by Tracey Ward
“That’s okay. I am too,” Scott assures me with a grin. “No prints other than the people living in the house and the friend. And there was too much blood in the room for Britain to be alive, wherever she was. They never found her. The friend was young and traumatized. She told some crazy story about a monster in the mirror who took her friend. She was hysterical. The only person who got through to her was the missing girl’s brother, but even he couldn’t get the real story out of her. My cousin says Britain’s still an open Missing Persons case.”
“Weird,” I mutter.
Scott nods. He smacks his hands against his thighs sharply. The sound cracks over the water, rolling across it in a soft echo that probably goes on for miles. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”
We applaud lightly, thanking him for the story. Everyone but Marcy.
“Not a ghost story,” she criticizes.
Makena frowns at her. “He told you at the start that it wasn’t.”
“Then he shouldn’t have told it.”
“Don’t be rude.”
“Don’t be so defensive,” Marcy laughs. “I’m just giving him a hard time. He knows it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s fine,” Scott promises Makena with a smile. “I’m used to Marcy. Don’t sweat it.”
Marcy grins at her wickedly. “See? He’s used to me.”
“Yeah, okay,” Makena mutters, unconvinced. “Fine.”
I look over at Kyle. “That’s another way of saying ‘whatever’, and you know what that means.”
“What does it mean?” Marcy asks sharply.
“It means it’s time to go to bed,” Kyle answers, standing abruptly. He offers me his hand. “You ready?”
I take his hand greedily. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Gross,” Marcy moans. “You guys are way too cute to live.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment and a threat.”
“You’re halfway right.”
We say goodnight to the group before running away to our tent. It’s made for three people but Kyle and I are barely using half of it. He’s opened up both of our sleeping bags like blankets and laid them one on top of the other.
I eye the makeshift bed carefully as he zips the tent closed behind me.
He sees me looking. “Is that okay? I can put them back if—”
“It’s fine.”
Kyle hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
We undress with our backs turned to each other. I’m not really worried about Kyle seeing me in my bra and underwear. He’s seen me in a bikini. It’s not much different. What I’m thinking about is the way we’re going to sleep together tonight. I’ve never done that with a guy. I’ve never spent an entire night in the same space with one before. It’s my first time and I’m glad it’s with Kyle.
“Are you good?” he asks when he’s done changing.
I nod, pulling my t-shirt down over my chest. “I’m good. You can turn around.”
I hear him moving. When I spin around to face him, I stop immediately. “Oh.”
He grins. “Oh?”
“I, um . . . I expected you to have a shirt on? That’s all.”
Kyle looks down at himself, like he’s as surprised as I am by his bare chest and rippling abdomen. Kyle doesn’t quite have a six pack, but the four cans he’s carrying are solid and exciting. I’ve seen them before when we’ve gone swimming, but I’ve never been alone with them. It feels different that he’s topless right now. It feels important somehow.
“Is that okay?”
I chuckle nervously. “Quit asking me that.”
“I don’t want to push you.”
“Maybe I’m pushing you.”
He laughs. “Trust me, you’re not. You’re wearing more clothes than I’ve ever seen you in.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It feels pretty real.”
“Fine.” My skin tingles with adrenaline as I roughly pull my shirt up over my head and toss it to his side of the tent. I’m sitting on my knees in nothing but my blue sweatpants and green bra with tiny yellow polka dots. “Now I’m pushing.”
Kyle eyes me with interest. “You’re definitely doing something,” he replies quietly.
“Is this okay?” I ask with a smirk, but inside I’m anything but confident. I’m nervous he’ll tell me ‘no’. I’m scared he’ll hand me my shirt back, separate our sleeping bags, and keep a respectable distance from me and my body that’s screaming from the cold in the air and the tingling need in my skin to have him touch me.
