Chapter 2
I was fifteen years old the first time Miles Olsen snuck through my bedroom window in the middle of the night. A small collection of soft taps at the glass before he slid the window open and climbed through, never waiting for me to acknowledge he was there.
I should have been scared, but fear was the last thing on my mind. We had been dancing around our feelings for years, too young and innocent to even know what to do with them, let alone understand them.
My eyes were heavy with sleep. It was so late that only the glow of the moonlight lit the streets and sent a beam through my room. I could see his beautiful face, a desperation painting it as if he needed to see me no matter how late it was.
I worried my mom would hear him, worried about how he’d slip out in the morning without anyone knowing. Wondering if his parents would be livid that he wasn’t at home in his own bed. It all consumed me for a split second before it was lost to the feel of him in my bed.
He smelled of the ocean and bubble gum surf wax; he smelled like our childhood, and it’s something that will always be part of him, part of us.
I dream about that day regularly, about all our days together, hating the pain that seizes in my chest at the thoughts of him.
More so, I hate how much I ache when I think about him, how it still hurts in a way that makes me want to hate him.
I try to hate him, and some days I do with such intensity that I hate myself.
Miles was the first of many things for me; that night with him in my bedroom was the first night we spent together, and it became a regular occurrence.
His warm, tanned skin flush with mine under my sheets that were dotted with surfboards and palm trees and hibiscus flowers.
The smell of his body lingered, and I often wondered if my mom knew he had been in my bed, the scent so strong, but maybe it was only to me.
He was my first kiss, the first guy to sleep in my bed, the first time I had sex; it was with him. All my firsts are his. He owns them, and again, at times I hate that.
The first time I had my heart broken, it was by him. The pieces are still scattered, jagged and sharp, inside my chest. They cut deep with every thought of him, a reminder of how much it hurts and how much I never want to feel that again.
Isaac was there to pick up the pieces while Miles lived his life on the mainland, touring with his band.
It was something I wanted for him because holding him back made me feel yucky and selfish, but watching him leave nearly broke me.
But what really broke me were the social media pictures of him and the band, all the girls throwing themselves at him, and all the posts of him with his arms wrapped around adoring fans.
Fans who undoubtedly know he has a tattoo for me.
But none of that matters.
We’re done.
Because my heart won’t let me get close to him again. The constant fear of him leaving is the only thing on my mind, even if the band imploded on itself, the smallest bit of fame being too much for all of them.
Their Instagram page is still live, and people still comment, asking when there will be new music or another tour. I torture myself regularly by looking at it, seeing the thirsty comments from girls about Miles, and as much as it pains me to think it, they’re right. He’s fucking hot.
This is my life. This mess of falling in love with two men, and sometimes I wonder if I’m even in love with Isaac or if I’m in love with the way he became a distraction from my reality.
Again, I hate myself for it all.
Even in my dreams, I smell him.
Miles.
The ocean.
The bubble gum surf wax.
The feel of his body.
And when I crack an eye open, my head throbbing, an ache so deep in the center of my forehead, I wonder if I fell last night and will have a giant goose egg there.
I run my fingers over it, but there’s nothing there, and when I finally will myself to open both eyes, I panic. I’m fucking hungover, and I’m not at home.
Gasping for air, I realize I’m in Miles’s bed, at his house, the house he shares with his aloof and clueless, perpetually indifferent to life brother, Kai. There’s no way this is going to stay quiet in our little group of friends, and it will no doubt get back to Isaac, and I will be fucked.
I throw the bedding off me and send up a silent plea when I realize I still have my underwear on and am still wearing the clothes I had on last night. Not that underwear ever stopped Miles and me from having sex; if anything, that tended to be a bigger turn-on. Pulling them to the side…
Fuck.
I’m so fucked right now.
Luckily, it’s still early. Shockingly, I’m awake, normally loving the solace of sleep and sleeping late, but I have to get my ass out of here.
Not even bothering to look for my shoes, I creep to the door, opening it with caution, not knowing what I’ll find on the other side.
The house is silent, and even though I haven’t been here in over a year, I slip through the tiny house, led by muscle memory and the need to get the hell out of here.
I have no idea where my purse is or where my shoes are or, hell, even my phone, but all of that can be dealt with later. I can’t be here.
And with that thought, I exit out the back door, bare feet, looking like I’m homeless as I head down the road toward Alana’s house.
If anyone will know what the fuck happened last night, it’s her. And maybe she knows where my purse is.
It takes me twenty minutes to get to Alana’s house, navigating all the pitfalls of the sidewalk while shoeless. My head is pulsing with the beat of my heart, and the sunshine of this damn island paradise is doing nothing to help it.
I could use a coffee and a massive glass of water, and probably some food, but here I am, without a fucking clue where any of my personal belongings are, and I certainly wasn’t going to see if Miles was awake to ask him.
Up until about a month ago, we couldn’t even be in the same room together without it turning into a massive argument, making it so fucking awkward for all our friends.
