Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1)

by Jillian Liota

  The final words I voice come out slightly choked. “And I feel all this guilt,” I add, closing my eyes and trying to hold back the flood of tears at voicing it like this for the first time. “Because if it hadn’t been for me, maybe he would have gone to college or met a girl and gotten married, and then I’d have nieces and nephews and my brother…”

  A tear falls then. A streak of wetness trailing a path of pain down my cheek.

  “And now I have this new brother and I really like him and I’m afraid that I’m diminishing Joshua’s memory, or that I’m replacing him in some way.”

  And then I burst into tears, the wave of emotions that I’ve been feeling for weeks as I’ve adjusted to this new life in a new town with new people coming forward in a rush.

  I haven’t had anyone to talk to about this. About all of this newness that makes my life feel so different.

  That makes me feel so small.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes still closed as I try to wipe away the wetness on my cheeks.

  I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know if this is a date or not, but I’m pretty sure bursting into tears isn’t something most men want to see from the girl they’re spending time with.

  Suddenly I feel a warm body settle in next to me on the bench, arms pulling me into the warmth, wrapping me snug and holding me close.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers into my ear, his words holding their own thread of emotions. “Nothing at all.”

  I take advantage of his nearness, tuck my body firmly into his where he offers it, enjoy the feeling of being embraced by someone who wants to ease my fears, lessen my pain, soften my suffering.

  His hands rest softly against me, one lightly at the nape of my neck, the other caressing up and down my spine in soothing repetition.

  It’s a beautiful thing when you learn to accept love in its varying forms. And while I wouldn’t say Wyatt loves me, I would say that he cares enough to want to make sure I feel loved in this moment.

  Loved and not alone.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” I whisper as he slowly rocks us both, the movement soothing. “I keep wanting to cry around you.”

  He chuckles. “As long as I’m not the one who makes you cry, it’s fine, sweetheart.” He just continues to hold me, rubbing my back occasionally. And then he adds, barely loud enough for me to hear, “I promise, I never want to make you cry.”

  Eventually, my tears subside. I pull back and look at Wyatt, surprised to find a host of pain in his eyes. He reaches forward and rests and hand on my jaw, his thumb stroking across my cheek.

  “I’m sorry I dumped everything on you,” I say, my voice soft and still tinged with embarrassment. “I haven’t really had anyone to talk to since I got here, and…”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “I’m sure holding all of that in was exhausting.”

  I nod.

  “Sometimes, when you’re tired, getting it all out means your body can finally rest.”

  I nod again. “That’s so true. I feel like I could take a two-day power nap right now.”

  He smiles, his eyes flitting over my face as his hand tucks hair behind my ears. “Then let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

  We collect our uneaten goodies and wrap them up in the mangled paper bag, then put it into my backpack.

  Wyatt takes my hand as we head through the donut shop and back out to the front. I like the feel of my hand in his. Warm. Safe. It’s not a feeling I’m overly familiar with, but I’ll take as much of it as I can get.

  When we pull up out front of Lucas’ a little while later, I expect to just hop off and head inside. But Wyatt parks his bike, turns off the engine, and takes my hand, then walks me to the door.

  It’s a sweet gesture, something that reminds me of the dates I might have had in high school.

  “I really like spending time with you,” he says, looking down at where his hand is holding mine.

  I smile. “Me too.”

  He looks at me with affection, a sweet expression that makes me feel so adored in this moment. “You work a lunch shift tomorrow, right?”

  I nod.

  “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night? I want to spend more time with you.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying not to show how much I enjoy hearing those words. “Definitely.”

  But then he gives me a big smile, one similar to how I feel inside, and it eases something in my chest. Something that feels slightly embarrassed at how quickly he has become someone of significant importance in my life.

  Wyatt lifts his hands and places them on either side of my face, his thumbs softly caressing my cheeks.

  It makes me feel small, but not in the way I usually feel in the hands of someone else. He makes me feel precious, treasured, like I’m something priceless that he needs to protect.

  And it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever felt.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Wyatt

  I park the Escalade outside of Lucas’ house and shut off the engine. Then I take a moment to sit in silence.

  Hannah and I are going out to dinner tonight. I made reservations at a place called Papa Louis’, a little Italian place one town over that only has a dozen tables but makes the most delicious garlic bread I’ve ever had.

  I know I’m doing exactly what Lucas warned me about a few days ago at The Wave. He’d gotten right in my face, reminded me what was at stake, told me I was thinking with my dick and that Hannah deserved better than that.

  At first, I’d thought he meant that I was using her in the wrong way, and it pissed me off. But then I realized he just didn’t want me to use her more than I need to. That Lucas is starting to care deeply about her, is starting to feel that protective big brother emotion that doesn’t want some guy – any guy – sniffing around his sister.

  So, feeling that little niggling bit of guilt at his words, I left.

  But I can’t help myself when it comes to Hannah. I feel drawn to her, on a visceral level. I love when she smiles. I love making her smile.

  And that’s my plan tonight. Get her to enjoy herself as much as possible.

