by McKayla Box
Chapter 21
Archer walks out of the kitchen, which puts me in my own head and that is a place I so don't want to be. Because all it's making me do is second-guess my reason for coming over. He's showing me exactly why I've been afraid to tell him everything about my mother for the last few months. I can see how what happened with his parents has stayed with him, and how he isn't over it.
And he sure doesn't seem to have forgiven his father for any of it.
When he doesn't come back to the kitchen, I go looking for him. I find him in his bedroom, standing at the window that looks out to the ocean, his arms folded across his chest. I walk up next to him, but don't say anything. The ocean looks angry and cold as the sun starts to dip behind it.
“I have tried to not be mad at him,” he says, staring out the window. “I've gone round and round in my head. But I don't think I have it in me.” He shakes his head. “Every time I look at him, all I can think about is how both of them lied to me.”
“I think they were trying to protect you,” I say. “I don't think they saw it as a lie.”
“That wasn't their decision to make,” he says, shaking his head. “I didn't ask for that. And I can't get it back.” He pauses. “They didn't even give me a chance to react to what the truth really was.” He turns and looks at me. “And now I can't get any of that back.”
I know he's talking about his parents, but it feels just like he's talking to me about my own mother and my own secrets. The guilt is sitting on me like lead weights. I came here determined to tell him what I'd been keeping from him, but now I feel like there's no way I can tell him what she's done and where she is.
“It just sucks,” he says. “Just sucks.”
I slide in between him and the window and wrap my arms around him. I hug him tightly. I know he's hurting. And I don't want to be the one that hurts him even more.
He leans down and kisses me and I kiss him back. I want him to know that I love him, that he's the only boy I've ever loved. I want him to feel that.
He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. I can feel him inside of his shorts, pressing against me. He backs up toward the bed and sits down on the edge of it. I lean into him, gently nudging him, so he lays down on his back. I push my hips into his, letting him know I want him.
He moans and his hands snake down my back, then under my shirt. His fingers are warm against my skin and I shiver at his touch.
I reach down, then pull up on his shirt and lift it over his head. I put my hands flat against his chest, lean all of my weight against him, and grind my hips against his for a moment.
He closes his eyes and whispers, “Yes.”
I let him pull my shirt over my head, then slip my bra off. I lean down against him and kiss him hard, our bare skin sticking together. My hands explore every inch of his chest, then find the waistband of his shorts. I push down on his shorts until his boxers and shorts are down at his feet. I wrap my hand around him and feel his entire body tense, then take him in my mouth. He gasps, and I love the power I have over him.
“Stop,” he rasps after a moment, his fingers entwined in my hair. “I'll lose it.”
I slid back up on top of him and I feel him reaching over toward his nightstand, his hand fumbling around. I kiss his chest, his neck, his ears, then smash my mouth into his. His arms come back around me and I can hear the paper tearing behind me as he rips open the condom. I push my shorts and underwear down and kick free of them. I reach for him again, my entire body on fire with want. With need.
“Get it on,” I whisper in his ear. “Now.”
It's all I can do to keep myself from sliding onto him as he works his hands beneath me. Then they're on my hips and he guides me on top of him. I push down and gasp, the same rush of adrenaline coursing through me that hits every time we have sex.
We find our rhythm and I purposely slow down, wanting it to last. His hands wander over my body and every inch of me tingles as we move together. I brace myself against his chest, staring down at him. He's breathing heavily, but he stares back at me, running his tongue over his lips.
The heat starts to build inside of me. His fingers dig into my hips and he bites down on his lower lip, like he's trying to hold back. My nails claw at his chest and I grind against him as hard as I can. The fire erupts inside of me and I cry out, waves of heat rushing through me. He pushes hard up into me once, twice, then a third time. He groans and I feel him shudder inside me as we hold onto one another, each of us still moving until our bodies give up and I collapse on top of him.
We lay there for a long time, his arms around me, my head on his chest. I listen to his heart beating, fast when we first finish, then gradually slowing. It's quiet in his room and I can hear a clock ticking somewhere.
“Nola,” he says, his fingers tickling my back.
I shiver against him. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
The words take me by surprise. I've been sure of my feelings for him for a while now, but hearing him say it so simply surprises me.
“I love you, too,” I say.
He wraps his arms around me and I feel safe, secure.
“I'm glad you wore clothes over,” he says.
I laugh. “Really?”
“Way more fun to see them come off of you,” he says.
I laugh again. “Whatever.”
His body vibrates underneath me as he laughs, too. Then he lifts his hips ever so gently into mine.
I know that signal.
I push back against him. “You're ready again? So soon?”
“Check for yourself.”
I reach down between us and find him. “Oh. Yes, you are.”
His mouth finds my ear and he bites my earlobe lightly. A shiver of anticipation runs through me. I don’t think I can ever get enough of him.
“You bring out the best in me,” he whispers.
He hugs me to him, sits up, then stands as I cling to him. He spins back to the bed and lays me down, standing over me. He's completely naked, staring down at me.
It's sexy as hell.
He is sexy as hell.
