Changing Tides (Kill Devil Hills Book 2)

by Sarah Darlington

  “Stop,” she said, cutting me off. “Don’t say that last part before you know how I feel.”

  Oh, God. If she told me she’d decided she liked women instead of men after all, I didn’t know what I’d do. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m in love with you too.”

  Oh God, there it was. My chest felt soft and slippery, warm even in this cold, as she said those words and then as she grabbed my neck to pull my lips to her lips. She kissed me and it felt like breathing. We were still on the same page. Everything was fine. Lifting her up in my arms, continuing to kiss her, I carried her in the opposite direction. I needed to get her inside where it was warm and safe.

  Back inside, I could hear all the commotion still happening upstairs, and I knew we’d join the others in a moment, but for a few a precious minutes I had Ellie alone and to myself. Taking her hands in mine, I moved them under my shirt and pressed them against my stomach. I was warm and they were freezing against my skin. Ellie laughed at my attempt to warm her up, melting in against my body, holding me tight.

  “Can I hear it again?” she whispered, all smiles now.

  I realized now what had really been upsetting her earlier. She’d needed to hear it then. She needed to hear it again now too.

  “I love you,” I told her.

  THE END

  Please keep reading for a preview of the next novel in Sarah Darlington’s Kill Devil Hills Series, Pulled Under.

  About the Author:

  Sarah Darlington lives in Virginia with her husband and son. She's a former flight attendant, navy brat, constant day-dreamer, wannabe photographer, and an avid scrapbooker. She loves to travel and is working on visiting all 50 states.

  Sarah Darlington Online:

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  Facebook

  Books by Sarah Darlington:

  He Belongs with Me

  Leo Maddox

  Kill Devil Hills Series:

  Kill Devil Hills

  Changing Tides

  Coming Summer 2015: Pulled Under (Book #3)

  Coming 2016: Adrift (Book #4)

  Acknowledgements:

  When I wrote Kill Devil Hills, I never intended to give Ellie her own story. Rhett’s story was supposed to come second. But after deciding I wanted Ben to still be alive, I thought Ellie would be the perfect person to introduce us to him. So, I started writing her story and it was only supposed to be a novella. Nathanial wasn’t supposed to exist. Actually, at that point, I didn’t even know that Ellie was bisexual. But this idea formed in my head, which turned into this novel, and I had to explore the possibly surrounding one thought: what if Ellie liked a man—and not just any man, but the most masculine, most ruggedly handsome, most famous, movie-star. Sometimes it takes someone like Nathanial to help us explore boundaries we never knew needed to be explored.

  I have a few people I’d like to thank. First being, the two ladies who read this book paragraph by paragraph, chapter by chapter, as I wrote it—Amy and Krystal. I couldn’t have done it without your constant feedback and support from the first sentence to the last word. Thank you so much!

  I want to thank my husband for his support. My mom, my Aunt Michelle (I hoped you liked your cameo), my sister, and my cousin—for reading and for always being encouraging. Sommer Stein for her beautiful covers! And last but not least, my wonderful street team and blogger friends! Thank you for helping promote/share/pimp my novels.

  That’s all! Keep reading for a preview of the next novel in the Kill Devil Hills series…

  PULLED UNDER

  (Kill Devil Hills #3)

  by Sarah Darlington

  CHAPTER 1:

  3 years ago…

  SYDNEY

  Today was officially the worst day of my life. Call me melodramatic, but I think I was going to die. Was it possible to die of heartbreak? I think maybe it was because the pain in my chest was insurmountable—like a giant boulder sitting on my heart, smashing it into a flat pancake.

  Ironic because John had made me pancakes for breakfast this morning. I’d woken up hopeful and excited, given that today was my sixteenth birthday. Today I was a woman…um, or at least that was what I’d always thought my Sweet Sixteen would feel like. John, my big brother and my guardian, had surprised me with breakfast. Homemade pancakes with blueberries—exactly the way our Nanny Kristen used to make for us when we were young. They were wonderful pancakes, surprisingly, since John was a horrible cook. Then I’d gone off to school.