  Because the Hannah I experienced last night? The one who feels partly responsible for Joshua’s death? The one who has guilt in her heart about caring about her new brother, and struggles with feeing lost in this town?

  I want to help make sure she doesn’t feel those things.

  Somewhere between meeting her at the Pier and holding her while she cried, this thing with Hannah became less about persuading her to give something and more about showing her what she deserves.

  The promise of happiness and a place she belongs.

  Maybe I can confirm that for her.

  Though I can’t help but battle with the constant reminder looming in the back of my mind of what’s to come.

  A storm.

  And I wonder if we’ll make it through the aftermath.

  When I finally head to the front and punch in the code at the gate to enter into the enclosed courtyard, I start to feel date nerves, something I haven’t had in a really fucking long time.

  Then, I knock at the door. Watch through the frosted glass as Hannah’s form moves closer and closer to where I stand waiting.

  She pulls the door open and my smile falls.

  My eyes eat up everything I can see, because damn.

  “Is this too fancy?” she asks, turning once. “Paige helped me get ready and I borrowed this from her because I definitely don’t have any date clothes. She said this was good for anything.”

  I nod, feeling a bit stunted for words.

  Because, again.

  Damn.

  Hannah is beautiful. Breathtaking. One of the sexiest sights my eyes have ever laid on.

  “You look…” I trail off, trying to decide what word to use. Amazing seems too small. Beautiful, too basic. “… stunning,” I finally say. Because the truth is, I’m stunned.

  She looks like a dre
am in her black work pants and maroon polo, sweaty with her hair up in a ponytail.

  Tonight?

  Her long hair is down, falling softly in waves and curls until it hits below her breasts. She has on just a hint of makeup, the deep red on her lips popping out and grabbing my attention. Her outfit is a similar color, layers of lace on a haltered dress that cuts off mid-thigh, showing off her long legs. And then a heel that pushes her up several inches.

  I step forward, realizing I’ve been silent too long as I’ve just stared at her. And when I’m inches from her, I can see that those heels put her much closer to my height, making it that much easier to dip down and press a kiss to her lips.

  Which I do.

  Because how could I not?

  My intent is for a light peck, maybe a long one. But what starts that way twists into some deeper, more lustful, and my body responds as she opens her mouth and invites me in, moans softly, her soft tongue pressing wet and warm against mine until I can feel my dick press angrily against her thigh.

  I pull back and enjoy a feeling of satisfaction when she looks bereft at the loss of my mouth on hers. Because I feel the same way.

  “So you like the dress?” she asks.

  I laugh, look at her for a second, just enjoying her. “Yes. It’s amazing.”

  She blushes, and I take her by the hand, twisting my fingers into hers and leading her out to my car.

  “I wasn’t sure where we were going so…”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I’ve parked down the street from Papa Louis’ and the two of us are walking hand-in-hand past the little shops and restaurants that line Manhattan Ave.

  “I have to say, I love how cute these beach cities are,” she says, stopping in front of a little coffee shop that’s open, comfortable seating spread throughout, with people working on their computers and talking in groups. “Phoenix isn’t like this. It’s just so big and everything feels spread out and metropolitan.” She looks up at me. “Things feel personal here. Like you could know the people who work at the place around the corner or the people that live next door.”

  I nod as we keep walking. “It’s kind of like that, if you take the time to get to know people. It’s the same with neighbors, too.”

  “You know all your neighbors?”

  I shake my head. “Not anymore. But that’s because I haven’t lived here for a while. But when I was a kid, we lived on The Strand. Before my parents bought the land for our current house. We knew all of our neighbors back then. We used to live next to this guy who had a bunch of huge white dogs. They were like polar bears. And he threw parties that were more insane than the ones Lucas has.”

  She laughs. “No way. That’s not possible. I saw one of those a few weeks ago, and I can’t imagine anything bigger than that.”

  “I’m serious. He doesn’t do them as much anymore since he’s gotten older, but we still see him walking those dogs up and down The Strand every day.”

  “I knew some of my neighbors once,” she says. “When I moved into my first foster home. It was the one I was at the longest, and the neighbors used to do bar-b-ques all the time and all the kids on the block would hang out and do fun stuff together. I loved it, as much as I could. How normal it felt.”

  We come to a stop in front of Papa Louis’ and greet the hostess, then are shown quickly to our table.

  “How was work today?” I ask, picking up my napkin and setting it across my knee.

  She rolls her eyes but gives a little smile. I love seeing those lighthearted expressions on her face.

  “It was fine. Busy. I was actually worried I wouldn’t get off in time to get home and get ready for tonight. But everything worked out perfectly.” She takes a sip of her water. “What did you get up to today?”

  I lift a shoulder. “Just did a little bit of work to prepare for the trip to London. There are a lot of things that have to be set up before I leave, so…”

  “When do you leave?”

  “It’s up to me. Otto has a timeline for Elite X’s expansion, so as long as I leave by the end of the summer I’ll able to meet it.”

