by Inda Herwood
Staring at her, I admit that I almost forgot what it felt like to want someone so badly.
I also forgot that it’s scary as hell.
Here’s this tiny girl that somehow slipped her way into my bloodstream through soup and being an angel to my family, and I didn’t even realize it happened until it was too late. Far too late. It was like one second she was my annoying new neighbor, and the next I’m wanting to steal her away from my brother like a caveman. And yes, as pathetic as it sounds, I got jealous when she was almost drooling over his swimmer’s body. But Catcher wasn’t the only one who was a star athlete in high school. I may or may not have taken off my own shirt to remind her of that.
Biting the side of my cheek, seeing her eyes scan the horizon, I wonder if this is a good idea. I haven’t let someone in in a long, long time. And the last time I did, I was burnt to a crisp. I don’t want to think that someone like my little Kahlo could do that to me, but the thing is, you never know. That’s what’s terrifying about liking someone. They have power over you like no one else does. And I feel that if I let her in, I may never be able to get her out. Is that really something I want to risk again?
Finally looking up at me, her eyes large and hazel and everything I find beautiful, I let out a breath.
“Does that mean you’re ready for this?” I ask, putting my own question on the back burner for now.
Looking confused, I don’t leave her the time to ask what I mean by that before I’m picking her up around the waist, giving her no choice but to wrap those gorgeous legs around my hips; her arms latching themselves behind my neck for dear life.
She’s right. This might be my new fetish.
“If you drop me, so help me –” I hear her mutter, her worried eyes looking down at the water that’s steadily reaching higher and higher around us.
“Hey, don’t look down. Just look at me. I won’t drop you, even though the compulsion is very strong at the moment.” I grin at her, only to receive her half-hearted glare. So cute.
“This was all a big ruse to make me plaster myself to you, wasn’t it?” A larger wave hits us, the cold Atlantic water soaking her backside, and she makes a squeak before clutching herself even closer, her legs feeling like a vice around me.
I hide my smile in her shoulder. “It’s to make you less afraid of the water, but being your human life raft is certainly a bonus.”
“Don’t go any farther. Please!” She begs, her face getting buried in the crook of my neck once the waves reach a little past my waist. I freeze the second I feel her lips brush the skin beneath my ear, their heat searing me. Even though I know it was an accident, I felt that touch all the way through my body to the tip of my toes. I pull her tighter to me, my hands holding her around her thighs. Dangerous freaking territory.
“Okay, we’ll stop right here,” I reassure her while simultaneously wanting to bury my face in her hair. Catcher was right. She smells like coconuts and sunblock. The essence of summer.
“Why are you so determined to make me like the water? Why can’t I just sit on the beach while the rest of you swim, and jet ski, and do whatever else it is you normally do without me?” she asks, and I feel one of her fingers twist a curl of my hair around her finger, giving me a ridiculous amount of satisfaction to know that I’m enough of a distraction for her.
I lower us a little further in the water so that we’re floating more than standing, the ocean taking some of her weight for me. Now I can pretend that we’re just cuddling instead of her holding onto me because she’s afraid of drowning. “Because I want you out here with me. Is that such a bad thing?”
I can see Leigha and Theo back near the shore a little ways, the two splashing each other with big smiles on their faces. Leigha suddenly catches my eye, giving me a knowing grin when she sees her friend wrapped around me like a pretzel. She gives me a thumbs up I’m glad Blaire can’t see.
“No, but just because you want it to happen doesn’t mean it’s going to,” she says, removing her head from my neck to look at me, eyes wide when she sees that we’re almost completely submerged now. I’m half laying on my back in the water with her balanced on top of me. I really am her own little floatie.
“The ocean is only scary if you let it be. But lucky for you, I’m here, and the ocean and I have an agreement.”
She smirks, hazel blue irises scanning my face, momentarily getting stuck on my lips. Her fingers tighten on the back of my neck. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hm. Whenever I have a pretty girl out here with me that’s afraid of her, she knows not to get too aggressive.”
