I look up into his face, waiting. Finally, he meets my gaze, eyes full of everything I’ve come to admire about him. “Odpustiť. Forgive.”
What’s the word for love?
Huh? I shake off the disturbing thought.
We wander back to the party—slowly, I notice, as if both of us are reluctant to trade our oasis for the chaos. We’re quiet as we walk, and soon the soothing crash of the waves starts to clash with the volume of college students as we near the action. Christian’s hand tightens in mine, and I follow his attention to the giant bonfire in the distance.
“Can we just stay here for a minute?” I ask. His gaze flickers to my eyes before landing out over the water. Something passes over his face, but I can’t read it with any clarity.
“Only if we dance?” he says. It’s the first he’s spoken in a while, and I glance up to meet a mischievous smile that sucks the wind out of me. Christian pensive and guarded is hot. Christian playful is downright explosive. It’s the complex maze between the two that has me so hopelessly trapped. I force down the sudden surge of anxiety.
Looping my arms around his neck, I breathe in that smell of shower, sun, and man I’ve come to anticipate. It’s too much to resist, and soon my head is on his shoulder, my arms tightening until there’s no space between us. His own circle my back, resting just low enough on my hips to make me want them lower. We sway gently to the cadence of the waves, ignoring the distant beat of artificial bass from another world. The stars, the ocean: that’s our night club and the only soundtrack we seem to need.
It’s dangerous the way the backdrop fuels the seductive pull of intimacy. I realize that too late when my body starts sparking and craving a different rhythm. His muscles tense, his breaths accelerating as if he feels it too. Does he? That’s the mystery I can’t seem to solve. Reading Christian is like trying to read a stone monument. You can interpret what he represents, but you don’t know what’s hidden beneath the chiseled exterior. Chiseled, yes, because right now he’s physical perfection of the kind God didn’t throw around freely. Does the man even know how beautiful he is? Sometimes I think he does. Sometimes I think it’s never crossed his mind. What about now?
I pull back just enough to see his face—another mistake when it puts me in deadly range of his lips. What was that phrase he taught me about wanting to kiss? Is he thinking it right now too?
I reach up and brush my fingers there instead, loving the way his gaze stills on my own mouth.
“I want to kiss you,” I whisper. English works too.
I melt into him when he responds, my fingers threading into his hair as if my statue will harden back into stone if I’m not careful. I couldn’t handle that right now when all I want is warm skin, heavy breathing, and pounding hearts. His kisses are deadly, almost painful the way they feel fleeting and forever at the same time. Fleeting because nothing could ever outlast the impact that will linger long after we separate. When we go home to our respective cells and stare up at lonely ceilings remembering the warmth of our connection. Will he search out his stars then? Will I scratch out a list?
What if we lived in a world where we didn’t have to say goodnight?
A cold rush shivers through my blood at the thought. No, not that—at how much I want that. The chill turns to panic and… What the hell is wrong with you, Emma? You barely know him!
“Guess you found him.”
Christian and I pull apart at Harper’s voice.
“Oops, sorry,” she adds with a devilish grin. I look at Christian but he seems more amused than upset. I’m not sure what that means for my previous attempts to read him. Maybe I’m the only one falling so hard and fast. God, as if this could get any worse. The thought makes me shudder. What is happening to me? This guy makes me lose my mind. Thank heavens for Harper.
My hands are actually shaking when I move even further away. A deep longing rages inside for my notebook and a pen. Breathe, Emma.
“Sorry for what?” Jakub asks, approaching with two plastic cups. He hands one to Harper and nods us a greeting.
“I interrupted something.” Her instructive face contortions make the situation so much worse.
“Ooh! Christian—” Jakub stops short at the warning look from his friend. I’m fighting the urge to run. Is Christian protecting himself or me? I’m not even sure which I want it to be. “You two want a drink?” he asks us instead.
