.

  “You drink?” he asked.

  I shook my head and was relieved that he didn’t seem disappointed. Some guys would have been. I’d had drinks before, and I wasn’t opposed to it morally, but tonight of all nights…well, I was already as muddled as I could handle. Add in alcohol and I’d be a blubbering mess of indecision and bad choices.

  Like, potentially kissing Deacon Turner.

  The temptation was there and it was real. Just thinking about it seemed to be the kissing equivalent of Pandora’s Box. I couldn’t stop imagining it. I couldn’t stop wanting it.

  It was curiosity at work, most likely. I couldn’t believe I’d never wondered about it before, to be honest. I wasn’t one of those people who thought that guys and girls couldn’t be friends, but it would have been naïve to think those friendships wouldn’t have at least a tiny element of wonder about them. It was only human to think what if, right? It wasn’t like it meant anything.

  He set his cup down and turned to me with a small smile. “None for me either.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  He shook his head. “I’m not in the mood.”

  I blinked up at him trying to figure out what that meant. He wasn’t in the mood to party? Or was he just being polite?

  Or maybe I was just overthinking everything and he really just wasn’t in the mood for beer. We stood there for a second facing each other, the sound of a crowd around us oddly soothing. It mixed with the sound of the waves and the music that was playing from someone’s phone speakers, by the tinny sound of it. In a weird sort of way, being here in the middle of all these people I didn’t know, I felt like we were more alone than when we’d been walking in the sand, just the two of us.

  His gaze met mine and I stopped breathing. That was why. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that there were people around, it had everything to do with the fact that he was solely focused on me, and vice versa. All day we’d been talking and laughing and reconnecting, or even lost in our own thoughts. But right now, we weren’t talking, we weren’t laughing, and we weren’t in our own little world either.

  We were here. Together.

  The moment felt more intimate than any date I’d gone on with Ryan, or even Lucas.

  “Deek, man, who’s the chick?” This lovely and not at all impolite question came from a guy who looked to be around Deacon’s age. He also seemed to be drunk, judging by his sloppy grin and the way his eyes were half shut. His two buddies stopped beside him, and between the three of them I could feel their stares as they raked over me from head to toe, assessing and judging.

  “Hey Vic,” Deacon said. He nodded toward the other two guys as well.

  Suspicion clouded their eyes and Vic nodded toward me. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Eleanor,” Deacon said.

  I couldn’t help a little grin at his use of my full name. I’ll admit, it sounded kind of weird coming from him. Probably as odd as Deek would sound coming from me. We were Deacon and Ellie—always had been and always would be.

  “She’s a friend,” Deacon added.

  But clearly Vic didn’t hear him because he gave Deacon the same look that I’d give someone who tried to hand me rotten food. “Dude,” he said. “You brought a tourist to a townie party?”

  “Not cool, bro,” one of his friends added.

  I stiffened at their rudeness. I was also more than a little taken aback. I mean, not to sound conceited but…okay, yeah. Anything I could say right now would sound totally conceited. I’d always been welcome at parties—by guys and girls alike. I smiled a lot, and was nice to everyone, and people tended to like me.

  But these guys were eyeing me like I was the enemy. Like I didn’t belong and had invaded their private turf.

  “You know if you’re looking to get laid, there are other places to take her,” one of Vic’s charming friends said.

  My jaw dropped and I inhaled swiftly. If I were Blake I would have had a comeback. I would have put that guy right in his place.

  But I wasn’t Blake; I was Eleanor, which meant I’d come up with something perfect to say sometime around midnight tonight when I should have been sleeping.

  Man, I missed Blake right now.

  But then I felt Deacon’s arm wrap around my shoulder. “Don’t be a dick, Isaac,” he said. His voice had gone all low and rumbly. I’d have found it kind of intimidating if it had come from anyone other than Deacon.

  The guy named Isaac held his hands up in defense and gave Deacon a shameless grin. “My bad, man. I didn’t know this was your girl.”

  His girl. I so wish I could say I didn’t get a little swoony at that. I mean, nothing about Isaac and his gross remarks was swoonworthy, but being called Deacon’s girl?

  I liked it.

  I liked it way too much.

  “She’s an old friend,” Deacon said, swiftly cutting off any further romantic daydreams that might have sprouted in the wake of the ‘your girl’ comment.

  “Sorry, man,” the guy said, still grinning. “My bad.”

  I pinched my lips together. His bad? His bad? I’d show him his bad.

  Okay, that didn’t make sense. This was why my comebacks had to wait until I was in bed and pretending to sleep. Confrontations and I…we didn’t work out so well.

  The guys walked away and Deacon’s grip on me tightened as he steered us away from the party and toward the water. It wasn’t until we were out of earshot and away from the prying eyes that he spoke. “Sorry,” he muttered. “They shouldn’t talk about you like that.”

