Chapter 18 Willow
WILLOW
“C’mon. It’s fun, I swear.” I tug Weston’s outstretched hand as I take a step down the stairs that lead to the beach.
Every year since we were teenagers, after the party at my parents’ house, us kids come down to the cove, have a bonfire, and camp overnight.
In high school we’d smuggle weed and alcohol in our sleeping bags, but once we hit college, our parents stopped caring as much.
Now, we’re all almost legal. Allie will be twenty-one on Monday, and the twins in November.
Weston mentioned his birthday is in a couple of months, not that it matters in terms of drinking.
I admire the fact that he’s choosing to be proactive in his sobriety, though.
Most people are willing to take the risk for the sake of fitting in.
Weston doesn’t mind standing out in the spirit of protecting himself, and I think that’s a lesson I could use too.
I’ve always felt like a bit of an oddball, especially once I moved to Berkeley and away from my family.
Parker and his friends were preppy cool kids, and I was always his weird, artsy girlfriend.
“Just for a little while, Wills. I do have to get up in . . .” I don’t look back at him as we descend the cliffside, but I imagine he’s checking the time on his phone. “Six hours.”
“Dad will go easy on you tomorrow, I promise. He was definitely stoned when we left the house, and he’s eaten about his weight in Allie’s frosted brownies. I bet you he’ll oversleep.”
“I don’t want to take any chances by oversleeping myself,” Wes grumbles.
When we reach the beach, the fire is roaring, our tents already set up by Archer and Zander while the rest of us watched fireworks from the top of the cliffside.
One tent each for the twins, and one for Allie and me to share.
Declan apparently mentioned he doesn’t camp, so Allie uninvited him from our sleepover.
Other people our age sit around the bonfire.
Former high school classmates that know about the party and attend year after year, a few coworkers from the boardwalk, and kids of our parents’ friends.
I quickly find my cousins sitting side by side against a piece of driftwood, so I plop down next to them and pull Weston beside me.
“Where’s Allie?” I ask.
“She hasn’t come down yet,” Archer murmurs.
“Declan was pissed when Archer showed up.” Zander laughs. “I hope she’s sending his ass right home.”
“I don’t appreciate the way he speaks to her,” Archer mutters, poking the fire with a stick.
“Let her handle it. She’s okay,” I promise.
He only grunts in response, pulling a wine cooler out of the ice chest beside him and Zander and handing it to me. I twist the cap off, tossing it back in the chest before taking a sip. Sickly sweet watermelon fizz floods my mouth.
“Do you want one, Weston?” Archer asks. I realize I never formally introduced them to each other, but neither seems to mind.
Archer is a little timid, a little quiet and reserved, like Weston. My aunt and uncle joke that Zander stole all the noise when he came out first, screaming. Archer followed after, and has always been the calm to Zander’s storm.
“I’m okay. Thanks.”
Archer studies Wes for a moment, tilting his head before adding, “Water?”
Wes smiles. “That would be cool. Thanks.”
He passes a bottle to me, and I hand it to Weston, who nudges my shoulder as he takes it.
“Do you want water too? That’s your fourth drink.”
“Please,” I scoff. “I don’t need a babysitter, Weston. I’m great.”
I’m tipsy, for sure. I don’t drink often to begin with, so it doesn’t take much for me.
This is the first time in months that I’ve wanted to get loose, though.
The first time I’ve wanted to spend an evening being social and staying up late.
I’ve been so afraid of feeling out of control, I haven’t felt safe.
Not since before that last night with Parker.
Finally, with my family close by and Weston’s warmth beside me, I’m free enough to let my mind rest, and it feels good. I take another sip, smiling at Weston with my mouth full as I swallow.
He laughs, rolling his eyes.
When my eyes catch a figure walking in our direction, the alcohol slithering down my throat suddenly begins to burn. Tall, slim build, brown eyes, sandy brown hair that I know far too well.
Camden.
“Willow! Hey.” He smiles, jogging to close the distance between us, and I stand to greet him, mostly because I don’t want him to sit down and get comfortable next to me.
Camden isn’t a bad guy, and our breakup was amicable, but I wouldn’t say I trust him.
I don’t have much desire to spend time around anyone I can’t trust these days, especially when there are substances floating in my body that make me less equipped at protecting myself.
Plus, the messages he still sends me every time he’s drunk are clear indications that he’s not over our breakup, and I don’t feel like getting into that tonight.
Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have decided to drink.
I didn’t expect that he’d be here. He didn’t show up last year because I had Parker with me, and I figured it was still too raw for him.
I’m suddenly swaying on my feet, and as Camden reaches me, his arm shoots out, grabbing my hip to steady me. I tense at the contact, going rigid. Suddenly, Weston's presence enters my periphery as he stands too.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Camden continues, pulling me in for a hug.
I’m stiff against him, unable to return it. He slides a hand around my waist, curling at my lower back, way too close to my ass for comfort. Alarm shoots down my spine, and my body flinches on instinct.
It’s too familiar to the reaction I had that night. After I found out what Parker did, I was too paralyzed with fear and self-doubt to do anything about it in the moment. He fell asleep quickly, and when he turned over, throwing an arm over my stomach, my entire body seized.
I’d lain there, staring at the ceiling, silent tears streaming down my face. I was completely frozen, allowing him to touch me, lying in the bed where he’d made me hate myself.
I know . . . I know this moment isn't that, but my body is having the same reaction.
I’m trembling, unshed tears swimming in my eyes. I glance at Weston, who’s watching me with concern. All it takes is one look for him to recognize it—whatever this feeling I can’t describe is—and he’s pressing on Camden’s shoulder, shoving him off me, gentle but firm.
“You don’t need to touch her.”
Cam stumbles back, brows pinched as his eyes dart between Wes and me. “Sorry, who are you?” Keeping one arm on my hip, he tugs me closer to him. “Willow and I are . . . familiar. I think you can calm down.”
“I don’t really care what you two used to be, if she’s not comfortable with you touching her in this moment, you need to take your fucking hands off her. I’m not going to ask you again.” His gaze darts to where Cam still holds me.
“Cam, man. If Willow doesn’t want you to touch her just take a fucking step back,” Archer says, entering the conversation as he stands beside me.
Zander rises next to him, and when I’m surrounded by the three men, Cam finally removes his hands.
“Willow,” he says, brown eyes soft with sadness. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t think . . .”
Guilt rushes over me, because Cam isn’t like Parker, and he didn’t mean any harm. He wasn’t lying when he said we were familiar with each other, and though I have no doubt his intentions with me are more than friendly, the hug just now was nothing but a greeting.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, spinning on my heel and stumbling away from the bonfire.