by Mila Gray
“What’s there to tell?” she asks quietly.
“Well, I want to date his sister. I kind of like her. A lot.”
“You don’t need his permission for that,” she says, annoyed.
“I know,” I say, turning serious and looking her in the eye, “but it’s the right thing to do. If he were dating Dahlia, I’d want to know.”
“Okay,” Zoey says tentatively. “I’ll call him and talk to him. But later.”
I arch my eyebrows. “Promise.”
“Promise,” Zoey says.
“Where were we?” I ask, my hand inching even farther up her thigh, tracing the silky warmth between her legs.
She bolts upright in a panic.
“Oh God,” she says. “I need to get back. My mom’ll be waiting up for me. She’ll be worried. I need to get going.” She leaps out of the bed and starts gathering her clothes up.
“Is that what you want?” I ask her.
She stops, holding her clothes against her body. She shakes her head, biting her lip. “No,” she says.
I reach across the bed and pull her toward me. “So text her and tell her you’re with me.”
She considers this, and I can see the silent argument going on in her head, but then she silences the voice of duty and smiles at me. “Okay,” she says.
I grin, then pull her back to bed.
* * *
A phone buzzes around dawn, waking me. For a moment I think it’s my alarm and reach for it, not wanting to wake Zoey, who’s sleeping with her head on my chest, but it’s not my alarm. I squint at the time, annoyed that I have to get up in a few minutes and get ready for work when all I want to do is stay in bed with Zoey. It’s the first time a girl has ever stayed over in my bed, the first night I’ve slept the whole night through with someone in my arms, and I wonder now how I’ll ever go back to sleeping alone.
Zoey stirs too, stretching her limbs, pushing up against me so I have to take several deep breaths to get ahold of myself. She opens her eyes and smiles a drowsy smile.
I kiss her. “Morning, beautiful,” I say.
She smiles even wider, and I notice the mauve shadows beneath her eyes. I guess we didn’t get much sleep.
“I’ve got to get to work,” I tell her.
She pouts and then tilts her head and kisses me again. Her fingers tiptoe up my torso. I snatch them in my hand and grip them tightly. I really can’t be late. But then the sheet falls back, and every ounce of willpower is sucked away by the sight of her nakedness. I’m going to be late.
The phone buzzes again. Zoey’s phone this time. She frowns and reaches for it, picking it up from the floor, where it lies buried in her clothes. She sits up, pulling the sheet around herself as I take the opportunity to get up. I hear her gasp and turn. Her face looks stricken, the blood running from it.
“What is it?” I ask.
She swallows, then hands me her phone. I take it and glance down at the text on the screen.
WHORE.
ZOEY
Again,” Tristan says.
I look up at him, out of breath, sweating, and swipe my hair out of my eyes with the back of my arm. “I’m hot,” I say, reaching for the water.
“Take your T-shirt off,” he says with a smirk.
I look around. There’s no one here. The gym is empty. Tristan managed to sweet-talk the owner into letting us borrow it after hours so he could run me through some self-defense moves.
I tear off the T-shirt so I’m left wearing just my sports bra and leggings. Tristan grins almost as wide as Cole did when Tristan gave him his Xbox. “And the rest,” he quips.
I shake my head at him but can’t help smiling. I still can’t get used to the way he looks at me, but I also don’t want to. I don’t want to stop feeling that eruption of butterflies in my stomach. It’s been a week since the party—a week that feels like a year for all we’ve crammed into it. Neither of us has slept a great deal; we’re both so busy with work and life that the hours we spend together are too precious to use for sleep. We’re catching up on each other’s lives, learning each other in a whole new way: not just the likes and dislikes, the books and movies we both love or love to hate, but the inside things too: the secrets, the hopes, the fears—all things I’ve never voiced out loud before to anyone.
And when we’re not talking, we’re doing other things. Tristan has stuck to his promise—despite all my attempts to tempt him otherwise.