He leans down over me, bracing himself against the bed, his body barely touching mine. He kisses me lightly on the neck, his breath tickling my skin.
“I will always love you,” he whispers. “Always.”
My heart hammers inside of my chest as I pull him down on top of me.
I hope that he's right.
Chapter 22
I'm sitting in the library after school the next day, waiting for Ricky, and my foot is tapping like I'm trying to kill a bug. The library is exactly what it is supposed to be—quiet, welcoming—and I try to focus on the shelves of books, the motivational posters and literature-themed images on the walls, instead of my racing heart.
My nerves are frayed and I'm thinking about leaving when I see him pop his head in the door. He looks around, spots me, then heads in my direction.
Too late now.
He slides into the chair across from me on the other side of the table. “Hey, sorry I'm a little late. I had to talk to a teacher at the end of my class.”
“No problem,” I say.
He pulls out a yellow legal tablet, then lays his phone on the table. “So if you're cool with it, I'm just gonna record what we talk about. That way if my notes suck, I can refer back to the recording and make sure I get everything right.”
“Yeah, that's fine,” I say, glancing at his phone and then our surroundings. There are only a couple of other students in the library and no one is paying attention to us. “Whatever works.”
“Cool,” he says. “So I've just got, like, a list of questions. Pretty simple stuff, but it'll end up feeling more like we're just talking. I'll just start running through them if you're ready.”
I put my hand on my knee to stop my leg from bouncing. “Yeah. Ready.”
And it isn't terrible. He asks me about when I moved to Del Sol and why. I give him the standard answer about going to
college in California. If it raises a flag for him, he doesn't show it, moving right into asking me about my classes and what my thoughts are about the high school and the larger community. I tell him about learning to surf and he seems genuinely interested in that and we talk about that for a while. He asks me about my grandparents and if it's harder or easier than I thought it might be to live with them. He tells me that nearly everyone knows my grandparents in town and everyone seems to love them. He asks me about going to college next year and I explain that I'm still waiting to hear, but that I'm hopeful.
After forty minutes that seem like ten, he reaches over and taps his phone, shutting off the recording app. “Okay. I think we got it.” He smiles. “Not terrible, right?”
I smile, relieved. “No, not at all. I'm sorry I was such a pain.”
He waves a hand in the air. “Totally cool. Don't worry about it.” He scans the notes on his legal pad, then holds up a finger. “One thing I wanted to ask. Have you been back home since you moved here?”
I shake my head. “No, not yet.”
He looks down at the pad again. “Hey, like, I know there was some stuff with your dad and I didn't want you to have to get into that, so I'm not trying to go there or anything. But has your mom come here then to see you?”
I try to keep the panic rising inside of me at bay and shake my head again. “No, not yet.”
“Soon?”
“Maybe,” I say, hoping my voice sounds lights, noncommittal. “I don't really know right now.”
He nods. “Got it. Plus, not like you wanna leave when you have a boyfriend, I assume.”
I force a smile. “Yeah, not so much.”
He nods again. “Cool, I get it.” He looks at the pad again. “Oh, duh. One other question I spaced on. What was your very first thought when you found out you were homecoming queen?”
Finally, we’re back to easier questions. “That someone made a mistake.” I laugh. “Honestly, that's what I thought.”
He laughs, too. “That's funny. Okay, cool. Alright, one more? Do you mind?”
I shake my head.
“How is Del Sol different than your school in Florida?” he asks.
I think for a moment. “Well, in a lot of ways. Number one, we were in central Florida, so Truman wasn't anywhere near the beach like Del Sol is?”
“Truman was the name of your school?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. The school and the town looked nothing like Del Sol, you know? But I sort of feel like the people here are nicer. Maybe happier? I don't know. It's a lot more relaxed here.”
He smiles. “Probably the beach that makes everyone feel better, right?”
I nod. “Maybe that's it, yeah. I don't know.”
He taps his pen against the notepad. “Okay, cool. I think that's it. I might email you a quote or something to make sure I got it right.” He holds out his pen. “Can I get your email?”
I take the pen from him and scribble it down on top of his notepad, then hand him back the pen.
He takes another look at the notepad. “I really appreciate you doing this, Nola. Seriously.”
“No problem,” I tell him. “Like I said, sorry I made it harder than it needed to be.”
“It's fine,” he says. “Oh, hey. Can I get a quick picture of you outside? We usually run a photo with pieces like this.”
I glance down at what I’m wearing. “Yeah, sure.”
We leave the library, walk down the hall, and step outside into the sunshine. He has me stand on the stairs and then he takes a headshot and a full length shot. He lets me look at both to make sure I'm okay with them and I am.
“Awesome,” he says. “I may email you about those quotes, but otherwise, it'll be in the next issue. And, seriously. Thanks again.”
“You're welcome,” I say.
He gives me a little wave, then jogs off toward the parking lot.
I stand there for a minute.
It ended up not being nearly as bad as I thought it might. My grandmother was right. It was light and focused mostly on school. I didn't even hate the pictures he took of me. I created a ton of anxiety for myself over nothing.
