Chapter 23
Pierce
Leaving the safety of the boat is not smart.
We are more than a hundred miles from Puerto Vallarta, and the look on Thea’s face while we were eating nearly killed me.
I didn’t believe her for a minute when she said she had the expenses for her father covered.
I saw that flash of fear in her eyes; it was the same one my mom used to get when she worried how she was going to put food on the table.
Then she found drugs, and that fear found a new home—in my eyes.
If Thea takes care of her father, who takes care of her?
She deserves at least one good memory from this disastrous trip.
“Have you ever been snorkeling?” I ask as we walk down the dock from the boat. Thea looked like she was going to pass out again when we had to scan our fake passes at the gate, but we made it off with no problem.
“Uh, once when I was little. I cut my foot on a sharp rock and was afraid sharks would smell my blood, so I never tried again.”
Why does that not surprise me?
“We could hike instead. I heard there’s a cool waterfall.”
“Ew, cardio.” She rubs her stomach. “Too many carbs.”
I know better than to tell a woman, ‘I told you so.’
“What do you want to do?”
A placid smile spreads her lips. “Sit on the beach with my toes in the sand.”
“Do you think that will permanently warm them up?”
“You’ll find out later in bed.”
I trip over a loose plank in the boardwalk. My life flashes before me in the murky depths of the green water, but I catch myself on a post just before going over the edge. I slowly stand upright and glare at Thea, who has her hand over her mouth, her eyes glowing with amusement.
“Who knew one little comment could take you down.”
“I take it back—you’re not predictable.”
She drops her hand, her whole face splitting into a grin. “Why, Pierce… I do believe you just gave me a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I expect at least three a day now. That’s what friends do,” she says, twisting her hair into a bun on top of her head.
“So, you’re going to compliment me three times a day as well?” I ask, watching her hands wrap the strands up so I can’t run my fingers through them. Not that I’ve done that or even want to…
“Yep.”
Something to look forward to… or not.
“I’ll start now, hubby.” She slips her fingers through mine and gazes up at me. “You’re really hot.” She arches up on her toes, bringing her lips close to the left side of my jaw. “And you’re really sweet, even though you don’t want to be.”
It’s the second compliment, not the first, that gets my pulse racing. I turn my head to the side, bringing our cheeks together. “Take it back.”
“Never.” She presses a kiss to my cheek, then drops onto her heels with a satisfied smile.
I’m rooted to the spot. I should return to the boat—whatever I need to do to keep me from falling for her. Instead, I allow her to lead me on. The puppy on her leash.
We hit the shore where locals bombard us. My head swims as I try to register all they are offering. A private island adventure for lovebirds, swimming with dolphins, snorkeling with sea turtles.
“What do you think?” I ask Thea.
“Are you sure we can’t just sit on the beach?”
“Let’s try one thing first.”
“Fine. Let’s…” She purses her lips.
“I’m paying for it, so stop looking at the prices.”
Her lips pinch at the sides. “I’ve always loved dolphins.”
“Then we’ll swim with the dolphins.”
***
Dolphins hate me. I thought it was a fluke at first, when the second we got into the water a dolphin rammed into my back.
Then one puked on me.
I didn’t know dolphins could vomit. As it turns out, neither did the guide.
They can, and it smells horrendous. And because I am a glutton for punishment, the dolphin who chose me must have had traces of shellfish in its system.
My face and throat immediately swelled up.
Thankfully an EpiPen was aboard the small boat.
Thea and the guide wanted to return to the mainland, but I refused to let her miss out because of a little bad luck.
I practically tossed her into the water so she couldn’t sit and fuss over me.
I’m fine. I’m always fine. It’s been thirty minutes, and I’m mostly back to normal. My lips and eyelids are still puffy, but I can breathe again.
I sit up from where I was instructed to lie, glaring at the ocean and its killer inhabitants.
“You should see your face.” Thea giggles, patting the dorsal fin of a dolphin that has stuck by her for the last hour and a half.
Which is, conveniently, the same dolphin that almost murdered me.
It’s like he knows I’m dangerous, and he’s trying to keep her safe as well.
If only I could hire the dolphin to swim Thea home.
I look at the dolphin, and it looks right back at me with triumph.
We’re on the same team, buddy.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I mutter from the boat bench where I’ve confined myself. No way am I getting back into that water.
Unless one of those things tries to kill Thea, I’m staying right here.
Watching her. More intently than I should.
Mentally mapping together the freckles I can see above the water.
Slipping into a sort of weird numbness whenever she laughs at one of the playful dolphins or the guides feeding them fish.
She’s entrancing. Beautiful.
Too perfect for a broken man like me.
Kissing her for our ruse was one thing. Wanting to do so again… not a good idea.
Emotions are distractions.
I can practically hear my trainer warning me of the dangers of attraction, of letting heightened momentary emotions control me instead of relying on my training.
I want to study her instead of our surroundings for threats. I want to take her and run from all the danger… pretend it doesn’t exist.
I drag in a deep breath of part fresh air, part dolphin vomit smell.
My control is slipping.
That’s rule number three. I can’t feel anything more for her than a duty to protect.
After she’s safe, I can analyze the weird stirring in my chest.
Eyes up, Pierce. Always keep your eyes up.