  His arm was still so tight around my shoulders that I went to shrug and couldn’t. “It’s okay,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Either he didn’t hear me or he outright ignored me. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  I glanced up at him and saw that his typical friendly smile had vanished. The guy I was looking up at was the bouncer from the night before. Hard, scary, and seemingly older than any teen had any right to look.

  I wanted to reach up and pat his shoulder—do something to reassure him that I wasn’t scarred for life because of a couple stupid drunk guys. “It’s all right, Deacon. You’re not responsible for their actions.”


  He didn’t even glance in my direction. “I should have known better.”

  He was talking to himself more than me. I waited until we were close to the ocean’s edge before I finally managed to wiggle out from under his arm so I could turn to face him. “You couldn’t have known—”

  “Of course I could have.” His voice was hard. It was the voice of a bitter, world-weary man, not the fun-loving teen I’d been hanging out with all day. “No one brings tourists to parties like this. It’s…” He shook his head with a little sigh. “We just don’t.”

  I shifted from one foot to another, silently willing him to look down at me, but he was staring off at the ocean and I hated the distant look in his eyes. “But I’m not just a tourist, right? I mean…” I stopped to lick my lips and steady my voice. Suddenly I felt like I was talking to a stranger. “I’m an old friend. Right?”

  “Sure.” His gaze didn’t quite meet mine as he repeated what he’d said earlier. Sure. A completely unsatisfying response, and one that didn’t seem even remotely heartfelt.

  The silence that fell over us was anything but comfortable. I wanted to let it go, but I couldn’t. “We are,” I repeated. “Aren’t we?”

  He sighed and this time his gaze met mine. But he didn’t answer. Not even with another halfhearted ‘sure.’

  I swallowed down a sudden surge of hurt. For the first time since I’d shown up here I felt unwelcome. Unwanted. Not even that awkward first encounter at the music venue had been this hurtful.

  Someone must have brought some real speakers because the volume suddenly cranked up, and when I glanced back at the bonfire, I could see a dance party in silhouette.

  We were friends, right? I hadn’t been wrong about that…had I? I couldn’t bring myself to ask again. I was already sounding too pathetic, by far. “So,” I said, trying to alleviate the heavy mood. “How come we tourists are so unwelcome?” I forced a smile. “Don’t tell me we’re all that bad at dancing.”

  He didn’t laugh. His jaw clenched a bit and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Tourists are notorious for slumming it with the locals before moving on and forgetting all about us.” He gave a little shrug, his hands still in his pocket. “It’s kind of an unspoken rule that you don’t bring your short-term fling to hang with your long-term friends, you know? It makes things…messy.”

  Messy. I blinked at him. “Is that what I am?”

  I hadn’t meant to say it aloud and his gaze snapped to meet mine, his eyes narrowing as he studied me in the dark. “What?”

  I swallowed. Too late to back out now. I didn’t doubt for a second that he’d heard exactly what I’d said.

  “Do you think of me as messy?” Before he could respond I found myself babbling with a rueful, nervous little laugh. “I mean, I guess I am a mess, huh? Of course, you’d think I’m a mess, I—”

  “Don’t do that.” His voice was quiet but my nervous chatter stopped at his serious tone. “Don’t put yourself down like that.”

  I shifted a bit, biting my lip as I waited for some sort of answer. He let out a loud exhale and tilted his head back as if to look at the stars, but they were drowned out by the glow from the fire. “I don’t think you’re a mess, Ellie.”

  “But?” I prompted, because I could hear it in his voice.

  He dropped his gaze to meet mine. “But you are a tourist.”

  I blinked rapidly, feeling the words like a blow to the chest. “I see.” And I did. If I was a tourist, I wasn’t his friend.

  “Think about it,” he continued, his voice not unkind, but not filled with laughter like it had been earlier. “You might not have done it intentionally, but you came to Sterling Beach, you had fun, and when your vacation was up you were out of here without a backwards glance.”

  I stared at him in horror because I’d caught the bitterness there in his voice.

  “That’s—that’s not true,” I said. But a part of me was squirming, unable to deny what he’d said. I shook my head. “It wasn’t like that.”

  A cynical smile curved his lips and made the guilt inside me rage out of control. “It wasn’t,” I insisted.

  “Okay then.” He crossed his arms and leaned back a bit so he could study me. “Then tell me how it was.”

  “I—I—” I swallowed. “You’re not being fair.”

  He arched one brow as if to say, oh really?

  Really.

  “I didn’t forget about you when I left,” I said. “I never forgot about you.”

  He didn’t answer but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes that looked suspiciously like pain.

  I’d hurt him.

