Summer's Last Breath (The Emerald Series)

by Kimberly James

  “You sonofabitch,” Derrick said to Noah through clenched teeth. Noah’s expression remained impassive and unimpressed. He hadn’t even cracked a smile.

  “What man?” he asked, still working on his sketch while Derrick’s almost bare ass was showing. Mr. Foley was swatting at the now retreating bugs with a broom.

  “I thought that only worked with sand fleas and crabs,” I said.

  “Distant cousins.” Noah shrugged.

  Derrick finally pulled his pants back up and everyone more or less settled down. Mr. Foley called Derrick to his desk and they were involved in a heated conversation. Derrick kept glaring and pointing at Noah. Noah ignored them both.

  “Thanks,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder, knowing his little performance was more about cheering me up than getting back at Derrick. “I needed that.”

  “Did it help?” he asked his voice laced with genuine concern.

  “Not really.” I sighed. “But thanks for trying.”

  If anything, I felt worse. I spent the remainder of class with my head on Noah’s shoulder, hypnotized by the subtle movements of his pencil. When he finished, he’d drawn a beach scene I thought people would pay money for. It was that good. It made me want to cry and I was so not a crier. At least, I didn’t used to be.

  The bell finally rang, and as usual, Noah made a beeline for the door. For the first time since I started playing volleyball, I wasn’t looking forward to practice.

  * * *

  “Shaw, can I talk to you a minute?” Coach yelled from the other side of the gym before I could escape into the locker room. My performance had been less than stellar.

  “You shouldn’t have made Becca cry,” Ally sing-songed over my shoulder.

  I gave her a scathing look, but she only stuck her tongue out at me. She was about the only person immune to my powers of intimidation. At least somebody on this team had a backbone. Becca sure didn’t.

  “Well, maybe Becca shouldn’t be so sensitive,” I muttered under my breath as I walked across the gleaming floor. Besides, there was no crying in volleyball. And it wasn’t my fault Becca couldn’t dig her way out of a box of packing peanuts.

  “Everything okay with you?” Coach asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, my tone on the defensive side. I pulled my shoulders back and wiped at a dribble of sweat on my cheek.

  “I understand you get frustrated, Erin. You have talent. You take this game seriously, and I appreciate that. I wish every girl on the team took the game as seriously as you. It would make my job easier. But I’m the coach, not you.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  I’d let my frustration over the situation with my dad and Jamie get the better of me, and I’d taken it out on a teammate. I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I couldn’t help that I was having a bad day, and that was being generous. I’d sucked. Like seriously. A kill shot hit me in the head. I hadn’t even seen it coming. My head was still pounding. I netted every serve. Every. Single. One.

  “I’ve just got some stuff on my mind. No big deal.”

  “You sure?” Her eyebrows rose into her highlighted bangs as if she didn’t believe me. Coach Hall was a classically built volleyball player. Tall, with arms and legs that went on forever. A year ago, volleyball wasn’t even on my radar, not seriously anyway. She’d spotted me playing beach volleyball with Donovan and Tate and a group of their friends on a Sunday afternoon. Pick-up games were pretty easy to find, and I’d had a knack for the game since the first time I’d stepped onto a court, sand or otherwise. Coach Hall had been sitting with her husband at the Tiki bar that overlooked the play area, sipping Margaritas. Recognizing me as one of her students, she’d actively started recruiting me for the school’s team the next day.

  “Yes ma’am, I’m sure,” I replied. And then I felt a little guilty for giving her attitude. She’d done everything she could to help me develop the skills I had. She’d even offered a couple of solid recommendations to the two club teams I was interested in, knowing it would mean I probably couldn’t play for her anymore.

  “It’s not like you to bring your troubles to the court. We’ve got a tough schedule next week, followed by the Area Tournament. I need you on top of your game.”

  “I know and I will be.” I dropped my arms and tried to erase the absolutely witchy face I’d been deliberately sporting since practice started. I was miserable and wanted everyone else to be miserable too. And here Coach was being nice to me when she should have been ripping me a new one. I wasn’t so absorbed in my own drama that I didn’t see that.

  “It’s not just about the game. I know I’ve been pushing you hard, but that’s only because I believe you have a future in this game, if you want it. But the game isn’t everything. If I’ve put too much pressure on you, if it’s a boy, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

  “There’s no boy.” Technically, that was the truth, which was why I was in this crappy mood because there was no boy. “I can handle it. It was just one bad day. And thanks, really. I’ll be better tomorrow,” I said, determined to mean it.

  Jamie was just a boy.

  Tomorrow would be better.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tomorrow wasn’t better. It sucked. Again. I was so far out of the zone, I might as well have been in outer space. I was mad at my dad. I was mad at myself. I was disappointed in Jamie for not answering my texts. I understood he was upset, and he had a right to be. He didn’t have the right to ignore me.

  While taking a shower after practice, I’d decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. What irritated me the most was that I’d thought Jamie and I were in this together. But one talk with my dad had sent him running. Well, I wouldn’t let him. I would sit in this very spot where we’d shared a picnic behind his house and wait for him. I’d wait all night if I had to.

