He avoided Summer’s eyes. “I don’t like making people uncomfortable.”
“Why would bruises make people uncomfortable?” Summer said.
He looked at her, his eyes steady and his body quiet. “Here.” He unzipped his hoodie and slid it off, revealing the insides of his arms. Tiny bruises and needle marks dotted the delicate skin.
Summer glanced at his face, caught by the defiant tilt of his chin, like he was daring her to be repulsed. “Do they hurt?”
His brows drew together. “No. Not usually. Only the bad bleeds. And joint bleeds.”
She touched one of the bruises and he flinched. “Oh! Sorry.”
“No. It’s . . . That usually freaks people out.”
Summer shrugged. “They’re just bruises. My tan hides them but I have plenty of my own.”
“See, Bas.” Bria bumped his arm. “You’re not nearly as much of a freak as you think you are.”
He laughed nervously and slipped the hoodie back on. “It’s a hard label to shake.”
Summer met his eyes again. “Most labels are.”
Maybe there was space for honesty. To let them in on who she was and who she wanted to be. She took a breath, prepared to confess her crimes.
Until Bria swept her hand across her collarbone, drawing Summer’s eyes to the shiny, puckered scar cutting across her skin.
Summer swallowed back her words and ducked down to fish a bottle of water from her backpack. Words hurt. Words brought up the past and resurrected pain, no matter how deep you buried it. Words destroyed things and she needed those friendships, no matter how tenuous they seemed.
She held out the bottle of water. “Thirsty?”
“Thanks.” Bas took the bottle, but the way he looked at her, he meant more than just the water.
She smiled back, more certain than ever her past needed to stay in the past.
Chapter 12
Summer dashed down the stairs, fueled by the perfect morning weather report. Her feet itched to feel the world drop out from under her board and the rush of the wind carrying her up again.
Grandma sat at the kitchen table with a pair of rhinestone-studded reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose and papers spread across the entire surface. Immersed in her grading, she mumbled to herself, not noticing Summer until she opened the back door.
“Good Lord,” Grandma said, clutching her chest. “What are you doing up so early? Don’t you have school?”
Summer bristled at the accusation she read into the harmless question. “School isn’t for another couple of hours. I’m going to the ramp. Like I do every morning.”
Grandma lowered her glasses. “Your mom knows?”
“Yep. As long as I’m not late to school.”
“In that case, you don’t have to sneak out. This is your home too.”
“Until Mom makes me move in with her and Pete.”
Grandma leaned back in her chair, shaking off her preoccupation. “You don’t have to go with your mother.”
“What?” Summer stepped closer, a tiny spark of hope drawing her away from the door.
Grandma, with her bright eyes and wild hair, leaned across the table. “I’ve spoken to your counselor and your parents. If you’d rather, you can stay here, with me, instead of going with your mother when she moves on. In fact, I think it might give you some much needed stability.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Grandma shoved her glasses back up her nose and picked up her papers again. “Something to think about. That’s all. And wear your pads and helmet if you’re skating.”
“Yes, Grandma.”
The early November dawn cast the light at an odd, pale angle and failed to warm the air. The garage lay shrouded in darkness and Summer had to flip on the lights to find her safety gear. The pads chafed and the helmet blocked the wind in her hair, but Grandma was usually right and it probably wasn’t worth the risk to ride without it.
“Thank you, dear.” Grandma’s voice carried after her down the driveway.
The cool air whipped past her and she almost went back for a hoodie before deciding the brisk, clarifying air held exactly what she needed.
She picked up speed, letting the rush sweep away her memories. Memories and too many questions. Because what Grandma was really offering was a home and hope and that was just too much to take in.
At the park, she squeezed through the gate. Her gaze swept the park and the sand, but no dark-haired boy waited for her. With a sigh, she took her place at the top of the ramp, testing her balance on the edge of the board. Across the sand, a scattered few surfers dotted the waves, dark spots amid the shifting green and blue of the water. Couples tangled up together to greet the sunrise and tourists with oversize cameras and sun hats already crowded the beach, but they weren’t her concern.
Closing her eyes, she sucked the chilled air into her lungs, and then released it in a warm gust. Then she fell, riding the adrenaline down into the pipe and back out again. She found her pace faster than usual, gliding and twisting higher with each turn. The board became an extension of her body, staying fixed to her feet even when it ought to have lost contact.
The steady roar of the ocean matched the whir of her bearings against the wooden ramp. She let the air absorb the tension and fatigue trapped in her body. Trick after trick, landing after landing, she poured herself out on the ramp.
After what felt like a moment, she felt a shift in her own body, her muscles gasping for oxygen. The delicious exhaustion that came when she finally pushed too hard. Hard enough to forget everything but the pain and the striving.
She stepped off the board onto trembling legs and unfastened her helmet.
A small crowd hovered around the ramp, every set of eyes fixed on her.
She’d stayed too long. The park was open and she was left exposed.
Heat rose in her face and she clutched her board to her chest before walking toward the gate without a word to her audience.
“Hey!” A boy yelled after her and, against her better judgment, she turned and gave him a quick jerk of her head.
