by Nicole Snow
Damn her, she's right. I look down, eyeing my hands on the wheel. If I could just try to set things right with my dumb brother, and find a way to have a normal interaction with Trent, I'd have peace. A clean slate. Probably some secret zen state that'd make me work miracles.
“Screw it. Let's sit here until they come out. I want to get this over with.”
Her eyes light up and she sucks in a breath. “Holy shit. You mean?”
I do. I'm so mad, so confused, so screwed up by everything happening in my life that I'm actually taking her advice.
“We'll go out for the day, I'll catch Jace, and we'll talk. You'll join in for moral support. And Trent –”
“I'll help smooth things over with him!” Linds says, cutting me off. She's way too chipper.
I don't know what happens next.
But I'm ready to face the good, bad, and ugly. Everything that's been pointed at my head like a loaded pistol, clenched by a smirking, rage-worthy, sinfully sexy boy who kissed and ran years ago.
It's less than two hours since the huge white and green ferry let us off on the island, and I'm already abandoned.
Linds disappears. With Jace.
Jace, of all people. Stranding me outside this darling little fish and chips bar with a lemon-something mock-tail in my hand. Alcohol free because I'm too dang young to drink.
Pity.
Jace was all smiles the whole way down. It's the first time in months I've seen him act normal. He got my hopes up, thinking maybe I could have a heart-to-heart talk with my brother somewhere beautiful and remote enough to knock some sense into him.
But he had a different agenda. I wanted to believe he was trying so bad I didn't see it coming.
The hand under the table. The looks behind my back. The way Lindsey laughed at his crude jokes, just a little too hard.
I've been betrayed.
Trent and I finally have something in common after years of estrangement: rolling our eyes at our friends as hard as we possibly can.
Not that I'm on his side. No way.
Hell, I'm glad his ego takes a beating, even if it means Linds just disappeared with my Neanderthal brother. She shot him down. Rejected the self-described genius with the baby blue eyes and rocket hips, which helplessly drew my eyes every time he moved in front of me on the ferry ride here.
There's only one way this ends: savage disappointment. Plus my best friend finding her own way home.
As for Mr. Usher, I'll pretend I'm not this pathetic. Tell him I'm getting drunk whenever he emerges from the town's little streets and kitsch shops surrounded in evergreen.
Totally not nursing a non-alcoholic mocktail. Totally not mourning my broken trust with Linds. Totally not bamboozled into thinking I lost a chance at making my dumb brother act like an adult.
Totally whatever it takes to see Trent with a straight face and ice cold eyes that don't want to – what was the word Linds so eloquently used? – eye-fuck him?
Jesus.
No. Nope. Never.
“Looks like you're ready for a drink,” a voice rumbles behind me. Speak of the very suave devil. He's returned too soon.
“Uh, hello?” I hold up my glass with the half-depleted mocktail, rattling the ice.
“No, Presh. I mean a real one. Hand it over.” He practically rips it out of my hand, fishing around in his pocket. When the small silver flask comes out, I gasp. “Whoa. Here I thought Jace was the drunk in our group...”
He looks up, cocking an eyebrow, stopping after what smells like vodka splashes in my glass. “We came out here to take the edge off, right? Somebody has to help get you young'uns toasted.”
He throws two more shots in my glass and slides it back to me. I take a sip through my straw and instantly back off, hacking up a lung. “Blech!”
“Lightweight,” Trent growls, his smirk becoming a genuine smile. “Let me get you some water.”
He runs into the bar while I pin a new badge of shame to my chest. So much for the tough girl act. While I'm waiting, I force myself to take another swig of the drink.
Up until now, I've only had sickly sweet wine coolers and mimosas snuck from Lindsey's mom.
I smack my lips, adjusting to the acrid taste on my tongue. He isn't kidding about the edge coming off. This stuff sandblasts it away, roaring in my blood, making me giddy and lightheaded in the five minutes it takes him to come back with a dark beer in his hand and a pitcher of water.
