“You’re the first person I’ve surfed with in years and it was fucking nice not being alone for once! You couldn’t even send me a text saying you weren’t going to show. God, Bash, what if I thought something happened to you?”
Did it make me a shitty person that I didn’t think something serious was wrong with him?
Am I too selfish?
Answer to both: probably.
“I have a routine, Bash. I let you fuck it up by joining me and then you fuck it up again when you bail without telling me.” You hurt me, you asshole. “I waited for you.”
He curses under his breath, dropping my arm. “I’m sorry, Emery. Things came up and I wasn’t thinking.”
“Oh, too busy to send a quick text? Doubtful.” I don’t accept that answer. It’s a brush off if anything. He forgot.
He forgot me.
The idea hurts more than I’m willing to admit. I don’t like it and Bash doesn’t even try to answer again. That hurts even more, in a way.
He shakes his head. “What’re you doing here, Emery?”
“I was invited.” I lean back against the wall.
He lifts an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to explain.
“My dad always gets invited to these things.”
“And your father would be?” He doesn’t say it in a condescending way, but more in a curious way.
We haven’t talked about our parents. Which has been nice. I’ve liked having him in my life, knowing he’s not there for the connections I have access too.
“Ren Lawson.”
He blinks.
Blinks.
Blinks two more times.
His mouth slightly open.
It’s kind of ironic that the look he’s wearing is the same one Sienna was wearing earlier.
Irony at it’s finest, in my opinion.
“You’re his daughter?”
Biting my lip, I nod.
Growing up with surfers and having the father that I do, they always fanboyed over him. They essentially used my friendship as a way to get closer to my dad.
I really hope Bash is different.
He opens his mouth, then closes it a few times, resembling a fish out of water guzzling down air.
My heart pounds louder, like the bass in a song, and someone is turning the volume louder and louder.
Say something.
Silence.
Say anything.
More silence.
Say something about the weather! Anything is better than this, Cleaton!
When the silence becomes suffocating, I push off the wall with all the intent of walking away, but Bash grabs me, pulling me back. Again. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Clearly you need some alone time with your thoughts, so I’ll let you be and go back with my friends.”
“I don’t think so, Lawson. You’re not running away from me.”
“You don’t get a say, Bash! You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you, damn it! I was just going through some shit, okay?”
Throughout the exchange, the two of us draw closer to each other until our faces are close enough for our noses to touch. It hurts to suck in air. My lungs, my body, feels so tight. We’re so close.
His breath is a soft caress over my lips as my eyes dart to his. His tongue pokes out the corner. I look back to his eyes and see the same fiery need I feel reflecting back at me.
Something in the air shifts between us; all the feelings of anger and hurt are shifting toward something else—something that gets interrupted when Xavier appears in the hallway.
“Em.” Xavier sounds so casual, like I’m not in the arms of Sebastian Cleaton. He doesn’t even blink at the scene.
Sienna rounds the corner next and isn’t as subtle as her brother. “Oh! Sorry! Sorry!” Sienna is grinning wide. “We didn’t mean to interrupt, but we’re taking off and wanted to know if Em wanted to join us.” Her eyes rake over Bash like he’s a pair of shoes for sale. “You’re more than welcome to come, too.”
I roll my eyes at my friend before looking up at Bash. Since I’m still in his hold, I have to tip my head up. He looks down at me.
Our noses are so close.
I’m vaguely aware of Sienna smacking her brother’s arm, saying something about her phone and needing a picture of the moment. I can’t look away from Bash to say anything to her. There is something so enticing about him and the effect he has over me.
I don’t like it. Makes me feel things.
“I’m going, but I won’t kill you if you wanted to come too.” Here I am, with another olive branch extended, showing I’m not as angry as I was. If he comes and grovels some more, perhaps on his knees, we’ll be okay.
“Yeah?”
I offer a soft smile, already knowing I’m over it when I answer, “Yeah.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, WE FIND ourselves at a party that is being thrown by a guy named Stephen. A friend of a friend through Sienna. Whoever he is, he needs to get in touch with Dez.
This party is like Dez’s wet dream.
Alcohol of every kind lines the kitchen counters, plastic cups already littering the floor. Loud music pours through the house, a strong bass shaking the walls.
Most of the people spill out into the backyard.
From a charity gala to a house party, this dress is not for every event. The long skirt feels constricting, the fabric starting to irritate me. I’m allergic to expensive items that only get worn once. And now I’m wearing it to the spill zone. If someone so much as drips anything on this dress, there will be a fight.
“Thanks,” I say to Bash as he hands me a beer before moving to my side.
“Want to finish talking?” He watches me as he tips back his beer.
I shake my head, sampling mine.
Beer is probably my third favorite drink—right behind Rum Runners and fruity Mojitos.
“What’s your favorite drink?”
He chuckles. “Whiskey.”
“Just straight whiskey?” I ask and when Bash nods, my throat burns from just thinking about it. I need some kind of chaser. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, making him laugh even harder.
“Aren’t you a little young to know what that tastes like?”
