A salty tear slid into my mouth as I replayed the scene on the deck with Dad and Nan. I knew it had been difficult for him to break the news to me, and I believed he’d died a little more inside.
My gut was telling me he was getting close to joining Mom. Frankly, I believed he was still here because he had unfinished business to take care of, and as soon as those things were in order, he would finally give in to his fate.
My phone chirped in the peaceful air, making me flinch. I plucked the annoying thing out of my back pocket, and when I did, Dad’s letter fell to the ground. I went to grab it when a hard wind blew, taking the letter with it.
Fuck! I flew to my feet as if an invisible being had picked me up. I chased the letter as though it would save my life.
But the wind held the letter in its grasp, blowing it across the cemetery.
I dodged stone angels and other religious figures, more gravestones, a dying wreath, and several trees. I couldn’t lose that letter. I ran like a gazelle, darting in one direction then the other as the wind seemed to be playing with me, a game of tag like the ones I’d played at recess in elementary school.
The wind died, and the letter floated to the ground. I reached out to grab it when the universe said, “No, Skyler, you can’t have it just yet.” I was again chasing Dad’s heartfelt words, attempting not to kill myself by face-planting on concrete or falling into the empty grave that loomed ahead.
I looked down for a split second and plowed into what felt like stone but was really a solid wall of muscle. I stumbled back and glanced up at the most beautiful creature, who had graced my dreams and psyche for the last month.
Colton bent down and plucked the letter from under his Nike. He examined the piece of paper. “This must contain secrets for you to almost kill yourself.” His raspy Southern drawl wrapped me in gooey warmth.
He had no idea. I huffed and puffed to regulate my breathing as I snatched the letter from him before he thought to open it. “Thank you.”
I pinched the letter in my grasp so tightly that someone would need a chisel to pry it out of my hands. I was afraid even to shove it in my pocket, in case I lost it for good if the wind wanted to mess with me again.
Colton studied my hand, his expression loaded with questions.
I had a few of my own. I opened my mouth to ask, and then noticed the name Caldwell on the gravestone to my right. A twisted part of me was hoping he’d been following me, just not in a creepy way.
Two beats passed as our gazes tangled, knotted, and molded. He was sucking me into his brown depths, and I felt like I was falling into a vat of chocolate—warm, sweet, and delicious.
Shivers trailed down my spine, and air seemed to be nonexistent. He had a way of making me feel things I’d never felt before. He also had a way of making me a pile of mush.
I watched him watch me, my heart beating a staccato rhythm that I was afraid he could hear, since we were almost toe-to-toe. Dead foliage kicked up around us, as did his scent—a concoction of rich earth whipped together with floral accents and topped with a spoonful of sugar that seeped into every vein, relaxing me, exciting me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, breaking the trance he had me in.
“I could ask you the same thing.” As the drunken haze Colton had put me into wore off, I noticed the whites of his eyes were red. Maybe it was the glow of dusk that streaked the horizon.
His chin ticked up, setting his jaw in place as though he was ready to do battle. “I’m not stalking you. I was here first.”
At least I could get a glimpse of his emotions rather than his usual blank mask, and his tone screamed annoyance.
I laughed for no other reason than to quiet my pulse. The guy was imposing, intimidating, and downright gorgeous. His biceps peeked through his Deer Run Academy T-shirt, the sleeves frayed on the edges. His hair was seemingly damp, either from sweat or a recent shower, and his ripped jeans hung low on his hips. His square belt buckle glistened in the waning daylight.
He folded his arms over his impressive chest. “What’s so funny?”
Me. My thoughts. My crazy idea that we’re alone in a cemetery with no one else around but the dead. Wouldn’t it be odd, cool, nuts, to make out among the dead? Okay, I’m losing my mind.
Images of him pressing me up against the tree behind him, trailing his lush lips down my neck, and feeling his body against mine played out in my head. I puffed out my cheeks, not knowing what to say next until my gaze wandered to the headstone. That time, I zeroed in on the full name—Josh Caldwell.
