Chapter 17
Seventeen
“No, not like that. Your form is all wrong.”
Water sloshes my lips as a noise of frustration escapes. “I don’t get what you mean.”
My arms are cramping. Salt stings my eyes. I’m so far past done with this, I could scream. “I copied exactly what you showed me. Where am I going wrong?”
“You’re arching your back too much, and you’re tense. I can see it from a mile away. Try to relax.”
I can’t help the incredulous laugh that leaves. “It’s the ocean, Reese. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to relax here.”
He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. Maybe it’s the week off—him recovering, bruises fading, progress evaporating—but it feels like we’ve slammed into a wall.
“Come here. I’ll show you.”
Sunlight skips across the water as I wade deeper into the swell. It’s mid-afternoon and the humidity is the kind that clings to your skin and seeps into your lungs, thick as ever.
For everyone else, the water’s a playground of laughter and joy. For me, it’s anything but.
Then, it gets worse.
I don’t even register the scream until it’s already left me. A white-hot bolt explodes in my foot before knifing straight up my leg.
“What?” Reese barks, instantly alert. “What happened?”
I shake my head, gasping for control.
“Bri, talk to me.”
“I—I stepped on something.” The words tumble out in a rush. “It hurts, Reese.”
He’s next to me in a breath, his arm bracing me forward. But the water presses in like lead, and each step drags more than the last.
When I stumble again, his grip tightens. “Can I carry you?”
I nod, and my teeth clench against a cry as he scoops me up. Even at a jog, it feels too slow.
“Hurry.” Between the sun and whatever’s embedded in my foot, I feel like I’m boiling inside-out.
Somehow we make it to the back deck. Reese nudges the sliding doors open with his shoulder, then lowers me onto the couch with a care that doesn’t match the storm tearing through me.
He kneels, angling my foot into the light. One glance and his face slackens beneath fading bruises. “Shit.”
“What?” I croak. “What is it?”
“You definitely stepped on something. Sea urchin, I think.”
Sea urchin?
My stomach flips, crashing through the floor. I search him for some kind of reassurance but all I find is a grim set to his jaw.
“What do we do?”
Another wave surges and I flinch against it. Reese’s hand clamps over mine.
“Fuck, I don’t know. This isn’t my thing and I don’t wanna make anything worse.”
Panic claws higher, faster—and that’s when the front door creaks open.
Footsteps stop dead. Carson’s gaze lands first on Reese crouched before me, second on our joined hands.
My heart’s pounding so fast I miss whatever flickers across his face.
“Carson,” Reese calls, relieved. “Need your help, man.”
That does it. Whatever was burning there snuffs out, his body snapping to full alert. “What’s wrong?” he asks, already half-way across the room.
“Looks like she stepped on a sea urchin.”
Carson takes me in, piece by piece, and whatever he sees firms his mouth. His arms move. “Let me take her.”
Reese backs away, but I sit up, forcing a breath. “I can manage.”
He doesn’t even pause. Just bends, slides his arms under me, and lifts. Easy, like there was never another option.
Instinct loops my arms around his neck, but it does nothing against the fresh spike of hurt. He feels it, adjusts his hold, and ups his pace toward the stairs.
“I’ve got you.” It’s low for me but solidifies into a command over his shoulder for Reese. “Grab a bottle. Anything. And vinegar.”
Then we’re moving, doorway to doorway, until I’m back in the same bathroom he patched me up before. He sets me on the counter, lingering just long enough to make sure I’m stable. I white-knuckle the edge as he lowers, taking in what Reese did.
“Well?”
His gaze lifts, but unlike Reese, there’s no emotion there. Just a blank, calm wall.
“Reese was right. Sea urchin. Looks like the spines broke off in your foot.”
My head thuds back against the mirror, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Fuck. Why is this happening to me? Heat and nausea coil in my stomach as the room pitches until I can’t figure which way is up.
“Jameson.” His voice pushes past the haze, firm. Then, firmer, when I don’t react. “Look at me.”
I force myself to obey. He’s all steel, locked on me like he’s trying to will fact into me.
“You’re going to be fine. Say it.”
He’s not asking.
“I’m going to be fine,” I echo. Lie. It doesn’t feel fine, not when it’s one thing after another. Today isn’t the day for a pity party though, so I square myself. “Can I use your phone? I should call my parents. Probably need to get this checked out.”
“Nah.”
I frown, but he’s too busy inspecting the damage again to notice. “I can get the spines out. I’ve done it before.”
“How?”
No reply. He pushes to his feet, rifling through a drawer while I grit against the throb and track his every move.
Then, metal on porcelain.
Clink.
Clink.
A razor. A pair of tweezers.
My stomach drops.
“Carson…” I shake my head. “No.”
I move to slide off the counter, but he’s already there, arms bracing on either side of me. I still.
“Trust me,” he intones, his focus absolute. “I know what I’m doing.”
The pain’s bleeding into my calf now but it’s the promise in his countenance that rattles me the most.
I believe him. I do. But I’ve been on a losing streak lately, and this doesn’t only seem reckless, it feels stupid.
“Wouldn’t it be safer to let professionals handle it?”
“No. They’ll do the exact same thing, just charging you a fuck-ton for it.”
I hesitate.
He catches it. His hand, so close to mine, brushes against my knuckles as it curls into a fist.
“We’re friends, yeah?”
It’s more gravel than warmth, but I nod anyway.
It’s what we agreed on. And, to his credit, he has made an effort, acknowledging me whenever we’ve crossed paths, even if it’s only been in passing.
