Authors: Becca Fitzpatrick
But even if Trigger hadn’t jeopardized my cover, could I ever feel satisfied here? Or would I grow bored, restless, and resentful? More importantly, could I make a life here when I’d lied to everyone?
No. No, I could not.
I had to be realistic. It was time to move on. Sooner than I’d planned, but guess what? That was life. I could cry over it, or I could be a big girl and tough it out.
I tucked my knees to my chest and drank in the candy-like fragrance of the August lilies. A swollen yellow moon drifted on the horizon. It could have swallowed ten Philadelphia moons; it was that large. Crickets sang in the bushes, lulling me until I felt heavy and drowsy.
The screen door squeaked and Carmina’s boots sounded on the wood planks. “Look at you, lazy as a pet coon.”
I smiled up at her, raising my glass. “Your tea is really good. I wish I’d thought to have you teach me the recipe. Now it’s too late.”
Carmina took a moment to answer. “Don’t fall asleep out here. You’ll give the mosquitoes a feast.”
I eyed her denim skirt and starched blouse. “Where are you going?”
“Bible study. I’ll be home by ten.”
“Don’t come back early on account of me.”
“I’ll go to Bible study and then I’ll come directly home, like I always do,” she said practically.
“Or you could ask Pastor Lykins out for a drink.”
She narrowed her eyes in disapproval. “Pastor Lykins doesn’t drink.”
“Then invite him over for tea.”
“All the caffeine? He wouldn’t sleep a wink. You shouldn’t be drinking it this late either.”
“Trust me, if Lykins comes over, he won’t want to sleep. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He might not drink with those holy lips, but I bet he uses them to—” I made obnoxious smooching noises.
“Stella,” she chided, then continued on her way—but not before I saw pink stain her cheeks.
“You only live once. Bring him home, and I swear I’ll stay out of the way. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Why would I care if you’re here?”
“Oh, Carmina.” I tossed my hands in the air. “You’re
hopeless
.”
“Goodnight, Stella. Behave yourself while I’m gone.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it!” I called as she climbed into the truck.
She waved me off, and I watched her taillights bounce down the road.
I sprawled in the porch swing, feeling the caffeine from the tea stir my blood. I wasn’t in the mood to watch TV. I felt restless and uncontainable. It was a perfect night. Fat moon. A sea of stars. Just the right amount of heat rising off the ground. A good night to take care of long-delayed business.
Upstairs, I changed into my swimsuit and twisted my hair into a high bun. Glancing in the mirror, I noted my mom was right. My skin was honey brown, almost the same shade as my eyes. And my arms and legs were toned, shapely. Even my shoulders had muscle definition. A summer’s worth of shuttling trays of food would do that.
I thought of my best friend, Tory, and all the hours we’d spent scrutinizing ourselves in the mirror. Front pose, side pose, glancing-over-the-shoulder pose. Our ideal body had been long, lanky, and as iridescent as a pearl. We dieted religiously and we never worked out, because we didn’t want to bulk up.
A slow smile dawned on my reflection. I’d been clueless. Or maybe my perception had shifted. Either way, I liked the image before me. I felt strong, confident, and newly discovered.
Since I hadn’t brought my cover-up from home, I tugged on a pair of frayed denim shorts and looped a towel around my neck.
Then I headed to Chet’s.
For nearly three months our lives had intersected, each of us spinning madly around the other like planets in orbit. How did you break that kind of gravitational force without someone getting hurt? This morning, I’d considered leaving with my mom. No painful good-byes. Cut my losses and run. It was easier to leave than be left.
Without realizing it, I had slipped into Estella’s tough, impenetrable armor. This perfect summer with the perfect guy? Wouldn’t last. Nothing ever did. Fold while you were ahead, damn everyone else.
But when I’d nearly left with my mom, I wasn’t worried Chet was a summer fling.
I was terrified he was more.
A moment later I was on his porch. He answered my knock, standing shirtless and barefoot before me. His damp hair hung in his eyes and he smelled of soap and late-night coffee. He leaned a hard, sculpted arm on the doorjamb and peered down at me.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I said. “It was unfair of me to shut you out. Can we put it in the past? Can we be friends again?”
The tension went out of those strong, set shoulders. “Never stopped.”
My smile was part relief, part hopeful. “Want to go swimming?”
