Trévon glances over his shoulder as if following the invisible line emanating from my finger. He turns back and waves me off. “What Rachel said back there…she—”
Oh no. I’m in no mood to listen to some lame excuse. “Why defend her?”
“She is my girlfriend.”
“That’s your bad decision-making. Not mine.” I pivot on my heel and trudge toward the pier. Just shut up and leave me alone already.
“Hey!” He claps his hands together hard, three deep echoes in the dark. It’s the same thing I’ve seen him do when pissed off at the impromptu race meetings outside The Shrimp Shack, when Jett’s dad is chewing him out for something. “I know you think she’s just some mean girl with an agenda, but—”
“You’re telling me she doesn’t have an agenda?” I yell into the night air, refusing to spend any more face time with Trévon and his laundry list of Rachel-isn’t-that-bad propaganda.
“She does, but it’s not what you think.” Trévon runs past me and steps into my path. He grabs my shoulder, forcing my attention. Nothing he says is going to change a thing, so he might as well save his breath. I roll my eyes as he continues. “No, really. Hear me out. Rachel’s dream is to race with the pros, but she can’t get there…not on her own.” He licks his lips and bites down on the lower one for a quick beat. “She needs Jett to carry her. She needs him to win this race to get her—our team—to the next level. You’re a threat to that.”
Go figure, she’s hopped on board the blame train to guilt me for her shortcomings instead of pointing the finger back at herself. “That’s such bull! I’ve never tried to take him away from—”
“He’s missed practices lately to see you. He’s texted you continuously throughout strategy meetings. The track is dangerous if your head isn’t in the game. Rachel thinks you’re distracting him, and she wants you gone. Plain and simple.”
My stomach drops. Jett had been calling me more, texting when I knew he was at the track, but the thought of him sacrificing his racing for me never crossed my mind. My stomach drops to my toes. The track is dangerous if your head isn’t in the game. A terrible image of flipped race cars and smoke filter into my brain, my knees wobbling. “What do you think?”
Trévon lifts his eyes to the expanse of beach behind me, a small grin creeping onto his face. “I think Jett’s happier than ever, and if he can focus and harness that for his racing, he’ll be unstoppable.”
I snort and shake my head. “Don’t let Rachel hear you say that. You’ll be minus a girlfriend. Besides, why would Jett want me when he has Dani the racing model fawning all over him?” My eyes focus once again on the pier, and it pulls me like a magnet. My feet fumble forward in response. “Rachel said Dani was better for him. Maybe she’ll make him happy.”
“I don’t want Dani. I never did.”
The words rocket icicles through my veins, icy hotness sprinting down my spine and turning the muscles to stone. Everything seizes: my breath stagnates in my lungs, my gaze homes in on a lone crab scuttling in and out of the long beams of light radiating from the pier. When he steps beside me, I shift my eyes diagonally to his sneakers and let them run up the length of his body. Trévon pats Jett on the shoulder, ducks his head, and jogs back up the beach.
Jett moves closer, so close the sourness of old beer assaults my nose. He trails his fingers down my arm; the wake of his touch leaves tingling phantom paths on my skin.
“We need to talk.”
I shrug my arm away. He says he doesn’t want her, but the images of him and Dani together on the beach gut me like the fish his dad puts on display in the refrigerator case. My insides are hollowed out.
“Please, don’t shut me out. I have to tell you…” He grabs my shoulders and spins me toward him but pulls back when we come face to face. “You’ve been crying?”
Looking in his eyes is torture, so I shift my stare to his T-shirt. “Consider it another win, Jett. First place for being the person who finally got CJ to cry.” I slap both hands against his chest and push him away. He stumbles backwards in the sand, then steadies himself and charges toward me again.
“I don’t want that prize. You think I want to hurt you?” He grabs my hands, holding them tight in his. “I did not hook-up with Dani tonight. I never have. I don’t want to.”
“Not according to Rachel.”
“Screw Rachel. She makes up shit because she’s trying to ride our team to the big time.”
