22. Twenty-Two
Days later, a honking horn sends Sara and me into a scattered hurry, dumping dirty dishes into the sink and grabbing our things—beach bags, chairs, and a small, pink Igloo cooler. The horn goes off again, longer this time.
“Ugh, he’s so annoying,” Sara huffs.
“You’re the one who wanted to join them,” I remind her.
I did not want to join the neighborhood beach day. Multiple invitations arose after the party—I refused them all. Rose’s ‘biscuits’ didn’t sway me. Neither did Marcy’s wine.
But Sara said our neighbors made her feel like she could truly be herself. So, how could I refuse? We’ve only just connected—I don’t want to lose our tenuous bond. Still, if she hadn’t asked, I never would’ve agreed to go.
Besides, the last few days have been rough.
Dean arranged more gigs to carry him through next weekend, meaning he won’t get home until the day before school starts. “A last hurrah,” he explained during an exasperating FaceTime call, which means no hurrahing for us before work begins—a point I didn’t have time to make before he had to rush off.
But strangely, my indifference bothers me the most. What’s another weekend? Jack’s drunken remarks don’t help. Have I put up with this because I love Dean or because I so desperately want a partner and a family?
I stifled my confusion with work. I spent a full day at school, setting up my classroom and fine-tuning my weekly guides. Meanwhile, the Ring cameras arrived, and by the time I got home, Vernon and Jack had already installed them at Sara’s house.
As Rose explained that evening after I gushed my thanks, “Sara is a peach! Isn’t it funny? I bring over tea, and she tells me about her cock-up cousins and how you foiled them. Meanwhile, that cute UPS delivery man brings cameras, and hop, skip, jump, the boys take care of it. Poor Jack was a little perturbed that you went through that alone, love.”
I want to say he also perturbs me, but don’t for fear that it’ll end up headlining the Daisy Chain.
So, with two weekends until school starts and almost as long until Mom and then Dean arrive, summer circles the drain like an unfinished cocktail, wasted.
I don’t know what to think about Jack, either. I dream in his embrace but can’t live there. Words like absurdly beautiful, cherished, and adored mix with stays away, purgatory, and pathetic, creating a curdled potion in my head. I’m not proud of what I said to him either—who am I to judge his sex life or drinking habits? Or argue with an intoxicated person? Or let what he said in that state bother me? I hope the gods of drunkenness do me a favor, and he doesn’t remember. Please, don’t remember.
The horn goes off again as we trudge across the lawn. Jack meets us at the back end and loads Sara’s chair beside the others. She promptly skips to the sliding door.
Our eyes meet for the first time when he reaches for my chair. He looks morose—the Jack I first met that rainy night in the little house.
I offer a weak smile. “Thanks. Are you okay?”
His hard features soften with the question. He shuts the back door, blocking us from the passengers. “Not really. I was a dick. But I’m pissed at you for dealing with those fuckers alone. Do you realize the danger you put yourself in? Anything could’ve happened. You should’ve told me, should’ve let me help.”
My shoulders slump. “I know. I’m sorry. It was a stupid mistake.”
His anger dissipates with my confession. “I fucked up, too. You aren’t desperate or pathetic—that’s not what I think of you, Rowan. You’re the best person I know. I was being… protective, I think. I’m sorry.”
My gaze drops to the space between us. His beautiful compliment gets tainted by the word protective. It’s a nicer way to say he feels sorry for me, like he’s a pseudo-big-brother, critiquing my choices like Mira and Mom always do. “I don’t need protecting. Can we just reset to cordial again?”
“You’re still pissed at me?”
“Yes. No, ugh.” Flustered, I lock eyes with him. “I’m not pissed, just confused. When you can’t handle something, you turn into a jerk—that, I understand. But why when it comes to me? What about me can’t you handle?”
He looks stumped. Pained, even. Like I’ve given him a pop quiz, and he hasn’t studied.
“Have I done something?” I try again. “Is it me?”
“It’s not you—”
“If you say ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ I’m banning you from writing, Jack Graham,” I say, hoping to ease the tension. He allows a short smirk but keeps his eyes pinched.
“As you should. Thanks for saving me from a career-ending mistake.” He leans against the van, arms folded. “I, um, what I meant to say was… I’m sorry for being a dick. I’m working some shit out. I’ll do better.”
I sense he wants to say more, but his lips clamp shut. Maybe I’m reading into it, anyway. “Back to cordial, then?”
He nods. “Or something like it.”
“We should go.” I dart around him.
Leaning into the van, I size up the seating options. A long-lensed Nikon hangs from Vernon’s neck while binoculars droop from Rose’s. Tom and Marcy wear matching wide-brimmed hats in the back. Between the couples, Ed and Renita look flashy—her in a long, flowing floral cover-up and Ed wearing a Bermuda shirt and aviator sunglasses. Sara plops between Vernon and Rose.
I’m left with the front passenger seat beside Jack.
“Lovely day for the beach,” Renita coos as the van rumbles from the neighborhood.
“Dad would be so jealous,” Sara says. “He loves the beach. We go every weekend. Or um, used to.”