  And it all started off as a regular enough day—complete with Honors classes that were admittedly over my head, lunch with my favorite teacher, Ms. Whittle, and kids who didn’t know nor care what my name was. Needless to say, I was about as irrelevant at my school as irrelevant comes. But life was good. Because there was Ben.

  Ben was that boy at our high school. Arguably the most handsome, most athletic, and most popular guy among a sea of frogs. The one girls like me dreamed about and the one other boys wished they could be. And…he knew my name.

  Just last Friday in our chemistry class he asked me, and I quote, “Hey, Sydney, what did you get for number three?”

  Oh swoon. Be still my beating heart.

  Ben had amazing, sparkling blue eyes that were framed by long, dark lashes. He had brownish-blackish hair that was a little wavy and always perfectly disheveled—like a young, American, Hugh Grant.Sigh. I could stare at him for hours. On my first day at Kill Devil Hills High School, two years ago, I’d fallen instantly in love with him. There was something about him. Somehow I knew, knew with every ounce of my being that he was the guy for me. This wasn’t some made-up infatuation in my mind. There were moments—small moments where I think he felt it too. Like this past March, for example.

  Sam Butler had bumped into me on the walk between English and Art. I’d been carrying a giant case of colored pencils and Sam didn’t even notice me. I tripped, and I’ll never forget the sound of those pencils rolling in a million different directions. Not a single student in that hallway helped me. Everyone brushed past, stepping over the pencils, while shooting me snarky looks. It was so embarrassing. People laughed. My cheeks blazed red hot. Only one person did something. Ben. He quickly bent down to help me collect all the pencils. And afterward he said, “I’m Ben.”

  And I said, “I know.”

  It felt like a moment out of a Meg Ryan movie. He reached out to hand me my case of colored pencils, our fingers brushing slightly, and it was like ‘magic.’Swoon.My heart skipped and I swear Ben had to feel it too.

  Too bad he had a girlfriend. But I didn’t care. I loved him still. Maybe one day he would grow to love me too. He’d realized she was all wrong for him and that I was right. A girl could dream. There was no harm in dreaming. I’d watched enough movies to know that dreams sometimes came true. Sometimes the nerdy, shy girl won the heart of the popular boy. It could happen. I had hope.

  Until today…when my dream and my hope had been smashed. Or, more accurately, pounded.

  I’d forgotten my gym clothes in my PE locker. I always brought them home to be washed on Fridays and I never forgot—because who wanted smelly gym clothes? Not me. So after my final class, I’d hurried across the school to go get them. But Ms. Whittle had stopped me on my way—she’d brought another one of her favorite romantic comedies from home to let me borrow. We’d started talking about movies and I lost track of time.

  By the time I reached the locker room, it was deserted but, luckily, not locked. I tiptoed my way through the empty, musty smelling room. It freaked me out being in there alone—it was too quiet without the usual sounds of gossip and giggles. And then I heard a moan! Like a sex moan! Not sure what I was doing or why I felt compelled to look, but I peaked around the corner, searching for the source of the moan. I found it when my eyes saw the most horrific sight imaginable.

  Sonya Fletcher. God, she was beautiful. Everything I wished I could be. Soft blonde hair, tiny frame, button nose, and perfectly perky breasts. Half the boys at our sch
ool worshiped her. Worst still, she was Ben’s girlfriend. And I saw her cry out in pleasure as a toned white butt pumped against her naked form. Her tan, lean legs were spread wide and locked around the waist of…Ben.

  Unfortunately, it was Ben’s white naked butt and his penis that filled her vagina.

  And it was my heart that hit the floor.

  “God, I love you,” he grunted and pounded into her harder, both of them oblivious to the fact that I was watching. Then Ben pulled out, flipped her around, pushed her stomach against the white tile sink, and slid inside her from behind.

  Oh my goodness!

  A squeal left my lips, my virgin eyes bugging out of my head, and then I ran. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, tears streaking down my cheeks, the entire world around me suddenly duller than it had been before.What had I just seen? I texted John and told him a ‘friend’ was driving me home. I’d long since missed the bus. Lamely, Ms. Whittle ended up driving me home.