“Whatever.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Why don’t I believe you?” His questions kick the hornet’s nest in my gut. My entire body begins to sting. “I came out here to find you and explain about Trent because you didn’t stick around long enough to give me a chance. You took off.”
Jett exhales and rubs his hands over his face and through his hair, then threads his fingers behind his neck. “He showed up saying y’all are together. I freaked. Forgive me if I’m a little jaded.”
“I’m not your mom, Jett.” I plunge my finger into the V-neck of his T-shirt. “And I’ve never lied to you. How could you think—?”
“I have trouble trusting people because of her. I told you this. That kind of rejection scars people.”
“Scars?” A guttural laugh seeps out of me like one of those horror movie moments. “You want to talk to me about scars?” I grab his arm and pull him with me into one of the broad bands of light shooting across the sand. In one fluid motion, I criss-cross my arms, grab the hem of my T-shirt, and yank it over my head. Anyone might think I’d be self-conscious standing in front of Jett in my bra, but there’s no point. He’s looking at something else. Something that, besides me, only Daddy and Memaw have seen.
“Oh my God.” He steps forward and traces his fingers along the silvery-pink chasm “From the accident?”
“Where else? I don’t just feel my scars on the inside. I see mine every day. It’s a reminder; I’m here when they’re not.” More tears streak my cheek as the secret words I’ve pondered a million times push their way across my tongue. “Why didn’t I die, too?”
Jett circles his arms around me, pressing my head to his chest. I don’t push him away this time. Instead, I inhale his familiar coconut scent that reminds me more and more of home.
“The world needs you, Cami. I need you. After tonight, I know that more than ever.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze, holding him in place until I finally get to tell him the entire truth. “Jett, I’m not with Trent. He—”
“Bo and Trent told me what happened. I get it now. I mean, I told the guy it probably would’ve been better to call, but…”
“But what?”
“But he said breaking up needed to happen in person. Not some random phone call.” Jett laughs. “Ironic since you were the one who thought he broke up with you in an—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Anyway, he said to tell you good-bye. Seemed pretty eager to get back home.”
A smile inches up the corners of my mouth just thinking about that reunion, when Trent finally puts Emmalyn out of her misery. Good for them.
Jett’s lips press into my temple and stay there for a minute; curlicues of warmth circulate from the spot. “I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve listened earlier and saved us all this drama. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I whisper, and then pull back just far enough to look him in the eyes. “So, does this mean we’re okay?”
A smile breaks across his face, the corners of his lips and eyes stretching upward. “We,” he whispers, “are so much better than okay.” He lunges forward, scooping me into his arms, and crushes his lips into mine with so much force we lose footing and tumble to the sand in a tangled mess.
Chapter Twenty
The gold racing championship ring won’t fit any of my fingers, so now it’s threaded on a delicate chain around my neck. We were lying side-by-side in the sand beneath the pier when Jett propped on one arm and slid it from his pinky, offe
ring it to me. His most prized possession for me to wear as an outward symbol of our togetherness. “So you—or anyone else—can never say we’re not official.” He smiled as he slid it on my middle finger, but the band swallowed that one and even my thumb, so when we got back to Memaw’s, I dug a simple gold chain out of my jewelry box, and it became the ring’s new home.
I fiddle with it, leaned across the Beachin’ Books counter, and stare into space, reliving those moments under the pier from this past weekend. Cuddling on the sand. Jett kissing away all my tears. His hands—
Snap! Snap! Someone’s fingers pop in my face and deflate my daydreams like a punctured balloon. “Earth to CJ.” She barely gets the words out before spotting the ring dangling from my chain, which she grabs and yanks to her eyes. “Shut up! No freaking way!”
I straighten, and the ring slips from her fingers. It bounces back onto my chest. “Yep.”
Gin slaps her hand over her mouth, but the edge of her broad grin peeks out from her fingers. “Bo said you and Jett made up, but”—she giggles—“this is huge.”
The door chimes interrupt us as Rachel and Trévon step inside. They walk to the freezer case. Rachel wags her head childishly but stops when Trévon jabs her in the ribs with his elbow. After they grab two drinks, he approaches the counter. Rachel follows behind, using him like a shield. Though she stays quiet behind Trévon’s blockade, her very presence spews venom into the atmosphere.
