“Amazing, apparently,” Nick says as he strides up behind us. He hands Reilly a beer. “There’s barely any left.” They clink bottles and Nick pulls up a chair beside Reilly.
“We caught a few trout, Sam. But we let them go. You’d be proud of us.” Nick smiles like a child needing positive reinforcement.
All I can manage is a weak smile, and I settle deeper into my seat. I’m suddenly exhausted.
Nick drapes his hands over his knees. “You alright?”
“I’m just tired,” I say. It’s not really a lie.
“Hmm.” Nick stares at me a moment longer, then exhales, like he’s surrendering. “Well, I stink like fish. I’m going to change.” He lights a cigarette and heads toward the row of our tents.
It’s quiet for a moment, the sound of Mac struggling into her clothes a few yards away mixing with the crackling embers of the dying fire. The flames are so low they no longer fend off the chill of night. I like it.
Reilly leans forward and tosses another log into the pit. I sigh and we sit in silence, an awkward silence that makes me uneasy.
“There you are!” An all-too-familiar voice grates on the last of my nerves.
Bethany prances over toward the campfire with a red solo cup in her hand. She’s all smiles and her eyes are glazed over as she scans the campsite.
Reilly stands up to greet her and Bethany leans into him, giving him a hug. Unable to watch them—to relive this sordid memory all over again—I stand up, take three hurried steps to the picnic table, steal a steak knife out of the utensil bag, and shove it into my pocket.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I call over my shoulder as I head out of camp. No one responds, which is all the better. I can’t escape fast enough.
I grip the knife more tightly in my pocket. The pressure of the serrated edge of the blade against my palm already makes me feel better, and I slip away into the shadows of the tree line. My desperation is tangible and though my face likely resembles a mask of indifference, I want to scream at the top of my lungs.
Uncalled for? Maybe.
Pathetic. Yes, but I can’t bring myself to care right now.
I’m tired of everything being insurmountably difficult, of the last couple weeks embodying everything that I hate and despise about myself. I can’t deal with Bethany right now too.
Only when the chatter back at camp is inaudible do I stop walking. I pull the knife from my pocket and stare down at it, glinting in the slivers of moonlight. Surprisingly out of breath and suddenly frantic with need, I fall back against a tree trunk. I press the pad of my thumb over the end of the blade, piercing the skin with one quick slice that tears, stings, and then burns as the air assaults it. The combination of confusion, anger, and loneliness is dulled by pain, and I exhale.
Release . . .
But it’s not enough.
I take a deep breath and pull the loose leg of my cutoffs up as high as it’ll go on my right thigh. I’ve rarely taken it this far, but I don’t care tonight. With my fingertip, I frantically trace over my skin, seeking the scarred tissue I’ll use as a guide.
The moment my finger grazes the puckered skin, I feel stronger, and before I can change my mind, I press the edge of the blade into the flesh just below my hip bone, biting my bottom lip as I press even harder, feeling the skin break. I heave out a breath, and with one fluid motion, everything that makes me feel weak is eclipsed by the burn and rush of relief.
Suddenly shaking, I fling the knife into the trees, and I drop to my knees. This time I cry.
Four years ago...
“This isn’t a Porsche,” I grumble as I grab hold of the “oh shit” handle above the passenger window of Mac’s new Jeep. “You think you could slow down a bit?” I peer over at her as she downshifts around a tight corner. “I’d like to live long enough to actually see the guys’ graduation.”
“Where’s your sense of living, Sam?”
“I’d like to live past seventeen,” I say, rueful and a little anxious. “I can’t believe your dad bought you a new car. Clearly he hasn’t driven with you much.”
“Ha! Too bad he’s the one who taught me how to drive.” Mac lets out a giddy laugh, her long hair falling back around her bare shoulders as she slows the Jeep and turns into the public parking lot.
“Look, you lived!” She flashes me a smirky smile. After pulling the Jeep into one of the few parking spots remaining, she flicks my shoulder. “Now get out! It’s time to have some fun!” She leans behind me, rustling around and groaning as she collects our beach bags from the backseat.