At this point I want a bottle and make an instinctive break toward the party and promise of a well-stocked booze table. Harper scurries to catch up with me while Jakub and Christian hang back. I wouldn’t be able to make out their hushed conversation even if I spoke Slovak. I don’t know what just happened, but apparently going from soulmates to strangers is our jam. Why does everything with that man have to be so damn confusing?
“I’m really sorry, Em. I didn’t mean to mess things up for you.”
“You didn’t.” And when I glance back at the guys and see the sudden change in Christian, I realize I mean it. It’s a crush. Has to be. A summer fling. Heck, he’s not even my boyfriend. So what if we’ve kissed a few times and had some bonding moments? He’s still a boy from across the world that I’ll never see again after this summer. It’s insane that I was thinking about the “L” word for a guy I can’t even understand half the time.
Except you do understand him—too much, in the way that matters.
I push the thought away. Now I really need a drink.
I grab a cup and attack the bottles like a teenager who’s just found her parents’ liquor cabinet. Not sure what you’d label this concoction of booze I’m dumping into my cup but it smells like freedom. If anyone deserves to escape for a night…
“That’s quite the cocktail,” Harper observes.
I shrug and swoosh it around in my cup as if the magic stir is all my muddy creation needs.
“You sure I didn’t interrupt anything?”
I glare at her and take a giant swig. I’m not much of a drinker, other than the occasional glass of wine, but I suspect this brew would leave anyone choking on its vapors. It’s gorgeous. I take another drink, prepared this time, and manage to keep my reaction to a classy wince. “Want some?” I hold up the cup, smirking at the grimace on her face.
“I’m on water. Driving, remember?” she says, raising the cup from Jakub.
I shrug and return to mine. “Your loss. This is delicious.” It’s not, but two or three more swallows and it’s going down beautifully. I don’t look for Christian. I’m too close to the fire now for him to be nearby anyway. Part of me wonders if I’m hovering here on purpose. The other part shoves the cup to my lips before that thought gets dangerous. You’re falling hard for some stranger who will be gone forever in two months.
There’s no fucking list for that.
I drain my cup and start back to the table. Harper grabs my arm.
“Okay, party girl. I think you’re good.”
“But…” What? My head is already starting to get cloudy. Oh yeah, I didn’t eat before we left, did I? I start to giggle. That means… “I had booze for dinner.” I laugh harder. Oh my god, booze for dinner. That’s the funniest thing anyone has ever said.
Maybe Harper doesn’t think so the way she drags me further from my new favorite dinner buffet. We move toward the crowds of gyrating bodies instead and faces start to swirl around me. I recognize a few, but mostly they morph into identical clones of flame-licked ghosts. None of them are Christian, and that annoying part returns to scold me for hiding in the one place I know he won’t go. Hiding, no. Being smart. Protecting myself from a frightening four-letter word that has no business in my vocabulary right now—with Christian, or anyone. I don’t even know him.
But you do.
But I don’t, stupid brain.
I turn what’s left of it over to the music. Laughter and voices swell around me, along with so many scents that aren’t the ones that haunt me. Freedom. Finally. My body moves on instinct, following the lead of the house beat and the cloud of partiers t
hat’s sucked me in. I don’t even realize I’ve been separated from Harper until I open my eyes to find myself encased in strangers. Beautiful, smiling strangers who make me feel the comforting rush of nothing.
By now my dinner is working its full magic on my system, and stranger-clouds seem like the perfect protection from heavy emotions I can’t process anymore. I don’t have to here. I can just dance and forget and enjoy the feel of another body against mine. I don’t know who the current one is, and I don’t care.
It’s the booze dancing of course. Real Emma doesn’t even talk to strangers, let alone grind against them at a college party, but real Emma needs to get with the program because not thinking is freaking amazing. The guy crowds me from behind, and I back against him enough to encourage his hands to snake around my waist. He holds me there, tightening my ass to his front in all the right places.
This isn’t even drunk Emma. This is scared Emma because somewhere on this beach is the man you really want behind you.
