Chapter 18 Spring Break #3
“Yeah, well, it was bound to happen eventually. We all know I’m no Echo Wash.” Blame it on Rachael and her annoying stories. Blame it on my own stupid, one-sided rivalry. The name falls out of my mouth, unhinged and unprompted. Now Josha blinks, confusion furrowing his brow.
“What—”
I sink under the water, cutting him off before my flaming face betrays me. I want to explain that runaway train of thought about as much as I want to get into the real reason I left ENC.
I’ve met Echo Wash exactly once, but I’m pretty sure he found his way to Mendo specifically to piss me off.
First, it was my mom telling me about his miraculous fucking comeback from what could have been a career-ending injury, her voice full of admiration and empathy.
The rational part of my mind knows she was remembering her own battle with the pelvic fracture that grounded her for over a year when I was ten, but the larger part of me—the part that can’t forget she left me behind in pursuit of her own happiness—only heard the pride directed at one more person who isn’t me.
So sure, whatever. Another fucking brick on the pile of mommy issues I’m dragging around.
But when I went home for a week last summer, the asshole decided to get all up in my face, flashing his tattoos and his fuckboy smirk and telling me how much Josha likes having “another hot young gay guy” around, like he wasn’t draped all over Byrd while he said it.
And don’t even get me started on the idiotic fucking kiss.
I know he did it to get under my skin. That it was only a game, a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it move, before he sauntered off with his actual boyfriend.
But all I could see was Josha left standing alone, red Solo cup dangling from his fingers.
The next thing I knew, I was rolling my ass off in the woods, babbling bullshit about gay chicken and chasing that fucking sound from my dreams.
Until Cheyenne showed up like a bucket of water to the face and sent me scurrying back behind my doubts.
What does it mean to be wide awake?
My limbs are going numb and my lungs are screaming, so I resurface.
Josha is still perched on the rock, limned green and gold by dappled sunlight.
His hair is starting to curl up at the ends as it dries, a russet halo framing sharp cheekbones dusted with freckles.
The musical chatter of the river is loud enough to dampen the clamoring memories—all except the one that’s always there, whispering beneath the surface.
The one that no amount of drinking or drugs or desperate hookups can completely quiet. I let myself drift closer to the rock.
“I didn’t sleep with Rachael.”
“I don’t care.”
And oh, isn’t that a pretty lie? A shiver runs up his golden tan skin, and I think about stepping between his thighs and letting that shiver brush over my ribs.
“Are you gonna come home and tell Shilo and Hals, or are you planning to spend the rest of the year couch surfing?” he asks, breaking the spell.
“Geoff and his roommates do actual surfing too. You should see the layer of sand in the bathtub.”
Josha refuses to be distracted. “Geoff also went to school with us. He has family in Mendo. Even if I keep my mouth shut—which I won’t—word will get out.”
“What makes you think I care?” Which is possibly one of the least-convincing lines to ever come out of my mouth.
“C’mon, Gem. I’m not an idiot. Neither are you, no matter how much you like to fake it.”
“You’re the only one who believes that.”
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his head. Sunlight throws copper highlights in the darker hair at his armpit and paints shadows along the contours of his ribs. The river’s current tugs at my calves, rocks shifting sharply under my bare feet.
“Look.” I steady myself with a hand on his knee. “How about we pretend I’m not a total fuckup for the rest of the week? We can drink all of Rachael’s beer and play Hannah’s card games, and you can make obscene amounts of spaghetti and slather me with that blue aloe crap when I get sunburned.”
“Or you could use sunscreen like a normal person, and then I wouldn’t have to listen to you bitch about how much it itches when you peel.” He shifts away from my touch, but a smile dimples the corner of his mouth, and I know he’s relenting.
“I’m pretty sure I saw a rope swing upriver on our hike down from the car. Wanna go see if it’s up to your engineering standards? There’ll be knots to check and impact loads to calculate and—”
“You’re an asshole.” He kicks a spray of water toward my chest.
“This is not breaking news.” I catch his foot and tug.
“I’m still gonna rat you out to your parents.” Shoving off the rock, he lands next to me with a splash.
“Now who’s the asshole?”
“But I’ll wait until the end of the week when we’re ready to go home.”
Home. Fuck.
“Fair enough.”
He leans back until the water laps over his torso, heading upstream with his face tipped to the sky. In the sunshine, his eyes are pirate-treasure gold, and diamond droplets cling to the sharp line of his jaw.
Shit, I think, now that it’s too late—now that I’m broken and buried like a shipwreck at the bottom of the flood—he’s fucking beautiful.
“I missed you,” he admits. The words float over the rippled surface and wash against my skin. The current eddies, and for a breathless moment, I can stop fighting, and the ground steadies beneath my feet.
“I guess it’s a good thing I came back, then.”