I take a deep breath, then exhale.
Nothing is really different today than it was yesterday.
I still have my secrets.
But maybe I have a little bit longer to figure out how to explain them.
Chapter 23
“If Jake is there, don't leave me,” Mercy says.
It's later that night and we're headed down to the beach for a bonfire. I don't have much homework and my grandparents seem to understand that Winter Ball week calls for weeknight parties. The only thing they ask is that I'm home by eleven and I promise them I will be.
“Jake your date for the dance?” I ask.
She taps her steering wheel and nods. “Yep. He thinks we're a couple now or something. He's a bit clingy.”
I smile. “Well, there could be worse things.”
“Ew. I do not like clingy boys.”
“Depends on the boy,” I say.
We laugh.
“How was the interview?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Not bad at all,” I tell her, then give her all of the details.
“Okay, awesome,” she says. “I thought you might be overthinking it a bit, but I'm glad it didn't turn into anything that freaked you out.”
“I know,” I tell her. “Overthinking is kind of my super power sometimes.”
We both laugh as she pulls us into the crowded lot at the beach. I can already see the bonfires on the sand and people milling about.
“I am not drinking tonight,” Mercy says. “I do not need a hangover on a school night.”
“Me, neither,” I say. “After last weekend, it might be a while before I drink again. Ugh. I was so sick.”
“Yeah, you sort of let loose,” she says, pulling into an open spot. “Okay. So we're sober tonight and you won't leave my side if Jake appears.”
“You have my word,” I tell her.
Dylan and Brooke are sitting on the wall adjacent to the boardwalk, watching the crowd near the biggest bonfire. Mercy grabs Dylan by the shoulders from behind and Dylan screams.
“Jesus,” Dylan says. “I thought you were a serial killer or something.”
“Yes,” Brooke says. “A serial killer at a high school party on the beach. Totally believable.”
We all laugh.
“So, um, your boyfriend is about to get in some shit, I think,” Dylan says, looking at me.
“Archer?” I ask. “He's already here?”
She nods. “Yeah. And he's squaring up with Eric Engel.”
“Who's that?”
“A guy who goes to Sun Valley,” Brooke says. “High school about twenty minutes from here. He used to live in Del Sol, but his parents moved a couple of years ago. He and Archer don't really get along.”
“So, what?” I ask. “They're just gonna fight?” I make a face. “That's stupid.”
“Well, I think they might've had a little help,” Dylan says. “Eric showed up with Reese.”
I have to think about all of that for a moment. Reese brings some guy to a party and now Archer is apparently ready to fight him. It doesn't feel right and it doesn't feel good. And I don't like that I immediately feel insecure.
I look toward the fire, but all I see are the backs of people. “Where are they?”
“Other side of the ring,” Brooke says. “Everyone is watching.”
I hop over the wall, kick off my sandals, and cross the boardwalk to the sand. I maneuver my way through the crowed until I can see the fire and Archer on the other side of it, his hands on his hips, laughing. There's a guy across from him with hair so blond it's nearly white. He's maybe an inch taller than Archer, but he's thinner, ganglier, too. Nick and Aiden are behind Archer. Behind the other guy are two guys I don't recognize.
And Reese and her two little leeches.
“I thought you'd be glad to see me, Arch,�
�� the guy says as I come around the fire. “It's been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” Archer says.
The guy holds his hands up. “Hey, I didn't know you still had a thing for Reese. If I did, I wouldn't have come here to rub it in your face.” Then he laughs. “Oh, wait. Yeah I would've.”
“I don't give a shit about her,” Archer says.
“Then why so angry, bro?” the guy says.
“You know why,” Archer says.
“Archer,” I say.
He looks at me, surprised. “Hey.”
“What's going on?” I ask.
“Oh, wow,” the guy says. “Who is this now? Archer, you've been holding out on me.” He lifts his chin in my direction. “What's up, baby girl?”
I ignore him and cross the sand to Archer. “What's going on?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Don't worry about it.”
“Doesn't look like nothing,” I tell him. I glance at the other guy. “Who is he?”
“Eric,” the guy answers with a smirk. “You'll probably need my name for your dreams tonight, sweetheart.”
Archer's expression darkens and I slide in front of him, trying to draw his attention away from Eric and back to me. “He's clearly an asshole. Ignore him.”
Archer looks over at me, but doesn't say anything.
“You traded Reese in for...her?” Eric says. “Seriously, dude? You might need your eyes checked.”
Archer takes a step forward, but I put a hand on his chest. “Stop. He's just being a dick to be a dick.”
“He is a dick,” he growls.
“What's that?” Eric taunts. “She wants to see my dick?” He grabs at his crotch. “Damn, Arch. You've lost your touch.”
Archer's eyes go flat and a muscle pulses in his temple.
“Don't do this,” I warn, my voice little more than whisper. “He wants a fight. Don't give it to him.”
There is a murmur through the crowd as they stand around, watching and waiting.
I turn around. Eric is grinning, his face illuminated by the fire in the dark. The shadows dancing across his cheekbones make him look almost ghoulish.