The sound that escapes me is half scoff, half snort. I regret it as soon as it’s out, Laurel turning to me with fire in her eyes.
“You want to know why I’ve been acting so off?” she asks. “It’s not because of my divorce, or the media circus around it, or the fact that half ofmy moneyis going to someone I’m not going to share my life with anymore.” I fight the urge to argue with her on all these points, because the way she delivers them certainly makes it sound like she’s upset about them.
“I’m upset because this trip was supposed to befun,” she says. “It was supposed to be a distraction from all the garbage going on. It wasn’t supposed to be about the two of you hating each other. So I’m pissed that the two of you can’t get over yourselves long enough to just act civil for one stupid week!” Her voice gets louder as she says it, the last words ending in a high-pitched crescendo that sends Everett hurrying down the narrow set of stairs into the cabin and me following quickly behind him.
“Figure it out,” Laurel says, Davi’s and Gabe’s faces appearing on either side of her, looking curiously down at us. “You have thirty minutes until we let you out.”
Everett and I exchange the same panicked glance we did earlier before looking back up at her. “Let us out?” I say.
But Laurel is already slamming the door, the lock sliding into place.
fourteen
Second Summer
If I’d thought it was hard to ignore Everett that first summer, the second was torture. I told myself it had to be something about not being able to have him every time I caught myself staring at him a minute too long, or letting my arm brush against his whenever we were close enough.
He did nothing to help. Aside from not looking away first when our gazes would catch and possessing arms in the first place, he asked me twice more about staying, always dropped casually, almost jokingly into conversation, my answer always the same.I’ll think about it.Because as much as I told myself I would say no the next time he asked, almosthopinghe would, the word seemed to completely flee my vocabulary when it came up.
On Friday morning, a full forty-eight hours since the last time he’d asked me—something that was nagging at the edges of my brain and I was actively trying to ignore—Everett sat on the coffee table across from me, putting a finger on the edge of my book and tilting it down.
“Excuse me,” I said, acting annoyed. In reality, I’d been aware of his proximity as soon as he walked into the room, read the same line over and over until he sat in front of me.Laurel and Davi were lying out on the beach while Gabe was still sleeping. “I was reading that.”
Everett grinned. “I’m teaching you how to surf.”
I shook my head, nerves tinged with the possibility of very real fear racing up my throat. “I’m not a huge ocean person.”
“Shocked you’re Laurel’s friend, then,” he said. I smirked. “Shocked you’re on this trip at all.”
“Plenty of people don’t want to dive into shark-infested waters.”
He leaned in then, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he said. “The sharks around here?” He shook his head. “Not actually all that interested in you.”
I closed my book and set it next to me. “You say that now. But what happens if I crack my head open falling off the surfboard? They’ll come swarming.”
“Sutton,” he said, still leaned in close to me. I had my legs curled under me, but if I didn’t, his would have been bumping against mine, and something about the sheer possibility had me sweating. “I promise you that I would never let you crack your head open. And—” his eyes flicked down to my knees, like he’d suddenly had the same thought as me “—I happen to know you’re at least half lying about the whole ocean thing. You swim every day here.”
“Iamafraid of sharks, though,” I reiterated as his gaze latched on to mine again.
“Probably healthy to be at least a little afraid of them.” He held a hand toward me. “Now, are you in or out?”
“I’m not sure surfing is really on my bucket list,” I said, even as I grabbed his hand and stood up.
I hated to admit how much I liked riding in his car, one hand gliding through the air out the window and the music up loud. He drove us a few miles down the coast and parkedin the lot of a bar that had two-for-one deals we’d taken advantage of earlier this week and last summer.
But it turned out that, where surfing was concerned, I wasnotan ocean person.
Everett ran me through jumping up on the board on the beach. By the time I’d paddled over my tenth wave, though—tiny, hardly a speed bump in the ocean—without trying to stand up, Everett knew it too.
“You’ve got it,” he said, returning to my side. “I believe in you.” He sat up so he straddled his board. Water droplets sprayed off his hair as he shook his head back, trailed down his chest.
“That’s the thing,” I said. “I’m not sureIbelieve in me.”
He leveled me with a serious look. “Sutton.”
“What?” I said. My pulse was thumping in my throat in a way I was convinced he could see, some muscle twitching as rapidly as water boiling on the stove.
“You believe in yourself,” he said. “You’re not afraid of anything.”