He followed my line of sight, his body going ramrod straight as though I’d invaded a private moment.
I guessed I had, but not intentionally. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
My heart severed in half, but that time for him and not for my own depressing life. “I’m also sorry for being insensitive at Grady’s house the other day. I chose the wrong word.” As in drowning. I didn’t want to say that word again.
His shoulders rose to his earlobes.
“I also wanted to thank you.”
His head turned, but he kept his focus on the ground.
“Georgia told me you rescued me before I dove into the ocean that night.”
That muscle in his jaw was still jumping. I had no doubt he was thinking of his brother. And while I knew little about his brother’s death except that he’d drowned, my gut was telling me Colton had been there when the ocean swallowed up Josh.
We stood together in the quiet of the landscape with only the sound of the restless trees.
My hand was on the move before my brain thought about what to say next. When my small palm was in his larger one, he squeezed with all he had.
Pain zipped up my arm, but I wasn’t about to complain. He needed a friend, and I was more than happy to help, to allow him to shed some grief. In a weird sort of way, I believed our souls were tangled together, maybe because we were the only ones standing among the dead. I mean, the wind blew that letter out of my hands for a reason—to help Colton.
The longer we were tethered together, the more my pulse sprinted like a runner who was primed to win an Olympic gold medal.
“My mom died in a car accident,” I whispered. I’d told him I’d lost my mom, but I didn’t remember if I’d mentioned how she died.
His grip grew tighter, if that was possible. Still, I didn’t flinch or make a sound. Instead, my heart bloomed with warmth.
“I shouldn’t have come home,” he said so quietly that I wasn’t sure I’d heard him. “I should’ve stayed away.” That time, his voice was a rumble louder, the circulation in my hand nonexistent.
I winced, letting out a weak grunt.
He dropped my hand quicker than I could track. Then he roughed his fingers through his wavy locks, something he did when his emotions were tearing him apart. “Stay away from me, Skyler. I’m not a good person.”
I barely shook off the proverbial bucket of cold water that had been dumped on my head when he pivoted on his heels and stormed away.
I wanted to tell him he was a great guy. I wanted to tell him that things would get better, that his loss would not hurt as much in time. But that would’ve been a lie. Mom’s death still gutted me as strongly as when she’d died three years ago. “Colton.”
He stopped next to a black marble headstone half his size, his shoulders rising so high they almost reached above his ears.
“What if I don’t want to stay away from you?” The words tumbled free, and I felt a little lighter for finally speaking my mind.
“You have no choice,” he tossed out. “I’m not interested in you.”
His words punched me in the stomach, knocking out whatever air I had remaining in my lungs. “I meant as a friend.” Liar.
“I don’t need a friend.” He marched off, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and my ego black and blue.
My phone beeped, reminding me that someone had called me earlier. I imagined it
was Georgia, or maybe Nan. Then the thought that something had happened to Dad briefly cleared any remnants of Colton.
I fumbled to answer it, careful not to let the letter fly off again. “Nan, is Dad okay?” He’d been fine when I left, but that didn’t mean a thing.
“Calm down. He’s watching TV,” she said. “But he’s asking when you’ll be home. I’m sure he wants to see if you’re okay too. What he told you is a lot to take in.”
The breath that escaped was one of complete relief. “I’m good.” In part I was, except Colton was occupying my thoughts again. “I’m headed home now.”
I followed Colton’s path, but by the time I reached the road where my car was parked, he was nowhere in sight. Probably for the best, even though my body was protesting along with my hurt ego.
17
I couldn’t sleep. Thrashing around and kicking the covers off me as my mind spun out of control was becoming a habit.
