8. Finn
eight
Finn
I try to focus on the blonde in front of me—Amanda? Allison?—but Vivian is on to her second glass of wine and starting to sway. Green Polo steadies her with a palm to her ribs, and I almost shatter the highball glass in my hand. He’s practically salivating at her tipsy state.
Like a dog.
“It was nice to meet you, but I’ve got to go,” I interrupt Aubrey. Or was it Alyssa?
“Oh, sure. Maybe we can…” Her words pitter off as I march down the bar.
I know I’m being a complete jerk, but Annabell didn’t take my first seven hints that I wasn’t up for conversation. Normally, I can chat with anyone about anything, but tonight my job is to take care of Vivian.
Green Polo’s lips lean dangerously close to Vivian’s ear as I arrive beside her. “We have to head out, Viv.”
“Viv?” The man’s brows crinkle.
She waves a hand, her silver pinky ring glinting in the light. “Childhood nickname.”
His gaze cautiously jumps to mine before returning to Vivian’s. “Can I get your number?”
“Sorry, man. We’re not from here,” I tell him, like the world’s biggest scumbag, before sliding my arm around her shoulder and pulling Vivian toward the ocean-facing exit.
I have no logical explanation for my uncharacteristic surliness. The little voice in my head that always reminds me to pay attention to the optics of a situation, to constantly put the most likable version of myself forward, seems to be momentarily subdued. By what, I don’t know.
“You gave him a fake name?” I ask as soon as we spill onto the wide cement boardwalk that separates us from the beach.
“My sister’s.”
The corner of my mouth lips up. “Clever.”
To my shock, Vivian leans into me and takes a noisy inhale.
“It’s been bugging me since I got in your car, but I can’t decide if it’s cliché for you to smell like books.
It’s probably because you’re surrounded by them all day.
Though…fragrance companies should bottle this”—she pokes my chest—“and sell it because all the bookish girlies would lose their minds if their boyfriends smelled like you.”
I blink. Utterly speechless.
“Oooh, the ocean. I’m going to say hi.” Vivian wriggles from beneath my arm and bounds down the handful of stairs that lead to the sand.
The white crests of the waves are barely visible in the light cast from the huge hotel towers, but the reflection of the waning moon on the water stretches like a beacon.
There are a few clusters of people on the beach.
A teenage boy runs past us, shouldering a squealing girl as a second boy videos the whole thing.
An older couple walks along the water, hand in hand.
But I hardly notice any of it because Vivian talks our entire walk to the shore.
She’s a joyful little chatterbox. I seriously hope Vivian never holds state secrets, because all you need is two glasses of rosé, and she’ll tell you anything.
I receive a quick lesson about grain and cross-grain lines in fabric, how she thinks her twin sister, Brynn, and I should be best friends because our names rhyme, and a few tidbits of Wilks Beach lore—including how she made an “ocean wish” on her birthday, and that’s why I’m her dating coach.
Apparently, the sea “sent me to help her.” The strangest thing is that if she’d uttered that sentence even three days ago, I would have written her off as a loon.
Tonight, it’s endearing, and I cannot be endeared by this woman.
When we arrive at the water’s edge, Vivian casually mentions that she’s never had more than one drink with anyone but her sister.
Up until meeting me, Brynn has been the only one she’s ever trusted to take care of her.
The minx drops that bomb, kicks off her shoes, then skips into the water, having no idea that earning her trust cuts a chunk out of my well-forged armor.
Vivian sighs with delight the second the cool water covers her toes. “I wish I could go for a swim right now.”
I shudder. “In the dark?”
The idea of her—anyone—in the dark water makes bile scratch up my throat—not that I enjoy being in water under the best of circumstances.
She glances over her shoulder, eyes flashing with an unexpected twinkle. “I do it all the time. Night is the best time to explore the beaches because no one’s around.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. I have a light-up bubble buoy I use for open-water swimming.”
The ringing in my ears overtakes the crashing sound of waves. I’m eight again, and all I can feel is the burning in my lungs and my brother, Brody’s, hands on my shoulders. My riotous heart slaps against my ribs, all other sounds muffled by the—
“Finn.”