He doesn’t disappoint me. I don’t think he ever could. Instead of handing me my shirt, he crawls in closer until he can kneel in front of me. Still, he towers over me. He’s so tall. So broad and strong and beautiful. I feel small when he puts his hands on me. I feel tiny and fragile as his fingers tickle on my naked sides and my breath hitches in my throat. He smiles warmly, thawing me. Easing me until I lean into him and my chest presses against his.
Kyle kisses me softly. His hands stay where they are, latched onto my sides, but mine go wandering. I run my palms up his arms that roll gently with muscle and soft skin. I touch his shoulders. His chest. His neck. I thread my fingers into his hair at the back of his head the way he loves, and I let him tip me to the side until I’m lying on my back and he’s weighing heavily down on top of me. My entire body, mind, and soul are pinpointed to the light in his dark eyes.
“I love you,” I breathe on a tremulous sigh.
It’s the first time either of us has said it. I’ve felt it more than once, but I was too afraid to say the words. I’m no braver now than I was before, but I’m fuller. I’m overflowing with the feelings I have for him and the words will not be contained.
Kyle sits back. He searches my eyes, his face somber. “I love you too.”
My heart sighs, relaxing happily in my chest. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Kyle doesn’t answer. I don’t think he knows how. He’s stumped because either way he goes with this, he could end up in trouble. I realize too late the position I’ve put him in. Does he love me enough to make love to me? Or does he respect me enough to wait even though he wants to do it? Does he even want to have sex with me? And if he doesn’t, is it because of me? Am I not pretty enough? Hot enough? Sexy enough? Does he not love me enough? We’ve been together for five months. Is that long enough? Am I just not . . . enough?
“Do you think you’re ready?” he asks quietly.
I lick my lips nervously. “Are you ready?”
“I, um . . .” His eyes dart to the side, like he’s looking for help.
“I know you’ve already done it before,” I tell him awkwardly, my heart sinking. “I know I’m not your first.”
“It was just once,” he admits gingerly, his eyes coming back to mine.
“That’s okay. I’m not . . . it’s okay.” I force a smile to show him how absolutely okay that is. “It doesn’t bother me.”
It’s a lie and we both know it. Of course it bothers me. But life is not always balanced and it is hardly ever fair so I try very hard not to let my hurt show because it’s not his fault.
“Grace.” Kyle says my name softly. “Let’s not worry about it, alright? There’s no rush. We have time.”
“You’re leaving next year.”
I give life to my fear, my deepest and darkest. Even though we promise each other forever, I have a hard time believing it. It doesn’t seem likely. It seems like everyone is trying to prepare us for the worst—a breakup that will leave me gutted. Changed.
I’ve known since the moment I met him that I won’t ever fully recover from loving Kyle Rixton.
“I am,” he admits without regret. “And you will too.”
“No. I won’t. I won’t get in anywhere but State and I’ll live and die in Utah while you go off and join the NBA and marry a supermodel named Kimber who collects seashells from every beach she’s had a photoshoot on.”
<
br /> He chuckles at my assessment. “That doesn’t sound right at all.”
“She’s been to Fiji, Kyle. How can I compete with Kimber and Fiji?”
“Kimber can’t hold a candle to you, Grace.”
“And I can’t hold a candle to getting out of Utah.”
He doesn’t argue that. I don’t want him to. I don’t say it for pity. I say it because it’s true. It’s what we both want. Since we met, Kyle and I have bonded over the dream of leaving this place and going somewhere better. But as the months go by and I fall deeper and deeper in love with him, I wonder if he’s not my somewhere better. Maybe Kyle is my escape. My ocean view. And when he leaves, I’ll stay here and I’ll remember the time I had with him. I’ll cling to it the way Makena clings to the memory of that one perfect French macaroon.
“You’re the first,” he promises suddenly, his voice hushed. “My first and my only.”
I frown, confused. “You told me that you had sex with a girlfriend in Florida. It was Kar—”
“No, not my first time for sex. You’re the first girl I’ve been in love with.”
My mouth drops open in a small O of surprise. My eyes go wide as the sky. “That is . . . not something I knew.”