“So friends trust each other. I promise I’ll be careful.”
I’ve barely whispered the okay when someone fills the doorway.
Reese’s gaze skims the scene, and for the briefest moment, his mouth twitches. “You looked at it?”
Carson steps back a touch, nodding. “Yeah. You were right. Urchin.”
“Ouch. Heard that’s a killer, Bri.”
“It is.” I gesture the bottle swinging from his fingers. “That for me?”
“Pretty sure it’s for sterilisation, darling.”
“Let her hit it,” Carson cuts in. “She’s gonna need it.”
Probably not the best idea with the way my stomach is twisting, but if Carson says I need it, something’s definitely wrong.
The swig scorches on the way down, but it buys me a second of relief from the angrier sting down below.
He nods at the tools. “Pour some over these.”
I do, then try to chase away the tremble in my hand with another shot, hoping to pretend the burn is bravery.
Reese lifts a brow. “You need a hand, Carson, or…?”
“Nah. I’ve got this. Go grab her things.”
“Alright.” He tosses a good luck in my direction before leaving like he can’t get away fast enough.
Carson crouches, and my pulse stutters. How is he so calm?
“Alright. I’m gonna get as many spines out as I can. If they stay in, infection’s a risk.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then we soak your foot in vinegar. It’ll break the rest down.”
“How long will this take?”
“Depends. Could be quick. Could drag.” He extends a hand. “Tweezers.”
I lock my jaw, trying to dam the sting rising behind my eyes. “Okay,” I front. “Go for it.”
He doesn’t right away; he just studies me. I almost wish he’d stall longer, because when the tweezers finally pierce, it’s fire winding through me like glass.
From there, it’s a brutal slope. Spine after spine, each one crueler than the last. The subtle shift of his forearms mark every dig and precise extraction. One’s wedged so deep I can’t smother the sound that escapes.
“Take a shot, Jameson.” It’s a command and I don’t hesitate. I grab the bottle and drink like it’s prescription.
It barely makes a dent.
“Can you… keep talking? Please.”
He doesn’t miss a step. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything.” I lock onto the dull paint near the floor, the scuffed tile at my back. Small details to hold onto. “Reese told me you’re from here.”
“Yeah.” His hands keep working, but his eyes flick up, clouded for a breath before they’re gone. “I was. Born here, raised here. I love this place. It’s good. I doubt you’ve seen much of it, probably just the touristy spots.”
“Maybe you can show me around.”
His answer isn’t what I expect, but the reason becomes clear in an instant.
“You’ve got yourself a deal… only if you keep holding it together, Jameson.”
Because the next spine, God, it’s worse than the rest combined.
He never lets up in his ministrations, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he gives me something else.
“One of my favourite things about living here was this dumb tradition my family had. We’d pile into the car and start driving. No plan or map, just turns made at random.”
The tweezers keep working, steady.
“Usually it led nowhere. Some parking lot, or a dead end. But every once in a while, we stumbled onto something worth remembering.”
The nausea eases, only a little, and I know it’s all him.
“We found a few places,” he continues. “Off-beaten paths, empty stretches of road. But one…” He shakes his head, and the motion carries something wistful. “Man. Just the perfect spot to clear my head. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve driven from Briar just to sit there for a while.”
His tone lingers, reverent in a way I’ve never heard from him. I want him to paint it for me, to let his words fill it in with colour, but he doesn’t. His eyes lift to mine instead. “That’s enough from me. Give me something back, Jameson.”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “There’s nothing to me, Carson.” Nothing good anyway.
Storm-ridden eyes hold mine. “I know that’s not true.” It doesn’t only come low, it carries a soothing lilt that prods at some broken part in me.
I let my head fall back against the mirror. “You said it yourself, Carson. I’m digging myself a hole.”
Silence. Then, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
My mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “But you meant it, right?”
“Yeah.” Unwavering and sure.
I hate the pang in my chest, so much so that I welcome the pain in my leg just to carry it away.
There’s no motion below. Only a still shadow at my feet. Then—“Brielle.”
I don’t even try to resist the gravel in it this time. My head tips, catching on the rigid line of his jaw, the tight pull of his brows. And his eyes. Crackling in a way that fills every corner of the room even though he stays kneeling.
“I’m not one to sugarcoat. Know that about me,” he says.
“I don’t know what your baggage is, maybe a cheating boyfriend, a broken heart but I can see you’ve got it, and I can see how hard you’re trying to outrun it.
” He shakes his head, a harsh exhale whistling out.
“It’s not gonna work. Trust me, I’ve watched someone try the exact same shit, and it never works. ”
There’s a pause, heavier than the words before it. At last he says, “I didn’t think all that much of you at the start, Jameson, but you’re not a bad person. I see you. You’ve got some shit, sure, but you can’t keep running. I’m sure you’ve got people who love you, so talk to them.”
Then, like he didn’t just carve through a layer of my chest, he turns back to my foot.
But me? I can’t breathe.
Everything he said… he sees me. I don’t want him to see me. I don’t want anyone to see me. Shit. Have I been that obvious this whole time? My fingers twist.
Another spine. Another. I hardly feel it.
“What happened?” I rasp after a while. “To that person?”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even react. I would’ve thought he didn’t hear it if his reply didn’t come eventually.
“It destroyed them.” A beat. “The people around them, too.”
It tastes solemn. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t even know what for, only that I need to say it.
He stills, just for a breath. Then his fingers skim my ankle, so faint it could be nothing at all. But it is something.
And it sticks.
Accident, or not.