“Is that what you would do?” I ask.
She smiles, tears in her eyes. “I would want the future too. No more living in the past.”
I nod, my heart fluttering with relief at being understood. Next to me, Poppy sucks in a breath that sounds almost like a sob.
“Pop? You okay?” Rachel asks.
“Oh, goodness,” she says with a little laugh. “Don’t mind me. I’m such a hormonal mess these days.”
“What about you?” I say at her. “What would you do?”
She sniffs back her tears, wiping under her nose. “Some days it feels like my past holds more ghosts than the Haunted Mansion.” She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Slowly, she opens them. “I want the future too,” she says, her lips quivering as she places a hand on her little bump. “Heaven help me, I can’t keep looking back. I want to look forward. I need to look forward.”
I nod, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“Well, here,” says Rachel, glancing around the sand at our feet. “Find a shell.”
Poppy sniffles. “What?”
“Everyone find a shell,” Rachel says again.
Seashells litter this stretch of beach—cockles and whelks, even the occasional conch shell. Most are no bigger than a silver dollar. I find one half-buried in the sand. It’s a little scallop shell, orange at the edges and rosy pink at the base.
Next to me, Shelby dusts off a little white shell. “What are we doing with these?” she asks, holding it in her open palm.
“Everyone has one?” Rachel replies, holding a curled black shell in her outstretched hand.
We all show our shells, our fingers dusted with sand.
“Right, so this was something my grandma did with us when we were little,” Rachel explains. “You whisper a secret to the shell, a hope, a dream. You give it to the shell to carry, and the ocean keeps it safe.”
Poppy raises a skeptical brow. “You want me to tell this shell a secret?”
Rachel smiles. “If you want. Or you can give it your past. Give it your ghosts.” She looks to me, her gaze solemn. “Give it your pain, your frustration.”
“I’m gonna need a bigger shell,” Shelby deadpans.
“Shells are tough,” Rachel replies. “They can hold more than you think.”
I look down at my shell, noting the thin ridges and the color, rusty like my hair. My heart beats faster as I close my fingers around it, letting those ridges imprint into the meat of my palm.
Rachel stands next to me, her eyes falling shut as she takes a deep breath. “Give the shell whatever you need it to carry for you. And when you’re ready…let it go.”
“Let it go?” Poppy repeats.
Rachel smiles, opening her eyes. “Like this.” Giving her shell a little kiss, she cocks her arm back and flings her shell out into the waves, letting the water swallow it. Then she lets out a deep exhale, her shoulder relaxing.
Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the shell in my hand, feeding it my anger and frustration, my fear, my loneliness, my own self-defeat. I am Tess. I am strong and confident. There is no room for shame. I give it to the shell. I am beautiful and kind. There is no room for insecurity. I let the shell have that too. I am powerful. I am wanted. I am loved. There is no room for doubt.
Giving the shell one last squeeze, I open my eyes and gaze out at the water. I watch the waves crash in once, twice, the white caps frothing against the sand as the water laps at my toes. Taking a deep breath, I cock my arm and fling the shell into the air, watching as it sails over the surf to land with a soundless plop in the grayish blue water.
“There.” I take Rachel’s sandy hand in mine. “It’s done.”
“It’s done,” she repeats.
To either side of us, Poppy and Shelby throw their shells into the ocean too. The four of us stand there with tears in our eyes, watching as the waves crash at our ankles.
After a few minutes of reverent silence, Poppy clears her throat. “Anyone up for brunch?”
“God, yes,” Shelby replies. “I’m starving.”
“Me too,” Rachel echoes. “Tess? You in?”
I glance away from the water at the faces of the three women smiling at me, waiting for me, including me. They want me here. I’m wanted. I’m loved. I’m home.
There is no room for doubt.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. “Yeah, brunch sounds good.”
68
The sun shines in through the sliding doors of the back patio. I threw them open wide, letting the smell of the sea fill my lungs. It’s a perfect February day, cool and dry, not a cloud in the sky. Beyond the whitewashed deck, a little boardwalk leads out over the dune and down to the beach.
I glance around the empty space, letting my eye linger on the open kitchen. The cabinets are white, the style modern, with sleek stainless-steel appliances. I like the hardwood floors. They’re a light oak color, giving it a beach house vibe.
Knock, knock.
“Hello?” Tess calls, her voice echoing around the empty space. She sounds hesitant. Of course, she is. I just got back from the airport and wouldn’t let her come pick me up. Instead, I told her to meet me at this random address. “Ryan…are you in here?”
I spin around with a smile, walking a few paces to the left so she can see me from the entryway. ‘Hey, babe,” I call.
She steps into the empty living room, and I swear my heart fucking stops. She looks gorgeous in a cropped T-shirt and flowy floral skirt with a slit halfway up her thigh. Her hair is up in a messy bun, big gold hoop earrings almost touching her shoulders.
She flicks her aviators off, tucking them on top of her head as she looks around. “Where are we? Why did you tell me to meet you here?”
She’s asking questions, but I can’t make sentences right now. I can’t talk anymore about Cincinnati or her encounter with the dragon-in-law. I haven’t seen my girl in forty-eight hours, and I’m feeling desperate. I rush over to her, wrapping her in my arms. She thinks I’m going in for a kiss, but I surprise her when I pick her up, hauling her over my shoulder.
“Ryan,” she squeals, her arms flailing as her purse slips off her shoulder and hits the floor.
I give her ass a playful swat as I hurry over to the kitchen and drop her right on the island. Stepping in between her legs, I cup her face and kiss her.
She moans against my lips, her body melting against me, her arms around my neck.
“Baby, I missed you,” I say, peppering her lips with kisses.
She laughs against my mouth, her hands smoothing over my shoulders. “I missed you too. Fuck, I love you.”
“I love you so fucking much.” My hands drop down to her thighs. I smooth them up and down, feeling the way she shifts to the edge of the counter. At the first touch of her bare thigh, I know there’s no stopping us.
I had a plan, a whole damn speech, but it flew right out the windows, sailing away on the open ocean. Tess is in my arms, and I can’t not have her. “I want you,” I say, my hand slipping under the slit of her skirt, grazing up her thigh.
“I want you too,” she pants, hiking up the skirt.
I help her, the two of us fevered as we pull at our clothes. I jerk her panties down, dropping them to her ankles. She unbuttons my jeans. It’s the work of moments before I’ve got my hard cock in hand, lining myself up at her entrance.
“Please, baby,” she whimpers, nodding as she bites her bottom lip, both of us looking down at where we’re about to be joined.
I angle the tip of my dick where I want it and look up, holding her gaze as I sink in inch by inch. Her lips part in a breathless moan as she takes me, her long eyelashes fluttering.
“That’s it,” I soothe, my hand gripping her hip as I make a few short thrusts, working my dick all the way in. “That’s my girl. Fuck, you feel so good.” She’s so warm and tight.
Her hands go to my shoulders as she angles her hips back, opening her channel, easing my thrusts in deeper. We both moan, chests heaving as I rock against her sharp and fast, my bare hips slapping her thighs.