14. Remy
14
Remy
Six Years Ago
Birthday Voucher: Win will give Remy anything he wants. Anything.
I’ve read it a hundred times— no, a thousand— and still can’t make sense of it. I found the wrinkled envelope in the backseat of my Jeep with my name on it after my birthday two days ago.
Win has been radio silent since.
Two. Agonizing. Days.
I debate freaking out on Andrea again. The entire night she'd nudged and teased me in code about my “crush,” who'd become sullen and disassociated as soon as we got to the theater. Of course, I initially accused her of starting shit with him, but she swore repeatedly that she didn’t say anything to piss him off, suggesting that maybe he just didn't like crowded places. I’ve racked my brain for a specific moment, word or look that would've pushed him away, but come up empty over and over.
I haven’t slept.
I haven’t eaten.
His silence screams at all hours.
I can’t let him slip through my fingers. I can’t .
Which is how I end up driving to his house, letter in hand.
I ring the doorbell again, pacing, the note crumpled in the fist pressed to my mouth. I don’t care if it’s barely eight in the morning or if I wake up his parents. He’s not disappearing on me without an explanation.
“Remy?”
Barefoot in the doorway, rubbing his bloodshot eyes rimmed in smeared eyeliner, Win blinks at me as if I’m nothing more than a dream. I glance at his bare chest. Jesus . Down to wrinkled sleep pants. Fuck . Then yank my gaze back to his face.
“Get dressed.”
His brows pinch.
I snap the voucher in his face.
Grey eyes widen to saucers.
“Get. Dressed. ”
He hesitates. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there. Now stop stalling and get your ass moving.”
The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“As you command, Sir Remington .”
The sass of this guy.
I level an irritated glare at him.
He bites his lower lip and turns toward the stairs, sauntering like he has all the time in the world. Toying with me. And to my utter horror, it’s working. I cross my arms, silently throwing curses at his naked back. Except my eyes betray me and greedily trace down his spine to the twin dimples above the curve of his ass.
As if he can feel the trail of my stare, he glances over his shoulder. He's a messy masterpiece frozen in time, holding the banister with hair sticking up at odd angles and dark smudges around heated smoky eyes.
He’s. Killing. Me.
“I’ll be right down,” he murmurs and disappears upstairs.
I’m short of breath. My palms are slick. But my mind is made up.
Win returns a few minutes later in jeans and a hoodie. I grab his wrist and drag him to the Jeep, slinging him into the passenger seat.
He tosses a laugh at me with a muttered, “ Jesus .”
I climb behind the wheel and peel out of the drive. Wind whips at the soft top, the noise blaring over our silence. His stare scalds the side of my face.
“What’s got you so worked up?”
My hands tighten on the wheel. “You know what .”
“I really don’t.”
“Then you’re an idiot. ”
“That’s a known fact.”
I roll my eyes.
He hangs an arm out the window, weaving his fingers through the air. “You gonna tell me where we’re going yet?”
Pretending not to hear him over the roaring wind, I angle for the secluded spot I'd originally planned to take him two fucking days ago . Mangroves stretch their roots into the shoreline, white puffs of fine sand kicked up in clouds behind the Jeep’s tires. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Win crane his neck, squinting through the branches at the blue-green waves.
We drive down the causeway for a few more minutes until we reach the inlet. I ease the Jeep onto the crushed shell shoulder and kill the engine.
Win watches me skeptically as I jump out and open the trunk to get the bag and blanket.
His sneakers crunch on the gravel behind me down the narrow path through an arching, tangled canopy, thick with the scent of low tide.
The trees part, bright rays of sun reflecting off sparkling blue peaks, white foam lapping at the shell-ridden stretch of beach. Ocean breeze fills my nostrils, feeling like the first full breath I’ve taken in ages.
On paper, I have it pretty fucking good. My parents and friends are supportive and involved. I’ve never known financial hardship or loss. I get good grades and I’m a decent distance runner on the track team.
But there’s a piece of me that’s disconnected like I’m cruising without purpose. The passions of others around me highlight my lack of interest. Their drive underlines my aimlessness. I hover in limbo, reaching for something I can’t name.There’s a melancholy shadow tailing me. I try to outrun it, but it clings to me like an evil spirit. I grasp at reasons to justify the defeat encroaching around the edges of my soul, but there’s nothing. I should be grateful. I have everything anyone my age could want.
Well… almost everything.
I’ve realized something has evaded me until now. Something I might spend the rest of my life chasing if I don't take a risk.
I drop the bag and blanket on the sand, staring at the horizon line. Win's shadow overlaps mine, but he doesn’t speak. I breathe in the sweet sea mist like a hit of courage and pull the voucher from my pocket.
“There’s only one thing I want.”
The waves retreat.
Knuckles bump the back of my hand. “What is it?”
My trembling fingers seek his as I face him.
“To be understood.”
Those eyes don’t judge what they find. They don’t shy away from the dark edges. They burn with the one thing I’m asking for.
His lips part.
I’m drawn in like his next breath.
My mouth meets his with soft pressure.
Grey eyes fly wide, his fingers stiffening.
Blood roars in my ears with the crash of waves. He’s staring at me in utter shock and my stomach is flipping and I’m not on dry land anymore. I must be drowning because I swear my lungs are filling with water. I’ve read him wrong. I take a few steps back but my legs won’t work right. The cells I’m composed of are splitting at an alarming rate, shredding me until I’m no longer human. I’ve destroyed everything—
Hands clasp my cheeks.
Warm and firm.
Grounding me.
Ravenous lips devour mine.
It’s a rescue infusion of precious oxygen.
I inhale him.
Win .
His taste floods me with starlight— the kind of brightness that’s unafraid of the void. Fingers smooth over my short hair, his torturously delicious smile curving against my mouth.
“Feels like velvet,” he whispers and kisses me again. And again.
And I never want him to stop.