I hadn’t had a chance to dwell on my birth parents. Sure, the whole idea of being adopted wasn’t going away, but no matter how I picked apart the questions I had, I wouldn’t get any answers unless I contacted my birth mom. Even then, I had no guarantees that she would want to talk to me. Besides, Mr. Wilson, Dad’s lawyer, hadn’t located her yet.
I had plenty to ponder as I lay in bed, staring at the time on my ceiling and trying to make sense of the boy next door who had hijacked my brain for most of the night. He had a way of pushing all my other problems aside and saying, “Here I am.”
At three in the morning, I was analyzing our conversation in the cemetery.
“I don’t need friends. I’m not interested in you.”
The latter stuck like superglue, and I wondered what was wrong with me. I considered myself to be in great shape. Nice chest—not huge, but the right size for my body. He probably agreed with Grady that I looked like a boy.
Maybe Mia was onto something when she’d said I should dress in a sexy outfit. Maybe then Colton would do a double take.
Guy problems. Argh.
I wondered if sex was the key, the lure, the magic potion to get a guy to like me. It had worked for Mia. My belly flipped at the idea of having sex with Colton.
How would it feel to have his muscled body on top of me? To have his lips all over me, everywhere? To run my hands through his hair? To feel the dips and valleys of his abs, wrap my hand around his erection or even…
I pushed out an exasperated sigh as that throbbing ache in between my legs roared awake. Closing my eyes, I dipped my fingers into my panties before finding that swollen sweet spot, and as soon as my finger grazed over it, my hips shot upward as I moaned.
Stella jumped off the bed.
Suddenly, I felt like I was doing something wrong. But sex wasn’t wrong. It was a basic human need. I circled my nub, chills skating down my legs, my belly beginning to tighten in a sensuous knot. I pictured Colton naked as my limbs relaxed and the sensation built, growing stronger the more I continued to play with myself.
But my ecstasy was short-lived when a loud boom pierced the night.
I jolted upright, listening intently as I sought the baseball bat I kept in the corner behind the door.
A breath of silence fell until glass shattered.
I shot off the bed and over to the front window in my room. Maybe Mr. Caldwell had dropped a bottle as he got out of his car.
Stella meowed from somewhere nearby.
No sign of movement outside.
Another loud noise made me jump. I ran over to get the bat but stopped short when the light in Colton’s room caught my eye. I blinked once, then twice to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. Then my hand flew to my mouth just as he drove his fist into his wall.
A second later, Mr. Caldwell stormed in like a category-five hurricane, his hand primed to wield it at his son, and he did just that.
Colton stood there and took blow after blow from his father as if more than happy to be a human punching bag.
I felt like I had toothpicks holding my eyelids open. I really should have looked away, gone back to bed, or done anything other than watch a father beat his son.
Why isn’t Colton fighting back? What is wrong with his dad? He was evil.
The man took another crack at his son’s jaw, and again Colton endured the wrath until his dad went to deliver yet another blow. Colton stopped him as shouting ensued. It was so loud, I felt like I was in the room with them. Then again, his window had a hole in it. I guessed that was the glass-breaking sound I’d heard.
“That’s the last time you’ll ever hit me,” Colton said.
It was either rage or drunkenness or both, but Colton’s statement fell on deaf ears as his dad punched him again.
Colton ducked that time.
Blue lights cut through the swath of darkness between our houses.
I zipped over to my other window just as Nan appeared in the doorway.
“Skyler, what’s going on?” Her voice was sleepy.
I pointed to the window closest to her. “A family feud. I think the cops are here.”
Wisps of her brown hair fell out of her hairband as she looked over at the Caldwell house. “Oh my. I should check on your dad.” She hurried out.
I was sure Dad was awake but fine. His room was on the same side as mine, so he probably heard too. It was impossible not to.
A cop car pulled into the Caldwells’ driveway. Either Bonnie had called them, or a neighbor had. Two men in blue got out, one tall, the other short. Both scanned the area as they disappeared from view.
I leaned against my wall and waited, biting my nails as I did.