“You’re telling me the ocean is a woman?”
“Why do you think they call it mother nature?”
She laughs, even when a larger wave comes by and jostles us. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re the male Moana?”
“Who?”
She laughs again, nearly falling off me with the force of her giggles.
It’s a nice moment, feeling her laughter shake me, her hands dancing on the back of my neck. But then a searing pain like I’ve never felt before attacks my leg, and all the fuzzy feelings evaporate just like that.
CHAPTER 13
Blaire
Beckham makes a face of absolute agony before a horrible cry leaves his lips, eyes shut tight. My heart jumps into my throat, my hands going to his face, smoothing over his cheeks and forehead, asking him in a panic, “Beck, what’s wrong?”
“My leg,” he just barely grinds out, his hands flexing on my skin.
My mind goes to the worst. “Oh, my gosh, is it a shark?” I scan the water around us, looking for a dark shadow beneath the water, or telltale signs of a blood cloud, but see nothing.
“Gah,” he cries out again, the pain in his voice sending another streak of fear through me.
“We have to go back in,” I tell him, just as a larger wave comes by, pushing us closer into shore. I say a silent thank you to the sea for her kindness.
“Damn, it really –” he sucks in a deep breath that sounds like it gets stuck in his throat, “stings.”
When he says this, I start to understand what’s happening. “You must have gotten stung by a jellyfish.” His muscles convulse in pain again, and I decide that I need to give the ocean a bit of a hand here if we’re to ever get back to land. Detangling myself from him, I grab both of Beckham’s hands and start half walking half swimming back to shore with him, telling him to take deep breaths and to try not to tense his muscles too much.
“Leigha!” I call out to his cousin, hoping my voice carries over the crashing waves. I can’t exactly wave my hands at her with two hundred pounds of boy in my arms. “Leigha, get out of the water!” I yell to her again, this time getting her head to turn in my direction.
When she sees Beckham’s curled up state, her face pales. “What’s wrong?”
“Jellyfish sting. Get Theo back to shore!”
“Hey, what’s going on?” Catcher pops up next to us like a frickin’ dolphin, smiling wide as the water sluices off him in rivulets. If it weren’t for the serious situation, I’d yell at him for nearly scaring the life out of me.
“He was stung by a jellyfish,” I tell him, struggling under Beckham’s weight, even with the water helping me. Seeing this, Catcher instantly comes to my aid and lifts his brother so that his shoulder is slung around his neck. Without the added weight, I feel like I’m going to float away. Instinctually I dig my feet into the sand for traction, keeping my hand snug around Beckham’s arm.
“Tangling with the jellies, huh bro?” Catcher asks him, his smile a ghostly impression of what it usually is, the fear for his older brother evident in his eyes. “When did this happen?”
“Just a minute ago,” I explain, jumping over another wave.
Beckham’s muscles tense again. “Mother of –”
“Hey, no need for cursing,” Catcher tells him, “we’re almost there.”
Once we’re in the shallows, we’re able to quickly move him to the be
ach where we lay him down in the sand, his chest heaving every breath like it’s a struggle. I drop down next to him, looking him over to see where exactly he got stung. When I scan his right leg, I see long lines of raised, angry red flesh, as though he had been burned rather than stung. Thankfully, there aren’t many of them, and I can’t see any tentacles still stuck to his skin.
“Beck, are you allergic to jellyfish?” I ask him, trying to remember the protocol for a jellyfish sting.
He groans again.
I turn to his brother. “Catcher, is he allergic?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, he’s never been stung before.”
“Is he okay?” Leigha asks, coming to stand with us, a dripping wet Theo holding her hand. His big blue eyes look down on Beckham in fear.
“He will be. But right now, I need vinegar and hot water. Catcher, can you go get those things for me?”
He nods before running off, looking over his shoulder once before disappearing up the path.
Next I turn to Leigha, my eyes squinting at her under the harsh sun. “I need you to get your aunt and uncle and my parents down here to help get him back to the house, okay? You can leave Theo with Nana, she’ll watch him.”