“Here,” she says, shoving my bag at me. “Remind me to get you a new one for Christmas, okay?” She straightens, and I look at her bright pink bag embellished with rhinestones, then at my dulled, holey tan one. A perfect representation of how different we are, no matter the nine years we’ve been friends.
Mac pulls out a tube of lip gloss and examines herself in the mirror, just as my phone jingles in my bag. Fumbling, I pull it out, secretly hoping it’s Reilly, especially now that our lakeside chats have turned into heavy petting sessions, so to speak.
“If it’s the boys,” Mac says, pursing her lips together in the mirror, “tell them we beat them here, like I said we would.” She runs her hands through her hair. “Well, this is as good as it’s going to get,” she says to her reflection.
I glance down at the notification: Alison’s Cell. I shake my head, feeling some of my excitement for the day drain away. “It’s not the boys.”
Message: You forgot to unload the dishwasher before you left this morning.
Mac’s lilac perfume fills my senses as she leans over my shoulder. “Ugh.” She nudges me. “Ignore her. They’ll be there when you get home . . . and so will she, unfortunately.”
It’s easier said than done, ignoring Alison. It seems like nothing makes her happy, and it’s only been getting worse. Papa says she just needs more time, but I’m not so sure.
Mac clicks her seatbelt off and pushes the driver’s side door open. She turns to me, adjusting her strapless cream and brown swirled sundress, wrinkled from the drive.
“Stop that,” Mac chides.
I look at her. “Stop what?”
“Stop thinking about her. I hate that look you always have because of her.” Mac leans in and her voice softens. “It’s the weekend, Sam. We’re two hot chicks going to hang out with a bunch of hot guys. We’re at the beach . . . it’s time to have some flipping fun.” She grins from ear to ear. “Don’t let her ruin that.”
“I have fun,” I say.
“Not nearly enough since Alison entered the picture,” Mac grumbles. “Now, come on. Reilly’s waiting,” she says in a singsong voice. “That should be enough to keep a fat smile on your face.”
I jump out of the passenger seat, feeling naked without my glasses on. Against my better judgement, Mac has convinced me to leave my hair down and flowing all around me, which is a little too unruly for my liking.
“I’m so proud of you! You wore a dress today—and no boots!” Mac gives me three excited claps then wraps one arm around my shoulder, squeezing me into her.
“Look who decided to show up!” Nick shouts up from the fire pit on the beach below. “I thought maybe you ladies might’ve gotten lost in Mac’s closet.”
“Hey! I thought we beat you!” Mac cries. When I peer down the cliff at the beach, there are dozens of people I go to school with—mostly the baseball team and their groupies—sunbathing below and playing volleyball, including Reilly. I watch him a moment as he talks to Bethany, see the way she rests her hand on his arm and the way he smiles at her. I try not to be jealous, but I can’t help feeling a little betrayed.
Mac and Nick banter back and forth as we hike down the trail to meet up with everyone, dropping our bags on the blankets spread out around the campfire when we reach the sand.
I tune their bickering out the instant my eyes meet Reilly’s. When had he become this unattainable godlike guy that I dream about? When had
he gone from Josh Reilly, jock and neighbor boy, to something so much more it hurts? All the time we’ve been spending together at the lake has everything to do with it, but regardless of when things changed, they definitely had. I find more and more reasons to walk down to the lake, to see him and spend time with him.
Realizing I’m staring, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, only to remember I’m not wearing them. Not today.
Reilly walks over from the volleyball net toward me. A gorgeous smile engulfs his face, and a moment passes between us that makes my nerves twist and tingle and tense. I completely forget about Bethany’s hands all over him, because I know he’s happy to see me today—it’s written all over his face. I will never grow tired of his dreamy smile. It’s a smile that makes me feel like the most important girl in the world, like he’s been waiting for me to get here all day.
His rich blue eyes almost dance in the sunlight as he walks up to me. The wind picks up, ruining any chance of a moment we might have as my hair whips me in the face. Patting it back down, I silently curse, then blush.