“Okay, once more,” Tristan says. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a black Coast Guard T-shirt. “Remember, use your voice first. Scream, shout, yell, do whatever you can to call attention to your situation.”
I nod.
“And remember your fight stance.”
I step my left foot slightly forward and raise my fists like he showed me. He makes me repeat the same move over and over: a simple hand strike followed by an elbow strike. “It’s about muscle memory,” he told me when I complained about the repetitive nature of the lesson. “So if anything happens, your body acts on instinct.”
He says it seriously, with a studied look of concern. I know he’s worried and he’s trying to hide it. I know it’s my dad calling and texting. That word—“whore”—it’s a clue. And it’s too coincidental that he sent the message then, just as I was waking up with Tristan. It makes me wonder if he’s spying on me. Tristan keeps trying to reassure me that he isn’t, but I’m not so sure. After he sent the text, I was so hysterical and so paranoid I could barely leave the house. We called my dad’s parole officer, and he told us that he only checks in with my dad in person twice a week, which means there’s plenty of time for him to drive to Oceanside and back between check-ins.
Tristan installed a camera by our front door—one that connects to our phones and lets us see whoever comes to the front door. Then he insisted on teaching me self-defense, so even though he’s telling me not to worry, his actions are belying his words. I know he’s spoken to Will, too, because Will keeps calling me and texting every day to check in. He hasn’t asked me much about what’s going on with Tristan. I think he’s too weirded out about me dating his friend and probably doesn’t want too many details.
Tristan said that when he called Will to tell him we were dating, he didn’t say much to him, either, only that he was cool with it.
“I’m going to come at you from behind,” Tristan tells me, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
I grin at him in the mirror. He rolls his eyes. “You have a dirty mind, Zoey Ward.” He comes up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Try to fight me off.”
He spins me around. I grab his arm with both my hands and try to break free, but I can’t.
Frustrated, I drop my arms to my sides. “I can’t do this,” I sob. “It’s stupid. I won’t have a chance.” I close my eyes, trying to banish the thought of my dad pummeling my mom with his fists, dragging her by her hair down the hallway. My breathing hikes, and the tears start flowing. I feel trapped but in the worst possible way, because the walls aren’t visible and they surround me wherever I go.
Tristan wraps his arms around my waist from behind.
“I won’t ever let him hurt you,” he tells me, whispering the words into my ear before kissing me on the jaw.
I shiver against his body and lean into him, closing my eyes, wishing I could believe him.
“Okay, take me down,” he whispers in my ear.
I slide my leg behind his, lever his weight, grab him by the knees like he showed me, and topple him backward, throwing my weight with a thump across his chest. He feigns as though I’ve winded him, so I roll fully on top of him, straddling him, and start to tickle him until he’s crying with laughter. He wraps his arms around me and rolls me, pinning me to the floor and then kissing me.
“Am I interrupting?”
I freeze. Tristan scrambles off me and to his feet. A tall, good-looking guy with dark hair and stitches through his eyebrow, stands in the doorway, a gym bag slung over his shoulder and a skeptical, una
mused look on his face.
“AJ,” Tristan says, walking toward him.
I get to my feet too, embarrassed, and reach for my T-shirt, feeling AJ studying me as I walk toward him. I shake his hand, noticing how ice blue and utterly unreadable his expression is.
“This is my girlfriend, Zoey,” Tristan says, and I swell with pride inside at the way he’s said it so casually but also with such affection.
“Good to meet you,” AJ says without a smile.
“AJ owns the gym,” Tristan says by way of explanation.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Like Kit, he seems young to own a business—not even twenty-four, I’d guess. “Thanks for letting us use it.”
“Well, I thought you were using it to work out,” he answers dryly, tossing his bag in a corner alongside a pile of workout gear.
My cheeks turn bright red.
“Sorry,” Tristan says, looking awkward.