“Drink this,” Trent says, noticing my glass is a lot lower. “You'll feel like shit if you don't learn to keep your stuff balanced” He pushes a tall glass of water toward me, banging his beer against it. “Here's to science.”
I burst out laughing for the first time since this disaster began. “God, you're a dork, Usher. Since when did you study bartending? Thought you were doing physics and engineering or some crap that's way over everybody's heads? No wonder Linds ran off with Jace.”
Okay, that was mean. It's supposed to be.
Just once, I want to see his face show a twist of regret. A little sour jealousy. A smudge of regret that he turned me away years ago.
It's the least he deserves for putting the bug in Lindsey's ear, dragging me out here, getting my hopes up for all sorts of stupid things. Also, putting us in a situation where drowning my regrets in long sips from his flask is suddenly way too appealing.
“They're shit out of luck, Amy Kay. All the hotels on the island are maxed out. He'll have to wait for the next ferry if he wants to get his dick wet.” Trent leans back in his chair, taking a calm pull off his beer, undaunted by my insults. “I'm sorry for all this. Thought it'd help, coming out here, after the bullshit that went down this morning...”
“Forget it. Don't apologize. It was a mess the second I caught you staring at Lindsey, trying to use my almost-estranged brother to weasel your way between her legs.” Wow. Even I'm surprised how scorned I sound. “Sorry. I mean, you're a jerk, but no worse than Jace, really.”
Trent's smiley smirk just gets broader. He sets his beer down, leans forward, and cages me in his pristine blue gaze. “She took the bait. It's adorable, though, that you think I want to lay your stuck-up friend so bad.”
My mouth falls open, but the words won't come.
My head spins, and not just from vodka. I glance at the liquid in my cup, wondering if I just hallucinated.
Not wanting to screw Linds?
What the holy hell is he trying to say?
“I wanted you to hash it out with Jace. Saw how bad you needed it after he waltzed into the kitchen, acting like a fucking idiot, cutting you down in front of us all. A woman needs to give and take with her own kin, darling. He deserves every punch you've got waiting. But that's not the only reason I brought you out here, Presh.” His stare only deepens.
Oh God, here it comes, even though I don't know what it really is. My lungs start hyperventilating before he even says the next four words.
“I need one thing.”
He leaves me in suspense. Wants me to beg. I try to resist, but the drink and his eyes and the screaming need to know are far too much. My lips move, tasting how much I hate obsessing over this man.
“Tell me,” I whisper, throat dry as cotton.
“Exactly, darling. That's what I'm waiting for: you tell me exactly what I need to do so that time we kissed finally stops being a problem. I want to drain the bad blood, Amy Kay.” His eyes narrow, blazing blue pinpricks stabbing through me.
“You're crazy. I don't know what you're talking about. That was years ago, Trent. Years. Long since over. You think I'm still –”
“Yes. You've treated me like I barely exist for the past couple years, Presh. Like my very presence is pure poison. You've kept your distance no matter how often I came by to see your folks, or how many times Jace got himself in trouble, how many times I tried like hell to get his dumbass back in shape. You're still hung up on that time we locked lips alone on the Wilkie.”
Face, meet table. That's what I'd love to do, just
fall into it.
It'd be a mercy. Being knocked out cold would end this conversation that shouldn't be happening.
But you came out here for your brother and Trent, a small voice in the back of my head reminds me. Don't chicken out. Don't give him exactly what he wants.
I swallow, draining the rest of my sour drink, hoping liquid courage is really a thing. “Okay. So, maybe you're right. Maybe a small, teensy part of me never got over how you kissed me, and then brushed it off like it was no big deal. Maybe I didn't like being told to just forget, like I'm just a dumb kid, or that there's no way it ever meant anything. If that's the issue, then maybe I'm guilty, Trent.” I pause, hating how the vodka makes my cheeks a brighter red. “Convict me. Will that make you happy?”
“You were too young, Amy Kay. Too damn young,” he bites off. “Even if there weren't a thousand other reasons why making that thing a repeat would've been stark raving mad.”
His logic has a brutal precision. I hate it. I was too young. He was too close. We couldn't do more.