Shut up, stupid brain! I thought we had an understanding.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Distraction Number One shouts in my ear. Logan? I turn my head enough to accept the gift of his perfectly messy mop of dark hair. The chaotic, alcohol-soaked moment even makes me brave enough to sink my fingers into it. He seems to like that, and maybe I do too. I didn’t expect it to be so soft. Or him to smell so good. Or…
“Christian’s not my boyfriend!” I yell back. It’s ridiculous that I don’t even know if I’m lying. He’s not, right? Drunk Emma says no, so does smart list-brain, so I go with that.
“Good,” is what I think I hear before I relax further into his arms. Logan might not make my breath stop or my heart explode from my chest but that’s exactly what I need. Logan makes sense. Logan will stay. He’s easy. Safe.
I reach behind me with the other hand as well until both are tangled in his hair. His hot breath grazes my neck and it starts to register that he’s kissing me. That’s okay too, I think. Logan and I could date for a few years, maybe even go through grad school together. Settle down with our little counseling practice in the front wing of our suburban McMansion. Two-point-five kids, a nice car, healthy retirement plans… I could love Logan one day, probably. Not in the stupid way, but the healthy way. Far in the future when I’m not a psychotic mess and getting plastered to hide from myself and the terrifying person who doesn’t fit my narrative. What would it feel like to have Christian behind me right now instead? His body hot and ready for me, his lips on my neck. That scent that drives me crazy filtering through my bloodstream with each needy breath. Dangerous. It would feel uncharted. I don’t do uncharted.
And yet, I don’t turn around either. If I do, I know Logan will kiss my lips. He’ll expect this moment to mean more than a drunken escape from something better.
“I’m drunk!” I yell back for some reason. I just need him to know that. To explain away the turbulence in my head that he will never understand like Christian did after one conversation. Because that’s the truth I’m running from, isn’t it? The fact that he and I are the same in all the ways that matter and none of the ways that don’t.
“Yeah? I kind of guessed.”
“How’s this for normalcy?” I snort out. Yep, second funniest thing anyone has ever said. I’m on a roll tonight, which is why I’m damn near livid when my roommate interrupts a budding romance for the second time in an hour.
“Hey, Logan. I need to borrow her for a sec.”
His protests fade out of earshot as she drags me away.
“What are you doing?” I bark at her. Funny how fast the humor fades.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing! Having fun like you wanted!”
“With some random guy? Not what I wanted, hun.”
“Logan isn’t random!” I yank my arm, but drunk Emma isn’t as precise as usual. Harper hangs on without much effort it seems.
“We’re going home, Emma.”
“I don’t want to! I’m having fun.”
“Are you?”
She raises her brow to go full Mom-mode on me. Oh, hell no. I yank harder this time and manage to free myself.
“I’m not a little kid. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
She doesn’t seem impressed, and yes, I keep following her to the car. Even drunk, I’m a terrible rebellious teenager. Jakub is already in the passenger seat when we approach, and something sinks in my gut at the empty back.
“Where’s Christian?” I ask Harper.
“He left.” I’m sober enough to feel the stab of her look as she folds down her seat for me. “Get in.” I swallow what’s left of my protests and obey.
Even Jakub is quiet as we drive to their place. I want to lose myself back in the alcohol-induced cloud, but that’s the problem with fake escape. It’s unreliable, unforgiving, and unrepentant when it dumps you back in the situation you tried to leave. Christian’s absence screams through the silence, prevents my gaze from enjoying the shrieking stars outside.
I close my eyes and lean forward to feel the breeze whipping against my face from Harper’s window. It stings a bit, perfect to soothe the burn in my chest.
Harper pulls to a stop in front of the small bungalow the guys are renting, and I have no choice but to look again.
“I call you,” Jakub says to Harper with a quick kiss. She’s crazy about him. I see it in the way she’s already glancing at her phone as if waiting. I’d be worried if I didn’t notice the same in him. A spark of jealousy snaps through me. It’s so easy for them, isn’t it.