“It’s cool,” AJ answers, glancing our way with a slight smirk. “I’ll get out of your way.” He heads toward a door in the back of the gym. “Just lock up when you leave.” He glances my way and nods. “Nice to meet you, Zoey.” And then he’s gone before I can answer.
“He’s a good guy,” Tristan says, noticing my curious frown in his direction. “His girlfriend died eighteen months ago. In a car crash. She was with his best friend. They were having an affair. It’s a long story. Come on, let’s go get a burger,” Tristan says, putting his arm around me. “There’s this place nearby that I haven’t taken you to yet. The relish tastes almost as good as you.” He pauses. “Or,” he says, “we could skip the relish and go back to my place?”
TRISTAN
I’m going to shipwreck us if you’re not careful.”
Zoey’s standing on deck, holding on to the mast with one hand, shielding her eyes with the other, and all she’s wearing is that yellow bikini. I could stare at her forever, but there’s a serious chance I might sail us into something—rocks, a cliff, another boat.
She’s definitely grown more confident these last weeks. Turns out her father said something to her when she was fourteen or fifteen and that’s why she was hiding under all those baggy clothes. Like I didn’t hate him enough already. I told her he said it because he could see the writing on the wall: Zoey was growing up, and when she became an adult she wouldn’t be so easy to control. That’s why he called her that name. It was a way to make her doubt herself, a way to tie her with invisible chains that he would hold the ends of.
Zoey scoffed when I first suggested it, but I think she’s starting to believe me. I also told her it was a crime that she was hiding behind layers of clothing. She should be wearing what she wants, what makes her feel good. Anyway, I’ve made it my mission to make Zoey see herself the way she really is. I want her to see herself as beautiful, of course, but more than that, I want her to see how brave and strong she is.
When I told Will about Zoey and me dating, he went very quiet on the end of the phone. “Are you cool with that?” I pressed, anxiety making me hold my breath. For a horrifying moment, I thought maybe I was going to lose his friendship, but then he said, “Okay, just please don’t hurt her.”
I promised him I wouldn’t, reassured him that it wasn’t a passing flirtation, that it was serious, and I hope I convinced him.
I watch Zoey stumble on land legs across the deck, clinging to ropes and railings, until she reaches me at the helm. I reach one hand out to catch her as she jumps down and pull her sun-warmed body against mine. She fits like she’s part of me, her head reaching to just beneath my chin. I kiss her neck, and she shivers in response. My hand is pressed to her stomach, and I think about inching it lower, but Kate and Cole are sitting a few feet away. Cole is practicing tying knots in a piece of rope. I told him if he learned three different knots by the time we got back, I’d buy him ice cream. I’ve discovered there’s nothing Cole won’t do for ice cream, or a chance to play Xbox.
Kate, on the other hand, is staring morosely at her phone, willing it to get a signal. I warned her that she’d have more luck spotting a mermaid, but that hasn’t stopped her from desperately trying. She keeps staring up at the horizon, as though counting down the time until we reach land and cell phone range. I notice how tired she looks and how much weight she’s lost.
“How’s Kate doing?” I ask Zoey quietly.
“Okay, I think,” Zoey answers, a hint of doubt in her voice.
“She seems distracted.”
Zoey laughs. “Have you met my sister? I think if the boat started to sink, she’d seriously consider saving her phone before any of us.” She chews on her lip, and I regret having brought it up. She doesn’t need any more problems weighing on her shoulders. The anonymous phone calls have stopped, but I can’t shake off the feeling we’re in a lull and there’s a storm coming. But at least out here, at sea, it feels like we’re far from all that.
Zoey takes over the wheel, and I stand behind her, arms around her waist, trying not to get distracted by her nearness as I attempt to teach her how to navigate when all I want to do is navigate her down into the little cabin belowdecks.
“I see why you love this,” she says to me.
“It’s the closest thing to flying,” I tell her. “The freedom.”