He studied me, his eyes keenly fixed on mine, as if he saw something in them I myself wasn’t aware of. His face changed, grew discerning.
I wondered if he could sense the strange, restless stirring inside me, or read the thoughts burned on my mind. Thoughts of him. The hard grip of his hands. The solid press of his body. The pressure of his mouth tasting mine. His breath, rough and hot, in my ear. The unquenchable ache in me that only he could satisfy.
He didn’t bother to change out of his jeans. He took my hand and led the way, and that’s when I knew the urgent stirring in my blood wasn’t mine alone.
* * *
I stood on the dock at the edge of the swimming hole, watching Chet monkey-walk up the thick, sloping tree trunk that jutted over the water. A ribbon of moonlight ran to shore, and I slapped at mosquitoes whining in my ears.
At the top of the tree, Chet reached into the leafy branches and took a rope in both hands. Feeding it no slack, he maneuvered his feet onto the side of the trunk, putting himself in a position to rappel down. With a forceful push, he sprang and dropped, sailing over the swimming hole in a graceful crescent. When his heels swung above the deepest part of the swimming hole, he let go of the rope, plunging into the water—but not without first letting out an enthusiastic whoop.
His head resurfaced, and he shook his hair like a dog would. “Water feels great.”
Bending my knees, I dove off the dock, squeezing my eyes tightly as that first blast of cool liquid electrified my skin. After a few underwater strokes, I came up for air. The water was deep; I had to tread to stay afloat. Chet was a couple of feet away, doing likewise.
Slowly, slowly, he swam closer.
I didn’t move, shivering with excitement. His eyes were alert and hungry, and it made my body pulse with a wild, reckless thrill. I felt the seductive whisper of his fingertips brush my stomach. A tempting, teasing, underwater touch that made every nerve ending dance and burn.
I searched for his hand in the murky water. His fingers locked around my wrist, reeling me close. In the cool water, his skin shed heat. It licked up my body, dissolving my fears, my heartache, and all the guilt that had been yoked to my shoulders. This was why I’d gone to Chet tonight. I needed him. I felt his heart pounding, urgent and alive. He needed me, too.
I’d made up my mind. I wasn’t leaving Thunder Basin without sharing something real with him. A true part of myself. No more pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I was ready to exorcise the past and give him the real me.
My legs tangled with his; I felt his strong, powerful kicks churning the water. His knee slipped between my thighs and it made the breath go out of me.
“It’s deep,” I said, my toes scraping cool, empty nothingness.
But I wasn’t sinking underwater. I was sinking into Chet, floating weightlessly as his mouth found my throat, nipping and grazing, each taste causing a riot of heat to stir my blood faster. I clutched his hair and arched backward, my knees coming to rest on his thighs. The water rushed everywhere, a potent contrast of cool and heat. Chet held me up, that wet mouth roaming lower. My breath caught as his tongue teased the elastic of my swim top. I felt myself go hard in some places, melting in others. Only half aware, I realized this was pleasure. Selfish, greedy, wondrous pleasure.
We bumped against the dock, the post hard at my back.
He looked straight into my eyes. They were filled with a question. And a promise.
And when I didn’t stop him, his mouth came down on mine. The kiss wasn’t soft or restrained. He pushed deeper, his hands guiding my legs to lock around his hips. Those rough, strong hands skimmed over my legs. They spread, touching everywhere.
“I want you.” His gravelly voice tore me with longing.
This time he didn’t stop me when I reached for him. His teeth sank into my shoulder, muffling a groan. He pressed my back to the post, the hot, ravenous look in his blue eyes the only warning I had to hold on tight.
* * *
Later, I hauled myself up the dock ladder and sprawled on the weather-beaten wood. I was deliriously exhausted. Chet lay beside me, gathering my body to curve against his. He kissed my bare shoulder.
“Wish we could stay here all night,” he murmured.
“Carmina will wait up for me.”
He tasted my ear. “I don’t want to stop holding you. I put clean sheets on the bed this morning.”
I smiled. Truthfully, sleeping here with Chet sounded wonderful and perfect. I loved the feel of him. I loved being with him.
Until that whispering voice reminded me this was still a lie. I’d given him a part of me, but I hadn’t given him the whole truth. Chet was falling in love with a shadow version of me, someone who was real and not real at the same time. Someone who was gone tomorrow.
