Is that what this is? I don’t know. How can that be? I hate feeling this confusion. This unsettled,I don’t know what’s happening or even how I feel about it, sensation.
Then he pulls away and retakes his seat as if none of that happened.
“Truth or dare?” I whisper.
“Truth.”
I knew he was going to say that. And because we’re doing this and I’ve always wondered and I doubt he’d tell me otherwise, I ask, “Do you ever wonder what would have happened after if we’d kissed that night? If you hadn’t stopped me?” Or if I hadn’t been drunk or his dead brother’s ex.
His eyes pierce into mine. “I know exactly what would have happened. You just weren’t ready for it.”
17
BRAELYN
The schooner cuts through the water that glitters like melted sapphires in the late afternoon sun. I lean against the railing, sipping a delicious margarita, letting the salt mist spray my face and frizz the fuck out of my hair. We’ve been at the resort for three days now, and Roman hasn’t been in the ocean once. Honestly, I’m shocked he suggested this. To the best of my knowledge, this is the first time he’s been on a sailboat since his capsized off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard, and Nash was swallowed by a freak storm and rough tides.
Roman worked all day at his restaurant. I didn’t join him. I needed a bit of space this morning, and I spent that time talking to my parents and even searching for apartments while I hung around on the beach.
Roman stands beside me, his profile sharp against the impossibly blue horizon. He’s a beast of a man. All tall and broad, with dark lines. His short hair gently rustles against his forehead in the wind, and his pale blue-green eyes look almost colorless against the sun and water. Then there’s his ink, vivid against tanned skin and sunshine.
Our game of truth or dare in the spa pool yesterday ended after he answered my question about the kiss. He ended it, I should say, by getting up and sitting under an umbrella and eating lunch. I joined him, and we morphed into regular conversation, and that was that. But it’s been sitting with me, and I can’t shake it.
But I’m trying to. I’m desperate to return to us as we’ve been since I was a kid.
So far, this boat ride is living up to the hype. The catamaran is sleek and spacious, carrying maybe twenty other guests who scatter themselves across the various seating options, sipping complimentary margaritas and taking photos against the spectacular backdrop. The sun is starting to hang low, beginning its descent toward the horizon.
“What’s that?” I ask, noting the underside of his hand as he rests his wrists on the railing.
“What?” he replies, turning from the water to glance down at me.
I take a sip of my drink because damn do these people know how to do a margarita, but I use my other hand to tap his left ring finger just beneath his knuckle. “It looks like a sideways teardrop or something.”
I’ve never noticed it before. Then again, I don’t regularly study his ink and it’s on his palmar side. I know he has his brother’s name and date of death on his arm. I know he has a chef’s knife on his forearm with the wordslive by the swordbeneath it. I know he has a raven for his mom, whose name is Raven, and a bunch of other things. But I never really paid attention to the tattoos on his hands, even when I’m cleaning them up after his fights. Probably because I’m more concerned about the cuts and abrasions than I am anything else.
“It’s nothing. Just something I did one night a few years back,” is his flippant response, which naturally makes me study it closer. Still, I legit can’t figure it out.
“Okay.” I pause and nudge him with my elbow. “You’re quiet. Why are we doing this? Sunset cruises aren’t exactly your style.”
“Do you remember that day?”
Shit. My head bows, and my insides tumble straight into the sea. “Yes, I remember that day.” I didn’t go with them to the Vineyard, but I talked to Nash a few times that morning. It was two weeks after our two-year anniversary. We were eighteen and planning to go to school together in Boston. Then I got the call, and I think I died that day along with him. Nash was my first everything. The guy I gave my heart to and loved with everything I had.
Maybe that’s why I’m not more broken up over Adam. Maybe I simply tried to transfer what I felt for Nash over to him. I don’t know anymore. Everything is so confusing. I digress.
Roman completely shut down. Lost himself. Went somewhere so dark, I’m not sure how he returned. Actually, I’m not sure he fully did. And there were whispers. Roman was the adult, and Nash was still a kid. Why didn’t they have life jackets on? How could Roman let go of Nash’s hand? All the things they said, and Roman blamed himself harder than anyone could.
Roman and I had been close before that. But that brought our friendship to the next level. I stayed by his side, and I’ve been here ever since.
My head falls to his shoulder, and I step closer to him, needing the contact but also sensing he does too. As if proving my point, his hand wraps around my waist, and he holds me.
“I live above the water, and I stare out at it every day, thinking about Nash. About where he’d be and what he’d been doing and how his life would look. If he’d be married to you and if you’d have children. But this is the first time I’ve been back on the water. I know it’s not possible that he’s here. Wewere off the coast of New England, and likely a whale or shark or something ate him?—”
I gasp and sob at once, but he presses on.
“—but still. I like the idea that he’s down there looking up at us and smiling that smile.” He looks down at me. “Do you remember that smile?”
Tears are all over my face, but I manage a nod because I do remember that smile. It could light up remote villages at midnight.