Chapter 11
“When you’re ready,” Mom says, “I’m here.”
“You’re going to get mad.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then disappointed.”
She sighs and leans on her elbow. We’re on my bed and I’ve been crying for so long that there’s nothing left. Just exhaustion. “Summer, I can’t help you unless you talk to me. Who was that man?”
She called him a man, and that’s the first problem with this whole thing. I’d been playing games out of my league and it’d finally caught up to me. “I was dating him,” I confess.
“He seems a little old.”
I can’t tell her the rest. I just can’t. It’s too humiliating. And if she goes to the school…I can’t handle all this being dragged out again.
“Did he…did you…” I know what she wants to ask. It’s what Catherine had asked me. And Irene. That’s what this boils down to, isn’t it? This man having sex with a teenager. A student.
“We were close,” I tell her—protecting him for some inane reason. “But he broke it off at the end the school year. It’s why I backed out of the trip and why I came with you here.”
She steadies herself. My mother asks questions for a living. She investigates, but at this moment she’s at a loss for words. “Did he…did he hurt you?”
Fat, traitorous tears fell down my cheeks. “No. I mean…I thought I loved him, you know? Turns out I was just dumb.”
“You’re not dumb. Men and hormones and all that other stuff make us do stupid things.”
I fall into her arms and we hug, because wow, how lucky was I to have a mom that got it. Got me. Maybe we could get past all of this while we’re here. Maybe this little slice of beach had the ability to heal old wounds.
“I’m here for you when you’re ready to tell me the whole story.”
“Thank you.” I wipe away my tears and say, “I think I’m going outside for some air.”
I step into the night, the lightning bugs and crickets in full song, and pause when I hear the strains of music coming off the small dock over the waterway.
The music is warm, simple, and curiosity tugs at me and I walk closer.
The water laps against the pilings and the faint lights around the railing cast a glow over the musician.
Pete sits on a small bench, knee up, weaving a beautiful tune on his guitar.
I stand beneath a tree, tucked away in the shadows, and watch his nimble fingers run up and down the chords.
There’s a confidence, an ease I haven’t quite seen from him.
Pete surfs with the others but he’s not a force in the water like Whit or Justin.
He doesn’t have the brute strength or quiet intensity of Nick.
He’s goofy. Fun, but right now, holding the neck of the guitar with such grace…
a chill runs down my spine. I imagine his fingers running over my skin with the same dedication.
As the music builds, I hold my breath. It’s like I’ve walked into something magical and the lure of his skill, his hands…his fingers, draws me closer.
Pete looks up, eyes sweeping over me. I have little doubt he’s out here waiting for me. His fingers come to a slow and he leans the guitar against the bench before standing. We step into one another’s orbit. His arms fling around me, pulling me into the warmest, tightest embrace.
I sink in.
“Tell me you’re okay,” he whispers in my ear.
“I’m fine.”
He pulls back and skepticism rules his expression. “Who the hell was that guy?”
“No one. Nothing.” I look into his gray eyes. “Thank you for waiting out here. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did. I wanted to make sure he didn’t come back. I also wanted to make sure you were okay.”
His arms feel like a life preserver.
“I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m a good listener. And I know a piece of shit when I see one. That guy,” he says, “is a grade-A piece of shit. When you’re ready to talk about him, I’m ready to listen. No judgments. Trust me, I’ve made my share of mistakes.”
“I just feel so stupid. I gave him…” I swallow, “everything.”
“No,” he says, cupping my chin in his hands.
His thumbs wipe away my tears. “That’s bullshit.
You didn’t give him everything. Sure, he may have taken something from you but you’re not finite, Summer.
You’re here.” He taps my chest, my heart, with his finger.
“Your heart is here. Your mind. Your body. You’re not tethered to your past.”
I’m not sure I believe him. Not yet, but for the first time I want to. “How did you get so smart?”
He tilts his head and gives me a cocky grin. “I got a sixteen-hundred on my SAT.”
“You didn’t?”
He holds up his hand. “I did. Swear.”
“Smart, talented…sexy. I didn’t realize you were the whole package.”
His nimble fingers run down my back, playing the chords of my spine. He smiles at me again, more serious, and he pulls me to his chest. “I’ve got a few other skills, too,” he says.
“Show me.”
“You sure?” He wipes a tear off my cheek.
I nod and he doesn’t hesitate, nipping at my bottom lip, teasing my tongue. He’s sweet. Slow and hell yes, a good kisser. When he finishes warming me up, he kisses me thoroughly, the kind that I feel deep in my toes.
