by Rose, Emery
Wilder Love
Emery Rose
Copyright © 2019 Emery Rose
All rights reserved.
Cover design: Najla Qamber, Qamber Designs & Media
Editing: Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor
Interior Formatting: Jessica Ames
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
To Aliana Milano. Love you, boo. xoxo
Playlist
“Grizzly Bear” – Angus & Julia Stone
“The Devil’s Tears” – Angus & Julia Stone
“These Days” – Samuel
“Sorry” – Nothing but Thieves
“Dream” – Bishop Briggs
“Consequences” – Camila Cabello
“Skyscraper” – Demi Lovato
“Dancing With Your Ghost” – Sasha Sloan
“Baptize Me” – X Ambassadors, Jacob Banks
“Love Me Anyway” – Pink, Chris Stapleton
“Someone You Loved” – Lewis Capaldi
“Nobody Knows” – The Lumineers
“I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” – Aerosmith
Contents
Part I
1. Remy
2. Remy
3. Shane
4. Shane
5. Remy
6. Shane
7. Remy
8. Shane
9. Remy
10. Shane
11. Remy
12. Remy
13. Shane
14. Shane
15. Remy
16. Remy
17. Remy
18. Shane
19. Remy
20. Remy
21. Shane
22. Remy
Part II
23. Shane
24. Remy
25. Remy
26. Shane
27. Remy
28. Shane
29. Remy
30. Shane
31. Shane
32. Remy
33. Remy
34. Remy
35. Shane
36. Remy
37. Shane
38. Remy
39. Shane
40. Remy
41. Shane
42. Shane
43. Shane
Epilogue
Also by Emery Rose
Acknowledgments
Preview of Beneath Your Beautiful
About the Author
Part I
BEFORE
1
Remy
Hope is a dangerous thing. It makes you wish for things you can’t have. I thought mine had died in a shitty apartment in Detroit when I was twelve, along with the frayed threads of childhood innocence I’d still been clinging to. So, it surprised me when I woke up that morning feeling… hopeful.
Maybe Mom’s words, uttered more times than I could count, would finally come true.
“You’ll see. Everything will be different here.”
It might have been the tangerine clouds or the palm trees swaying in the summer’s breeze outside my bedroom window. Whatever the reason, hope bubbled to the surface like it used to when I was a kid and didn’t know any better.
Our new apartment building was on a hill, desert-dry grass sloping down to fenced-in backyards behind terracotta-roofed white stucco houses. It reminded me of photos I’d seen of seaside Mediterranean towns. Slightly shabby but with an old-world charm. Nothing like the derelict neighborhoods we usually ended up in.
Don’t get too attached, Remy.
Even so, I wanted to capture the moment, preserve it in a photo. Digging through my backpack, my hand wrapped around my most prized possession. A 35mm Canon Rebel. Everyone wanted digital cameras, but I preferred using film. It felt more authentic. I had found the camera in a pawn shop in Tulsa and begged Mom to buy it for me. I’d never asked for anything before. She gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday. Two weeks late, but still, she’d gotten it for me. And now it went everywhere with me.
Kneeling on the mattress I’d shoved against the wall last night, I hung out my open window and snapped photos. Of my first California sunrise. The palm trees. Beach towels hanging on a wash line. Three surfboards leaning against the back of a house. Then I stowed my camera in my backpack for later and rummaged through my still-packed duffle bag on the floor, eager to get out of here and explore my new town.
I threw on a faded orange bikini under cut-offs and a swim team T-shirt from a Midwest college I’d never attended and shoved my feet into my beat-up white Chucks. Grabbing my skateboard and my backpack, I made a quick stop in the bathroom. It was so small my knees grazed the bathtub when I sat on the toilet.
My sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as I crept across the living room. Dylan was still asleep on the sofa, his face smashed against the back cushion, his long legs tangled in dark blue sheets. I watched him sleeping for a few seconds, debating whether to wake him then decided against it. I wanted this time to myself. To see the ocean on my own. To capture the memories in dozens of photographs.
Shouldering my backpack, I closed the apartment door quietly behind me and jogged down the metal staircase attached to the side of the building. Our apartment was on the second floor, the parking deck below us, and two more stories above ours. Late last night after we unpacked, Dylan and I had climbed onto the flat roof of the building and smoked a joint. He had scowled for the camera, a blunt clamped between his lips, a hazy halo of smoke hanging above his head. My moody, broody twin was catnip for good girls who fell for bad boys. They wanted to fix him. Tame him. Make him love them. They would fail. Falling in love with Dylan would only break their hearts.