“It’s one of the reasons my mom doesn’t like you. She saw right away how real I was getting with you and she’s worried about me losing focus.”
“Kyle, I’m very aware that your mom thinks I’m messing up The Mission,” I promise him.
“No. She thought you were a distraction at first, but now that she knows how I really feel about you, she’s angry. She’s worried I’ll throw it all away for you.”
I hesitate, my chest feeling small all of a sudden. “Should she be worried?”
Kyle looks at me for a long time. His eyes are so dark, I can’t read them. The campfire cracks loudly outside, like a log snapped in half. It makes Kyle blink. He nods stiffly. “She should be. And I think I should be too.”
I pinch my lips between my teeth. I’m not sure what I’m feeling. It’s a strange mix of so many things. I feel proud and special and so, so loved it almost hurts, but I also feel afraid. I feel worried and overwhelmed like I don’t know how to deal with this revelation. I don’t want him to go. Not without me. It’s my biggest fear and it plagues me every day, but I don’t want to ruin him either. I wish there was a way to hold onto him without holding him back, but if there is, I haven’t found it yet. I can’t follow him to whatever school he gets into. I won’t have the grades or the money. I can’t just follow him to the city the college is in and live there without going to school. How stupid would that be? I’d be living my life entirely for him and his goals, but what about mine? I might not be looking at a future in the NBA or anything, but I’d like to have a life I can be proud of. Working full-time at the local diner while he goes to class and kills it on the court doesn’t sound super fulfilling. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like my future.
Does that mean he is not my future?
I reach up to brush his long hair out of his eyes. “Not tonight,” I whisper.
He knows what I mean. His relief is palpable. It’s painted in the brilliance of his smile that tastes sweet as sugar when he kisses me with it.
We don’t have to talk about it tonight. We can lay here together, skin to skin, breath to breath, fully, completely, and totally content with exactly where we are.
Together.
Even if it’s not forever, it’s for now. And ‘now’ feels pretty perfect.
chapter fifteen
I wake with a start. The air is cold around me. Crisp like paper. It bites at my skin that’s peeking out from under the cover of the sleeping bag. I reach for Kyle to reassure myself that I’m not alone in the dark inside the tent, but he’s not there. His side of the sleeping bag is cold.
“Kyle?” I call out softly.
No answer. No sound. Not even crickets or the crackle of the fire dying out. The gentle lapping of the water against the rocky shore is gone. There’s nothing but the sound of my blood rushing in my ears.
“Kyle?”
My cry is met with silence.
My blood rushes louder.
I cast aside the sleeping bag, reaching for my shoes. I have to feel for them in the dark. I can’t see a thing. My fingers stumble over my cell phone but it doesn’t light up for me. It must have died. Pulling my sweatshirt over my head with one hand, I unzip the tent with the other. Milky, white light pours in from the half-moon overhead. A quick glance over my shoulder shows me Kyle’s gear is still in the tent. His shoes are by the door where mine were.
“Kyle!” I call, louder this time.
My heart is starting to thrum in my throat. I can feel my pulse behind my eyes, pounding in my head. “Makena! Scott!”
Nothing. No one.
I step out onto the mossy ground. It squishes wet under my feet, saturated with dew. It’s late. Almost early. The sun will be coming soon. Everything will make sense then. I’m freaking out for nothing. I’m still half asleep and confused. There’s an explanation for all of this. I just don’t know what it is yet.
“Kyle!”
His truck is where he parked it when we got here. It’s covered in drops of dew. It hasn’t been touched all night.
“Hello?!”
Silence. I’m in a vacuum. I’d swear I went deaf but I can hear my voice calling for help. I can hear the small, strangled cry rise up in the back of my throat—the first sign of panic taking over.
I stumble toward the water, looking up and down the shore. My feet fall into a puddle. They’re soaked immediately, but there’s something weird about the water. It’s not cold like I thought it’d be. It’s warm. Like bathwater.