She tightened her grip on her board and hurried her pace. The gate stood open, the safety of the street there just beyond the chain link.
“Hey.” The boy caught up to her, all six feet of golden, SoCal skate god.
“Hey.” A vague unease coiled up in her stomach.
His eyes roved over her. “Nice form.”
It didn’t sound like he meant her skating. “Thanks.”
“Me and the guys are about to ride. You want to join?”
“Not now. I have school.” She adjusted her board under her arm, angling it between them.
“Come on.” He put his hands on his well-sculpted hips. “We can show you how it’s done.”
She bristled, but held her tongue. “Some other time.”
“I’m just being nice.”
“Right.” She started walking again, avoiding a look over her shoulder at his dauntingly perfect physique. “You’re just a nice guy.”
“We’re all nice guys.” Another voice. Another boy. “Right, Chad?”
She turned, swinging her board in a sand-clearing arc, and backed into the fence. “Not interested. I have to go.”
“I know girls like you.” Chad came closer, close enough to touch her bare side between her jeans and her shirt. She flinched, heart pounding, warning her with its drumbeat. Like she needed a warning. Like her entire body wasn’t screaming run. “You can skip school.”
“Not today.”
The other boy caught her board, knocking it to the ground. She pulled away, colliding with Chad. He caught her, fingers splayed across her stomach, pushing under the hem of her shirt.
A swift kick missed its mark and his arms tightened around her.
“Guys.” She couldn’t keep the wobble out of her voice, even as she tried to play along, tried to pretend it was a game. That she wasn’t terrified. “I can’t. Maybe another time. I have to be there today.�
��
“Summer?” Bastian strolled toward them, all loose limbs and steady gaze. He met her eyes, silently taking in her panic. “Hurry up. We’re going to be late.”
She wanted to kiss him right then and there. “See, guys. He’s my ride. I gotta go.”
Chad tightened his grip on her. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“She’s not interested,” Bastian said.
“No one asked you, Vega,” the other boy said, shoving Bastian sideways.
Bas scrambled and pushed back. “Walk away, Topher.”
“Make me, Bleeder.” The second boy’s nose flared, eyes wide.
“Stop!” Summer kicked again, digging her nails into her captor’s arms and clawing her way free. Chad yelped and let her go.
“Bitch!” he snarled.
She stumbled on the uneven pavement and Bastian stepped in front of her, blocking her attackers. Waves of panic and nausea held her motionless while the world spun.
“You want to do this?” Bastian said. “You want to go? Because you’re already this close to getting banned from the park.”
“You’re going to stop us?” Chad said, his lips curling into a snarl.
Not Bas. Anyone but Bas.
Summer unfroze and pushed Bastian back. “Leave him out of this.”
“You want to risk it?” Bastian said. “Just go. There are other girls out there who will be more than happy to follow you home.”
The two boys exchanged looks.
“What a waste,” Topher said.
“Maybe next time, Aerial Girl,” Chad added, touching Summer’s arm on his way back across the park.
“Shit.” Bastian stooped to pick up his backpack and camera from beside the fence. “Are you okay?”
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“That those guys were a lot bigger than you.” He meticulously turned his camera in his hands.
“Bas, you can’t fight.”
His eyes twinkled. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m about ready to punch you myself! Those guys were twice your size and you can’t fight.”
He stopped and very deliberately picked up her board. “I’ve known Chad and Topher most of my life. I know what they wanted to do to you. Did you really want me to sit here and watch?”
She accepted the board, falling into step as he stomped out of the park.
“Is your camera okay?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Stop, Bastian. Wait.”
He tucked his camera into his backpack and turned. “If those guys had . . . I would have thrashed them.”
She stood her board up, playing with the nose while the tail rested on the sidewalk. “I can handle myself.”
“Damn it, Summer. Don’t you get it?”
She shook her head, unable to define the emotion brewing in his eyes.
He moved forward, pinning her against the side of a car. Her board clattered to the ground and she sucked in her breath.
“You’re not the only one who cares about what happens to you,” he said. He was stronger than he looked, more sure. He touched his hand to her waist and when she didn’t stop him, didn’t discourage him, he bent his head, millimeter by millimeter.
The early morning light bathed him in gold, the sunrise reflecting in his eyes. His hair brushed her cheek, his breath her neck.
Her legs trembled and her heart pounded, adrenaline rising and falling until she could hardly breathe.
“Oh, God.” She clutched his shirt, knotting it in her fists. “Bas, they were going to hurt me.”
“I know.” He touched her arms, her cheek. He didn’t offer words.
Instead, he kissed her.
Slow, deep, measured and practiced and sure, he kissed her.
Lips soft and strong at once. The cool tingle of mint on his breath. His hands cupping her face and drawing her in.
This wasn’t the sloppy, hungry kisses she’d swapped between beers or the bored tangle of lips she’d used to make her way through the skating world.
This was tender and giving and laden with things she couldn’t name. It meant something. It meant everything. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
She unwillingly let him ease away, let him end the moment.
“I haven’t been kissed in a long time,” she said, her voice sticking in her throat.
