Chapter 20 The Line （Nate, age 17）
The flames have burned low, painting everyone’s faces in orange and shadow. The speaker keeps cutting out, so mostly it’s waves and Max Miller running his mouth.
He crushes his soda can one-handed, then grins around the group. “Who’s the hottest girl this summer?”
The boys start trading names, rating girls. Every word is careless, thoughtless, the kind of trash talk that sticks anyway.
I sit quiet, listening to it grind against me.
Then Max’s gaze slides to Leo. “What about your sister? Eden’s all grown up this year.”
The group stutters. The flames pop.
Leo’s expression goes lethal. He leans forward. “Say her name again, and I’ll put you in the ground.”
Max holds up his hands. “What? I didn’t mean anything. Just saying, she’s cute. Lot of guys notice.”
“She’s fifteen. You even think about trying something, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
The silence is heavy, broken only by surf and the hiss of embers. Max laughs weakly, but nobody’s laughing with him.
Across the flames, Leo’s stare finds mine. A flash—warning, protective. You get it, right? She’s off limits.
I give the barest nod. Hearing her name in Max’s mouth hits me like a fist to the chest.
A group of girls drifts down from the boardwalk, laughter bright as the music that sputters back to life. The whole circle perks up instantly.
Eden’s there, in the middle.
Her braid swings over one shoulder, tank top knotted at the waist, cutoffs frayed at the hem. She’s not the loudest, but somehow, she’s the one I can’t look away from.
She catches me watching, her mouth tilting.
The music shifts to a song with a thumping beat.
Girls sway, boys swagger, bodies edging closer under the excuse of rhythm.
Eden gets pulled in by her friends, moving with that awkward grace that makes my mouth go dry, caught between the girl she is and the woman she’s becoming.
Max elbows me. “Leo’s baby sister’s not a baby anymore.” I don’t answer. Because if I open my mouth, I’ll give myself away.
The bass drops into a slower beat, meant for couples. Eden’s swaying with Cassie, but then Cassie gets pulled away by Leo, leaving Eden standing alone.
Her gaze lands on me. She doesn’t say anything, just lifts one brow in a dare. My body moves before my brain catches up. “Dance with me?”
Her mouth curves. “Sure.”
We move together on the shore, close but not close, flames painting her skin gold. She smells of coconut and smoke, and when her braid brushes my arm, every nerve ending misbehaves. My hand hovers at the small of her back. She shifts closer, as if giving me permission.
Then my focus flicks past her shoulder. Leo’s dancing with Cassie, but his stare catches on me and Eden for the briefest beat. A quiet warning wrapped in nothing. He looks away just as fast, but my stomach knots.
The song fades, someone jeers about another round, and Eden slips back to her friends, cheeks pink. I stand there looking after her like an idiot, heart hammering, missing her warmth.
Eventually everyone crashes back around the flames. That’s when Max grabs an empty bottle and twirls it across the ground. “Spin the bottle. Let’s make this night memorable.”
We all lean in as the neck whips around, slowing, wobbling—
It stops, pointing at Eden.
Howls, whistles, catcalls. Max leans forward, eyes sharp with triumph. “Looks like it’s you and me, Carverette.”
Eden stiffens, fingers knotting in her lap.
She hates the nickname. I see it in the flash of her eyes, the way her shoulders tense.
My chest locks. Beside me, Leo bristles, glare fixed on Max.
For a beat, his eyes cut to mine. No words, just the same thought written across both our faces: how the hell do we shut this down?
Then Eden cuts in firmly. “That’s not how this game works, Max. House rules are both ends kiss. Everybody knows that.”
The circle wavers. A couple kids nod. “Yeah, we can do that rule.”
Max bristles. “Whatever. It’s still you and me, Carverette, no matter how you twist it.” He forces a laugh, tipping his chin toward the bottle. “Must be destiny.”
But Eden’s never been one to let anyone box her in, tilting her face defiantly. “I don’t think so. Look again. It’s pointing at me and Nate.”
Half the circle groans, half cracks up, catching on to her play. Someone leans closer to the bottle. “She’s right, man.”
Another piles on. “Let her have her pick.”
Then a voice from the back, louder, meaner: “She’d rather make out with her math homework than kiss you, Miller.”
Laughter erupts, rolling around, and Max’s smirk curdles hard. “That’s bullshit, and you all know it.”
The circle blurs with noise: laughter, shouts. Eden doesn’t flinch. She leans in, eyes locked on mine. There’s a plea there, and beneath it resolve.
She’s choosing me.
My chest hammers. My first kiss, and it’s the girl I’ve wanted for years. For a heartbeat I freeze, caught between wanting and not daring.
Her lips brush mine. Soft, quick. The barest touch. Enough to blow every fuse I’ve got.
Heat bursts through my chest and the crowd vanishes.
My hand finds the back of her head, and I pull her in.
My mouth moves against hers, clumsy, hungry, tugging her lower lip.
It isn’t the smooth story the older guys brag about.
She tastes of strawberry gloss, and when her breath catches, sharp and shaky, I come apart.
I press harder, tongue grazing the seam of her lips, greedy for more. For one impossible second she leans in too. Long enough for the world to tilt and never right itself.
It’s messy. Wet. Wrong, with a whole circle of kids hooting.
It’s also the only thing that has ever felt exactly, perfectly right.
She pulls back at last, slow and reluctant. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slick. She ducks into her friends and laughs it off as if it were just another dare.