I stopped at the bottom of the staircase and watched a guy across the street slinging a surfboard into the back of a white Jeep Wrangler. A few years older than me, he had a golden tan and disheveled light brown hair, sun-streaked and curling a little where it met the collar of his faded-out blue T-shirt.
He looked like summertime. Like a California dream. Golden.
If I captured him in a photo, it would go in my beautiful collection.
He caught me watching him and gave me a smile. This really beautiful chilled-out smile that made my stomach somersault.
“How’s it going?” he asked as I ventured closer.
“It’s all good.”
“Just moved in?” He squinted at the second floor of our building as if he knew we’d just moved into that apartment.
“Just passing through.” I didn’t know why I said that, except that it was usually true. We never stayed in one place for long.
“On your way to where?” he asked as if he was genuinely interested.
“Something better.” It wasn’t true. It never was.
He cocked his head and closed one eye as if he was about to let me in on a secret. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
I believed him. It probably didn’t. “Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Or maybe you’ll find out for yourself.”
“Maybe.” Although I doubted it.
He glanced at the skateboard under my arm. “Where are you headed?”
“The beach.” After I said it, I wasn’t sure if he was talking about where I was headed after Costa del Rey, which I didn’t know, or where I was headed at this moment. I looked down the narrow, winding street, as if I had a plan of a
ction. I had no idea where the beach was from here. I had a lousy sense of direction, something Dylan found baffling.
“Well… catch you later.” I hopped on my skateboard and took off down the street. It was better to beat people to the punch. I hated being left behind. Better to be the one who did the leaving.
He called after me, but I didn’t hear what he said. I was already gone, cruising down the street, my wheels eating up the asphalt. White-washed houses, palm trees, and hot pink tropical bushes zipped past. Bougainvillea, I’d later find out—that was what the tropical bushes were called.
At this early hour, it was quiet, the town still sleeping. Bathed in an amber glow, Costa del Rey was a dream town. Like something from a movie set. But I knew better than to get too attached. We never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots. We were ramblers. Free spirits, Mom called us, as if that made us special. She always claimed it was something everyone wanted but were too afraid to be. She was wrong though. People wanted to feel like they belonged somewhere. Like they’d found a home. But I never bothered arguing with her. She wouldn’t listen anyway.
In my peripheral, I saw the Jeep following along beside me, music drifting from the open windows. It was chilled-out music, bluesy with some soul. This guy was the quintessential cliched surfer dude. “If you’re headed to the beach, you’re going the wrong way,” he said conversationally.
Well, that didn’t surprise me.
“Is it far from here?”
“A five-minute drive.”
“So, at the speed you’re going…” Sloth speed.
“A hell of a lot longer.” He didn’t sound particularly bothered by that, like he had all the time in the world and this was no inconvenience.
“Are you headed in the right direction?”
“In a car, yes. On foot, no. It’s a one-way street and you’re headed east.”
“I’m following the sun.”
“Okay.” I thought I could hear his smile, but I wasn’t looking at him, so I couldn’t confirm that.
“I’ll give you a lift,” he said finally.
“Do you always offer rides to total strangers?”
“Only the ones who are beachbound before seven in the morning.”
“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“Leap of faith.”
“I’ve already used up my lifetime quota of those.”
He laughed, and I joined in as if it had been a joke. I wasn’t looking at him. I was scared it would be too blinding. Or that he’d see too much. Hood rat. White trash. Slut. Whore’s daughter. Smokin’ hot. I’ve heard it all. I wasn’t ready to chance it that he’d see the same thing other guys did. I don’t know. Maybe I wanted him to see something good in me. Something that went beyond the outer package.
“A beautiful girl like you… why, you can get anything you want,” Mom always said. “You’ll see, baby. You’ll see how far beauty can take you in this world.”
Sometimes I thought my beauty was more of a curse than a blessing. It attracted attention. In my experience, the wrong kind of attention.
“My name’s Shane, by the way.”
“Remy, by the way.”
“Remy,” he repeated, testing it out.
I was named after Remy Martin. Mom claimed it was top shelf, like me. I’d have to take her word for it. Our last name was St. Clair. Dylan and I suspected that she’d made it up because she thought it sounded fancy, although that had never been confirmed.
“What’s your best stroke?” he asked.
My best stroke? Oh right. I was wearing a swim team T-shirt. “Butterfly.” It was the first one that came to mind. I couldn’t swim the fly to save my life, but I lied all the time.
He chuckled. “Good try. But I’m not buying it.”
“What gave me away?”
“Your spaghetti arms.”
I snorted. “I don’t have spaghetti arms.”
“You don’t have swimmer’s shoulders either.”