I twist to see her. “Have you heard from him?”
“He calls once a week.” She glances up from her phone. “I miss him.”
“We should visit him. I mean, if you’re allowed. Are you?”
She gives me a funny look. “Yeah, but it’s on the other side of town. What? Are you going to take me?”
“I don’t mind taking you. Just me—this isn’t a community field trip,” I say, turning to the rest of the van.
“Understood, love,” Rose says.
Catching Sara’s eyes again, I ask, “Are you sure it’d be alright for you to see him like that? It might be difficult.”
“Better for me to see him in a tacky jumpsuit than not at all. You really don’t mind?”
Her pleading look softens any hesitation. “I should’ve offered sooner. He’s your dad. Of course, you should see him. We’ll go tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Rowan.”
I shrug lightly—no big deal—but turned around in my seat, I can’t help my wide grin. I fold my arms over my chest to shield myself from the blasting AC.
Jack leans over and taps the vents away from me.
I’m about to thank him when Marcy asks, “Rowan, summer’s almost over. When do we get to meet your fiancé?”
I nearly cringe at the word fiancé like it’s a title I haven’t earned yet. “Soon. He’ll be home on Labor Day, I think.”
“Working actors comprise the majority of the entertainment industry,” Vernon says. “It’s harder than it looks—the magic of—”
“Vernon, no. What’s he working on this week, Rowan?”
“I can’t keep up, Rose. A Hulu production, I think.”
Jack rams on the horn at a lifted truck that cuts him off. “Asshole!”
“Oh, Hulu—we have that.” Rose glances at Vernon for verification. Sara giggles at Jack’s cursing, though no one else seems to notice.
“We should plan a welcome-home party.”
Rose claps at Marcy’s idea, and I offer a weak, “Um, he’d like that.”
Jack weaves around slow cars in the left lane only to give them a wave of irritation as we pass and mumble curses under his breath.
“We must do a cinema theme,” Rose says, spurring more ideas from the group, and plans for a Dean party unfold.
Jack turns the radio up, drowning the conversation, and within moments, the entire van is rocking out to Taylor Swift. Sara and I share a bemused look at the unharmonious cooing. I curl into the seat, a headache nipping at my temple. I imagine a lifetime of this—me reporting on Dean because he isn’t around to tell them himself.
Rose’s words from the night I met her circle into my head. If you love something enough, you find a way to make it work. They mix with Dean’s. This is why we work… we’re independent people who want to be independent together.
Only it sounds hollow now, like a bargain basement consolation prize to ravished, cherished, adored.
We arrive at the Carolina Beach boardwalk and set up base camp near the lifeguard stand. Jack and Tom erect a family-sized beach tent while we unfold our chairs. Jack acts as a porter, making multiple trips to the van for more gear and helping with set-up. Like a dutiful son, he doesn’t mind when Vernon hands him money for a donut run or when Marcy asks him to clean her glasses.
Vernon goes off to take photos in the morning light. Ed and Renita tour the boardwalk, hunting for mimosas. Rose and Marcy wade in the light waves. Tom and Jack get the surfboards strapped to the van’s roof and head out to catch waves. Sara settles with a sketchbook, angled away so I can’t see what she’s doing.
I pull out Cape Moon—Jack’s first novel. I’m halfway through, and he’s spun a thick, sticky web around me, pulling me in and holding me tightly. It’s the story of Tyler and Rachel—childhood sweethearts who share a devastating secret that slowly tears them apart. Told from a shifting perspective between the past and present, he leaves the reader desperate to discover what the secret is and, even more, if their love can withstand it. It’s dark, sometimes funny, strange, and sexy, but best of all, the love story is addictive. Every time I look away, my eyes zip back to the page like it might disintegrate in my hands if I stop reading—and I can’t let that happen.
I vaguely notice Sara going for a swim and keep a distracted eye on her. I hear Rose and Vernon talking. At one point, Renita’s high-pitched laugh makes me think they scored their mimosas. But otherwise, I’m oblivious to everything but the world Jack’s created—one of aching, desperate love, eerie sadness, and suspense.
Thunder breaks the spell. The dark sky at sea is split by lightning hitting the water. Our group eyes the approaching storm, except for Jack—he’s watching me, stretched out, long and lean, on a towel near my chair.
“Better head for cover,” Tom announces calmly. “Just a summer storm. Won’t last long.”
“Sara, come!” Rose waves her hand. “Let’s go buy you a proper sunhat.”
She races with them toward the boardwalk.
Renita and Ed dash up the beach in a giddy but ungraceful run toward a bar. Tom and Marcy follow, hand-in-hand, as fat raindrops pummel our tent. When I turn back to the stormy ocean, Jack’s on his feet, his hand reaching for mine.
“Come on.” His words come softly but sound demanding, like he’s responsible for me. Protective. But I won’t quibble. Lightning streaks the ocean behind him, with thunder quickly crashing, and my heart races. I tuck the book in my beach bag, sling it on my shoulder, and take his hand.
The rain picks up, making it hard to see. But Jack pulls me along, never loosening his grip as we weave through the evacuating crowd.
