Chapter Eleven
Calypso
I watch Stella until she’s out of the water before turning back to Blake.
My siblings and I grew up just as close to Blake as we did to Grady.
When Grady and Vivi’s friendship fell apart in high school, our families slowly stopped spending as much time together as a group.
Our parents stayed close, and neutral, throughout the years.
Unfortunately, Blake got the short end of that, though.
She’s the youngest of us, and I’m six years older than her. The age gap caused a greater distance to her than it did Grady, who is only three years younger than me. He stayed close to the twins despite Vivi, at least until college.
He’s found his way home now.
Since he and Vivi have rekindled, we’ve all bonded with Blake again. Six years feels a lot less significant in a friendship now than it did at eighteen.
Sometimes thoughts like that roil my stomach, making me think about Stefan. I can’t even begin to imagine what he saw in me at sixteen.
Mentally, I shake out of the oily memories and focus on Blake again. In the last year, I’ve made each of her kids’ birthday cakes and we’re brainstorming ideas for her youngest’s party.
A heavy force hits me from behind, and I brace myself to fall in the water.
It doesn’t come—at least not immediately.
I’m swept up in the air, my entire body going horizontal as Liam carries us deeper into the water.
Trying to orient myself, I grab around his neck and waist. “Oh my God, what are you do—”
My words are cut off when he carries us straight into a wave, letting it roll over us.
The thrashing, heavy weight of a wave breaking over me has always been one of my favorite sensations, so I stay calm despite my surprise. I never cared to learn how to stay standing on a surfboard when being in the water is so much better.
The loud crashing of the waves is dulled down to a low, deep rumble as our bodies tangle together like the seaweed around our ankles.
Liam’s hands stay on my waist, making sure I never stray far.
A few waves move over us, back to back, and neither of us rush to come up for air.
We move back to shore with the tides and under the privacy of the dark ocean.
His hands slide from my waist down to my ass and thighs, guiding my legs around him and I pull our chests together. It feels natural, like it did three months ago under the soft cotton sheets.
After a few more seconds, I tap his shoulder and he instantly pushes off the shallow floor and we both gasp when we surface.
Liam doesn’t let go of me, carrying me back to shore. With my back to everyone, I can pretend for a second that it’s just us—that this isn’t a show.
“What the fuck?” I playfully accuse and push hair out of my face. “Why did you do that?”
With a boyish grin, he admits, “Your brothers dared me—it was their form of an initiation, I think.”
I’m not sure how to feel about that, but the bubble around us pops. I’m instantly more aware of the audience behind me.
When he’s about knee deep, he stops but doesn’t drop me yet. We look down at each other, and his eyes are so bright this close. The orange haze of the sunset dances across his blue irises, adding a warmth that complements the affection radiating off of him.
I brush my hand through his hair, wiping the water off his forehead with the movement. “My brothers have never put a man through any sort of ‘initiation,’” I argue quietly.
He shrugs and I bounce in his arms with the motion. “I guess I’m their favorite, then—which is good news if I’m hoping to keep you around.”
For a few months rings through my head.
A large wave hits us, coming up to my thighs and Liam’s waist. It almost knocks him down and his eyes go wide in shock. He stays steady, holding me above water and never letting us drown. I throw my head back laughing, feeling like a giddy kid at the beach again.
When we turn back toward the shore, some of that pleasure fades, but not all of it. It’s impossible when Liam’s so quick with another tease or joke, always ready to ping-pong banter until I’m smiling again.
Later that evening, after my mom and Grady’s parents took all the kids for the night, it’s our usual group—my siblings, Grady, Blake, Adrian, Lexi, Lucas, and Knox.
And Liam.
It should be surprising how easily he fits into the group, but in hindsight, I should have known.
He can joke with my brothers and Grady in a distinctly bro way that doesn’t grate at me. Even earlier, when he threw both of us into the water, I had fun. Liam’s also a saint to my mother and Vivi—despite what his hot-as-sin tattoos may imply to some people.
He’s winning over my entire family in one afternoon. Something I’m certain I wouldn’t be able to do with his family.
Martha didn’t mind me when I was just a local girl who hung out with her son and his friends sometimes.
If anything, my family’s reputation around town bought them some brownie points of their own around here—Stefan needed it.
He wasn’t a “bad boy” like Liam, he was just entitled and arrogant.
Privileged enough to not have any consequences.
None of that mattered in Martha’s eyes as soon as I moved from friend to girlfriend.
I was na?ve to believe anything other than disdain would come from dating Stefan.
The laundry list of reasons she didn’t want me with her son was endless: I had a single mom, we were from a much lower tax bracket, I didn’t want children, he had to move to Amada Beach, and on it went.
There was never acceptance of the situation, or of me.
Martha fought to change me. In her head, I wasn’t anything more than putty in her hands, moldable to whatever container she needed me in.
Unfortunately for her, that only worked for the first few years.
Then I finally learned how to say no again.
Liam’s fingers lightly brush along my lower back, pulling me out of my thoughts. Blinking, I turn away from the fire and avoid his gaze.