I hand Trévon his change with the usual, “Thanks and come again.”
He offers a quick smile, grabbing the drinks with one hand, and ushers Rachel out with the other. But her focus lands on Jett’s ring.
“What the—?” She pushes past Trévon and plunges an accusatory finger in my direction. “Why do you have that?”
I twirl the ring between my fingers, holding it out. “Jett and I are together. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”
Rachel balks, jerking backwards. “Get used to it?” She huffs out a loud breath and shakes her head, as if the mere thought of “getting used to it” is preposterous. She jabs Trévon’s arm. “Now it makes perfect sense why he blew off practice yesterday. A total no-show. He was with you, wasn’t he?”
I pretend to shrug off her accusations, but a rush of dread bubbles inside. He was with me—all day—with his phone turned off.
When I don’t respond, her eyes bug out a bit. She clenches both fists in the air, looking ready to explode. “He’s crazy. He’s gone loopy! He’s throwing everything away, and for what? Her?”
“Let’s not do this,” Trévon mumbles, trying to corral her.
“No, no, no, wait.” She slams both her hands on the counter. “I want to hear what you have to say about it, CJ. Are you really okay with Jett blowing off practice, not putting in time at the track, and then going out there unprepared? Because I can tell you, this is not going to end well. Tyler is already talking crap and threatening Jett. You think it’s fine for him not to be on his A game? You’re willing to risk his career, his life, for your ‘relationship?’” She accentuates her verbal jab with air quotes. Her laser-intense gaze stares holes through me.
The words trip over my tongue. “I…I didn’t know about yesterday’s practice…He never mentioned it. How was I to know?”
“You couldn’t have,” Trévon reassures me and then grabs Rachel around the waist, pulling her to the door.
Her mouth drops open, and she jerks away from his grip. She takes a few steps backwards, shaking her head. “Yes, let’s all protect poor, fragile CJ from the truth. You’ll ruin him. He needs to focus on his racing…on his team! You’re a distraction that’s gonna cost him his career…or his life!” Trévon reclaims her hand and with a final yank, shuffles her out the door. It slams behind them, leaving Gin and I in stunned silence.
“What a witch,” Gin mumbles, reaching across the counter to grab my hand. “Don’t listen to her.”
I swallow hard and force a grin. “Already forgotten.” But it’s not. Not completely. If Jett spends so much of his time thinking about us, then how can he be putting his full attention into racing? How can he be preparing for his race when he’s not even bothering to show up for practice? Could I cost him his career, or worse yet, his life?
No. I won’t let that happen, and neither will Jett. Our relationship will bring strength, not division. It’s just another one of Rachel’s attempts to derail us, and she’s not getting her way.
Never again.
“Come with me to the race this weekend? I want you to see what I do.” Jett’s eyes sparkle in the dim lamplight as he shuffles across my room and stretches out on the bed. He drops his backpack to the floor and kicks his sneakers off beside it.
“You know, you’re gonna have to quit showing up to my room in the dark of night. People are gonna start talking.” I laugh as I walk across the room to lock the door to the hallway. Memaw wouldn’t give two craps he’s here, but still…privacy.
“A little after ten is not exactly the ‘dark of night,’” he laughs, looking up from his watch as I slide onto the covers beside him, propping myself on my elbow. He immediately stretches his arm around my shoulder and draws me in, capturing my lips in an easy, smooth kiss.
“You’re an idiot, Jett Ramsey.”
“Maybe, but you’re a question-dodging subject-changer.” He laughs and falls back against my pillow.
It’s not that I don’t want to go to his race. Of course, nothing would be better than watching Jett zip himself into that cute orange and black jumpsuit. Part of being with him is supporting him, and I want to, but Rachel’s prophecies parade through my head non-stop. They won’t shut up.
