She’s used to be a very light sleeper. Any shifting or movement would stir her awake.
Her mom says it’s because when she was a baby she refused to fall asleep in fear that she’d miss out on something. It doesn’t help that when a Lawson baby is born it’s a family affair. People fly in from out of town, grandparents camp out in the guest bedroom. It’s basically a party for weeks.
Especially when Nori was born. My aunt Hilary got pregnant by her boyfriend—a guy everyone thought was great, until he found out he was going to be a dad. Then he took off, leaving my aunt pregnant and alone.
I don’t remember much, since I was toddler, but when the family tells stories, they share so many from when they all came into town for Nori’s birth. I still tell her to not let the popularity go to her head—I’m still the favorite grandchild.
She might’ve been a light sleeper when she was younger, but over the years that changed. Once she took up diving, exhaustion become a frequent visitor. Tonight has been no different.
A minute after Xavier put her in the car, she was out.
Sleeping and making these weird little noises.
She doesn’t even wake up when I pull in her driveway, putting her car in park. I barely have the keys out when the passenger door opens and Zay is scooping my cousin up, carrying her to the front door.
He doesn’t put her down once.
Not as I am unlocking the door.
Not when I am guiding us to her room.
He only puts her down when we get to her bed.
Nori doesn’t stir as he gently places a blanket over her, passed out cold. Something I’ve never seen from my cousin.
Something else I’ve never seen is the look on Xavier’s face. It’s so foreign on him, I don’t even know how to describe it.
Soft.
Sweet.
Caring.
I bite my tongue from saying anything as we leave her house and get in his car.
Neither of us say anything on the ride back to the bar.
Not until I’m about to get out of the car.
I give him a look. “What’s going on with you and my cousin?”
He doesn’t answer for a beat. The low music cooing from the radio fills the silence until he says, “I’m worried about her.”
“Me too,” I admit, turning in my seat toward him.
“She’s lost weight.” He sounds helpless. “When I was helping her out of the bar, I felt how thin she’s gotten.”
My stomach clenches. Weight has been a hard topic for my cousin. She eats, just not enough. As an athlete, as a diver, food is really important. But Nori is spending so much time chasing her dream, she forgets to stock up on calories.
“We have to help her,” he continues.
Nori also pushes herself hard. Harder than she probably should. She’s told me she does it to distract from her problems, and from what Zay says next, it’s clear she’s told him too.
“She needs a therapist. Someone who can help her with all the shit in her head. She won’t talk about it with me.” The last part he practically growls.
“Believe me. Unless she wants to address the problem, it won’t do any good. Her mom doesn’t have the money anyway.” Nori wouldn’t want to see anyone at the hospital where her mom works, either. I remember what it was like being forced to see a therapist after my accident. I didn’t want help. I didn’t want to talk.
And I didn’t. Not for several sessions.
My therapist didn’t force me to open up. To talk about anything. She didn’t pressure or push. She waited.
Waited until I was ready.
“She’s going to pass out from hunger one day while she’s on the board and get seriously hurt.”
“As much as I love your concern, why are you stressing yourself out over this? I didn’t think you and Nori were that close.” Please don’t be that close. I can’t have them be that close. I love Xavier. I really do. He’s a great friend, but he travels everywhere, going on adventures—chasing waves and not taking names.
If he makes my cousin fall in love with him, he’ll break her heart.
And then I’ll have to break him.
“Fucking hell, Emery. Your cousin is slowly killing herself! You should be more concerned if I didn’t care.”
True, true, true.
I don’t think she’s killing herself. She’s forgetting to eat and has an extremely fast metabolism. Tomorrow, I’ll just go over there and hang out with her, taking her to lunch and dinner. Xavier doesn’t need to worry. Nori will be fine.
I hope.
“I think Xavier has a thing for my cousin,” I say in lieu of a greeting as Bash opens the door, stepping aside to let me in.
“Hello to you, too.” He chuckles.
“Hi.” I turn around, hands on my hips. “What do you think?”
“About Xavier and Nori?”
I nod.
“Aren’t they a couple?” His joke is not appreciated.
I growl, spinning around to walk into his living room. Bash lives in such a dude’s place. Minimal decorations, a three-seater couch, two recliners, and a TV. Aside from a coffee table, the only other place to eat is the island bar in his kitchen.
He needs a lot of help with decorating.
But not right now.
There are more important things happening.
Plus all the stores are closed.
“No! They aren’t. As far as I knew, they only talked when we hung out. That’s what she does with Geer. She says she doesn’t even want to date. Says she doesn’t have time. He’s going to distract her.”
“Is that what he’s going to do?”
“And break her heart. And make her hate men. And—”
“And?”
“Take her virginity.”
“Em,” he says, but I don’t want to hear how ridiculous I’m being. I don’t need to be told. I’m well aware of it. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop my tangent. And it’s not just Nori I’m worried about. I don’t want Xavier to get hurt either. I love Xavier, he’s one of my ride or dies, and Nori has just as much power to hurt him as he does her.
It’s just Nori’s like my little sister. I’ve been protective of her since she was little.
