He grabs the chair’s arms and rolls me back toward him, so our knees touch.
“I didn’t tell you about Chelsea because I didn’t want to upset you. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”
“What did she say?”
He hands me his phone. “I saved it because I wanted to show you. But then you told me you weren’t planning to come back. And I completely forgot about it. I was upset, willing to risk my parents’ wrath to be with you wherever you needed to go. Boots, when we jumped off the cliff, you told me you trusted me. Do you?”
His question combined with the pain on his face is why I didn’t want to come back. I can’t take seeing it. And I can’t imagine how it will look in March when I tell him the truth.
“I just didn’t understand why you wouldn’t show me at lunch like Logan did.”
“Because I wanted to tell you in private. And you didn’t answer my question. Do you trust me?”
I close my eyes, trying not to cry, and nod. “Yes, Aiden, I do.”
“Good,” he says, handing me his phone. “I want you to read this.”
Chelsea: Looking forward to everyone getting back from break. You should stay away from Keatyn. She’ll be toxic when I’m done with her.
Aiden: Don’t you dare do anything to hurt her or I’ll go to the dean myself.
Chelsea: All my friends hate me because of her. Surely, you don’t think I’m going to let her get away with it.
Aiden: No, all your friends hate you because you were offering sex to their boyfriends. And what makes you think Keatyn did it? There are other people who wanted to get back at you besides her.
Chelsea: We’ll see . . . Have a nice break.
“That must be why she texted Logan and Ace. She wants my friends to hate me.”
Aiden nods. “I think so. I want you to know that I told you everything about my past on break. Promise me that you won’t believe anything she says about me or your friends.”
“Okay. But what about your birthday?”
“What about it? I can honestly say that from the time Riley punched me in the nose until now, I haven’t even thought about it. But my mom did text me today to say they’re coming the week after, both to see the dance competition and to celebrate my birthday.”
“Your sister is planning a dinner.”
“As long as you’ll be there, I’ll be there.”
“I wouldn’t miss your birthday, Aiden.”
He kisses me. “Good. Are you hungry? Why don’t I order Chinese and we can study French here?”
“That sounds good. I’ll go dry my hair.”
Aiden stays in my room until he has to leave to make curfew. We eat, study, snuggle, kiss, and talk about where he wants to have his birthday dinner. I suggest we go back to our French restaurant.
After he showers me with goodbye kisses and heads to his dorm, I grab my laptop and start shopping.
Back to shore.
12:25am
I go into the stairwell and make myself at home on a cold, hard cement step. I pull up the video conferencing software and click on B’s photo. While I’m waiting for him to come online, I stare at his tan face.
I close my eyes and remember what it was like with him. So different than it was with Cush.
It was never fast. One time, I wanted to do it on the beach—like, quick—and he told me sex isn't about just riding the wave. That it should be the joining of mind, body, and soul. That it’s waxing your board, paddling out, floating over the swells, patiently waiting for and preparing yourself for the bigger wave. Then it’s all about working your way back to shore.
It never felt like just sex with him.
But I know why.
It’s because I loved him.
But then I think about Dawson and how hot it was.
How Aiden can make me feel on fire with a single touch.
And I can’t help it. I want it all. The connection and the heat.
I think about his surfing reference of working your way back to shore. Which is fitting because it’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Get back to my family. To him. To my home. To our beach.
I know I can’t keep going like this.
I hear him say, “Keats?”
My eyes fly open. “Sorry, I was just thinking about surfing.” I start to get tears in my eyes. “God, I miss you. For two years, I saw you almost every day. I feel like a piece of me is missing.”
“I feel like a part of me is missing too. I miss everyone. Our beach.”
“Are you getting tired of traveling?”
“The flights are a bitch sometimes, and I complain about it. But then I find myself on another amazing beach. Kinda like our summer of waves—all the beaches we discovered. Except bigger and better.”
“It was a good summer.”
“Yeah, it was. So, I’m sorry, I haven’t had time to get together with the guy on the takeover stuff yet. I will, though. This week or next, maybe.”
“But, I thought that’s why we were talking tonight, so we could get started? We need to start now, B. You don’t understand. There are a lot of moving parts to this.”
“What do you mean?”
“It has to be timed so that it hits Vincent all at once.”
“What does?”
“A hostile takeover alone won’t do it. I have to push him from every direction. The publicity for Mom’s movie starts this week. We have to start this week.”
I’m starting to panic. I need this to go according to plan. It has to.
“Oh,” he says. He closes his eyes and looks down. I notice he looks stressed.
“I have something I need to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“Something was delivered to my hotel room earlier.”
“What?” I say, instantly on edge.
“A box. In it was a framed photo of me, taken when they handed me the trophy this past, uh, weekend,” he stutters again. He’s shaken.
“Can I see it?”
“Garrett made me send it to him, hoping for forensics.”
“He won't find any.”
“Probably not, but I took pictures of it. The ones I texted him when I got it.”
“Send them to me.”
I watch as he grabs his phone off the table. He gives me a bleak look and I wish I could reach through the phone and brush the lines of stress from his face. They just don’t look right on him.
My phone vibrates with the text.
“I know this is going to upset me so, before I see it, I just want to tell you how proud I am of you. How, through all this shit, you've grown and focused and taken a chance on your dream.” I put my fingers against the computer screen.
He mimics me, our hands touching tenderly onscreen.
“I was serious when I said I wouldn't be here without you. That night at the Undertow was a turning point in my life.”
In both our lives, I think, remembering falling straight into Vincent's arms.
I keep my hand glued to his as I look down and see the photos pop up on my screen. I click on the first one, making it bigger. It’s of a plain white gift box, white tissue paper pulled open, and black rose petals sprinkled around an ornate black picture frame.
I look up at him. “I just looked at the first photo with the black rose petals, so I know it's from Vincent. B, have you been keeping anything from me?”
He stutters, “Uh, um . . .”
“Look, it's okay if you have. My mom did the same thing, trying to protect me. So, if you've gotten other things from Vincent, or seen him, tell me now.”
“What? Uh, no. He's never been spotted, other than Long Beach. But, except for Hawaii, my tournaments have been out of the country.”