“Don’t you think I should call an ambulance?” she asks, worry written all over her face, made even worse when Beckham cries out again.
“If the water and vinegar cleansing doesn’t work then we will, but I don’t think Theo needs to see this, and his parents are going to want to know what’s happening.”
It takes her a few seconds, but she nods, holding Theo against her side who has since started to cry. “It’s okay, sweetheart, he’s going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine,” I hear her tell him as she walks quickly back up the path to the house, and I feel like I can finally breathe with them gone. Trying to be calm when everyone else is freaking out is not an easy thing to do.
Refocusing on Beck, I check his pulse and feel it thunder under my fingertips, then check his forehead for fever. Other than some sweating from the sun, I don’t feel anything alarming.
“Are you a secret – ah – nurse, and just didn’t want to reveal your true identity?” he asks me, biting his lip when another wave of pain hits him.
“No, I just paid attention on an aquarium field trip in the ninth grade. Try not to move your leg so much,” I warn him, knowing that sand in the wound will only make it worse.
“They tell you how to treat stings on a field –” He lets out another curse before he can finish, further twisting my gut.
Pushing the curls back from his forehead, I keep my hand there, knowing the coolness of my palm will be a good distraction from the pain. “Technically, I asked.”
Somehow he manages a brief smile. “Of course you did.”
I continue to keep my palm on his forehead, rubbing my thumb back and forth in a steady rhythm. After a few minutes he complains that sand is getting in his ears, what with all that thrashing I told him not do, and so I shimmy myself behind him so that his head is in my lap, my own head leaning over his to keep his eyes shielded from the sun. He stares at me in between bursts of pain that make him close his eyes, always opening them again as soon as possible. When he does it for the tenth time, I say with a sad smile, “Hi.”
He licks his lips. “Hi.”
“I’m back!” I hear Catcher say behind me, just turning my head enough to see the Lyons’, my parents, and Leigha running right behind him, carrying a pail in one hand and the largest bottle of vinegar I’ve ever seen in the other.
Before long, everyone is talking over each other, generally just crying and freaking out. Mrs. Lyons and my mom argue that he should go to the hospital while the dads think we should give it some time. Leigha paces back and forth, gagging every time she sees Beck’s bad leg. Catcher is the only one who keeps a cool head while I instruct him on what to do.
“Pour the water over first, but do it gently,” I add when it looks like he’s going to just dump the whole bucket on him in one big splash. Looking down at Beckham’s face, which is still in my lap since he refused to let me move even after our families got here, I say with sympathy, “This probably isn’t going to feel too good.” I push his curls back again, wishing I could take all his pain away. He’s taking it like a champ, but I still feel awful for him.
“It’s okay.” A look of resolve replaces the pain etched into his face, and he says, “Let’s do this.”
Catcher looks at me for confirmation, perhaps thinking maybe his brother was just bluffing, and so I nod my head, grabbing one of Beckham’s hands and interlocking it with mine. This is not going to be pleasant.
Catcher proceeds to pour the water over his leg, and he grips my hand tight enough to make it go white. His mother winces next to me, eyes full of pain for her son, and she takes his other hand while Catcher slowly pours the remains of the bucket. When it’s done, Beck relaxes again, breathing out a long sigh. “That sucked, but not as much as I thought it would.”
Unfortunately, “I don’t think the vinegar is going to be as forgiving.”
“Do we really have to do that – holy freaking –” He goes to swear again, but suddenly remembers his mother is watching him like a hawk, and he swallows it back down. I silently chuckle to myself, which of course he can feel, and he gives me a pain-filled glare.
“Sorry,” I mouth.
He grunts. “No you’re not.”
I chuckle again.
“I still think we should go to a hospital. Maybe he really is allergic,” Mom says, pacing right along with Leigha behind me.
“If he were allergic, he’d be dead by now,” Catcher says, earning a glare, scowl, and a WTF look from all of us. “What? I’m just being –”
“Honest,” we all finish for him, shaking our heads.