Reilly laughs and smooths down a strand of wild, wispy hair. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you with your hair down.” His gaze is intent and appraising.
I moisten my lips. “Yeah, probably not the smartest decision.” I throw my hands up as the wind picks up again.
His chuckle is soft this time as I gather and twist my hair, draping the loose twist over my shoulder. “Well, I like it,” he says.
His gaze—one that I’ve known my whole life—fixes on mine, reflecting an emotion I’m not familiar with. Reilly takes a deep breath, then he looks away. “You want a drink or something?” He trudges through the sand, his bare feet disappearing beneath it with each step, back to the ice chest.
“We’ll both have a wine cooler!” Mac chirps. “Pretty please.”
Reilly winks at me and pulls out two bottles of red-colored liquid I know is too sweet for my taste, but ten times better than beer. After removing the caps, he gives one to Mac and then to me. I don’t know where they got the booze, probably Brady’s dad’s bar or something, but I don’t bother to ask.
“Happy graduation, boys!” Mac exclaims. She and I giggle and clink bottles, then she looks back to the guys. “Thanks for inviting us to hang out with you, though I’d expect nothing less.”
“If you think I’d risk the wrath of Machaela Carmichael, you’re crazy,” Nick says, lifting his beer in another toast. We cheers again, Mac rolling her eyes this time as he yips and yodels in excitement.
Reilly grins at me, a small, secret smile that makes my own broaden, and we both take a sip from our drinks. It’s a little awkward, but I’m just happy to be standing with him as Sam, more-than-friends, possible girlfriend, and not Sam, the neighbor girl.
“We’re waiting!” Bethany, Miss Bleach-Blonde, Queen of Tan herself calls over to our group. She winks at Nick, flirting with him—teasing him—and it bugs me, though I should be used to it by now. She’s playing volleyball with Farris, the other Josh on the baseball team, hence Reilly’s last-name moniker.
Nick and Mac follow after Bethany.
“Come on,” Reilly says as he entwines his fingers with mine. “Let’s go for a walk.”
My heart soars to have his hand around mine, and I feel my face flush as I try to process what this means—a walk with Reilly . . . just the two of us and not at the lake. I drop my beach bag next to Mac’s, and Reilly and I walk hand in hand down the beach, away from everyone else.
The breeze is crisp, but it feels good against my perspiring skin. Its whoosh fills my ears, overshadowing the sound of my heart thrashing around crazily in my chest, so I relish the feel of Reilly’s warm, somewhat clammy hand firmly wrapped around mine.
Our walk is lazy, and at first we’re content with companionable silence. But eventually it just feels like silence: unsettling, awkward silence. Reilly’s expression is thoughtful, I can see it from the corner of my eye. My heart swells this time, part in fear and part in excitement, as I realize he’s nervous, too. Although it’s difficult to picture Reilly at a loss for words or nervous in a silly girl’s presence, I love that he is.
His thumb strokes the back of my hand absently, methodically, and part of me wonders if his thoughts are as chaotic as mine are—or if they are miles and miles away.
The chatter of our group behind us is long gone by the time I finally have the nerve to say something. “Is everything okay? You seem distracted. Maybe a little nervous?”
Reilly squeezes my hand slightly. “I am,” he says with an awkward laugh.
“Yeah? Me too, a little,” I say. And then it’s quiet again. Reilly’s lost in thoughts I wish I could see, and I’m trying to build up the nerve to kiss him again, away from the comfort of the lake and the familiar easiness of us there.
Abruptly, Reilly stops his slow stroll, and I pause beside him. “Sam, I can’t stop thinking about us, about . . . well, what it all means.” He stares into my eyes, searching for something, then peers down at our hands, which he holds at his chest between us. I want nothing more than to crumple into him, to feel his arms around me and hear his heart beating in his chest, to compare it to the erratic thump of mine.
“Sam . . .”
When he finally looks at me, there’s pain and confusion in his clouded gaze. I want to take every uncertainty he has about us away. As a sudden spur of guts and determination blooms inside me, I lift onto tiptoes.