Thea finishes her swim with demon dolphins, and we are driven back to the beach. I gaze out at the water instead of watching the loose strands of hair blow around her head, framing the serene expression on her face. Okay, so I looked twice.
We make it to the beach, and Thea claims a large piece of driftwood as ‘our spot’. We ditch our towels and shoes and set off, searching for shells like normal vacationers.
It’s ridiculous, really… the amount of shells Thea deems special enough to keep. She must see more in the chipped and battered shells than I do. Just like she sees more in people than I do. She doesn’t see them for what they are, but for what they can be.
Thea frowns at the pile of shells in her hands. She’s run out of room. She looks at me, a silent plea written across her face.
“What?” I'm amused but determined to make her work for it.
“It’s just, you have pockets on your swim trunks, and I don’t…”
“Yes. I noticed that bikini is pocketless as well.” That and a few other things I shouldn’t have noticed.
She purses her lips. “Can you hold some for me?”
We embark on a staring contest. I win, and yet, I huff out a breath, then hold out a hand. She proceeds to fit everything in her palms in one of mine—they really are oddly tiny hands—leaving her free to find more. She takes off, and I follow her.
Though I have yet to pick any up, I keep watching the ground as if the most incredible shell will magically appear. A shell that will be life-changing, even though most are destined to end up as someone’s bathroom decor.
I stop walking, intrigued by something new.
I bend down, picking up the shell that has garnered my attention.
It’s black—out of place on this white sand beach filled with colorful shells.
The shape is as basic as it gets, as if it’s trying to fit in with the rest of the beach, but the color means it never will.
“That’s a cool one,” Thea says, peering into my hand. “Why do you like it?”
“Does there have to be a reason?”
Her loose strands of hair brush my forearm as she blinks up at me. “For you? I think so.”
“Then I like it because it’s black like my heart.”
She nods as if she can see it. “It’s also one of a kind. Just like you.”
There’s her third compliment. Hopefully, she will stop now. It’s uncomfortable… and not entirely awful.
We continue, reaching the southernmost tip of the island. It’s rocky, making it less than ideal to traverse, and deserted.
“I should have worn better shoes,” Thea mutters, reaching to free a shell from the rocks at her feet.
“I don’t think flip-flops are even considered shoes.”
“They’re convenient and take up no room in my suitcase.”
“They’re going to kill you.”
“You think everything is going to kill me.”
“You’re an easy target.”
She squints at me, then into the distance. It’s a beautiful view from here.
“Oh no, better save me from the pirates,” she says, pointing at the black ship in the distance.
“They’d return you. You talk a lot.”
“So funny,” she mutters, then turns back in the direction we came to begin our trek back to the main beach.
A shame. I was looking forward to meeting the pirates when they came for her.
After we’ve left a mountain of shells by our towels, we order overpriced sandwiches and drinks from a food stand.
“I should have bought a new shirt,” I mutter, gagging on the still-ripe smell of dolphin puke. The guide washed it in the ocean the best he could, but it will never be the same. And it’s ruining my lunch.
“I saw one with a sewn-on coconut bra. I can go grab it.” Thea offers.
“I’d prefer to go shirtless.” But I hesitate to remove the offending article of clothing.
Thea wraps up the remainder of her sandwich and stretches out on the towel, rolling to her side to face me. I try not to notice the length of her lean legs and the adorable stretch of her freckly stomach. “Are you embarrassed by your scar? Or your past?”
I stop chewing the last bite of my sandwich, the food immediately going tasteless. I can’t tell if she likes being so direct or if she completely lacks tact. Maybe therapists enjoy catching their victims—I mean patients—off guard.
My jaw clenches, and I direct my attention to a tiny sand crab. I wouldn’t even be upset if it bit me right now.
“I’m not embarrassed by either.”
“It’s okay, you know,” she says with a soft yawn as she retrieves her book from her bag and settles on her towel.
“What?”
She uses her book to shield her face from the sun. “To not be okay.”
That has never been my experience. Perfection was required of me—a part of the Abernathy blood that ran through my veins. Always be more, never less.
I thought I put that ideology behind me and accepted who I am when I left home. Yet I never changed me, just my surroundings. That letter only proved I can’t run from myself.
That’s what I tried to do—run from the shame of failure. Never allow myself to hope for more, because I never even knew what I was looking for. Acceptance? Love?
Contentment.
For once I’m content, despite my unsettled situation. Satisfied to be doing something good. And that’s because of this woman with the prodding questions and bubbly personality.
Just because my mind is at ease doesn’t mean I can get complacent. That would make me a failure.
I check up and down the beach, as if imminent danger will light up like a neon sign. The beach teems with families and sunbathers. The air is salty, the languid waves lulling me into a calmness in a way my mother never could.
I’m not that little boy anymore, afraid of the questions people would ask, afraid I’d be taken from my mom while simultaneously hoping I would be.
I’m not the teenager afraid to disappoint the only people who cared for me because I didn’t want them to regret taking me in. I always knew deep down I’d never be enough. If I had been, my grandfather wouldn’t have tried to turn me into someone else.
Before I can think better of it, I rip my shirt off and lean on my towel. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing the gentle sea breeze to rest my body.
A hand gently rests atop the fist I didn’t realize I’d made. I slowly unclench, and Thea slips her delicate fingers through mine.
I’m okay.