“You moving up?” she calls back to me once Jakub disappears. I’d been watching for signs of Christian, but the place looked dead until Jakub entered and woke it up with a light. “Yo, earth to Emma!”
I blink through the space between the front seats to meet her impatient look. “Sure,” I mutter, unbuckling my belt and climbing into the passenger side. Harper raises the windows and taps on the air conditioning—something she never does. She puts the car in reverse and backs onto the street.
“So, want to tell me what the hell happened tonight?” she asks, oh-so-gently, as we jump back on the main road.
“Not really.”
“No? Let me get this straight, you go on a romantic stroll with a guy you’re falling head-over-heels for, then ditch him to make out with some rando?”
“I wasn’t making out with him.”
“It sure looked like it to everyone else at the party. Did you not even give a shit about what that would do to Christian?”
He left.
I swallow the nausea rising in my throat. Sick from the alcohol, right? “So what? It’s not like we’re serious. He has to know that.”
She doesn’t even pretend to buy any of my bullshit. Instead, she blows out a harsh breath. “I love you, Em, and I actually think I understand what’s happening right now. But this one guts me. I hope you can live with what you’ve thrown away this time.”
Thrown away. Tears burn my eyes as I turn them toward the window. I can even see them glistening in my distorted reflection when we pass streetlights at certain angles. My chest clenches at the thought of Christian alone in that dark bungalow, probably staring up at his ceiling like I will be shortly. Smarting from his fear of fire and being “thrown away” by the one person he thought understood that part of him. Because I did. Understand—and threw him away like I always do. I threw him hard and far because that’s the truth most people never have to learn: Fear is stronger than love.
Chapter Ten: Palm Tree Pacts
The hangover excuse works for the first day. Too much schoolwork works for the second. I’m tired and not feeling well gets me out of the third, but by the fourth, Harper isn’t accepting any more lies to keep me from the beach she knows I love. I finally promise to join her this afternoon. I just have something I need to do first.
I flatten my latest creation against the desk with my palm, appreciating the sleek aesthetic of perfectly aligned text. This list is a
work of art, one of the best I’ve done in a long time. It should be, I’ve been working on it for four days. I’m particularly proud of the last line item. Written in straight, bold pen are the words that prove how okay I am. That hiccups like Christian are just distractions, not the cure. How else could I write such a pretty, kick-ass line?
28. Set up a meeting with Dad.
Yes, that’s right. I’m going to do it. I even pick up my phone, dial my grandmother, and wait while it rings. When she picks up, I say hello like a confident, normal person, and ask if she has a minute to chat.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” she responds after a pause.
“Fine, why?” I use my most normal voice.
“It’s just…” I picture her twirling that cord, probably tugging it until the coil straightens into awkward kinks. “Never mind. I’m so happy to hear from you. How have you been?”
“Great!” Okay, that didn’t sound normal. I clear my throat. “Fine.”
Her renewed silence is seriously affecting my game-plan. “Well, then. I’m glad to hear it. Is that why you called?”
I grip the phone and stare down at my list. You’re fine, remember?
“Actually, no. I wanted to talk to you about Dad. I’ve thought a lot about what you said. I think it’s time I visit him.”
At least this silence is expected. I can work with that. If only I could get my limbs to stop shaking. I recline on my bed, hoping the change in position will provide more stability.
“Wow,” she says finally. “I’m… well, certainly we can make that happen but… are you sure, honey?”
I nod. Crap. I mean, “Yes.”
“When are you looking to meet with him? It will take a few weeks to get your prescreening clearance.”
“Um.” I check my list again but that’s not on there. I knew it wouldn’t be. I even check again. Still not there. “As soon as possible then, I guess. I’ll need time to make arrangements anyway.”
The script calls for a jubilant cheer from my grandmother at this point, not more silence. Why can’t we all read from the same one? Things would be so much easier.
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