  “That’s so exciting. I’ve never been out of the country, but I’ve always dreamed of going somewhere beautiful, like Paris or Dublin, to live for a while.”

  “You definitely should. It’s really amazing.”

  But she’s already shaking her head. “Nah. It’s probably not in the cards for me. Maybe one day I’ll be able to take a trip.”

  “How come you didn’t do a semester abroad in college?”

  There’s a pause, and she flushes slightly, though this time isn’t as satisfying as it seems to be more from embarrassment.

  “I’ve only been able to take some classes here and there. Mostly I just had a waitressing job. Nothing important. But I’m hoping to eventually get my AA.”

  I adjust my napkin on my knee, realizing in an awkward moment that I’ve had all of this information about Hannah Morrison’s entire life, and I’ve never thought to look at it more in-depth since she got here.

  Though, I guess, it makes our conversations more natural than if I’d known everything about her recent life. And significantly less creepy. I make a promise to myself that I’ll leave that folder in my office drawer and not look at it again.

  But somehow, even with having looked at it even as recently as a few years ago, I missed the fact that she went to college in pieces. I guess I’d just assumed when I saw her enrolled at a college after she graduated high school that she got a degree.

  “What are you getting your AA in?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation to something more uplifting.

  “Photography.”

  I smile, remembering what she said on our run the other day. “That’s right. You mentioned you want to have your own business. What type of photography do you wanna do?”

  “I’m waffling between portraits and weddings, though going the wedding route really seems to be on my mind a lot over the past few months. I had the chance to be a secondary photographer for a really big wedding in Phoenix in January and it was amazing.”

  I like that look of wistfulness on her face. The softness of her dreams. It gives me hope that she sees something bigger in her future than the life she has been handed.

  Our waitress comes over, interrupting for a moment. We each order a drink, Syrah for her and scotch for me, along with the garlic bread I love so much.

  And then Hannah asks me a million questions about my life growing up. I tell her about playing for the soccer team in high school. About Ben and I always being at odds. What it was like to have a baby sister born when I was already in junior high.

  We laugh a lot, which feels good. Because the world doesn’t have enough laughter, and my life definitely doesn’t. And if I’m guessing, I’d wager that Hannah’s doesn’t either.

  When I realize I’ve talked all through dinner, I flip it around during our shared dessert, asking her to tell me about her childhood, about anything that she enjoyed growing up, about her friend Melanie and her daughter.

  And then I watch Hannah light up as she shares with me the positive memories she has from her past. The moments that were beacons of light shining in such a dark space.

  She tells me about her relationship with Joshua, how close they were and how he was always her protector. About how she felt when she got her first tattoo, lived on her own for the first time, fell in love with photography.

  I’m astounded by who she is, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that the fears I’d had before I met her, the things I’d said to Lucas to get him not to reach out to Hannah, are completely unfounded.

  Hannah might be introverted, and a little quieter with people she doesn’t know. She might have nerves about new people and have some issues from her past that make her slightly untrusting.

  But I am enraptured by her, by her voice and her mind and her lips that speak beauty about life and a painful past.

  When we finally call i
t a night, hours have gone by. I can’t remember the last time I went on an actual date, let alone one that was so full I lost track of time.

  We pull up in Lucas’ driveway at close to midnight, and I walk Hannah to the door.

  “I have plans for us on Monday,” I say, turning to face her when we’re standing at her front door, the single light in the courtyard just enough for me to see those beautiful green eyes as they sparkle. “Be ready for me by noon.”

  She shakes her head. “I work the rest of the weekend. Double shift tomorrow and an evening shift on Monday.”

  I take her hand in mine. “I talked to Ben. He cleared you from Monday’s schedule.”

  Her eyes widen. “What?”

  My stomach falls at her expression, and I realize I didn’t even think about the fact that she’s been trying to save money.

  I stammer out an apology. “I’m sorry. In the moment, it felt like a sweet gesture. But now, I realize I didn’t even ask you.”

  But then she smiles. “You know? I really do appreciate that apology. But I was just surprised, not upset.”

  “Don’t scare me like that,” I laugh. “I thought you’d be mad that I didn’t ask.”

  She scrunches up her nose. “Next time? Ask. But this time is totally okay. I will happily take a day off.”

  I laugh, and she loops her fingers into mine.

  “Thanks for taking me out. I had a really good time.”

  I nod. “Me too.”

  We look at each other for a minute, our eyes searching each other, like there might be secrets hidden that we can find if we look hard enough.

  But then she steps forward, into me, and I realize she’s been waiting for me to kiss her when all I felt capable of doing was looking at her.

  She slides her hands along my ribs and to my back, the tips of her fingers gripping me just slightly as I dip my head to meet hers.

  I love the way she tastes. Like the peppermint she ate after dinner, and a little bit like the wine she had a few glasses of. And when she moans into my mouth, a breathy thing that has me pulling her closer, I can’t help but envision what it would be like to hear that noise as I slide inside of her.

  My hands slip down over her back, then lower to grip her ass, the firmness, probably from years of running long distances, giving me visions of what she might look like naked, stretched out on my bed.