Beverly

Chapter 36

36

BEVERLY, 1999

17 years old

The summer heat pressed against my skin like a second layer, thick and unrelenting, even with the windows rolled down. Mexico stretched out ahead of us in endless roads and swaying palm trees, the sun dipping lower into the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges.

Jamal was driving, his fingers tapping against the wheel in time with 2Pac’s California Love . Tiffany sat in the passenger seat, one leg propped up on the dash, flipping through a magazine with one perfectly manicured nail.

Her oversized sunglasses kept slipping down her nose, and every few minutes, she pushed them back up with an exaggerated sigh. “This is a waste of a magazine,” she declared, holding up a glossy page. “I mean, look at this. Who wears that?”

Jamal didn’t look up from the road. “Rich people.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping the page with exaggerated disgust. “It’s ugly. Even rich people should have standards.”

Mexico had been her idea, obviously.

She had pitched it as a reset. A distraction.

I hadn’t put up much of a fight. I needed a break. From my thoughts, from the weight of everything I refused to say out loud.

I was in the backseat with Nathan. I wasn't even sure how it happened. One minute, I was single. The next, Nathan was in my life, and everyone just sort of...expected it. It was easy with him. No tangled past, no history, no years of what ifs weighing us down. He wasn’t someone I had to figure out or decode. He was just Nathan. Nathan made me laugh. Nathan paid attention. Nathan liked me.

And, most importantly, he wasn’t Blake.

Blake, who was in the car behind us. With Sydney.

I didn’t look in the rearview mirror. I already knew exactly what I’d see. Blake’s hands on the wheel, his jaw tight, his sunglasses hiding whatever storm was brewing in his eyes.

I hadn’t spoken to him in two months. Not since that night. Not since I locked my door and packed my bag and stayed at Tiffany’s until Mom begged me to come home. Not since I sat in my room alone, half-hoping he’d knock on my door and half-terrified he actually would.

But he never came.

When I was home, he wasn’t.

When I walked into a room, he left.

Blake wasn’t mine anymore. He was Sydney’s.

She was the one who knew him now—the one who sat on the arm of the couch with her hand tangled in his hair while he pretended to like it. The one who wore his stupid oversized hoodies and made him laugh in a way I hadn’t seen in months.

It was supposed to stop hurting. But here I was—hundreds of miles from home, sitting in the backseat of a car with a new boyfriend, and still...my chest felt hollow.

“Jamal,” Tiffany sighed from the passenger seat, dragging out his name like she’d been storing up the irritation for hours. “Would you stop checking the mirror every two seconds?”

“I’m just making sure they’re keeping up,” he shot back, like that was a reasonable excuse for swerving every time he glanced over his shoulder.

“They’re not gonna get lost.” Her sunglasses slipped down her nose again, and she shoved them up with a dramatic huff.

“You don’t know that,” Jamal said, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Blake drives like a grandma.”

“Maybe,” Tiffany said, “but I’d rather sit through that than this backseat rollercoaster you’ve got going on.”

“Why don’t you take the wheel, then?”

“I would, if you’d let me!”

“Oh my God,” I sighed from the backseat. “Can you two just kiss and get it over with?”

Tiffany twisted her whole body in her seat just to glare at me. “Disgusting,” she said. “I would never?—”

“Relax,” I muttered. “I’m kidding.”

Jamal was grinning like an idiot. “She’s thinking about it now.”

Tiffany narrowed her eyes at him. “I would rather die alone in a house full of cats than even consider?—”

“Don’t drag cats into this,” Jamal cut in. “They deserve better.”

Nathan had his arm draped casually over the back of my seat, his fingers brushing my shoulder every time we hit a bump in the road. He was easy like that—always finding little ways to touch me, always grinning at me like he knew exactly what he was doing. He smelled like citrus and the faintest trace of cologne, like he had actually put effort into smelling good even though we’d been in the car for hours. Every so often, I felt his gaze slide toward me, like he was waiting for me to look at him.

When I finally did, he grinned. “You excited?” he asked, his voice low as he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You ever been to Mexico before?”

I gave him a small smile. “Once, when I was a kid. My parents took me to Rosarito for a weekend. But I barely remember it.”

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to know all the best spots.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He gave a slow, lazy nod, his fingers tracing absent circles near my neck. “Mmm-hmm. Best tacos, best beaches, best places to sneak into when you don’t feel like paying.”

“Oh, so this is the plan now? You’re going to get us all arrested? Love that for us,” Tiffany said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Nathan’s laugh was low and smooth, like it had been rehearsed for moments just like this. “Relax. I’ll keep you out of trouble.”

Jamal snorted from the driver’s seat. “You seem like the type to start the trouble and let everyone else take the blame.” There was a slight edge to his voice, as if he was half-joking, half-serious.