“Is that why you joined the Coast Guard, so you could do both?”
I nod. “Mainly. You’re at the mercy of nature, something stronger and more powerful than you can imagine—wind and rain and storms—it takes skill to beat them and stay alive.”
She goes quiet. I wonder if she’s thinking of her father. I know I am.
She shakes it off and turns to me, grinning. “Imagine sailing this across the ocean,” she shouts over the noise of the wind.
“Where would you go?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Italy. Maybe the South Pacific!” She gazes at the horizon. “There are so many places I want to see. I guess the one place I’ve always dreamed of going is this little island in Greece called Milos. I read about it in a book once.”
“A book on Greek myths?” I ask.
She smiles. “You’re such a nerd.” I laugh.
“Says you, baseball boy.”
“I’ll take you there one day,” I murmur in her ear. “To Milos. We’ll go to all those places.”
She turns to stare at me, unblinking, her expression halfway to shocked.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head, a small smile teasing her lips. “It just … I don’t know … we’re talking about a future. You said ‘we.’ I’ve never really thought about a future before, and when I did I was always by myself.”
“Oh,” I say.
“No,” she says quickly, hearing the note of worry. “I like the ‘we.’ I like it a lot.”
“While we’re on the subject of futures, have you looked at those brochures yet?” I ask, referring to the college information packs we picked up last week.
She nods. “Yeah, I’m going to sign up this week for classes.”
It’s my turn to smile. “Which ones?”
Her expression turns serious. She looks nervous, as though she doesn’t want to tell me. “What?” I press, curious.
“I think I’m going to choose courses that can help me get into law school.”
I stare at her. “Seriously?” She wants to be a lawyer?
Her cheeks flush, and she looks at the ground. “You think it’s a dumb idea.”
I shake my head. “No! It’s great. I just had no idea you were even thinking of becoming a lawyer.”
She looks up at me, tentative and uncertain. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ll make it. It’s competitive, and it’ll take years, but …” She breaks off.
“But what?”
She looks at me again, a shy smile on her lips, and shrugs. “I feel like maybe I can do it.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes at me. “Are you crying?”
“Me?” I say. “No. It’s the wind.” She doesn’t buy it and shakes her head at me like
I’m a giant dork. But I’m so happy for her, that she’s finally making plans for the future, and not just plans but setting herself goals—and ambitious ones too. “I know you’ll do it,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “I want to be able to help people who are in situations like the one I was in.”
I nod. I get it. Zoey can never accept help without wanting to pay it back, so it’s no surprise to me that this is her motivation.
Zoey turns serious again, her smile fading. “I don’t know how I’ll afford it,” she says, “but I’m going to try. Maybe I can get a scholarship in a couple of years to a state college.”
“In California?” I can’t disguise the hope in my voice.
She nods, starting to smile as she sees the grin taking over my face.
“You’re staying?” I ask, my hand tightening on her stomach.
“I think so. My mom really loves her new job, and … we really like it here.” She gestures at the ocean and the blue sky. “Actually, I love it here.”
I think about what that means. It means we have a future together.
“Do you think Robert will let us stay in the apartment long-term?” she asks.
I nod, feeling a surge of happiness. I want to pick her up and swing her around the deck. Scratch that. I want to take her downstairs into the little cabin, lay her on the bed, and forget the fact I have six days still to go before I’m allowed to sleep with her. Stupid self-imposed rule. What was I thinking making her agree to a thirty-day moratorium on sex?
But it doesn’t even matter because we’re not up against a clock anymore—she’s staying. We have all the time in the world. I squeeze her tight and kiss her on the lips. She smells of coconut and sunshine and tastes of honey, and once again I get the image of laying her down and stripping off that bikini and—
“What were you just talking about?”
I pull away from Zoey. Kate is looking up from her phone, staring at us.
“Huh?” I say.
Kate’s glaring at Zoey. “You said something about Robert letting us stay long-term.”