I startle, finding Vivian in front of me. How long has she been there?
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” My head shakes as I refocus my thoughts.
She tucks her lower lip between her teeth. “I asked if you were okay?”
I attempt a charming smile but feel it wobble. “Of course, gorgeous.” I slide my hands into my pockets and pull my shoulders back, needing her concerned look to drop more than I need my next breath. “I’m always okay.”
“Are you sure?”
My father’s words echo automatically. “Don’t show weakness. The second they see you vulnerable, you’re as good as dead.”
I nod.
Life has proved my father’s warning true, but the sweet crease between Vivian’s brows messes with my head. It’s making me want to cup her cheek in gratitude before threading my fingers through those curls and bringing her mouth to mine.
My hands fist in my pockets as I remind myself that kissing Vivian would be completely disastrous—both for my plans to save my sister and for my shredded heart.
Her nose wrinkles in that adorable way before Vivian’s expression brightens. “I know what you need.” She grabs my wrist and tugs me toward the boardwalk, forgetting about her shoes. “Rosé. Rosé fixes everything.”
I stoop to grab her shoes before letting her lead me up the beach. “I think we need some water.”
“Boo. Spoilsport.”
An unexpected chuckle leaves my mouth.
Her mouth splits wide on a grin, and I try to mediate the effect it has on my heart rate. Part of me wishes Vivian smiled like that more often, but then a selfish part loves that she only directs that particular grin at me.
Vivian stops at the top of the boardwalk stairs, still holding my wrist. “If I drink a bottle of water, can we try another target?”
A snort escapes me. “You want to go to another bar?”
I thought for sure we were going home.
“Yeah, because I realized something.” It doesn’t seem possible for her to shine brighter, yet Vivian positively sparkles.
“None of this matters. In these noisy bars, I can be whoever I want. I’m never going to see these people again.” She points to a man skating by on rollerblades. “You, sir! Our paths shall never again entwine.”
The man wholly ignores her, much to Vivian’s giddy delight.
I understand the allure of anonymity. After being forced to remove my father’s last name from my own, the freedom of being forgettable was dizzying at times.
“My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by people who know me.
That intimacy is lovely, but it’s also intimidating.
Even in high school on the mainland, the stories followed me.
Everyone knew about our past before we’d even stepped foot on campus.
But here”—she stretches out her arms—“I’m a mystery.
An enigma. What I do doesn’t matter because no one will tell Aunt Tammy.
No one will tell Brynn. I won’t be hurting anyone when I inevitably ruin everything. ”
So many follow-up questions zip through my mind, but it’s difficult to organize them, especially when it feels like someone sucker punched me in the throat.
“You”—my voice is entirely too gruff as I step forward, closing the gap between us—“could never ruin anything. I never want to hear you talk about yourself like that again.”
Her mouth opens, sucks in an uneven breath, then closes with a hard swallow.
I ignore everything in the next few seconds, concentrating only on remaining absolutely still.
The goosebumps spreading down her arms go untouched.
The gossamer sheen of her dress, tempting me to trace my fingers over the corset at her waist, isn’t worth my attention.
The way her collarbones bounce with each insufficient inhale isn’t distracting.
Vivian does that rapid-blinking thing again before her expression smooths. “Got it, Coach. Negative self-talk is not going to help me win Atticus’s heart.”
Her words shive me in the kidneys, but I let my lip quirk. “That’s right. And the next step is talking to him.”
“Except, there’s a problem with your plan.”
“What’s that?”
“Atticus won’t approach me like Dylan did. We have been hovering around each other for a year. The first time he spoke to me was at the library, and that was only because you and I were in his way.”
Irrational anger sweeps my bloodstream before I can suppress it.
If my life wasn’t a complete mess, if my ex hadn’t destroyed me, I wouldn’t have waited a year to speak to Vivian.
If I wasn’t her dating coach and this tentative relationship wasn’t purely situational, I would have closed those final inches seconds ago.
“Fret not, gorgeous,” I begin, waiting until she’s caught my roguish smile before continuing. “Your dating coach has a plan.”