His lips part to say something, but I don’t give him the chance. I drop my full wine cooler onto the sand and wrap my arms around him. His kiss is stiff and surprised at first, then gives way to pliable lips, a seeking tongue, and his arms wrap around me, just like I wanted them to, pulling me up against him. Our chests rise and fall together.
My anxieties melt away, and I’m a pool of unbridled wants and needs I’ve never felt before. I kiss him, like air doesn’t matter, like his lips against mine is all I need.
Gently, Reilly breaks away, his arms tightening around me as he catches his breath.
I don’t want to stop, but I bite my lip, trying to control myself. I don’t want to be impatient and needy, though my body trembles and tingles with everything it wants. Every nerve ending is singing with the desire to be closer to him.
Reilly lets out a deep breath.
Steadying my own fluttering heart, I inhale the scent of him—so close, so real.
“That was nice,” he says, finally opening his eyes.
I smile in answer, and he brings his lips to mine for another brief kiss before he takes a step back.
Both of us are smiling like buffoons.
The wind picks up again, and as I giggle and screech, trying to keep my hair under control and my dress down, Reilly takes my hand and pulls me toward the protective cover of a jagged rock situated against the cliffside. Some sort of grass grows from the crevasses and the remnants of a bonfire are half-covered with sand in the corner, but it’s protected and dry, and it’s our own little secret space for this stolen moment.
Reilly pulls me in, out of the wind and onto the soft sand beside him.
Still giggling, I lean into him, kissing him without thought, because that’s what feels right.
Reilly cups the side of my face with his palm and his kiss becomes deeper, more urgent and desperate. The sand is malleable beneath me as he lowers me onto my back. When he brushes his lips against the sensitive skin of my neck, I can’t help but snicker. “That tickles,” I say, gripping his bare arms to steady him or myself, I’m not sure.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since prom, when you showed up with Justin.”
My heart palpitates, thinking that Reilly could’ve been mine for weeks—maybe even months—before our first kiss on the dock. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Reilly looks down at the grains of sand he lets fall from between his fingers. “At first it was because I didn’t understand how I felt. I thought it was more of a protective-big-brother thing. At least, th
at’s what I convinced myself.”
Reilly stares at me, like he wants to say something else, and I could easily lose myself in his familiar gaze—the crystal-blue pools of his eyes that are filled with lust and promise and what I hope might be love.
But while I’m feeling like I could float away I’m so happy, the way he stares at me is almost sad and lonely, and I don’t like it. I pull his mouth to mine again, wanting him to know how badly I want to be with him, hoping that whatever reservations he might have can be dispelled with another earth-shattering kiss.
I want his hands on me. I want him to pull me closer . . .
Reilly stills as I run my hands up the inside of his shirt. When I open my eyes, his are wide with surprise.
“I want to,” I breathe, knowing I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life. But then embarrassment turns my body cold, and I feel the color drain from my face. “Unless you don’t . . .” I swallow thickly.
Reilly’s hesitation nearly brings tears to my eyes and a blush begins to curl up my neck as the horror of rejection sets in. But then he strokes the side of my face and a small smile curves his lips. “Why couldn’t all of this have happened sooner?” He says it almost sadly, then bends down and kisses me, soft and careful at first—it feels like he’s trying to memorize this very moment. He kisses me more hungrily, and I greedily pull him to me, wanting him closer than a simple kiss.
It’s easy to forget about the breeze and the sand beneath me with Reilly’s body over mine, with the sound of the ocean between thudding heartbeats and raspy breaths. My nerves tremble, my mind races and blurs, but I feel like I’m dreaming too. And as I’m lying there in the protection and warmth of his arms, everything feels absolutely perfect.
Our motions and words exchanged are a haze, there’s pain and pleasure as Reilly moves slow and then faster until eventually, when my unfamiliar appetites are sated and my body’s a little sore, Reilly lies back on the sand to catch his breath beside me. After our heartbeats slow and the stickiness of our exposed skin subsides, it’s still quiet. The ravenous fog has worn off, and the feeling that we’ve done something terrible, that Reilly thinks we’ve done something terrible, starts to creep in.
Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1) Page 18