Chapter 20
WILLOW
“That fucking sucked.” Allie braces her hands on her knees, sucking in gulps of air.
“Allie, my love, you’ve gotta move your body more,” Dahlia says, rubbing her back. “No way are two old birds like Darby and I in better shape than you.”
“I’m in shape,” she pants. “I’m just filled to the brim with watermelon wine coolers and Malibu lemonade. The water was way too choppy for my stomach to handle this morning.”
I cover a snort with my hand. My mom shoots me a warning glare a moment before Allie lifts her head, brown eyes narrowed at me. “I will vomit all over you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I smile.
She groans, holding her stomach as she stands up. “I’ve got to go lie in bed for three days.”
My aunt pulls her shoulder-length blond hair from her face, tying it back before placing her hand on Allie’s shoulder again, guiding her down the beach. “I’ll have Archer come by a little later with dinner for you, okay?”
“Hey!” I call out after her. “You need to ignore Declan’s calls for at least forty-eight hours.”
She tosses me a thumbs up, my mom and aunt both nodding in agreement.
I wasn’t a witness to their blowout last night, but apparently Declan really drove into her after Archer arrived, accusing her of having an affair with him in front of most of the party.
It wasn’t until Allie’s dad, Dom, and my uncle Everett essentially threw him out that things finally calmed down.
I think, at this point, we’d all prefer she never speak to Declan again, but Allie has a penchant for toxic relationships, and it typically takes several breakups with the same guy before she calls it quits for good.
She never becomes emotionally invested in any of them—in anyone besides Archer.
Personally, I think she’s self-sabotaging, buying time until she and my cousin figure their weird fucking relationship out.
In a way, I feel for Declan. I imagine it’d be difficult to date someone and realize that they’re irrevocably in love with someone else, but regardless, the way he speaks to her is despicable and I still hate the guy.
“How are you feeling, baby?” Mom asks as she and I trail Dahlia and Allie, hauling our deflated paddleboards back toward the house.
The morning sun shines down on the mountains to the east, the whipping ocean breeze and beaded saltwater cooling my already heated skin. Though, I think the sun is only a fraction of the cause for the flames erupting over my flesh after that moment with Wes this morning.
I could feel him against my thigh. He was hard. Throbbing. And I have no business thinking about how much I liked it while my mother is standing right beside me.
“I’m feeling fine,” I say as we reach the stairs.
I glance over my shoulder, finding my dad, Liv, and Wes huddled together, talking with their arms crossed. Likely discussing strategy for his first competition. Though, when Wes’s eyes flash to mine, molten and deep blue in the daylight, that heat inside my body surges.
Truthfully, I feel like I could throw up.
I don’t think the alcohol or last night’s breakdown have anything to do with it.
I think it has everything to do with the fact that Weston slept outside my tent.
On the ground, in the elements, knowing he’d have to wake up this morning and push his body to the brink.
Still, he chose me—my safety and comfort over his own.
Weston held me while I cried. He didn’t question me, didn’t doubt my feelings or my fears.
His touch never made me flinch or freeze.
My chest is so full of butterflies, I fear they may begin spilling from my mouth, showing everyone on this beach how infatuated I’m becoming with that boy.
He looks at me like he may be feeling the same way. Those storms that always seem to be clouding his eyes have become clear. When he studies me now, I could swear there is a desire as potent as my own written in his features.
His stare burns into me the entire ascent up the cliffside.
“I can put these away for you, Mama,” I say when we reach the garage, plucking the strap of her paddleboard from her shoulder. I notice both Allie’s and Dahlia’s are also propped outside the back door.
“You sure?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I grab the door handle, pushing it open with my shoulder. “I’m going to wait for Weston.”
“Ah.” Mom nods, hazel eyes sparkling mischievously. “Okay.”
“We’re friends,” I snap.
“Mm-hmm.” She smiles, peeling off her wetsuit and shimmying down to the yellow one-piece she’s wearing beneath it. “I used to be friends with the bad boy surfer too.”
Am I that transparent?
“Just be careful, okay?” Mom asks. “I like Weston a lot, but I don’t want you to jump into anything too fast, before you’ve had time to process everything you’ve been through this summer—and all that he’s gone through too.
