“Nah. I kind of think it was a human response to a subhuman asshole.”
Ember tries to laugh, but throws up instead. “Urggh.” She groans, the contents of her stomach emptying two more times before she lies down on the floor and curls up like a snail. Her body starts to shiver as noises of discomfort bubble up from her mouth. Cold races down my throat and I go into panic mode, digging around the bathroom cabinets for a washcloth or anything to help her. I find a small towel underneath the sink and soak it in warm water. Crouching beside her, I lay it across her forehead. Her eyelids flutter and she groans again, arms wrapped around her belly.
“Let me get you into bed.” In one motion, I raise her up off the tile, carrying her against my chest. “Which room is yours?” I ask, and she grunts an incoherent response that makes me smile. Basically, I’m on my own.
Through the powers of deduction and the help of Mickey Mouse, I locate her room and navigate my way to her bed. Gently lowering her to the mattress, I keep her head cradled and position her on a pillow. She giggles when I slip her sneakers from her feet.
“Mmm… good.”
I have no idea if she needs to get sick again. Just in case, I sprint to the bathroom and grab the small trash can near the toilet. I place it on the floor next to the bed then cover her up to her neck with a blanket. As I sit down beside her, my weight shifts the mattress and she blinks up at me. The scrap of light from the window rests on part of her face. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she stares at me and jabs a sloppy finger into my chest.
“You know, I didn’t like you when I first met you. You were kind of a j-jerk. But,” she adds, her smile lopsided. “I like you now.”
I thread my fingers through the damp hair at her temple as a grin takes over my lips. “I like you too, Mickey.”
She lets out a hiccupped sigh then rolls over and snuggles into the pillows. Quietly, I slide off the mattress, glancing around her room but seeing very little in the darkness. “I like you… a l-lot,” she mumbles, and I freeze, my heart thrumming to a beat I can’t control. With those five words, it’s like she’s trying to get inside me, push past my skin to a deeper place. I think it might be too late. I already feel her there. I’m scared of that—of her—and what she could do to me. But I let my body ease down the wall where I’ll stay to make sure she’s all right.
There is no place else I’d rather be, anyway.
I DRIVE INTO the entrance of Cannon Beach, the salty ocean air wafting in through the open window. A lightness fills my chest as if a small amount of weight has been lifted. I feel more like myself—my old self that is.
The breathtaking view of the sea makes me pause and my chest flutters. Water may have taken my brother’s life, but there is no denying its beauty. The way it glistens and sparkles in invitation, blue-green waves curling before they break against the shore.
It’s fairly deserted this time of day. The sun is playing hide and seek with the clouds, doing some sort of indecisive waltz. Four tall white birds perch beside a rock, their noses digging in the sand looking for buried treasures to eat.
It doesn’t take me long to spot Vance, though even on a crowded beach he would stand out. I stop to watch him for a minute. His feet are bare, shirt off, the hills and valleys of his back shimmer in the hazy sun. Fine hair dances along his neck, the slight breeze moving it and I shiver, almost as if I can feel the sensation across my own skin.
One arm glides back then forward, a stone leaving his fingers and skipping along the calm surface of the water. The way his body curves inward toward the ocean, giving it his full concentration is truly beautiful.
“You’re really good at that.” I interrupt his quiet moment, but the way his lips bow as he turns toward me makes me glad I came.
“Heyyy,” he chirps, and my eyes move over the ripples of his chest then quickly back up to meet his grin.
“You can stare all you want, Mickey. I don’t mind.” The ground suddenly grabs my interest. I’m hoping it might suck me in like quicksand, making the warm flush spreading across my face disappear. As if he senses I need an escape, he keeps talking. “How are you feeling?” he asks, and that I can handle.
“Much better.” I bypass his chest this time and go right to his face. “Thank you for that hangover cure you left. What was that, anyway?”
“Fresh squeezed orange juice with a hint of Ginger Ale.” He chuckles. “The Advil I can’t take credit for, though.”
“Wait.” I edge a few steps closer to him. “How did you make the orange juice?”
“I did it the old-fashioned way.” His blue eyes gleam. “You know, I squeezed oranges… with my hands.”
“In my kitchen?”
“No. In your front yard.” He smirks. “Of course in your kitchen.”
“Oh.” A tiny flutter pings my belly at his sweet gesture. “Thank—”
His hand comes up between us, cutting my words short. “Don’t say it. I think we’re good with the thank you’s for a while,” he explains, and I let out a small laugh.