Lightning electrifies the sky, separated only a second from ear-splitting thunder. Barefoot, we kick through sandy puddles and cross over the boardwalk toward the shops.
But we don’t stay with the crowd, ducking into stores and restaurants. Jack leads me behind the boardwalk steps and under the platform with an insistent tug. Over our heads, the long slits between boards provide cuts of gray light, but it’s mostly dim. It’s a makeshift cave, shaded and safe. The rain and sudden coolness bring on a full-bodied shiver, and my heart races with the excited effort to get here.
But meeting Jack’s eyes, I laugh, even as another explosion makes me jump. Stuck in his story, I feel giddy, even drunk on it, like a teenager crushing on a book for the first time.
“I was at the part in the woods with the moss and the wet leaves under their feet,” I explain breathlessly. “When the rain comes, Tyler takes her to their old lean-to. And they kiss for the first time.”
Saying nothing, Jack sorts through my beach bag at my feet and pulls out a towel.
“When I looked up and saw the storm, I thought I’d conjured it from my imagination… Or, I mean, your imagination. Weird, huh?”
The beach towel circles my shoulders, dry and warm from the heat it captured on the beach—I didn’t realize I was shivering. Jack holds the ends together between us like he’s afraid I might not have the wherewithal to keep it on.
“And that kiss, Jack… ah, if only kisses could feel so magical. I don’t think a kiss can be that good.”
His intense stare falters slightly into curiosity.
I suddenly realize how alone we are. And close. Gripping my towel between us, his hand is fisted at the top of my chest. The other dangles loosely beside my right hand, a mere inch apart. It’d be easy to drag my fingertips across the tattooed world on his exposed chest—books and scenes spilling into each other like different chapters in the same eclectic story.
My eyes stop on the tattoo over his heart—a Calvin and Hobbes version of him and his brother wearing baseball uniforms and toting gear toward the field. I think of his office picture and the letters C + D etched into the closet door in Sara’s room, how sweet and sad it is. I long to touch him, hold him, offer some comfort in hindsight.
“Um, not a first kiss, anyway.” Inexplicably nervous, I focus on his face instead. “Those are always clumsy and awkward in real life. Don’t you think?”
Why isn’t he saying anything?Rain slaps against the wood planks over our heads, slipping through the tiny gaps. Thunder rumbles, and Jack stares at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. His free hand mingles with my left one, dangling at my side—tips to palm, and then his fingers roll over the outer side, where my marks cover half my hand. Why is Jack Graham touching me?
His grip on the towel edges me closer before his lips land softly on mine. My hands fall against his chest. I think to push him away—I want to push him away. But he does this wicked, teasing thing with his mouth, taking my bottom lip first and sliding his tongue across it before kissing me full-on in this soft, sexy, playful move that enflames my cold body in a second. He is salty, warm, and intense, like a crucial comfort—an addiction—that might make my heart explode in my chest for the crazy things he’s doing to my body all at once.
I can’t resist him. It’s the kiss I’ve always wanted but didn’t think existed. A unicorn kiss.
The towel falls to my feet, and we’re practically skin-to-skin. His hands go to my face, cupping my cheeks and fingers lacing in my wet hair. He hesitates, pulling away just enough to run his thumb over my lip and take me in. He is so close to me, studying me, pressing into me like he’s on top of me, and making me feel that nothing exists outside this hidden nook, our lips, hands, and magical touches. And strangely, I want to cry for the Pandora’s box he’s cracking open, making me see what I didn’t know was there. He’s a black hole ripping open my universe, sucking me in.
Breathing hard against him, bodies tight, hands gripping, lips close, and eyes locked, we kiss again—maybe I start it this time—and I’m swept away like a boat lost at sea that capsizes under a powerful wave. This is no clumsy first kiss. My hand circles his neck, runs through his hair, and over his rough cheek, keeping him there, savoring him. My legs twitch to wrap around him, especially with his hands kneading down my back, lower and lower, until I can’t help it. My right leg raises just enough to bring his hand to my thigh. He grips it so tightly that I feel all of him against me, and I ache for more. Ache for him.
Lightning flashes and thunder cracks, jolting me back to reality. What am I doing?
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, still close to him.
“Yes, you can,” comes his stern reply. His hands lock around my waist, holding me in place.
“No, I’m not like you.” My words are weak, almost whiny, but I can’t help it, like I’m crashing after an adrenaline rush. “This means something to me. I’m not a plot line or a plaything. Or a cheater. I can’t do this to Dean.”
“Break up with Dean. Be with me.”
I yank free of his tight grasp. “Damn it, no. How dare you even say it or even think it. No, I-I can’t be one of many, Jack.”
“Fuck, that’s not what I’m asking.” He looks confused, angry even. “Rowan, is it so hard to believe I want you? Only you?”
“Yes! You never only want anyone. I’m… just the wounded girl next door. I’ll run out of stories to tell, and the words will stop flowing. What then? I’ll never be enough. Not when you can have anyone you want. Not with… so many pretty faces. Damn it, Jack. How could you do this to us?”
I grab my things and rush into the rain, desperate to get away from him.