I nibble on my bottom lip. “And he’s older than her. Why does he want to get with a high schooler? Can’t he get girls his own age? Nori already deals with dipshits in high school. She doesn’t need one in the form of a twenty-two-year-old.”
I remember this one guy she told me about in her chemistry class last year. He’d tried calling her all the time while he was jerking off. It was gross. But she refused to give me a name.
Which was safer for the dipshit.
“Am I a dipshit?” he asks and I look at him.
“Whaa?”
“I’m a twenty-two-year-old guy who likes a girl younger than him. So, am I a dipshit?”
Pause. A moment to acknowledge that Bash just admitted he likes me.
At least, it better be me. Or else I will smack some sense upside his head.
Okay, moment over but not forgotten.
“No, but would you still like me if I was seventeen and in high school?”
“Depends.” He moves closer to me, gripping my arm and pulling us toward the couch. I tuck my legs under me and he spreads his legs apart. “If you acted like a girl who’s seventeen, then no. But if you were mature for your age, probably. Nori doesn’t seem like a kid; she’s three years younger than you, right?”
I hold up two fingers. She’s two years younger than me.
“Well, no offense, Firecracker, but you act more immature than she does.”
“How do you know? She was practically napping the entire night.” I give him a look, then a smile. “I do act like a child. But what’s wrong with not growing up when you can be young forever?”
“Never said there was. You just asked if I would date a seventeen-year-old and I’m telling you my answer.”
I pout. “It would have been better if
you just said no.”
“What’s the harm if he does like Nori?” Bash pulls me closer, my shoulder pressing into his side. Just like tonight at trivia. “You said it yourself, she doesn’t date because she’s too busy.”
I concede with a nod. Too tired to talk about this anymore. Plus, there are other things that we can talk about, instead.
“So, you like me?”
The look he gives me sends a shiver down my spine.
SHE THINKS SHE’S CUTE, ASKING me if I like her with that smile on her face. If she’s fishing for an answer, she isn’t going to get it.
No, I already said that I liked her. Now it’s time to show her.
Shifting around so my chest is facing her, I lean over. Closing the distance between us. Bringing our mouths closer and closer together.
Before my lips touch hers, I hear her sharp intake of breath and I can’t stop the smile that forms as I capture her lips, demonstrating to her just how much I like her.
Moving my mouth slowly over hers, I feel her body fall onto mine. Melting against my chest. Hooking an arm around her waist, I haul her up onto my lap so her thighs are on either side of mine.
Straddling me.
Hands move up her jean-clad thighs, I slide my fingers into her belt loops, keeping her close.
The tentative kiss I began quickly turns into a frenzy. Lips crash, tongues tangle, and bodies collide.
Her hands lace behind my neck and she rocks her lower body into mine. We both groan. She rocks again and I have to move my hands to her waist, holding her still.
She makes a strangled noise, pulling her mouth away from mine. She doesn’t go far.
Her hot, swollen mouth moves to my scruffy jaw, down my throat, kissing my bobbing Adam’s apple as I inhale a sharp breath. Her mouth moves further down, closer to my collarbone where she begins to suck on my skin. Hard.
My breathing is labored, but I’m able to find my voice enough to get out a breathy laugh and ask, “Trying to give me a hickey?”
“Maybe.” Her voice is a caress on my skin.
Taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I tilt her face up. Her eyes are hazy and heated; lust boils within the depths of her green eyes. “If I get one, so do you.”
My hands slide under her shirt and she stiffens, jerking off my lap so fast she trips and falls to the ground. I glare, confusion and concern conflicting with each other as I bend down to help her up. She scrambles away, holding her hands up. “Above the clothes action only.” Her tan skin washes out several colors as her eyes plead with me. Her voice is desperate and shaky when she says, “Please.”
It’s the please that worries me the most. I’d never force myself on her, on any woman. Whatever man does isn’t a man but a sick, twisted fuck who deserves to be castrated, among many more uncivilized punishments.
I force myself to soften my expression, pushing the confusion aside and focusing on the concern for her.
Emery is brave, so brave she surfs before the sun breaks the horizon. She says what’s on her mind, does what she wants, and doesn’t care what others think.
She’s her own person, so sure in her footing, but right now, she looks small.
Like a child afraid to fall asleep because of a monster hiding in the closet.
Scooting closer to the edge of the couch, I lean closer to Emery. She’s shaking. A horrible realization washes over me.
What if something happened to her? What if someone put their hands, or other parts, on her—unwelcomed?
Rage, fire-burning rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt tries to rise to the surface. I barely have it contained but try to keep my voice calm when I tell her, “Okay, Em, okay.” I fall to my knees in front of her, my tone soft. “You set the pace.”
I remember the party, how she stopped my hands from going under her clothes. And this past weekend when she had her panic attack. A lump forms in my throat. “Whatever you want to do or don’t do, that’s what we’ll do. I promise I won’t rush you or make you feel like you have to do something you’re not comfortable with. Just tell me what’s too much or if I cross the line with you.”