Nathan clutched his chest in mock offense. “That hurts, man,” he said, feigning pain. “You wound me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You look hot,” Nathan murmured, leaning in, his voice just low enough that only I could hear.

“Gee, thanks,” I said, pushing my sunglasses up higher.

“I’m serious. You’re like...summer in a person.”

I snorted. “What does that even mean?”

He shrugged. “I’m not above a little corniness.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

It wasn’t like I was used to guys saying things like that.

“And yet, here I am. Sitting next to the prettiest girl in Mex?—”

“God,” Tiffany groaned. “Do you two ever stop?”

I grinned and leaned into Nathan—not because I needed to, but because I knew Tiffany was watching and I wanted to sell it.

I didn’t know when pretending to be happy with Nathan had started to feel easier than actually being happy with him, but that thought was one I decided to bury deep down.

“Jealous?” Nathan shot back with a smirk.

“Of what? Watching you drool all over Bev? Pass.”

“You’re just mad no one is flirting with you,” Jamal said.

She whipped her head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Jamal lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Just saying. If you wanted me to flirt with you, you could have just asked. It’s a well-known fact that if you’re not the center of attention, you get a little...grumpy.”

Tiffany scoffed. “Please. Like I need your attention.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t?—”

“Then why do you sound mad?”

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Tiffany warned him.

“Relax,” Jamal sighed, taking one hand off the wheel to hold his soda. “I’ve got this.”

“You’re not even looking at the GPS?—”

“I know where I’m going.”

“You said that yesterday,” she deadpanned, “and we ended up in a dead-end alley.”

“That was a detour?—”

“It was a sketchy back alley!”

I let my head fall back against the seat as they kept going, their voices rising and falling like background music. The sun poured through the window, warm against my skin. Nathan’s arm was still around me, his thumb tracing slow circles against my shoulder.

For a second, I let myself believe I was okay.

But then I made the mistake of glancing in the side mirror.

I hated how quickly my chest tightened.

Blake was still there. Still in the car behind us. Still too close.

I knew Sydney’s hand was probably on his arm, or in his lap, or tucked inside his palm like she belonged there. I knew he was probably pretending he didn’t care that I was in this car with Nathan—pretending he couldn’t see Nathan’s arm around me or the way he kept playing with the ends of my hair. I could almost hear the silent conversations he was having with himself.

I hated that I cared.

“You okay?” Nathan asked, his fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt just enough to touch bare skin.

I forced a smile. “Yeah.”

I didn’t look in the mirror again.

“Almost there,” Jamal announced. “You guys ready?”

No.

Not at all.

* * *

The ocean stretched out in front of us, waves rolling in soft and steady. Tiffany was stretched out on a lounge chair, lazily flipping through her magazine. Jamal, on the other hand, was trying to build a sandcastle.

Nathan sat beside me, legs stretched out in the sand, close enough that his thigh brushed against mine every time he shifted. The sun had already deepened his tan, making his skin glow in a way that would’ve looked unfair on anyone else. “This,” he said, “is paradise.”

I hummed, turning a page in my book. “I guess.”

He turned his head, giving me a frown. “You guess?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Nathan. It’s a beach.”

“It’s the beach.” He reached over, plucking the sunglasses off my face. “And you look way too good to be hiding under these.”

I squinted against the sun. “Nathan?—”

He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of his sunscreen. “Tell me something,” he whispered. “Do I get to kiss you this summer? Or am I gonna have to work for it?”

I stared at him. “Wouldn’t you rather earn it?”

He grinned. “That wasn’t a no.”

I huffed a nervous laugh, shoving him away playfully.

“I’ll be patient, then. Come swim with me, Bev.”

“I’m reading.”

“You can read anytime,” he whined, leaning in until his lips brushed against my shoulder. “Come on. The water feels amazing. I’ll even carry you in like a princess, if you want.”

I ignored him, lifting my book higher.

“You really gonna ditch me for fictional characters?”

“ Yes ,” I said without looking up.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, as if I had just ruined the entire trip. “Fine,” he muttered. “Reject me and my love for the ocean. I’ll just have to swim alone.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Barely.” He flashed me a teasing smirk before pushing himself to his feet. “But if you change your mind…” He trailed off, sending me a wink before jogging toward the water.

I shook my head, watching as he dove into the waves, disappearing for a moment before resurfacing, slicking his dark hair back.

Tiffany made a gagging noise.

“What?” I asked, flipping another page in my book.

She pushed her sunglasses down just enough to give me a look. “You like that?”

I sighed. “It’s not that deep, Tiff.”

She huffed and set her magazine aside before getting up to head to the bar, where Jamal was ordering drinks.

I turned my attention back to my book, letting myself sink into it, the words on the page more comforting than my own thoughts. I had just reached the part where the heroine realized—against her better judgment—that she was in love with the brooding, emotionally unavailable protagonist.