The warm summer air feels heavy and our skin is sticky, but it doesn’t stop his hands from wandering down my arms. Or from me pushing him toward the bench.
His heel hits the guitar and he catches it with one hand, while his other is woven in my hair, keeping my face close to his.
He rests it gently aside and sits, pulling me into his lap.
Jesus, he’s hard; his length presses against my shorts. I push down, wanting more. Wanting something to replace the bad feelings with good.
His fingers skim my thighs and warm heat stirs in the hollow of my legs.
Hot kisses blaze over my neck, my shoulders, and face. I tug at his shirt, laying my own trail of fire over his collarbones. There’s no doubt about his desire, his want, but after a few furious moments his fingers smooth down my shirt.
“What?” I whisper. “Is something wrong?”
His eyes twinkle like twin stars. “No, god no.” he pushes my hair back. He glances over my shoulder. “I just don’t want us to be on the front page of the Family Campground News tomorrow.”
I think of the little newsletter Mr. Copeland puts out each day and slide off his lap. “Uh, yeah, no.”
He adjusts his shorts and leans over and kisses me. “Can we pick this up again later? In a more private location?”
“Yes, please.”
He grins and throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.
“Play for me?” I ask.
For hours we sit next to one another under the stars and I listen to Pete play his music and know that there can be a better life than what I left behind. A man, or men, better than Mason. And for the first time in a long while, I have hope.
It’s nearing eleven when Bobby emerges from the shadows and tells Pete there’s an issue over on Lot #78 that requires his help.
He gives me a kiss goodnight and I head back to the trailer.
My mother, interestingly enough, is not at home but she’s left a note telling me not to worry or wait up. And that we’ll talk soon.
Two hours later I’m lying on my bed, staring at the too-close ceiling of the trailer. My mind is a swirl of the altercation with Mason, the hot kisses from Pete, the curiosity of where my mother had gone off to and a million other things.
I reach for my phone.
Hey.
…
Hi.
Are you up?
I’m texting you, right?
I can’t sleep.
You okay? Is this a booty call?
I’m fine. Restless and no it’s not a booty call.
But you do want to come over, don’t you?
Maybe.
And see my booty.
Jesus.
Come on. I’ll turn on the light.
My mom’s car is still here, which means she either got picked up or is hanging with one of the neighbors.
The SUV starts with a loud roar, announcing my activities to all the neighbors, I’m sure.
I drive slowly, the late-night roads quiet and dark.
I park away from the house, not wanting to wake up Richard.
I climb the steps to the cottage and I’m not exactly surprised to see Justin eagerly waiting for me at the door.
“You came,” he says.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to?”
“I thought maybe I dreamed those texts. I mean, late-night booty call from a hot out-of-town girl are a townie fantasy.”
“Shut up.” But I can’t help but smile at his adorable fact and welcoming grin.
Moths hover around the doorway, attracted to the light from inside.
He swats one away as he pulls me into the tiny cottage.
I take a moment to absorb Justin’s home.
The cottage has a half college boy-half beach house theme going on.
The furniture looks new and fairly expensive but contradicts with the surf posters on the wall.
I eye a stack of laundry on the kitchen counter.
From my spot by the entry, I can see the entire house, other than what’s behind the two doors flanking the back wall.
“Whit’s asleep,” he says quietly, pointing to one of the doors. He runs his hands through his damp hair. He must have just taken a shower. “This is my house.”
“It’s nice,” I tell him. “It’s bigger than the camper.”
“Technically it’s about the same. Kitchen, living room, bathroom. I do have a bedroom of my own, though.”
“And a door.”
“Yep, I have a door. Wait.” He frowns. “You don’t have a door?”
“Nope, just a curtain.”
“Interesting.” He walks over to the couch and sits down, leaving room for me next to him. I sit and he picks up my hand. “So what happened?”
“Why do you think something happened?” Had Pete told him?
Justin raises an eyebrow. “You’re restless and drove all the way over here in the middle of the night. As much as I joke, I don’t think it’s for a booty call.” He touches my cheek. “You look tired.”
I take a deep breath, ready to spill it all, but then stop. I don’t want to tarnish the moment with the drama from back home. After my mom and Pete, I’m done talking for the night. “I just got some news from someone back home. It’s nothing big—just a surprise.”
He’s sitting next to me on the couch, knees touching mine, fingers entwined. “You sure? I’m happy to listen.”