I questioned him about the skipped practices, and he shrugged it off with a dicey explanation that his Dad knew about it, so Rachel’s opinion didn’t matter. No big deal, he’s got this, and all the usual deflections. But what if it’s just a sugar coating to what’s actually going on? What if Rachel’s right, and I am a distraction that pries his thoughts away from the track, causing him to wreck? It’s scary enough he’s chosen a path that requires being behind the wheel at break-neck speeds, but if something happens to him because of me…I can’t even.
“I’m not dodging your question.” I sit up, criss-crossing my legs in front of me, my knees grazing his hip. “I just…I don’t know…if I should go…I mean, racing’s your thing…and I don’t want to be in the way.”
He turns onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. With his free hand, he cups my cheek; his skin burns like embers against mine. It’s all I can do to focus on what he’s saying and not lunge toward him, especially when he launches into a speech about how I’ll be his motivation above anything else, then sweetens the pot with the promise of some quality one-on-one time afterwards. His dad and Jenniston are camping overnight, and we’re invited. Of course, that could also be an excellent cover story should we want to spend some alone time elsewhere.
“You need to get used to the track, because you’re definitely coming to the big race in August, right?” His gaze is hopeful, like an expectant puppy.
“When is it exactly?”
“The second Saturday.”
My stomach clenches. “Oh.”
“Is that a problem?”
No, the second Saturday is open. It’s the day before—the second Friday in August—that’s already slated to be one of the hardest days of my life. Testifying in court against the man who ran us off the road won’t be a cake walk. Only the day of the accident could ever compare in my book, and I’ve tried so hard to block it out, just to have all this court stuff throw a stick of dynamite into the memories. “I have court that week. The day before actually. Back home.”
My own words deliver the one-two punch. Court. Back home. Bam-bam.
The words sit like hundred-pound dumbbells on my tongue. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Edisto’s home now, the only place I can channel some version of the new CJ—the one who survived the worst and is somehow still standing. Wit
h Jett and Memaw and Gin and Bo by my side. As the truth sinks in my gut, the huge implications of what I have to do in court loom before me. And once it’s over, I have to move on. Away from Edisto. Back with Dad. The summer I’d initially wanted to fly by has done just that, except now I need a pause button to freeze-frame things the way they are.
To pause us here in this moment.
Jett pulls at a loose thread on my comforter. “I didn’t realize you’d be gone by then.” His voice cracks over each word.
“That’s when I have to testify.”
He swallows hard, his eyes searching mine. “Are you prepared for that?”
I clasp my hands behind my head and lie back, looking at the ceiling. How do you prepare for something like that? In truth, how can I prepare for anything I have to do by summer’s end? All the good-byes to be said, the chapters to close. It seems inevitable and impossible all at once. But right now, I only want to focus on what’s in front of me. “Let’s not talk about it. Tonight, only happy thoughts…about me and you.” I lean forward, our faces a whisper apart, and nibble his earlobe.
“You’re good at changing the subject,” Jett says through a throaty moan, reaching for the lamp switch, which is just out of reach. He swings his legs off the side of the bed and accidentally kicks his backpack, which falls over with a thud.
“What’s in the bag? You bring me another headshot?” I crawl behind him as he sits near the edge of the bed and circle my arms around him, kissing his neck until I reach the stubble on his jaw.
“Something better.” He opens the zipper and hands me a thick, black spiral-bound book.
“What’s this?” The book’s supple leather cover is smooth under my fingertips. I settle against the pillow, my back to the wall.
“My portfolio. My drawings. Thought you might wanna see them.” The weight of the book increases three-fold. These are Jett’s secret talents and dreams, ready to be shared with me. I open the front cover and peruse the first plastic-protected pages as if they’re sacred relics that might crumble in my hands. But nothing about the designs are fragile. Massive coastal homes with expansive windows and open living spaces spring to life from the dark precision-perfect strokes. Notes about green construction materials, renewable resources, and energy-efficient mechanics crowd the outer perimeters. He fidgets his feet and chews on a hangnail. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him unsure of himself, but examining his designs, I can’t imagine why he’d ever doubt his abilities. My mouth can’t formulate anything discernible from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my mind. “You’re looking at me weird,” he says.
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