” At my frown, she pulls me in for a hug, pressing her lips to my forehead.
“Give the both of you some grace, some time to grow into this friendship.” Pulling back, she smiles at me with sparkling eyes.
“Because falling in love with your best friend is the greatest feeling in the world.”
I respond with a resigned nod before my mom spins and strides off toward the house.
Stripping out of my wetsuit and adjusting the straps of my green bikini before I gather it up, along with the rest of them, I toss them in the corner of the garage to be washed later.
Next, I drag each of the heavy bags that contain the inflatable paddleboards inside and prop them up in the corner where my dad stores them, dusting off the dried sand.
I begin a load of laundry—mostly beach towels—and empty out the ice chests my cousins lugged up here earlier this morning.
I know my mom means well, and while my dad and I haven’t discussed it, I have high doubts he’d disagree with anything she says.
Plus, Weston mentioned my father told him to stay away from me.
That pissed me off, and the familiar vexation surges in me now.
I understand they’re protective of me, especially after what I’ve gone through, but their misplaced concern ignites a defensive flame in me.
Despite only knowing him a few weeks, Weston has proven time and again to be nothing but respectful and kind. He’s also funny. He constantly makes me laugh, and his aura is addicting. I crave his presence because I feel good around him. Less broken, and more like me.
We both tried to fight that at first—him because he needs to focus on his future, and me because I need to get mine back on track, but I think we’ve both realized now that we’re better when we’re together, and I can’t see how it could be wrong to lean into that feeling.
Then there is the aspect of Weston that I nearly made a fool of myself by admitting last night when I was drunk: the desire.
For months, I’ve struggled to look in the mirror, struggled to feel anything other than disgust and disappointment with my own body.
Not to mention the physical side effects of my abortion—I woke up this morning to find that I was spotting. Again.
My libido has not only been nonexistent, but fighting against me. That is, until Weston entered the picture. Now he’s the image behind my eyes every time they’re closed. He’s the spark between my thighs, and the touch reigniting my dormant desire.
I want him, and while I want to nurture this budding friendship between us at the same time, I don’t know how much longer I can go without his touch.
As I’m organizing the extra drinks in the garage fridge, I hear the hum of distant voices growing louder.
“You did well today. I think it’s time to take you out of the cove and have you begin practicing on larger waves. There are a couple spots up the coastline I’d like to take you to, so we’ll start on Monday,” my dad’s voice echoes outside the garage.
“Okay,” Weston replies. “That sounds great.”
“Can you put the boards away for me? The house is a fucking mess, and I don’t want Darby having to clean up inside alone.”
“Absolutely. I’ll take care of it.”
Dad’s Crocs squeak with each step he makes against the concrete outside before the garage door creaks open, and Weston enters, wetsuit folded at his hips as he holds a board in each hand.
He’s beautiful.
Wet, dark hair falls at the center of his forehead, thick brows hover over those gray-blue eyes, widening when he notices me. He licks his lips, swallowing as a bead of water runs down the center of his bare chest. I watch until it disappears.
“Hey,” he says, breaking my trance, stripping out of his wetsuit and down to the pair of swim shorts he’s wearing beneath it.
“Hi. I waited for you.”
“Did you?”
My eyes are still locked on his waist, and I take a slow perusal of his chest, raking them back up his body, catching his gaze again. “I did. I have a question for you.”
“I suppose I must have an answer for you.” He grins, walking the boards over to the corner of the garage and sliding one into the stands before propping the other onto the shaping board. “Don’t let me forget to wax those later.”
I nod as he leans against the wall, crossing his arms, settling in. Nerves prick my stomach, and I’m suddenly filled with apprehension. I breathe deep, summoning all my courage. “You said last night you’re afraid. Of never experiencing the full range of emotion. Love and intimacy.”
His brows draw together in surprise, before he huffs a laugh, rubbing his jaw and dropping his gaze to his feet. “You remember?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yeah, Wills. I’m afraid of that.”
“You’ve never felt anything like that before?” I take a step toward him.
He lifts his head, eyes blazing. “I’ve never felt anything even close.”
“You’ve never been in love? Not even a crush?”
His lips part, and he looks me up and down before his mouth snaps shut. He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever known someone well enough to want them like that. I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe enough to feel anything at all.”