  Reality was a bitch and today she’d slapped me across the face.

  Somehow in my mind, I’d never realized Ben and Sonya might be intimate like that.Especially like that. And now the image was burned onto my brain. Meanwhile, I’d never even been kissed before. How lame was I? How could I ever compare to Sonya? I’m not sure I even wanted to anymore.

  So…that had been earlier, and now here I sat at Chancy’s Claw. Birthday dinner time, woo-freaking-hoo. I didn’t know how I was going to get through this meal without barfing all over the table. The image of Ben and Sonya was still fresh in my mind, eating my brain like a starved, rabid zombie.

  “Sydney,” John said, wrapping his knuckles on the table so I’d stop staring off into space. “Just say the word and we’ll cancel this. Mom and Dad are still thirty minutes out. We can go home and order take out. They’ll bitch but whatever.”

  Leaning my head on the back of my plastic lawn-chair seat, I groaned. “They’re already going to complain because we came here instead of somewhere nicer. Might as well suck it up and get this over with.”

  “Is something else wrong?” Leave it to John to be perspective right about now.

  “Just the fact that high school sucks.”

  A pained expression filled his face. And I instantly regretted saying that. John and I had a good thing going. He was my guardian, my parent, and my brother. He we was ten years older than me and he took care of me, thus preventing me from having to live with our real parents. I hated making him worry. He didn’thave to take care of me and it was wrong of me to burden him with my problems. Being forced to raise a teenager—that had to be hard enough.

  Two years ago, when John had simply asked, my parents have given me over like they were loaning someone a sweater. They were really just children themselves. Rich, impulsive, spoiled, children. They partied, vacationed, and never took a moment of life seriously. They were fun people, but sucky parents. Neither worked. They instead lived off the fruits of my grandfather’s labor. It wasn’t an ideal lifestyle for a child. So when I turned fourteen, John, more mature than both of them combined, suggested that I come live with him. They’d jumped at his offer.

  So that was how I ended up living with John in our family’s beach house in North Carolina. My parents visited us often enough, but in actuality he was my real parent. And I didn’t need to worry him with my silly teenage heartache and drama. He gave up so much for me and I appreciated that more than anything. Living with him was so much better than living with our parents.

  “I just need some fresh air before they get here,” I explained, feigning a smile. “Would you order me a milkshake whenever the server comes over? I’m in a milkshake kind of mood.”

  John nodded. So I slipped out of my seat. I cut through the restaurant, toward the hostess stand and the front door. Outside, I walked around the building needing a decent place to hide. It was frigid and windy, being that Chancy’s was next to the ocean, but I found sanctuary by the dumpsters. No one would bother me here.

  I sat down on a crate and for the second time today, cried my eyes out. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Not to mention, silly. How could I believe that Ben would ever want me? My hair was dishwater blondish-brown and my eyes some ugly pea-green color. I had freckles and glasses. My best friend was my teacher,for crying out loud!My butt was as flat as John’s pancakes and my boobs even flatter. I spent all my time watching hopeless romantic movies, living in a dream world where Prince Charming would come rescue me from my mundane life. But this wasn’tSixteen Candles and Jake Ryan wasn’t about to ditch his hot girlfriend for pathetic, silly me.

  I sniffled into my sleeve. God, I was so lame…crying by the dumpsters on my birthday.

  “Um, is everything okay?”

  Oh, holy embarrassment. Quickly drying my eyes, I turned my back away from the person who’d just come outside through a door on the side of the building. He wore a Chancy’s Claw employee’s t-shirt and he was bringing out the trash. I knew his name too. Rhett Morgan. He graduated three or four years ago from my school. He never went to college and still frequented high school parties—or so I’d heard. That’s the thing about being invisible—I always heard everything because people often forgot I was around and talked openly in front of me. And Rhett Morgan…well, he was a constant topic of conversation at Kill Devil Hills High.