  I’d expected Jamie to come striding out of the surf—his place of refuge. Didn’t matter if he was happy or sad or angry, all things led to the Deep for Jamie, the one place I couldn’t go.

  When he finally showed up, he was running up the beach, the sun setting at his back. His quadriceps bunched with every long stride as he tracked over the sand, his jaw set and eyes hard with concentration. I’d seen that look so many times over the last few months, the look he got when he was determined to prove something.

  His head jerked up when he spotted me and he slowed to a walk, putting his hands on his lean hips without a single tell in his expression. Was he happy to see me? Was he mad? Either way, I had to resist the urge to run and throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest. He stopped before he reached me and turned to face the Gulf, breathing deeply, sweat glistening over his bare chest and back.

  “Jamie,” I said, pushing to my feet. A wave of guilt overcame me. I blamed myself for this mess with one thought, and prepared to fight for him with the next. I walked toward him, wary, as though I were approaching an injured or captured animal and didn’t want to spook him.

  A trickle of sweat dangled on the end of his nose. He didn’t smell like the guys at school after P.E. Even hot and sweaty, all I wanted was to snuggle up to him. And when he finally fixed his troubled green eyes on me, all my trepidation evaporated on the slight breeze. He looked about as miserable as I felt, and I was afraid there wasn’t anything I could say or do to change that. Why did this suddenly feel so impossible?

  “Erin, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why? What’s changed?” I grabbed his wrist and attempted to tug him around to face me. He didn’t budge, holding himself deliberately aloof, shutting me out. “Why won’t you answer my texts? Two days ago you said you couldn’t stay away from me and now you won’t even answer a text?”

  And still he didn’t say a word. Time passed with only the sound of the waves splashing on the shore and the thud of my heart. Why wouldn’t he say anything?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “This is all my fault.”

  “No, it’s mine.” He turned his head toward me
, eyes set in defeat as they searched my face as though he were committing it to memory. “I knew better, and…”

  “And what?” I asked, afraid, so afraid this was it.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, dropping his gaze. “Maybe your dad will cool off in a few weeks, but until then…”

  “What?”

  “I have to respect the suspension. And you’re part of it.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up. “Maybe we aren’t such a good idea right now.“

  “You don’t think we’re a good idea?” I parroted, confused. “I thought we’d decided to stick together. Convince my dad together. I’m sorry you were suspended from the team. I really am. But he’ll come around.”

  “It’s not that simple. If this were just about the suspension, I could live with that. I don’t need permission from Marshall to be what I am. I don’t need his approval.”

  But that was a lie. I’d seen him work his ass off to get my dad’s approval, and the approval of his teammates. And now he’d lost it because of me.

  “I won’t come between you,” he continued. “We aren’t worth coming between you and your dad. I won’t do that.”

  I wondered for a second whether I’d heard him right. And damn if my eyes didn’t sting with tears, and then it was I who was searching the Gulf water, thinking how amazing it would be to escape into its endlessness.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, sounding even more miserable, something I hadn’t thought possible. This wasn’t how I wanted our talk to go down. He was supposed to have been so happy to see me after our two days apart that he’d run to me, and take me in his arms and promise never to let anything come between us again.

  “Why do you get to decide this?” I wiped at my face. “Why don’t I get a say?”

  “Because I don’t think you understand what’s at stake for you. My dad’s gone. Every day I wish he weren’t. I’m not letting you risk your relationship with your dad over us. It’s too important.”

  “Little late to be thinking about that now,” I said, even though I knew deep down he was right. I hadn’t really thought my dad would suspend Jamie. I’d believed I’d be able to talk him out of it.

  “I know it is and I’m sorry. But I already told you I would wait.” His lips lilted on a smile and it was like a string tied to my heart. “I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”

  “So this is it? We just go back to being friends?”

  He snorted. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “Then what? You keep ignoring me?”

  He took my hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the backs of my fingers one by one.

  “I won’t. I can’t. I’ve been forcing myself to stay land side afraid if I got in the water, I’d head straight to your house.” He tucked my hand tightly in his, holding it to his chest. “So let’s agree to dial it back for a few weeks.”

  A few weeks sounded like forever. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The volleyball tournament was coming up. I’d be busy with practice and school anyway.

  And he’d promised to wait.

  “Okay,” I conceded. It had only been a few days, and already I hated the tension riding the air in my house when my dad and I were in the same room. Not talking. Both being stubborn. I loved Jamie, of that I was sure, but I loved my dad too, and I wondered how, at only sixteen, love had already grown so complicated, when I’d always thought when it finally happened, it would be so easy.

  “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.” He led me from the beach and straight for my Tahoe as though he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. But I felt his dread as he tightened his hand around mine. He wasn’t ready to let me go either, and that made leaving a little easier to bear.

  He reached around me to open the door, but before I climbed inside, I peered into his face and the words slipped out before I could stop them. But I wouldn’t have wanted to stop them anyway, just in case he didn’t wait.