But I can’t laugh. My heart is pumping, my whole body wired. And when I glance up, Leo’s eyes are on me, furious. He saw what I couldn’t hide.
The kids holler louder, jeering, riding the awkward thrill of it.
Max’s smirk twists mean. “Guess Carverette likes it sloppy. Or maybe she just likes her boys dark and broody.”
The group stumbles quiet for a beat, laughter choking off. A couple kids glance away, uncomfortable. One mutters, “Not cool, man.”
But Max only shrugs, his grin sour. His expression goes cold and calculating. Across the flames, Leo’s stare is on me, assessing. Eden huddles deeper into her friends.
I sit there, chest on fire, every nerve humming. Because it may have started as her wanting an out, but I know the truth: she wanted to kiss me.
By the time the flames die, most kids have peeled off. Eden drifts away with her friends, braid swinging, their laughter easy. The walk back to the house is silent. Leo’s fists jammed in his pockets, my head still buzzing from the firelight and Eden’s taste.
When we hit the porch, Ryan’s there, wearing his restaurant polo, slouched with a soda, dead on his feet. He clocks our faces immediately.
“What the hell’s wrong with you two?”
Leo doesn’t hesitate. “Nate kissed Eden on the beach.”
Ryan barks a laugh, tired and sharp. “Jesus Christ. Knew that was gonna happen eventually.”
“Stop egging him on,” Leo snarls.
“It wasn’t like that,” I snap. “Max has a thing for Eden and he rigged Spin the Bottle. She kissed me instead.”
That kills Ryan’s humor. He straightens, eyes narrowing. “Are you out of your goddamn minds? What the hell was she doing anywhere near that?”
“Max started it,” I grit out. “Spun it straight at her. She wasn’t having it.”
Ryan’s jaw ticks. Leo’s still bristling, fists balled. “Doesn’t matter. She’s fifteen. Nate shouldn’t—”
“What, you think I should’ve shoved her off in front of everyone?” I hiss. “You’d rather Max got his shot? Let that asshole stick his tongue down her throat?”
Ryan’s voice cracks through us like a whip. “Enough. Stop with the fucking imagery.” He drags a hand down his face, breath sharp. “Neither of you should’ve let her anywhere near that game. But you did. And when it landed on her—what then, Leo? You really want Max putting his hands on E?”
Silence. Just the cicadas, the creak of the porch boards.
Ryan exhales hard. “Eden’s safe with Nate. Safer than with anyone else. And if she’s gonna mess around one day, I’d rather it be with someone we trust.”
Leo doesn’t answer. Just mutters a curse, yanks the screen door open, and slams it behind him.
Ryan fixes me with a steady look. “You kept your hands to yourself, right?”
I nod once. “Just a peck. Chill, dude. Didn’t touch her.”
Lie. It was more than a peck, and every fiber in me is screaming to go back for more.
He studies me for a long beat, weighing it. Finally, he nods. “Keep it that way.” He takes a slow pull from his can, then adds, almost offhand, “For now.”
My head jerks up, caught by the edge in his tone.
Ryan claps me hard on the shoulder and disappears inside, the screen door creaking shut behind him. I stand in the dark, mouth tingling, chest pounding. I should crawl into bed, let the night die the way it’s supposed to.
But the anger won’t settle.
I keep seeing Eden’s face when she leaned across that circle, choosing me to evade Max. Brave, defiant. And scared enough to crack my chest open.
My fists won’t unclench.
So instead of heading in, I cut back down the dune path. The bonfire’s burned to embers, a few kids staggering home. Max is still there with two shadows, beer cans hissing open, voices full of cheap swagger.
I wait until his buddies wander toward the boardwalk. Then I step out of the dark.
He doesn’t even see me until my fist knots in his shirt and his back slams into the lifeguard stand. The wood rattles with the impact. I’m bigger, stronger, fueled by discipline and rage he’s never had. My forearm digs into his chest, pinning him.
His eyes flare wide, then narrow with fake bravado. “The hell’s your problem, Russo?”
“Stay. Away. From. Eden.” It’s a roar. A stranger’s voice.
He smirks. “Carverette? That who you mean?”
I slam him harder, cutting the smirk clean off. “Hands. Off. You understand me?”
He wheezes a laugh. “Christ, you already got your kiss. What are you pissed about? She leaned in. Guess little Eden’s not so innocent, huh? Wet and sloppy, looked like she wanted—”
Rage detonates. My forearm drives higher, crushing his throat, cutting off the words with a strangled choke. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
His eyes water, the sound of him gasping ugly against my arm. Still, he rasps bitterly, “She’ll be a good time in a year or two—”
That’s it. The asshole doesn’t know when to quit.
I fist his shirt tighter and drag him nose-to-nose. “You so much as think about her again,” I snarl, voice scraping the dark, “and I’ll break your teeth down your throat. You hear me?”
His Adam’s apple bobs against my arm. Bravado gone, smirk dead. “Okay, okay. Jesus, yeah, I get it!”
I hold him a beat longer. Long enough for him to feel it. To know I could end him. Then I drop him. He slumps against the stand, coughing, face pale with the realization he’s outmatched.
“Remember this, Miller.” My voice is ice, my chest fire. “Eden Carver is mine. You go near her again, I won’t stop at a warning.”
I walk away without looking back, fists coiled tight. And I realize that what I feel for Eden isn’t only the need to protect her.
It’s the need to claim her.