“I hate to say it, but he’s right. It’s just a small wound, and he’s not showing any signs of anaphylaxis. We’ll do the vinegar, and then we need to get him back to the house so he can let it soak in the tub for a while,” I say, remembering what the tour guide had said about treating stings. I don’t know what had made me ask him the question. The ocean and all its creatures terrify me, so the odds of me going in it and getting stung were minimal, but I’m glad I did. Looking at Mrs. Lyons, I ask, hoping to distract her, “Is Theo okay?”
“Yes, your grandmother was more than happy to watch him for us. He might be a little upset for a while, but he’ll be fine.” She nods to herself, as if the reassurance wasn’t really for me but for her.
Seeming to sense the same thing, Beckham gives his mom’s hand a squeeze. “He’ll be alright, Mom. Now, let’s get this shi- I mean crap, over with.”
“You really ready for this?” Catcher asks him, looking skeptical.
“No, but what choice do we have?” Beck groans.
“We could just cut the leg off, make you a pirate.”
“Catcher,” we all admonish while he snickers.
“Just kidding. He couldn’t pull off the eye patch anyway. Okay, here goes nothing.” We all brace as he pours the vinegar over Beckham’s leg, but this time, Beck doesn’t just tense, he damn near screams.
Seeing his face contort into the most painful expression I’ve ever seen, something strong takes over me. A kind of protective compulsion that gives me no choice but to do whatever I can to stop this from happening, to keep him from feeling what I can only imagine is agony.
And so I lean down and kiss him.
Yup. That’s what my brain believes is the best course of action in this situation.
My hair drapes around us in a blonde curtain, keeping us in our own little cocoon as I seal my lips to his. My hands move to either side of his face, feeling the heat of his skin sink into my palms. His lips feel even hotter, soft and somehow a perfect fit to mine.
After two seconds of being lost in a stunned trance, he begins to respond. Just a slight pressure at first, but then his lips begin to move back and forth in a gentle caress, and I find myself easily follow
ing the pattern. It’s slow, burning, sweet – amazing. And if I wasn’t lost in this boy before, I’m not sure there’s much hope for recovery now.
“Done. You did it, man… Hey, what are you guys looking at – oh,” I hear Catcher say, and the sudden silence surrounding us is what has me realizing what I just did. What I’m doing. And who I’m doing it in front of.
I just made out with Beckham for all of our families to see.
Kill. Me. Now.
I pull away from him, looking down into eyes that don’t really appear to know what’s going on. There’s still pain there, but there’s something else, too. I’m just too humiliated to properly analyze it.
“Um.” I push my hair behind my ears, wanting to disappear into the sand and let it absorb me like sea water. Anything to not have to answer the questioning looks and slack jaws on everybody’s faces. “He needs to get inside,” I remind everyone, gently removing Beckham’s head from my lap. I’m sure my cheeks are flushing like they never have before, and so I keep my hair down, letting it hide my face. It doesn’t help that Beck won’t stop looking at me with that strange expression, only adding insult to injury.
“She’s right, let’s get him up,” Mr. Lyons says after clearing his throat, bending down to help his son. Dad and Catcher do the same, helping to support his weight as they take him up the beach. I busy myself with grabbing the vinegar bottle and the empty bucket, feeling the women’s eyes on me again, but not knowing what to say.
“I’ll go prepare the tub. Hot water but not scalding, right Blaire?” Mrs. Lyons asks me.
“Yes. He’ll need to let it soak for a good half hour or more, and then give him antihistamines in the meantime for the swelling.”
“Thanks, hon. I’m so glad you were here when this happened.” She gives me a kind squeeze of the shoulder and a smile before following behind the guys.
A few minutes later, when all is silent again, Leigha decides to break it with a jackhammer. “Okay, I’m just gonna ask since no one else has the guts to. What in the world just happened between you and my cousin?” she asks, hands on hips while she watches me behind a pair of giant Wayfarers.