“Okay.” She nods, voice small. She won’t meet my eyes. Her gaze is focused on her hands that are splayed out on the carpet on either side of her.
Slowly, so slowly, so I don’t spook her, I scoot closer. I wrap my hands around her ankles, connecting us. I need to have part of her tethered to me so she feels my touch, knowing I won’t change or think of her in any other way, when I ask her, “Have you—have you been attacked, Emery?”
Forcing the words out feels like swallowing chunks of glass.
She freezes and my heart breaks.
Breaks into uncountable pieces for the girl in front of me, who’s brighter than any light I’ve ever seen, but now, this conversation, has dimmed her shine. I want it back. I release her ankles. “I promise I’ll never hurt you, Emery. I promise.”
“I know, Bash.” Her eyes grow wide and she sits up higher, pulling her legs to her chest. She reaches her hand out and touches my arm. “Bash,” she repeats and I cover her hand with mine, giving it a squeeze. “I wasn’t raped.”
My chest collapses and a wave of crashing relief comes down on me.
“But I was attacked.” So much for that relief. The fire is slowly building again, but I don’t ask questions, seeing her struggle for words. Emery wants to talk about this. I see the need to in her eyes.
She has to get this out at her own pace. I won’t force her. For her, I have all the patience, even if I want to trash every piece of furniture in this room and then go find the fucker who hurt her.
Both of her hands rub her face and she makes a sound between a sob and a laugh. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to tell you. It’s not like it’s a secret. If you just searched my name you would already know. But you don’t look at me like I’ll break or I can’t handle something because the memories are too much.” She’s talking in circles, not making sense, but I sit beside her, squeezing her knee again. My thumb is moving across her skin in rhythmic strokes.
“Anyway,” she goes on, “I got attacked by two sharks during a competition. It was pretty bad and my parents made me stop surfing. I was reckless when I was younger, still am. But my body has scars, a lot of scars, and I am really weird about people seeing them. I’ve accepted my body for what it is, but I just don’t like showing them to other people. The stares, the whispers, the questions are just something I don’t feel like dealing with day-to-day.”
“And if you don’t like people seeing them, you don’t like people touching them,” I fill in.
Her reaction makes more sense now and I like the reasoning behind it a lot more than my initial thoughts. But I wished to God she’d never had to go through a shark attack.
As uncommon as they are, they still happen. Even I forget how dangerous sharks can be since I see so many when I surf.
Fuck, I’ve seen them in the actual waves I’m riding before and have even fallen on one or two in my time.
“How old were you when it happened?”
“Sixteen, but I didn’t get back into the water until I was seventeen.”
“Two years? You’ve been surfing alone for two years?”
Again, she nods. “After a few months of being lonely, I fell into a routine and hardly noticed. Until you came along and missed that day. That was when I realized just how lonely I had been. It’s been nice having you around.”
Lonely. In a sport full of other people, we’ve both been so alone.
Isolated.
“The first time I surfed in months was the day you crashed into me.”
She blinks. “The morning after the party?”
I nod. “I came here because I needed a break from everything. You missed surfing so much you came back, but I was starting to hate it so that’s why I left.”
“Going pro isn’t all that fun, is it?” She scoots over, pressing her body to me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Dad always said that s
urfing was the only part of the job he liked.”
“The endorsement money isn’t bad either,” I tease, then soberly add, “For about two and a half years I’ve hated surfing. I was bored with my dream job. It’s what I lived for. But somewhere along the way I stopped living and just existed. I went through the motions because I had to and it’s been hard to get back ever since.”
“But you always look like you’re having fun when we’re out there.”
“It’s hard not to when you’re there.”
She inhales, looking into my eyes. I refuse to look away.
We stay like that until a phone, my phone, rings and breaks the silence around us.
But even then, I hold her eyes as I reach for my phone and answer.
That’s the move that proves I made a mistake. For the second time, to be exact. If I checked the caller I.D., I would have seen who was calling and could have avoided answering. I made the same mistake at Dez’s. I paid for it then and I’m paying for it now.
Whatever good mood I was in is now gone with my mother’s voice in my ear.
I give Emery’s knee one last squeeze as I stand up. I mouth I’ll be right back and am moving out of the living room and onto the porch. Fast.
“Sebastian, you need to come home.” Her icy voice contrasts the humidity of the Florida weather. “Now.”
Groaning, I roll over and roughly turn off the alarm on my phone.
My body aches.
My neck pinches.
And my bed feels uncomfortable as hell. Like a plank of wood.
“Uuung.” With eyes shut, I roll onto my side despite the stiffness of my body, an arm stretched out looking for my pillow. Instead of a pillow, I’m met with a softness of another kind.
The softness of a woman.
Opening an eye, I see the soft waves of Emery’s brownish-blonde hair as they tumble down the back of my T-shirt. The one I gave her last night when she got too cold in hers. The long sleeves were rolled up to the crook of the elbow.
Her arms are folded and tucked under her head, breathing steady. My hand touches her side, making her shiver, skin freckling with goose bumps.
Break Line Page 13