“What choice did I have? You're gonna hold it against me forever, turning you away? Knowing us doing anything, exploring what happened on that ship, would have blown both our lives to kingdom come?”
Too many questions. Too much truth weighing on my battered heart. I twist my face away.
My fingers tighten on my glass, numb from the cool touch. I want to hurl it at his head, the last distraction I've got left before the pain stinging at my eyes seeps out. “That easy, huh? Just like that, you finally give me the truth? God, Trent. What took so long? If you'd just been honest –”
“I was a kid, too. Tried to let you down as easy as I knew how then. It never would've worked, Presh. Not then. Me, you, our family in between, Jace...Christ, especially Jace!” he pauses, staring into his beer, before he takes a swig. “Your brother's got problems. That's the other reason I wanted to get you alone today, so we could talk in private. I'm on your side, Presh. I want to – hey, where do you think you're going?“
I'm standing, every nerve in my body burning. I need oxygen. I also really need an escape. Mostly, I need time.
There's only one way out, a narrow path winding around the rocks stretching down to the marina. I stomp past him, so ready to be done.
But Trent Usher has other ideas. A second before I'm out of reach, his hand snatches at my dress and tugs.
“Let me go!”
I whimper. I fight. I'm far too weak for his magnificent hands, and I go down, falling into his grasp.
“What's gotten into you, Precious?” His words are a demanding growl. “Talk to me, Amy Kay. I just bled the fuck all over us.”
“Crap I'm not ready to talk about, especially not with you.” My eyes pinch shut. I wonder if I'll ever be ready in this lifetime. “Why couldn't you just leave it alone, Trent? If you're worried about my brother, then go to mom and dad. What can I do? I'm not a freaking shrink. Him acting out the way he does, that chip on his shoulder and screw everything attitude...of course I worry constantly. Wonder if he'll get himself in too deep and mess up his whole life, and maybe ours, too.”
I shake my head, losing the fight. Hating how good, how right, how comforting his big arms feel on mine. Shifting on his lap, I sigh. “You want to help for once? Fine. Get me another drink.”
“You've had your fill, Presh. Water's all you're getting next.” Non-negotiable, his sharp look says. Ass. I wish I could keep believing that's all he's doing, looking out for me. “Fuck. I didn't mean this to go all sideways, honest. Thought we could sit down like grownups, clear the air, try to put this shit to bed.”
“Well, I'm sorry, orphan boy. Now you know there're some things a big brain and good looks can't fix.” I'm biting my tongue, blinking back tears, wishing I had the reflexes to wriggle out of his arms. Wishing so bad.
I blink, replaying my words. “Sorry for the orphan thing. Again. Low blow. That's what got us into trouble the first time, right?”
He isn't even mad. His eyes are a sad mix of frustration, warmth, hope. They're beautiful and interesting and so unrelenting.
He lifts me up, but never lets me off his lap. I guess being glued to his rock hard body is part of my punishment for cutting him down.
It's the same with his eyes. I watch every change, every ripple, every small prism of light catching and turning over as his brain shifts, trying to figure out how best to deal with this emotionally strung out baby in his arms. “Presh...”
“Don't bother. Picking words, I mean. Just spit it out. We're talking, aren't we? I'd love for this to be done.”
“We're way past that. Fuck words.” There's a long, drawn out second where I don't have a clue what he means.
Then his grip tightens, his fingers lock on my upper arms, and he pulls me into those explosive, impatient lips I've dreamed about for two years in the wilderness.
Sweet Jesus.
They're as good as I remember. Better, maybe.
No, definitely.
There's no hesitation. No resistance. His lips take mine on a hypnotic dance I barely match.
I'm melting into him. Flesh going slack, surrender, all while tears steam down my cheeks, whimpering the first time his tongue touches mine.
There's no stopping it then.
I'm kissing him back. Biting his bottom lip. Climbing his tall, lean, hard wrack of shoulders.
Climbing home.
If this asshole, this marvel, meant to condense two years of messed up tension in a sixty second super nova, mission accomplished. I'm wet, trembling, and aching.