  “I love you.”

  “Erin.” He pulled me into this chest, and I buried my nose there, my arms tight around his waist. What kind of loser tells the man who wants to take it easy for a few weeks that she loves him for the first time?

  A pathetic one. A desperate one.

  But I didn’t feel desperate in his arms. I didn’t feel pathetic. He made me feel as if I were so much more than I was.

  “Please tell me you’ll still feel this way in a few weeks,” he said, pressing his mouth in my hair, gently cupping the back of my head.

  “I will always feel this way,” I said, and just as his face started to descend toward mine in a kiss I thought would never come, a truck pulled into the driveway, the headlights cutting over us in a swath of blinding light.

  Donovan. He stared at us through the windshield for a few seconds, then slowly opened the door and hopped out. Jamie stepped away from me as Donovan’s eyes bounced between the two of us.

  “I heard about the suspension,” he said, his tone cautious, a hardness growing in his eyes as he accurately took in the situation. “Marshall was pretty tight-lipped about the reason for it. And I can see why.”

  “Donovan, it’s not like that,” Jamie said. “We—"

  Donovan hauled off and punched him. I supposed Jamie could have easily deflected it, but he knew Donovan needed to get his frustration out. A fresh trickle of blood sprouted on Jamie’s lip.

  “I deserved that,” he said, swiping at his lip with the back of his hand. He stared at the smear of blood on his skin.

  “No, you didn’t,” I said, jumping between them, which was kind of like jumping between a boulder and a mountain. “What’s wrong with you, Donovan? You want to hit somebody? Hit me.”

  Donovan pretty much ignored me, pushing me out of the way so he could get all up in Jamie’s face. He shoved him with both hands and Jamie stumbled backward. “I went to bat for you, man. I argued with my CO. I should have known.”

  “Sorry, man,” Jamie said, the dejection in his voice cutting my heart. I’d done this. Cost him the team. Cost him the respect he’d worked so hard to earn from the men who might see him as less.

  “This is what? The second time? You’re not that special,” Donovan sneered in disappointment. Then he pointed his finger at me, spit flying off his lips. “I told you not to screw this up for him.”

  “It’s not her fault,” Jamie said, eyes sparking with renewed energy. He wouldn’t stick up for himself, but clearly, he would for me.

  “Yeah, whatever, Native,” Donovan said dismissively, throwing a backward wave over his shoulder as if he’d had enough of us. He climbed into his truck, and without another look at us peeled out of the driveway, his tires squealing.

  My dad had been right. The guys were pissed, and I knew Donovan was just the beginning. Watching the taillights of his truck disappear at the end of the road, all I felt was guilty. Jamie had said he’d give up the team for me, but that wasn’t right. The team meant a lot to him and I’d known that.

  This is what you do.

  You stick up for your teammates. You watch their back. You make them better. You don’t compromise the integrity of the team, the integrity of the relationships, and now I’d gone and screwed them all up. My team. His team.

  Because I loved a man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting when I got home, but my dad had dinner ready. My favorite—spaghetti. His one specialty that didn’t involve the grill. A sure sign he was making an effort to mend things between us.

  While I’d been confronting him in his office the other night, I’d thought, for a split second, about threatening to go stay with my mom. I’d never used that tactic before, mostly because my mom made it clear I was always welcomed to stay with her anytime I wanted, but I was never, under any circumstances, to use her house as an escape to avoid dealing with my dad. From the beginning of their break-up, they’d been united in their insistence that I never use one of them against the other, and I’d never been tempted to until
he’d informed me I couldn’t see Jamie anymore.

  Walking into the house, permeating with the aroma of oregano and basil, I was glad I hadn’t crossed that line, which would have only compounded an already complicated situation. At least I’d made one good decision over the last forty-eight hours, one not based purely on emotion.

  “Smells good,” I said, letting my gym bag plop onto the kitchen tiles as I slid onto one of the stools. A huge green salad sat on the counter and I picked a cucumber out of the bowl.

  “Thought you’d probably be hungry,” he said, grabbing a couple of plates from the cabinet and setting them on the counter. “How was practice?”

  “Good,” I said. Crunching the cucumber, I reached for a sliver of carrot. They looked hand cut and not the kind from the bag. He’d gone to a lot of trouble.

  He also wasn’t fooled. He was well aware I’d had a rough couple of days, and I was aware he had too. If I were being objective, I would have to admit my dad was an extremely fair-minded man. He was always willing to give someone a second chance. He didn’t set arbitrary rules. He strove to instill loyalty in his men as a matter of character, and Jamie’s disobedience was an affront to my dad’s ability to inspire that depth of loyalty, including my own. This wasn’t just Jamie’s failure; it was his too.

  “Thanks for cooking,” I said after he’d dished me a plate of noodles and sauce. It was as close to an apology as I willing to give. Because my dad was right. Seeing Donovan’s reaction had only brought that home. Donovan was right to be angry. Jamie was right to put an end to us, even if it was only temporary. And here I was thinking I was all grown-up, when I was still making little girl decisions.