I took the decision-making away and just stopped coming to parties I knew Miles would be at.
I stopped hanging out with the guys, sticking only to the girls, but now that has proved almost impossible since they’ve all coupled up.
Miles and I needed space, and it’s not like I could bring Isaac with me because that would have only made things worse. Even with things settling down, I still don’t dare bring Isaac around; he’s not welcome, and I totally understand why.
I stop in front of the little cottage where Alana lives behind The Pipe Dream, letting out a hard sigh and wishing my life wasn’t such a disaster.
But I brought it on myself, and even though I would love to blame Miles for it, it’s not all his fault. He might have left, but I hooked up with his former best friend, possibly the shittiest thing in the world. And I have no defense for that.
I’m a horrible person.
I knock lightly at the cottage door and wait, wondering if Alana and Flynn are even here. They’re probably out surfing already, so I lift the doormat up and find the key waiting.
Pushing it into the lock, I hear the click and let myself in.
“Alana?” I call out, hoping I’m not walking in on them doing god knows what. Those two can’t keep their hands off each other.
And when she doesn’t answer, I quickly move down the small hallway toward the kitchen and find my purse sitting on the island.
I breathe a sigh of relief, snatching it up as I fish through it for my car keys before leaving and climbing into my car.
As the door closes and the engine starts, my throat grows dry, scraped raw by my hangover and the obvious yelling I was doing last night. Visions of flip-flops and plastic cups dance in my head, and here I am again, regretting my life choices.
I swallow hard, fighting back the sting of tears that burn my nose and coat my eyes as I pull my phone from my purse. The words on the screen blur into blobs as fat tears slide down my cheeks, lost in my thoughts and the feeling of heartbreak that just doesn’t seem to ease with time.
There are a million messages from Isaac, missed calls and multiple notices of him pinging me for my location.
He knew I was at The Pipe Dream. It’s not like I lie to him about where I’m going to be. I even asked him to come with me, but he declined.
But I guess not answering his text sent him into a panic, and rightfully so. I would have responded the same way. But more than that, it’s because Miles was there, a jealousy still lingering heavily.
Sometimes it feels like I’m just a pawn in this relationship, used to piss Miles off that Isaac won. It’s a disgusting thought, but the jealousy still runs so deep, especially after the band kicked Isaac out.
And once they did, things took off for them, booking as an opening act on a massive U.S. tour and leaving the island behind.
Me included.
But Isaac was there, and I guess our mutually broken hearts linked us, finding comfort in each other when the world felt like it was against us.
I swipe at the tears, despite their attempts to gather hard and fast. Warring with the thoughts that cloud my mind, I put the car in reverse, beginning to back up as my phone begins to ring.
Seeing his name on the screen causes my stomach to churn; a tightness pulls, and I can feel the tension wafting through the gentle breeze of the island air.
“Hey!” I answer with far too much enthusiasm for someone who is nursing a hangover. “Sorry, I spent the night at Alana’s.”
The lie falls so easily from my lips, and heat engulfs my cheeks, the sunburned shade of pink moving its way down my chest.
“Yeah,” Isaac quips. “Did you lose your phone?” His question is asked rhetorically, laced with sarcasm.
“No, just fell asleep. I should have texted you. Sorry.”
I’m not sure what else to say because the lie that spilled from my lips so easily could turn into a disaster. One small mistake could make it all come crashing down.
Pulling up the message app as Isaac exhales hard down the line, I shoot off a text to the group chat with the girls.
Me: If anyone asks, I spent the night at Alana’s.
Sloane: Guess that anyone refers to Isaac.
Me: Yeah
Sage: Got it. I’ll threaten Nate with his life.
Sloane: Same with Owen.
Alana: Noted. But if it means anything, Miles was just trying to help.
Ugh, Alana’s response. Miles is always just trying to help. He’s like that—sweet and kind, but with a tinge of bad boy in there when he’s on stage with a guitar.
“Where are you?” Isaac now asks, annoyance lining his voice.
I drop a pin for my location, letting him see I am, in fact, at Alana’s as my tires toss up gravel while my old Jeep spins its wheels.
“On my way home. Just sent you my location. Wanna meet up for breakfast?” My words are calm, but inside my heart is racing, waiting for him to see through my lie.
“Not today,” he replies with zero inflection in his tone. “I gotta go.”
And with that, he hangs up, and guilt pools in my chest, that stupid fucking ache that is always present, ramping up a few notches.
I’ll spend the rest of today chasing my thoughts with guilt, something Isaac knows, and something he thrives on.
It’s toxic as fuck, and I know it, but I can’t seem to walk away.
As I drive to my mom’s house, a place I don’t want to live, but finding a place on this island is nearly impossible, my thoughts are a fucking mess.
The sound of the ocean fills the car, the windows down, the top off, as the sun beats down on me, singeing my skin with its rays.
The burn of its heat is nothing compared to the way my heart feels, broken and aching, needing to find a way to heal.
But healing just doesn’t seem to come.