I hazarded a glance at Shane. He had swimmer’s shoulders. They were wide and tapered down to a narrow waist. He was lean and lithe, all muscle without an ounce of fat. I quickly averted my gaze, focusing on the street in front of me. Too much goodness inside that Jeep.
Mom always said if something seems too good to be true it usually is. Which explained her track record for sabotaging anything that seemed too good. Sometimes I worried that I’d turn out to be just like her.
The Jeep rolled to a stop at an intersection. I kicked my heel against the tail and skidded to a halt, the board grating against the asphalt. Should I go left? Right? Or back the way I came?
“Come on. Get in,” he said, seeing my indecision. “My conscience won’t rest if I let you fend for yourself.”
I hesitated. Probably because I wanted to get into his Jeep. I was always hesitant about accepting the things I wanted. They usually came with strings attached. He leaned across the seat and pushed open the passenger door, a further invitation to hop in and let him take me wherever he was going. Tempting.
I gnawed on my lower lip, considering his offer. I should be scared. Freaked out about accepting a ride from a stranger. Just because he was gorgeous on the outside didn’t mean he wasn’t ugly on the inside. Beautiful people did bad things too. But my internal warning signals weren’t going off. Not that I would call him safe, exactly. My heart was doing dangerous things. Harmless? I knew better than to think that about anyone.
Call me crazy, I climbed into the passenger seat and stowed my skateboard in the footwell between my legs, my backpack in my lap. I wasn’t always known for making the best decisions. I’d done a lot of stupid things in my life. Maybe this would be one of them.
“Thanks,” I said as he started driving.
“No problem.”
Now that I was inside his Jeep, the space felt too small. Too intimate. It smelled like coconut and candle wax. I leaned my shoulder against the passenger’s side door and absently chipped away at the dark polish on my nails.
He reeled off a few letters and digits that jumbled in my brain. What was he saying?
“My license plate number. Text a friend. That way they’ll know where to look for the buried body.”
“You’re a rookie at this serial killer gig, aren’t you?”
“What gave me away?”
All I could do was laugh.
Minutes later, gravel crunched under the tires as he pulled into an empty lot. The scent of the sea was stronger here and I thought I could hear the sound of the surf, but I couldn’t see the beach.
“Do you surf?” He cut the engine and took his keys from the ignition.
I shook my head. “I’ve never been in the ocean. Actually, I’ve never seen it before,” I admitted.
I could feel him staring at me like that was something he couldn’t imagine.
“Well, thanks for the ride.” I backed away from the Jeep, ready to turn around and bolt.
“Hang on a sec and I’ll walk you down.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” But I wanted him to. I wanted to walk with him. So, I waited.
“It’s purely for selfish reasons.” He grinned and took his board out of the back. Then he stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it inside the Jeep, his movements casual like it was no big deal. Which it wasn’t. Shouldn’t be. But I couldn’t breathe. My gaze swept over golden tanned skin stretched over bone and muscle and drifted lower to that V and a fine dusting of golden hair. The happy trail that led to whatever he was hiding under those boardshorts. Jesus. What was wrong with me?
He gave me a mischievous grin like he’d read my mind. I quickly averted my gaze, pretending I hadn’t just been checking him out.
I fell into step with him and we made our way along a sandy path through scrubby bushes and tall grass that swayed in the warm breeze. My skin was sticky from the salty air and I could taste the ocean on my lips.
My arm brushed against his, sending a jolt through my body, delicious shivers runni
ng up and down my spine. I took a deep breath, trying to rein in my galloping heart.
Chill out, Remy.
“How is it you’ve never seen the ocean?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never lived near a coast.”
“Where are you from?”
“Everywhere and nowhere. I’ve moved around a lot.” I cleared my throat, wanting to steer the conversation away from my crazy life. “Why did you say it was purely selfish? Before?”
He smiled but didn’t answer the question. We came into a clearing at the top of a bluff and there it was, stretched out below us—the Pacific Ocean. The sea hugged the sky and it was hard to tell where one left off and the other began. The colors were muted and hazy, like a vintage photo. I watched in fascination as the waves built and grew and then crashed, spraying the air with whitewater, the tide rushing up to the golden sand and retreating again. The ocean was infinite, stretching out beyond the horizon, seagulls circling above it. I thought the water would be blue, but in this light, it was steely gray, the waves churning up a mossy green. Seaweed, I guess.
I took a deep breath of sea air. The thunder of the waves silenced the voices in my head, drowned out the ugly, and made me feel at peace in a way I never had before. I didn’t know if it was because I was standing next to the golden boy with honey-brown hair and sculpted muscles, or if it was the ocean itself that made me dream of possibilities rather than only seeing obstacles. It was the closest I’d ever come to a religious experience.