Stella slinked over and rubbed against my bare leg.
“I know, girl. Crazy night.”
After ten quiet minutes, the cops got back into the cruiser sans Mr. Caldwell or Colton.
I tiptoed over to the other window facing Colton’s room, my nerves on edge, hoping and praying that he was all right. As if he knew I was watching, his head swiveled in my direction.
I waved like an idiot, not sure if he could see me.
For the longest beat, he just stood there, blood under his nose, hair disheveled, jaw hard, and his eyes were riveted to me until something made him flinch. Then he started piling clothes into a bag. His movements were violent, rushed, and frantic.
He’d said he wasn’t a good person, but I didn’t believe that. He could’ve hit his father, but he didn’t. Instead, he took each blow stoically and without flinching. I wasn’t saying that made him a good person, but in my mind, he had a heart.
He gave his room a once-over before hiking his bag over his shoulder. Oh my God. He was leaving. Surely, his parents wouldn’t throw him out in the middle of the night.
For whatever reason, my birth mother popped into my brain. I knew giving me up for adoption wasn’t the same as Colton’s predicament. Yet I was beginning to understand the feeling of not being wanted.
I watched the guy who had wriggled his way into my heart and psyche walk out his door.
I sprinted down the stairs as if on a mission to stop a bomb from detonating. A door slammed, shaking the walls of our house. I raced out my front door and onto the porch just as Colton stalked toward his truck.
His mom chased him. “Son, please don’t go. Let’s talk,” she cried.
“Mom.” Colton’s tone was caustic. “I need some space, and so does he.” He stuck a finger at his house. “The cops should’ve taken his drunk ass to jail.”
I wondered for a second why they hadn’t. Colton was a minor as far as I knew, or maybe he was eighteen. I honestly didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
“Where will you go?” She hugged her herself as she wavered on the top step of her porch.
I slinked into the shadows and out of the rays of the porch light.
“Grady’s,” he said as the beep, beep, beep of his truck unlocking blared in the quietness of the humid night air.
Bonnie wiped her face with a tissue as she returned inside, seemingly giv
ing up on her son.
I knew I shouldn’t be sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, but he didn’t need to go to Grady’s.
I was walking down the steps before I could think. “Colton.” My voice was barely audible.
He whirled my way.
I waved as I stood rooted to the bottom step, afraid that if I moved, he might blow me over with one stern look or that annoying blank expression.
He threw his bag inside his truck, and for a mere second, I thought he was about to get in until he came toward me with his fists at his sides, hair wild around his face, bloody nose, and probably a bruised jaw.
His sense of purpose was both unnerving and exciting, and his body language was screaming that he could kill or devour all that pent-up rage he’d bottled up.
I held my breath, searching for words that I was sure wouldn’t come, and if they did, they wouldn’t make sense.
He towered over me like an ethereal gorgeous creature, and poof, I forgot the reason I was even outside in the dead of night.
My witless brain decided to take a nap. My body, though, was a completely different story. Every vein in me was burning with a pulsing need for him to do things I had yet to do in my teenage years. My fingers twitched to run through his hair or feel how soft his lips might be.
His gaze took a long, slow, and sensual hike up and down my body.
My nipples hardened instantly, poking against the thin fabric of my tank top. Suddenly, my heart kicked into an all-out sprint. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and I was standing outside in only a pair of short shorts beneath my top.
I should have covered myself, but when his eyes landed on my chest, I became an ice sculpture. My breathing increased. My lower region ached, and out of nowhere, a dose of bravery hit me, and my hands were on his chest, sliding up, up, and up.
For a moment, he didn’t react in any way. Not until my fingers touched his lips did his hands shoot out and grip my hips.
A strong electrical charge blasted through me and straight to the spot that I’d been playing with earlier. If sex was what he needed to forget his troubles, I wouldn’t protest. I mean, isn’t that what friends did for each other?
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