I was hooked. So hooked that I didn’t notice the shadow stretching across my towel until fingers closed around the book and yanked it out of my hands.

“What the—” I sat up, squinting up at the thief.

Blake .

Standing over me, holding the book in one hand, his sunglasses hiding his expression. He was shirtless, saltwater dripping from his hair, his toned chest already drying under the heat of the sun.

His face was unreadable, but there was something undeniably smug about the way he tilted his head, flipping the book open with his thumb. “You’re reading a romance novel?”

I shot up, reaching for it, but he stepped back, holding it out of my reach. “Blake,” I snapped. “Give it back.”

He ignored me, skimming a page. Then he let out a laugh—low and amused, like he couldn’t believe what he was looking at.

I knew exactly what part he had landed on.

I lunged for it again. “Blake, I swear to?—”

“No, no.” He took another step back, flipping another page, taunting me. “I just need a second to process this.”

“Process what?”

He grinned. “Little Beverly Price. Hopeless romantic.”

I clenched my teeth, my blood boiling. “Give it back.”

“Nah,” he said coolly. Then he turned the book over, scanning the back. “Oh, this is bad. This has Fabio on the cover, B.”

“It does not,” I huffed.

“It does,” he said, waving the book in the air. “All these covers look the same. Some shirtless guy with long hair and a tragic past.”

He dropped down onto my towel, right next to me, his body warm from the sun, his shoulder brushing mine as he casually started flipping through pages.

My stomach twisted in tight knots.

A shadow doesn’t cling because it loves, but because it understands the art of haunting.

“You like this?” he mused, scanning a passage. “Alright, let’s see what kind of stuff you’re into.”

“Blake—”

“Ah,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his face “Here we go.”

He cleared his throat dramatically before reading out loud, his voice slow and amused.

“His hands slid down her body, tracing every inch like he was committing her to memory. She shivered beneath his touch, pressing closer, aching for more ? —”

“Blake.”

“His lips skimmed along her throat, teasing, promising. Her breath hitched as he whispered her name, as if it was a prayer, as if she was something sacred ? —”

My face burned. “Blake?—”

“She gasped his name as he pressed her back against the wall, hands greedy, desperate to memorize the shape of her ? —”

“Oh my God,” I snapped, reaching for the book.

Blake turned his head slightly, looking at me through his sunglasses, voice low. “You like that, B?”

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Give. It. Back.”

“You wish Nathan would do this to you, hmm?” he continued, flipping another page. “You want him whispering your name like a prayer? Pressing you against a wall?—”

“Jesus Christ ,” I hissed, reaching for the book again.

Blake rolled, shifting just enough that I nearly fell against his bare chest before he held the book above us, just out of my reach. “You do like this,” he mused. “You want?—”

I clamped a hand over his mouth. He made a muffled sound of protest, his lips hot against my palm. I yanked my hand away, mortified. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do,” he said, turning his attention back to the book. “So, do you have a thing for guys with swords, or?—”

“Blake—”

“This guy ravishes her, B.”

I hated that nickname.

I hated that I still liked hearing it from his mouth.

I hated him.

“You like that word? You want Nathan to ravish you?”

“Give me my book!” I all but launched myself at him, but he was too quick. He twisted away, stretching out on Nathan’s towel like he had all the time in the world, my book balanced on his stomach. I glared down at him, fuming, fists clenched at my sides. Blake smirked up at me, his sunglasses sliding down just enough for me to see the infuriatingly amused glint in his green eyes.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re flustered,” he shot back.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m honest,” he corrected.

“No, you’re the worst.”

“I’ve been told.” He tapped the book. “And yet, I bet this guy,” he pointed at the hero’s name, “ Fabio St. James , is worse than me.”

I ignored him, as if that could erase whatever just happened.

Blake chuckled, shifting onto his side. “You’re blushing, B.”

“Shut up, Blake.”

“Better get back to your boyfriend. He’s probably wondering where his innocent, romance-reading girlfriend ran off to.”

I threw sand at him. “You have no right to act like this.”

He must have caught the subtle shift in my voice because his confident smirk faltered, and the playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.

But it was gone as fast as it came.

“Relax.” He shut the book. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Yeah?” I shot back. “Well, I’m not laughing.”

For a moment, he just looked at me.

Then he tossed the book back onto my towel.

I grabbed it, brushing sand off the cover.

Before I could open my mouth, a voice called from behind us.

I turned just in time to see Sydney walking toward us, two drinks in her hands, her blue sundress fluttering in the breeze.

She looked perfect. Put together.

Right for him.

Blake glanced at her, then turned to me one last time.

For a split second, something passed between us.

Something I hated.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he adjusted his sunglasses, flashed me a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, and turned away.

I watched him go, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on my chest.