  Even Ms. Whittle had spoken of the infamous Rhett once. She’d said something about how funny he was. I’d always kind of assumed Rhett had been her ‘Ben.’ That he’d been the popular, good-looking boy she’d worshiped in high school. But Rhett wasn’t a boy. Nope, definitely a man, and definitely still standing outside with me. I hiccupped, trying to mentally shrink myself into a tiny ball. Maybe he’d go away if I ignored him.

  I heard a heavy clank as he must have heaved the trash into the dumpster. Then, much to my increasing horror, he came to sit beside me. He pulled out another crate and plopped down.

  “You’re seriously crying,” he stated. He had a gravely, deep voice—kind of soothing. “Was it something you ate?”

  Looking up, I glared at him. “No,” I snapped. “It wasn’t something I ate.”

  He smiled. He had an easy, kind smile. “I figured. Got you to look at me though.”

  I huffed.

  “So,” he said, running his hands across his thick, jean-covered thighs then resting them on his knees. “I just started as a bartender one week ago. People, drunks mostly but that’s beside the point, keep telling me all their personal problems. I’m quickly becoming a certified therapist. I’m probably better than a therapist—because who wants the opinions of some stiff in a suit? So how about you tell me what’s up? I’ll try to help.”

  Groaning, I asked, “Are you high? You actuallywant to hear my problems?”

  “Yep. Let’s test out how good of a bartender I am. If you don’t feel better talking to me then I’ll quit tomorrow.”

  He couldn’t be serious, could he? But the thing was…he might have been Ms. Whittle’s ‘Ben,’ but he wasn’t my ‘Ben.’ Just because he was gorgeous, kind of cocky, built like an MAA fighter, and actually talking to me, that didn’t mean I was about to instantly fall in love with him. So, shrugging, I decided why not.

  “I accidentally saw the boy I like having sex with his girlfriend today. I walked in on them in the school locker room. That’s not something I can unsee. It was a reality check on how lame I am, since I’ve never even been kissed before, and a reminder of how he’ll never be mine. So there. That’s the pathetic reason I’m crying. Oh, and it’s my birthday. My crazy parents will be here soon and I’ll have to suffer through a fun-filled, excitement overloaded weekend with them.”

  I waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. Serious as a heart attack, he asked, “You’ve never kissedanyone before?”

  “No.” God, this was mortifying.

  “Just today alone I’ve already kissed three different women.” He said this with pride. I already knew he was a man-whore from the rumors at school, and now he’d confirmed it.


  “Ew,” I groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Okay.” He rubbed his hand across the stumble on his jaw like he was thinking. Did guys like Rhett even have complex thoughts? “I have a plan to make you feel better. How about we kiss?”

  Gasping, I nearly slipped off my crate.

  “Don’t look so stunned,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl.”

  Beautiful? That confirmed it, he had to be high. Or a flat out lunatic. Or maybe this was the reason he’d already kissed three girls today—he was a total player.

  “How old are you?” he wanted to know next.

  “Sixteen.”

  “Yikes.” He jumped to his feet. Actually, he’d been kind of leaning toward me and I hadn’t even realized it until he ripped himself away from me. “You’re practically a kid. Is kissing a minor illegal?”

  With a giant huff, I stood up. “You are officially the worst bartender/therapist ever!” I yelled at him.

  “Oh yeah,” he yelled back, “well, you have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen!”

  What?

  “And you shouldn’t let one guy define you. You should never cry over someone as stupid as a guy. Because trust me, we’re all stupid when it comes to women. And you shouldn’t kiss me either. Your first kiss should be memorable and special—something that makes you smile for the rest of your life. Ask anyone, I’m not ‘first kiss’ material, or even last, and you—”

  Something inside me came to life. I’m not exactly sure where the surge of confidence, excitement, and power came from, but I flung myself at this stranger and I kissed him. He was older and sexy and completely out of my league…and I, Sydney Francesca Michaels, kissed Rhett Morgan. He wasn’t Ben, but maybe he was the next best thing.

  So it happened. A quick press of my lips to his. Then I immediately pulled back—shocked and terrified by my actions.