I wave my beverage in his face. “Says the guy who just handed me this.”
I don’t add that I was also drunk the night we made out. Even though it was probably obvious. No need to drag up the awkward.
Unless he wants to.
Or I get drunk enough to lose the small filter I have on my tongue.
Whichever happens first.
He takes another swig before saying, “Touché.”
We’re silent for a while, just taking in the party scene around us.
“I’ve missed this.”
“What? Beer?”
“No, you brat.” He gestures around us. “This.”
I must look as confused as I feel because Bash laughs at me before explaining, “Parties. Hanging out with friends.” He looks down at me, and he appears a lot younger than he actually is in this moment. “I haven’t just hung out in a long time.”
“Aw, the life of being a pro surfer taking a toll on you? I mean, you are getting pretty up there. Age-wise, I mean.”
“Ha-ha,” he deadpans. “Everything in my life lately has been about work. Don’t get me wrong, surfing is what I want to do. It’s just sometimes the things that they want me to do out of the water aren’t what I want. So I’m taking a break from everything for awhile.”
“I get it,” I tell him, but pause when what he said finally registers. “Wait. You’re not entering any competitions?”
He shakes his head, not saying anything. Before I can get anything out of him, though, Xavier decides it’s time to crash our little two-person group.
“Sup?” Xavier asks as he casually winds his arm around my neck.
I don’t miss the glare Bash is giving to Zay’s arm.
“Just talking about surfing,” I
answer.
Xavier nods, moving his hand down my body until it’s around my waist. My body stiffens and Bash’s eyes narrow even more.
Our reactions are for completely different reasons.
Xavier’s touching one of my scars, and he knows it. I don’t like it when people accidentally bump into me because I don’t want them to brush against my raised skin. I hate people touching them.
I push Xavier until his arm drops away.
“Yeah, after what happened—OW!” Xavier glowers down at me as he bites back a curse.
“Oh, sorry Zay! Did I almost impale your foot?” Feigning innocence, I look up at him with big, wide eyes. I’m not even sorry I just jammed my stiletto heel into his foot—which is barefoot.
I mean, oops.
“You know, Em, you used to be graceful. I guess when you lost your board it also got rid of your balance.” He chuckles, which turns into a full laugh as he sees the look on my face. “Maybe one day you’ll be allowed back out in the water.”
No one but Geer, Brit, and recently Bash know I still surf. After my accident and then the incident after that, my parents went ballistic. They told me I was carelessly putting myself at risk, and until I learned how to respect the sea, I was banned from surfing.
That day a big part of who I was died.
“She was in it a few days ago?” Bash looks at me with the same confusion in his voice, and I know without checking Zay is too.
Zay tries to laugh it off, but when I don’t join him, he stops. With two pairs of eyes staring at me, their focus unwavering and so intent, my body starts moving like an eel. Squirming on my feet. The legs of dozens of spiders run up my back. My entire body trembles.
I hear an “Em?” the same time as “Firecracker?”
My head shakes, wanting them to go, to make them stop talking without having to vocalize it. I can’t speak.
Pretty sure I’m having trouble breathing, my chest tightens and my vision begins to fade as lights dance in my line of sight.
My fingers feel the stabbing of a thousand needles and the only sound my ears pick up are waves crashing and guttural screams.
I’m flying.
That is always my first thought when I catch a wave, but this time I really feel it.
My board is gliding effortlessly as I maneuver on the wave. I just landed a trick and I go to do another before I get caught in the break line, but my footing feels off.
Instead of taking the time to fix it, impulse takes over and my board soars into the air, above the wave.
I give a victory cry as I come back down, but my landing quickly becomes a wipeout.
I’m flipped off from the side, getting pulled under the wave. My board comes with since it’s attached to my ankle, but one of the fins slams into my head.
Pushing my way towards the surface, I only have time to gasp a lungful of air before another wave crashes on top of me, sending me under again.
I try to swim back to the surface when something sharp and powerful and painful clamps onto my leg, tugging me down.
Panic starts to fight its way inside when I look down in a blurry haze and see what’s pulling me. Around my leg are the jaws of a very large shark whose black eyes are taunting me.
A scream rips through my throat, filling my body with cold saltwater.
My free limbs start flailing, struggling to get away. The shark tugs, pulling my body with it and pain rips through my leg. It becomes harder to see the shark, my blood begins to ink the water around us, making the cloudy, salty water even murkier.
I know I’m going to die.
My body is losing a lot of blood, along with energy and the surface is becoming an impossible distance to reach. But I’m a Lawson and even a Lawson getting attacked by a shark isn’t keeping me from at least trying to fight back.
The jaw loosens a little, so I shove my fist into his snout the same time I stab a finger in one of the eyes.
Suddenly the weight on my thigh is gone and I see the shark look at me with a cold, calculating stare.
My lungs are starting to suffocate from the lack of oxygen and I feel close to passing out. After one lap around my body, my attacker swims away.
I don’t stop to see if it is coming back. I push water out of my way, using my arms as I kick as hard as I can with one leg while my other just hangs in a bloody mess.