When he kissed me again, letting his mouth linger, I knew it was time to tell him.
I rolled over. “Do you believe what Trigger said yesterday? That I’m keeping secrets?”
The moon was bright enough that I could see my reflection swimming in his eyes. Something in them changed at my question; I saw a flicker of unrest, unease.
“Everyone has secrets,” he said, not quite answering my question.
“Do your secrets eat away at you? Do they keep you up at night?”
He gazed at me a long time. “Do you want to tell me your secrets?” he finally asked quietly.
I swallowed. I had to tell someone, because my secret was carving away at me, piece by piece. I was in danger of losing myself. Still. I felt myself stalling.
“Then I’ll tell you mine,” he said.
I sat up. “Your secret?”
“Are you cold?” He fetched our towels and tucked mine around my shoulders, rubbing briskly. Scrubbing off with his own towel, he sat on the dock facing me. He cleared his throat.
“Last year my parents died in a car crash,” he began. “You already know that. What you don’t know is that my best friend was in the car with them.” He gave a throaty, trembling laugh. “My best friend, Nathaniel, was Carmina’s grandson.”
I uncurled his balled fist and cradled it to my cheek.
“I don’t talk about that night with anyone,” Chet continued. “I know what people would say: That I can’t blame myself. I couldn’t have known the three people I loved most would be hit by an oncoming car. And they’re right—I didn’t know. But I wasn’t in jail that night for no reason. I put myself there. I’d had too much to drink and I was speeding. I got picked up. I can’t blame Carmina for arresting me. I was the one who chose to pick up that bottle. I made a mistake that will torment me until I die. I haven’t taken a drink since that night. Doesn’t appeal to me—makes me sick. I make myself sick.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, his voice turning haunted. “That was Carmina’s last night on the police force. She asked for an early dismissal, and since she was only a couple months from retirement, they gave it to her. They knew she needed time to grieve. She’s the only one who knows I was drinking. She took great care to make sure the truth didn’t come out. I suspect, in part, because she felt responsible to my parents. She couldn’t save them from me, but she decided to save my future. She gave me a second chance when I didn’t deserve one. Yeah, Stella, it eats away at me. Yeah, it keeps me up at night. People think I’m a victim. A selfless brother who sacrificed his future to raise his brother.” He wagged his damp head, water dripping down his cheek like tears. “I’m a guy who’s desperately trying to make amends, but a lifetime of amends won’t bring my parents and Nathaniel back.”
I held him tightly, but I didn’t try to contradict or console him. He didn’t want me to make him feel better or chase away his demons. He simply wanted me to listen and try my best not to judge. I knew, because it’s exactly what I wanted.
“You don’t have to tell me your secret, Stella,” he said, “but I wanted you to know mine. If you hate me for it, I understand. God knows I hate myself.”
I stared at him, my heart aching. I felt closer to Chet than ever. We had something in common. Not Chet and Stella, but Chet and
Estella
. We both had a shameful, destructive secret. And we were both ready to let it out, no matter how ugly the aftermath. Lying had not solved my problems—it had made them worse. I couldn’t speak for Chet, but my secret had rotted me on the inside. I felt cold, black, and empty where I wanted to feel genuine, hopeful, and alive.
“I have a secret too.” I didn’t pause to ask myself if this was a mistake.
“Stella—”
“No. Don’t try to stop me. I know you want to make sure I’m ready, but if I look for excuses, I’ll keep this secret until it poisons me. I need you to listen.” My voice wobbled, and I drew a stabilizing breath. “My name isn’t Stella Gordon. And I’m not a foster kid from Knoxville. Before I came to Thunder Basin, I lived in Philadelphia with my mom. I—my real name is Estella Goodwinn. I witnessed a crime and now I’m in the federal witness protection program.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. I was afraid he’d look at me with new eyes, as though he’d never seen me before, and the past three months would be erased in an instant. Moments ago, I’d known exactly how Chet felt about me. Now I couldn’t be certain of anything. Except, maybe, how I felt about him. I was afraid of losing him. The thought sliced me with a fear that ran deeper than the fear of being discovered by Danny Balando.
I felt his arms encircle me and heard him murmur, “Come here.”