I hate him with every fiber of my being. Somehow it makes me want him more.
“Ass-hole. Why?” I whisper, as soon as he breaks the kiss.
“Because I'm done dicking around with the past, Precious. Sick and tired of watching you all tangled up in it, too, never moving on with your life. If this is what it takes to make you forget, then fuck it all. I'm in. I'll throw you against the nearest wall and we'll bang it out till you scratch my back raw.”
This isn't even insane anymore. It's toxic.
But I can't stop my lips from colliding with his, once more, this time with so much feeling it leaves my nipples pebbled. Every end of me wants his hands, his mouth, his touch.
A touch that would've been equal parts unbearable and unthinkable mere minutes ago.
“Just...help me up,” I whisper, loving how he lifts my body with ease, cradles it for a second, and then sets me back on my feet. “I need to take a walk.”
His eyes shift over, lock on, and there's another slap-worthy smirk on his lips. “So, no to the banging part? Really, darling? After how well we fit together?”
“Don't tempt me, Mr. Usher. I'm not sold on one kiss. Not even an amazing, heartfelt, mind-blowing kiss. You'll have to try harder before I let my heart get stuck in places too deep to climb out of.”
“Don't I know it, Presh? Don't I want to know you like I haven't for two fucking years? Come on.” Seizing my hand, he pulls forward, leading us into town.
6
Into the Fire (Trent)
I'm outside the guesthouse tucked behind her parents' mansion. It's been tit-for-tat for weeks, ever since Bainbridge, when we started something very fucking dangerous.
I should've known one kiss would lead to...I don't even know.
More kisses, certainly. Hotter, fiercer, tongue lashing kisses, the kind that make her whimper and bring an instant growl up my throat.
The kind that keep me up at night after a cold shower that does nothing, dick sleeved in my fist, beating off to the day she'll take every inch of me.
It led to hands. Fingers. The many times they've driven up her dress or through her shirt, thumbing those pert nipples haunting my wet dreams for fuck only knows how long.
So close to having her naked, owned, marking every inch of her.
Still too damn far.
Just when I think she's giving in, Presh bats my hands away, whispering the reasons why we can't bring this thing home.<
br />
It's always the same: Jace is too around, her parents might see, or mine, or even ma's dogs.
We're too public, too pressed for time, but I know deep down it's bullshit.
It comes down to her being afraid, not yet ready to seal the best deal we'll ever make.
She's afraid to let me have her cherry.
Shit. If I'm honest, deep down, then maybe I'm a little scared, too.
Because leaving this – whatever this is – a second time would be painful. Brutal, really, after rekindling a fire that should've died years ago. And after fucking, our bodies locked together, tongue thrashing her in places I've wanted to explore forever up close and personal, there's no coming back.
Sanity, gone. And reason with it. And every fucked up reason we shouldn't.
I know deep down there's nothing that'll pull us apart after we go to bed.
Not Jace, not our folks, not even her leaving for Stanford this fall while Jace and me head north again to Bellingham.
Good thing I've spent twenty years throat-punching my fears, and I'm not about to let them get the best of me now. Especially when it's midnight, and I haven't been able to sleep since Amy Kay's last kiss went burning through my brain.
That's what's brought me to the Chenocott place without her parents' knowing. I left Jace passed out with the dogs, confident he'll sleep late into the morning after dragging himself in half-drunk from his latest fuckfest with Lindsey.
They couldn't find a place on Bainbridge a few weeks ago, but of course it hasn't stopped them. There's a wicked irony in Jace getting pussy while I'm just pussy-footing around, letting Presh feed me excuses, my dick turning midnight blue because I'm too afraid to pull her into my arms and leap off the edge.
No more. That ends tonight, I tell myself, parking my beat up F150 under the massive oak tree outside her parents' gate. The back of my truck is still full of solar panels and lab equipment. It's an eyesore in this neighborhood, where median incomes blow past a million dollars easy. Thankfully, it's late, it's dark, and it's the perfect cover to hide the truck and then climb sneakily over the gate.