“Help!” I gasp, letting the crisp air fly into my body, to my lungs.
“HELP!” I scream maniacally. I’ve drifted a lot farther from shore. Away from the crowd, away from my parents. “SOMEONE HELP ME!”
My body is fading, a black shadow of sleep trying to lure me in. My vision is blurry, but I’m able to make out a small boat racing in my direction.
I start to scream for help again, but it turns into an ear-deafening scream as another shark, a smaller one, latches onto my torso, pulling me under the water once more.
I crash into a hard body, arms curling around my waist. Even though the hold on me isn’t tight, it feels as suffocating as the shark’s teeth slicing into my flesh.
I struggle to get out of the hold, a sweat breaking out along my hairline.
“Calm down, Firecracker.” The voice is like a bucket of cold water that chills my fiery skin.
I stop fighting.
I’m not there, I’m not there, I’m on land, I’m on land.
Blinking out the haze, the first thing I see is Sienna. The next is the moon.
It’s shining proudly above us, giving off enough light to see the panic upsetting her face. Arms spin me around and Bash has the twin expression of Sienna.
I try to say something, but it’s hard for the words in my brain to come out of my mouth.
Instead of talking, I begin to sob. Big, ugly, snotty sobbing and Bash is on the receiving end of it as I bury my head in his chest. His arms tighten around me again and this time I don’t fight him off, instead nuzzling closer to his chest.
Bash is rubbing my back softly and if he pushes down a little harder he would feel the bumpy raised skin that covers one side of my back. If he spins me around, he would feel that it wraps around to my front as well.
My leg is just as bad.
My scars. My reminders.
Sometimes all a girl needs is a good cry fest. It’s healthy. A cleanse that needs to happen to wash away the ugly and the hurt to make room for something more—something happier and good.
Unfortunately, crying into the chest of a hot surfer and thinking he won’t question why his dress shirt is now one of the largest tissues he has ever seen is not that time.
As soon as my tears start to trickle down my face, Sienna grabs my hand, walks us into the house, and pulls me into the nearest bathroom.
She pushes me down onto a closed toilet seat and starts to wipe the mascara tracks off my face. While I sit, still sniffling, I watch as she searches the tiny room for a face cloth.
Once she finds one and runs it under water hot enough to cause steam to roll off the fabric, she gently places it over my face.
The steam from the towel mixes with my sticky wet face to create such an odd, yet enjoyable feeling. My pores begin to open and my eyes sting a little less. It’s not a towel with healing powers or anything, but it does feel good on my face.
After it turns lukewarm, I pass it back to Sienna, who tosses it into the sink. She regards me thoughtfully with her arms crossed. “Want to share?”
I start to shake my head but stop. “I had a flashback from the day in Hawaii.”
Her eyes close as the memory surfaces in her mind. Sienna was competing that day too.
“It’s been two years.” Her voice sounds as small as I feel in that moment.
“Three,” I whisper.
After the second shark pulled me under, I don’t remember anything between seeing the boat and waking up in the hospital with my parents crying by my bedside.
Seeing my dad cry is something not even sandpaper can erase from my memory.
“I never gave up surfi
ng,” I admit. The words descend around us and my heart rate starts to pick up. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for Sienna to explode with betrayal.
“I never thought you actually would,” she tells me. I crack open my eyes. Well…she looks calm. “Zay did, but my brother doesn’t know shit. He never competed against you.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad? I’m not your parents. Besides, they’re on crack if they think they can keep you out of the water.”
I snort, trying to stand up. “Right? I was born in a water birth.”
For the record, my parents don’t do crack.
She laughs, but pushes me back down as she shakes her head. “Not-uh. You are not leaving here until you tell me what is going on with you and Sebastian Cleaton.”
“Bash,” I correct without thinking and wince. “Nothing is going on. I just met him and I think we’re friends. We’ve surfed a few times.”
That sounds lame, even to my ears, but I’m not about to romanticize anything for her. Especially since there was nothing romantic going on in the first place and I’m not good when things start to be less casual.
“Yeah, friends who are in looove.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“What, are we twelve again?” I sputter; some spit comes out of my mouth. “Sienna, you’re too into fairytales. I just met him and we’ve hung out a few times. If I feel anything for him it would be lust but—shit.”
Sienna cackles—yes actually cackles—and punches her fists into the air. Her head is thrown back so it appears upside down in the mirror as she continues to laugh. “HA! I knew it! Spill!”
“I think it’s no secret that I find him attractive. A lot of people do.” Most of America—or whoever decides on those bachelor magazine picks.
“Emery Marie.” Sienna looks ready to strangle me, but she’s not getting anything else out of me. Nope, nope, nope.
“Sienna Santos, do you know that I love you so very much and you have the prettiest hair?” Sienna doesn’t have a middle name, so she doesn’t get the luxury of having one used against her.
I reach a hand out to touch her blonde locks but she slaps my hand away.
“You’re so cute.” She sounds anything but amused.
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