Chapter 19 #2
But now, she’s the one believing the lies. And that’s the last thing I want. But I can’t tell her the truth. If I’m worried about pushing too hard, too fast, getting into the why of my dating history is the last thing I need to do.
“They’re just rumors, Bec,” I say, hating that I can’t say more.
She’s quiet for a long moment, but she eventually says, “It must be frustrating to have so many people with opinions about your life. I only have my parents, my sisters, and Mia. And that’s hard enough.”
I let out a little chuckle. “Carter is actually worse than the fans,” I say. “The guy can use his own face to unlock my phone and spy on me if he wants. I can’t keep a secret from him to save my life.”
“And he clearly can’t keep them from your mother,” Becca says.
I huff out a laugh. “You picked up on that, huh?”
“I’m sure he means well,” she says.
I nod and shift, leaning back to mirror Becca’s reclined position. Only, when my scar hits the sand, a random jolt of pain shoots up my arm, making me wince and pull it back. I massage it with my free hand, and slowly, the pain starts to dissipate.
I look over to see Becca watching me. “Does that happen often?” she asks.
“Yeah, every once in a while,” I say. “Less frequently than it did at first.”
“That’s good, at least. But I’m sure it’s still frustrating,” she says. “I actually did a rotation in physical therapy when I was in nursing school. I even wrote a paper on scar desensitization.”
“Did you?”
She pushes herself up onto her knees and turns herself to face me. “Actually, can I try something?” She holds out her hands like she clearly wants my hand.
I offer it to her, and she slowly starts massaging the pad of my thumb, making her way up and over the entire length of my scar.
Maybe it’s the heat or the warm gulf water, or maybe it’s just that she’s really good at this, but it feels amazing. So much better than any massage I’ve gotten in my actual physical therapy appointments.
“How’s that feel?” she asks, her voice soft.
I nod. “Good. Really good, actually.”
“So, if that doesn’t bother you at all, then we can try a little bit of friction.
” She scoops up some sand and drops it onto my hand.
“I wouldn’t do this if your scar wasn’t completely healed.
But … I read something about the extra stimulation and how it can help your nerves remember how to chill.
So they only hurt when they’re supposed to hurt. ”
The sand added to the massage definitely adds an extra element to the experience. It feels odd, but not bad odd. Just different. “My PT suggested I use a salt scrub at home,” I say. “I guess this is why.”
“Have you tried it?”
“Ah,” I say sheepishly. “I probably should have. I think I thought it wouldn’t make a difference?”
“Theo Williamson,” she says, her fingers still massaging circles across my palm. “You need this hand to play. You should do everything your therapist recommends.”
The longer she works, the more my hand relaxes—the more my entire arm relaxes.
Somehow, five minutes of her massaging has managed to work out tension I feel like I’ve been carrying around for weeks.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I say. “I’ve been doing a lot of cold exposure.
Because that’s when I have the most trouble.
But it’s probably time to try something different. ”
“All the little things, the massages, the salt scrubs, the exposure therapy, they all contribute to different parts of your healing.” She moves from my palm up to my wrist, her touch gentle but intentional, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“I can help if you want,” she says, “but you should be doing everything possible. Even if it seems silly.”
“I’ll do better,” I say. “Especially if you’re willing to help me do better.”
Becca lifts her gaze to mine. It catches and holds, and her touch slows, shifting so it feels less like therapy and more like she wants an excuse to keep her hands on me.
I want to tell her she doesn’t need an excuse, that I would sit here like this all day, every day, just for the feel of her skin against mine.
My eyes drop to her mouth.
It’s probably too soon, but the pull to kiss her is strong—some kind of magnetic force that feels so much bigger than me.
I have to wonder if she feels it too, but then I catch her looking at my mouth.
She does feel it. I swear she does.
I lick my lips, the salt from the gulf sharp on my tongue, then lean forward, closer, closer…
Until Becca sucks in a breath and shifts, leaning back until her hands fall away and we’re no longer touching at all.
“We should probably get back to the house,” she says, a slight tremble in her voice. “Our moms might wonder where we are.”
I swallow my disappointment, but I can’t quite let her off the hook.
“Will they?” I ask. “Or did you just get nervous that I might try to kiss you?”
She presses her lips together, her hands lifting to her cheeks like she’s embarrassed. “Don’t do that,” she says on a laugh. “Don’t call me out.”
“So it was a deflection,” I say.
She shoots me a saucy look. “No.”
I shoot her a saucy look right back.
She rolls her eyes, but she seems more annoyed with herself than me. “Fine. Yes. It was.”
“Why?” I ask simply.
“Because we talked about this, and we aren’t supposed to be kissing. You told me we were on the same page.”
“That was before I saw you in that bikini,” I deadpan, and Becca groans, but there’s a smile underneath it, so I have no regrets.
“Oh my gosh,” she says. “Did you seriously just say that out loud?”
“It’s a really good bikini,” I tease, and she rolls her eyes.
“Okay, I’m definitely going back to the house. You’re terrible.”
“You’re going to make me carry all this stuff back by myself?”
Becca is already halfway across the sand, but she stops and turns around, hands propped on her hips. The breeze is blowing, tossing her hair around her face, and I suddenly wish I had my phone on me so I could capture how beautiful she looks.
“I absolutely am,” she calls back to me. “Hopefully it’ll take two trips. That way you’ll have some time to think about what you’ve done.”
I laugh to myself as she turns and covers the rest of the distance to the house.
I will think about what I’ve done. And cross my fingers it won’t be long before I get to try again.