“I can kiss you again if you need a reminder.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She let a smile twitch at her lips. “I’ve kissed boys because I was scared. I’ve kissed boys because I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve kissed boys to make them get me drinks or tune up my board or let me skate. I’ve kissed a lot of boys but I haven’t been kissed.”
“Oh, Summer.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, her forehead. “You deserve to be kissed.”
“You really haven’t known me long enough to say that.” She pressed her palm to his chest. “You’re so sweet and kind and good. Don’t waste all that on a mess like me.”
“I’m not that good. Ask my brothers.”
She slid his glasses off, staring into his naked eyes for the first time. “You’re so beyond good.”
“You’re not going to scare me away.” His voice shifted from teasing to pleading. “Trust me.”
“Six months ago . . .” She lowered her eyes, fixating on his Adam’s apple. “Six months ago I would have gone with those boys and drunk until I didn’t know who I was kissing.”
“Six months ago I was still pining over my ex from hemo camp.”
She giggled. Legit giggled. Like a silly girl. “Who says ‘pining’?”
“Apparently nice, naive, myopic boys who are hopelessly dependent on you to give their glasses back.”
“Your eyes are incredible.” She leaned closer, captivated by the thick, straight cluster of lashes framing his black eyes.
“The one good thing I inherited from my mom’s gene pool?”
She touched two fingers to his brow bone. “Isn’t ‘Vega’ Spanish?”
“My dad’s family is from Argentina.” A small smile curled his lips. “But Mom’s family is originally from Mongolia. That’s where the hemophilia comes from.” He leaned closer, pressing his body into hers, hipbone to hipbone. “But do you really want to talk about genetics?” His lips nearly touched hers again. “I can’t see a thing beyond your face. All I want to do is kiss you until you can’t see anything but mine.”
She tightened her fingers in his hair. “I don’t think I can.” She slowly released the air from her lungs. “And that scares me.”
He kissed the side of her mouth. “Don’t you like to be scared?” He moved to the other side. “The adrenaline rush?” Teased her bottom lip. “The feeling of invincibility?”
She caught his face between her hands, holding him still, then pressed her lips to his. But her control only lasted a moment before she melted into the caress of his fingers along her spine and the warmth and softness of his mouth, like he was taking in her hard, jagged edges and breathing them out on the cool morning air.
“Sebastian Vega,” she whispered. “You could destroy me.”
He shifted his body, leaving her leaning against the car, their hips still pressed together. “Should I stop?”
She swallowed. Old Summer would have hooked her fingers into his collar and pulled him in for another kiss or pushed him into the sand to fool around.
But those boys were different. Those boys saw her as a diversion. Something to top off a day on the waves or the skate park. A trophy at best.
Bastian didn’t earn points for scoring with her. He didn’t want to show her off or brag about whatever happened between them under a lifeguard shack.
She shook her head. “But I have no idea what comes next.”
Chapter 13
Summer didn’t ride home. She walked, board tucked under her arm. Her heart and her head throbbed, too full for the speed and motion of skating. She’d already blown her cushion of time between th
e ramp and school. No time for breakfast or hair or a change of clothes.
But she’d found her rhythm on her board. She’d battled it out with resident kings of the skate park and come out mostly unscathed. And then there was Bastian.
The front door didn’t budge, so she kicked up the edge of the welcome mat to find the spare key, but before she could fish it out, the door swung open.
“Mom.” She stumbled backward, catching herself before her foot met the edge of the stoop. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“It’s after eight a.m.” Mom locked her arms around her body. “Where have you been?”
“The vert ramp.” She lifted her helmet as evidence.
“You should have been home twenty minutes ago.”
“It’s been a weird morning.” She tried to step into the house, but Mom blocked her way.
“Weird how?”
Summer froze. “I wasn’t getting high or drinking or whatever you think. I never did that this early, even at my worst.”
“Let me smell your breath.”
She took a small, reflexive step sideways. “This is ridiculous.”
“Is it really? Grandma said you left the house hours ago. You don’t even have your cell phone with you. Do you even know how late it is?”
“I had a really good morning on the ramp. I landed the 720, Mom. Do you know how huge that is for me?”
Mom pressed her lips into a thin line and exhaled through her nose. “Where else have you been? You usually come home from the ramp flushed, but today you’re already cooled down.”
Summer shifted her eyes sideways. “I stayed too late. Some of the local boys saw me and wanted . . .” She swallowed and glanced up to catch the horror in Mom’s eyes. “It’s fine. I’m fine. But if Bastian hadn’t shown up . . .” Mom had to notice the blush spreading through her cheeks.
“Bastian?”
“A friend. From school.”
Mom blinked. “I still need to smell your breath.”
She clenched her jaw for a moment before stepping forward and blowing a heavy breath of air in her mom’s face. “I haven’t had a drink since that night. Like I said last time. Like I say every time.”
“Summer.” Mom’s tone softened, but she stalked past her to the stairs and bolted for her room. “Home by five today or you’re grounded. And for the love of Gidget, start carrying your phone with you!”
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