  An answering pain nearly knocked me off my feet and I reached for him, my hands gripping his biceps. He didn’t pull away but he stiffened, and that was when I realized just how hard his muscles were beneath my hands, how warm he felt beneath the thick cotton of the sweatshirt.

  I sincerely wished I hadn’t noticed that, because now it was all I could concentrate on. Now was not the time to be aware of Deacon’s body, not when I needed to find the right words to explain. I swallowed and took a deep breath. “Let me explain, okay?”

  I took his silence as agreement.

  “We were kids,” I said.

  He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. I tried to look at it from his point of view and what I saw made me feel ill.

  “I should have stayed in touch,” I said hesitantly. “After my parents sold the house, I mean. After…after my last summer here.”

  He didn’t say anything, but his gaze never moved from mine. Never had I ever felt like someone was listening so intently to what I was saying. It was unnerving. And kind of amazing. Like whatever I said next meant everything to him, to us. Like whatever I said was important. Crucial.

  “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” I said. But the moment I said it I knew it was a lie. If I’d wanted to reach out I could have. I had his mother’s number. The thought of how I hadn’t been there for him when his mother had passed made my chest squeeze painfully and honesty came tumbling out. He at least deserved that much from me.

  “That’s not true,” I said softly. “I guess it was just…it was easier to compartmentalize,” I said. Even to my own ears it sounded lame. I took a deep breath and tried again. “I didn’t forget about you. But it was easier to let our friendship stay in Sterling Beach than to deal with my boyfriend’s jealousy or my parents’ disapproval or Blake’s questions and—”

  “I get it,” he said in a hard voice. His jaw barely moved and it looked like he was struggling for control. A muscle twitched near his eye. “That’s exactly my point. The tourist girls leave here and don’t look back because they couldn’t admit to having anything to do with us outside of this place.” His smirk was humorless. “I mean, everyone forgets about a summer fling, right? Out of sight, out of mind.”

  I blinked rapidly as his words hit home and the air rushed from my lungs. I dropped my grip on his arms and took a step back. “Don’t make it sound like that,” I said. “We were never a fling, we were—”

  “What, exactly?” he demanded. “If we were such good friends then why did you never mention me to your boyfriend your last summer here. Why did you never invite me to your parents’ parties?”

  “B-because they wouldn’t have understood,” I said quickly, scrambling to make him see. But even as I tried to make this right, I felt the truth behind his words. Why would I worry about everyone else’s reactions if we were just friends? And why had I cared so much about what everyone else thought?

  I didn’t know which question was more difficult to tackle.

  He let out a little huff of air as he looked toward the ocean. “Well, I guess now I’m the one who doesn’t understand.”

  “We were friends,” I started, but my voice was so soft, so unconvincing that it was blown away by the strong ocean wind. “If I’d known about your mom…” I reached for him again but he shrugged me off.

  “Don’t talk about my mom right now, okay?”
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  I nodded, guilt choking me. “I should—” I stopped to steady my voice, and nodded in the direction of my motel. “I should go back, let you hang out with your friends.” Your real friends.

  The fact that he didn’t consider me a friend made me want to cry, but I wouldn’t do that in front of him. I’d been the one to hurt him, I didn’t deserve his sympathy.

  I turned around quickly and walked away.

  What a fool. What an idiot. What had I thought? That he’d just been sitting around waiting for me? That nothing would have changed?

  Everything had changed.

  Deacon had changed, our relationship had changed…

  I came to a stop at the ocean’s edge, far enough away from the bonfire that I was out of the glow of the fire and the music and chatter was a distant din. I took a deep breath as I thought about all he’d said.

  As I thought about all he hadn’t said.

  Like how maybe we hadn’t just been friends, especially that last summer. Like how maybe I’d used my newly formed relationship with Lucas as a sort of shield. This trip had brought back so many memories, including vivid recollections of that last summer. I might not have admitted to it, but I’d felt something changing between us. I hadn’t known what it meant and I wasn’t sure I’d wanted things to change. And I’d had Lucas in my life. He was my boyfriend, and Deacon was my friend. It had seemed easier to keep it that way, and not question the new tension between us that had seemed so scary to contemplate.

  It had been easier to ignore it, to hide behind my new relationship with Lucas rather than face the fact that our friendship was changing. I’d been thirteen. I hadn’t meant to do that, but maybe that was the reason I hadn’t reached out after we’d left.

  I stared at the ocean’s waves as I tried to evaluate my motives from three years ago. It was like wading through the murky waters of the surf, glimpses of truth intermixed with a muddied blend of old emotions and new confusion.

  I was so intent on unraveling my past decisions that I didn’t hear Deacon until he was right behind me. I turned and saw him standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets, seemingly prepared to wait patiently until I stopped staring out at the sea.