Unwrapping the foil with tongs, I cut a piece of the toasted s’mores sourdough loaf. It’s been a huge hit at the bakery, and Lexi begged Chuck to bake a couple extra loaves for me to bring.
Like I always say, that man is a sucker for the women in his life.
Glancing back, I offer a piece to Liam.
“Thanks,” he says with a handsome smile. He takes a large bite and lowly groans in appreciation.
Sliding back into my chair, I watch him openly and eat my toast. Everyone has broken off into separate conversations, giving us a little privacy.
He holds eye contact and I can see where his mind is going before he says anything.
I point at him. “Don’t say it.”
He’s apologized multiple times for dunking me, and refused to take the cash from Asher. I appreciate that.
For some reason, it was important for him to fit in with my brothers and Grady. In their aggravating, younger brothers way, I know Liam is right and it was their olive branch to him.
He closes it around another bite and grins brightly at me.
Pulling my legs into my chest, I lean closer to him and point at one of his tattoos. “I never asked about these.”
He eyes me. “You left before I could even get your name.”
“I told you I wouldn’t have shared that with you,” I remind him. “Not that night.”
He nods, understanding my reluctance more.
“I would’ve told you anything you wanted,” he admits.
I’m not sure if he’s being flirty or serious.
Before I have to think of a response, he adds, “Like how I got this one—” he points at his skeleton rock on hand, “—when I was eighteen at Warped Tour in Pomona.”
My mouth drops open. “You went to Warped Tour out here?”
He tilts his head in curiosity. “Yeah, I spent every summer out here. But I’d meet some of my friends and take Lucas when I could.”
“I was at the same show, assuming that was, what?” I ask, knowing he’s a year older than me. One of his tattoos is a 1989 on his inner wrist, it wasn’t hard to figure out.
“It would have been about sixteen years ago,” he confirms with a sparkle in his blue eyes.
I nod. “I went to the first show in California every year after I turned sixteen.”
His eyes move over me, fitting the new pieces of information together.
“Former ballerina and emo kid,” he muses in appreciation. “I was wondering when you played “Vacation” the other morning.”
“One of my favorites,” I say and reach for another cider.
Liam grabs it from the ice chest before I can and flips the tab for me. It’s such a mundane, thoughtful gesture. He does those a lot, without a second thought as long as it’s helping me somehow.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t meet when we were teenagers,” he jokes. “It’s giving ‘Girl All The Bad Guys Want.’”
He’s referring to the Bowling for Soup song.
Snickering, I shrug, playing coy. “You definitely would have gotten me in a lot more trouble.”
“Something tells me you don’t mind trouble,” he murmurs and leans closer to me. “And it would have been so fucking fun.”
I shake my head at him, but I’m biting back my smile.
Despite everything that I’ve gone through, I wouldn’t change anything—with the exception of wishing our dad was alive.
I’ve learned to believe that everything happens for a reason.
But it’s fun to imagine what it would have been like to meet teenage Liam instead of Stefan.
Young, wild, carefree.
That’s the only way to describe the fantasy.
“And this one?” I ask, pointing at the devil horns on his rotator cuff.
He turns his arm, and my finger glides along his skin until I’m touching a Capricorn glyph on his inner bicep.
“I’m a Capricorn. When my friends and I went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras for spring break, a psychic told me that the Devil card represents Capricorns in tarot.” He shrugs. “I thought it was cool, so I got the horns tattooed later that night. I got the glyph for a Friday the 13th deal.”
Pointing through a few more, he tells me the story behind each of them—all random memories or impulsive moments.
The sailboat he got when he was nineteen after getting his sailing license.
The Atlas moth was another flash tattoo, along with the dice and band-aid above his elbow.
The stamp with a strawberry plant is a design he saw at his usual shop and liked enough to get that day.
Some of the others, like the Saturn and anatomical heart, were planned ahead of time.
“I call it my ‘fuck-up’ sleeve,” he says.
A sharp laugh bursts out of me. “What? Really?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Some of them are good quality, others aren’t.
” That’s true. There are a few spots where the linework has blown out, like on the dove and bandaid.
It appears to be more from inexperienced hands rather than untalented ones, though.
“There’s no pressure. I get whatever feels right at that time.
Every other piece was thoroughly planned and thought out. ”
He means the floral sleeve on his left arm, a snake on his right leg, and a ring of flames above his left knee.
“And the flowers, they’re for…?” I let the question trail off, even though I have some guesses.
“My mom and sisters,” he answers. “My mom hated tattoos until I started that sleeve.”
I smile into another bite of bread. “Hard to hate something so sentimental. Even for my icy heart.”
He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Guarded isn’t the same as icy.”
Lucas calls him before I can even process his words, asking for Liam’s recounting of some other trouble they found themselves in as teenagers.
His previous words linger for the rest of the night, leaving a similar sensation to the heavy waves we found ourselves in earlier.
Liam has this peculiar talent to fade out the noise around us, bringing me back from the silent anxiety that always goes unnoticed.
Maybe Liam doesn’t even realize it’s there either, simmering under the weight of my own baggage, plus everything I choose to carry for my mom and siblings. His presence is somehow enough to calm me, and sometimes, I even feel like maybe I can let go of control. Just for a few seconds.