I take another step in. It’s up to my ankles. My sweats turn dark where the water is saturating them. It’s rising. Up, up, past my ankles to my shins. My knees. I watch with fascination as the darkness takes them over, pulling me under slowly, but I don’t run. I don’t panic. If anything, I feel calm. It’s soothing the way the water envelopes me. It’s like it’s welcoming me. Protecting me. It pulls me from the darkness on the shore out to the glassy surface of the water that glows under the moon. It reminds me of the night Kyle and I crashed out here. It was on that cliff just above me. To my left about a hundred feet up. If I turn, I can see the spot where—
Kyle’s truck dangles over the edge. The front left wheel is spinning, the rim glistening in the light. One headlight glares up at the sky. Snow covers the ground around it. It hangs heavy in the trees behind it.
I gasp, looking to the campsite, but it’s empty. The tents are gone. Scott’s Subaru and Marcy’s 4Runner, even Kyle’s truck—they’re all gone. The rocks are covered in a thick layer of snow. The lake is frozen solid, unmoving. Unyielding. It’s hard as stone everywhere but where I’m standing. Here it’s cracked open like something fell inside. Jagged edges point at me menacingly, threatening to cut me if I get too close. They cut off my escape from the water that’s rapidly turning cold. So cold I can hardly breathe. I gasp and cough, struggling for breath that doesn’t want to come.
“Help!” I croak.
I’m sinking. The ground is eroding underneath me. I’m up to my chest in cold water, trembling and weeping feebly.
“Help!”
“Grace!”
My eyes search the shore wildly, looking for my savior. “Kyle!”
“Grace!”
“Help me!” I cry brokenly.
The water is to my neck now. My hands grasp at the ice, desperate to find something to hold me up. It’s painfully cold but I do not let go. I’ll die if I do.
“Kyle!”
“Grace,” he whispers in my ear. “Please wake up.”
“Help,” I gurgle, water filling my mouth. My lungs.
“I’m sorry, Gracey. I’m so sorry.”
“Kyle!”
“Please wake up.”
I’m swallowed by the cold. By the dark. By the water that’s as much inside me a
s around me.
I disappear into nothing.
minute two
chapter sixteen
“Look out!”
Whoosh!
A ball flies by my head. It misses my face by an inch. I go rigid with shock, then nearly jump out of my shoes when it bangs like a gunshot against the door behind me.
“Why?!” I shout reflexively, my heart flying in my chest.
There’s a guy running toward me. He’s good looking. Like, really good looking. And familiar. I feel like I’ve seen him before but I know I haven’t. It’s like seeing a celebrity in real life. You don’t know them, but you feel like you do. They’re too familiar to you to be a stranger, even though you’ve never spoken a word to them in your life. That’s how he feels as he runs toward me. Like I’m looking at Ryan Gosling come down off the screen to try to kill me with a friggin’ basketball.
“Are you okay?” he asks hurriedly.
“Are you Kyle?”
Wow, Grace, I think irritably. Way to be smooth. Impressive.
He smiles. “I guess everyone already knows who I am, huh?”
“It’s a small school.”
“It’s a small town.”
“It’s a small world.”
Hi. My name is Grace Murray and I’m super lame. Good to meet you.
“That’s what the song says,” he agrees, acting like I’m normal when I’m obviously not. It’s nice of him to throw me that bone, although he did just try to murder me, so . . .
I nod behind him where his ball/murder weapon is rolling to a slow stop at the base of the bleachers. “Thanks for the wake-up. It worked better than coffee.”
“Seriously, I’m sorry about that. I was running laps and the ball was there in the middle of the floor. I was worried someone would trip on it so I kicked it toward the door to get it out of the way. I guess I gave it a little bit too much.”
“You think?”
He grimaces apologetically. The expression sends sparks flying in my brain, trying to connect dots that are too distant to meet. “Sorry,” he repeats.
I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though my left ear is still ringing from the boom of the ball hitting the door. “Don’t worry. No harm, no foul.”