“I’m gonna smash his fuckin’ face in.”
“Damn. You’re really diggin’ this chick, huh?”
Preacher shook his head, about to tell Joe that it wasn’t like that when Debbie appeared on the grass, and his words died in his throat.
She’d gone swimming in her T-shirt and shorts, but she might as well have been topless. Preacher could see everything through the thin material—the outline of her full, firm breasts, the shape and size of her rock-hard nipples.
And he wasn’t the only one noticing, either. For a girl who thought no one noticed her, she sure was catching a lot of looks.
“Nice,” Joe muttered under his breath.
Growling, Preacher elbowed Joe in the ribs. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”
Debbie approached them, wringing out her wet hair, drops of water cascading down her sun-kissed skin, utterly oblivious to the half dozen erections she’d just caused.
“Are you going swimming?” she asked.
Beside him, Joe snorted. “He can’t swim.”
Preacher slowly faced his brother. “This ain’t exactly the ocean. I think I can handle myself.”
Joe smirked at him. “Don’t change the fact that you can’t fuckin’ swim.”
“And you wet the fuckin’ bed until you were twelve, either,” Preacher shot back. “But who’s askin’, right?”
Someone giggled, a high-pitched girly squeak, and Preacher jerked his gaze away from Joe to find Debbie with her hand over her mouth, a tiny dimple indenting her left cheek.
? ? ?
Taking a swig of warm beer, Debbie glanced over at Preacher. Seated beside her on the sun-warmed grass, he was alternating between scowling at Joe and outright glaring at Max. He’d been agitated all day, it felt like, but now he seemed even more so, leaving her wondering if he’d gotten into another argument with his father.
She nudged him with her elbow, and he turned his scowl on her.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
His expression didn’t change. “What was so funny?” he asked.
Confused, Debbie shook her head. “What was so funny… when?”
Preacher jerked his chin toward the swimming hole. “You were laughin’. With Max.”
“Uh…” Debbie looked to the water, trying to recall what Max had said. “I don’t remember,” she eventually replied. “He made a joke about something, but I can’t remember what.” She turned back to Preacher. “So, you really can’t swim?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Preacher’s brows drew together, his already tense expression tightening further.
“My parents tried to teach me when I was little, but I was scared shitless. Didn’t like the feeling of bein’ underwater.” He rolled his eyes. “Still don’t.”
Debbie couldn’t stop her smile. After watching Preacher take on those men at the truck stop, and stand up to the Road Warriors and that terrifying man from this morning, the notion that he was afraid of something as harmless as water was laughable.
“Somethin’ funny?” he growled.
Biting down on her bottom lip, squelching her smile, Debbie shook her head. “I just didn’t picture you as being afraid of anything.”
That had been the right thing to say. Preacher’s mouth quirked and his strained expression began to ease.
“Not afraid anymore, Wheels,” he said dryly, “Just don’t like it.”
She shrugged. “Well, I love swimming.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “I used to live near the beach, and every day after school I’d stop there.”
She paused to sip her beer. “I went to a private school and we wore these awful uniforms.” Recalling the button-down shirt that had reached clear up to her chin and the heavy plaid skirt, Debbie made a face. “The socks were the worst. So itchy. My favorite part of the day was taking them off and walking in the water.”
It had also been her least favorite part of the day because it had meant she was that much closer to having to head home. And home was hell—complete with Satan himself.
Feeling her stomach tighten, Debbie shuddered through her next breath and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Even her happy memories always turned dark.
“Private school, huh?” Preacher laughed. “I fuckin’ knew it.” He tapped two fingers to his temple. “Smart.”
Despite her roiling insides, Debbie forced a smile. But the smile didn’t last and she began shifting uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of her wet clothes, the way they were sticking to her body, chafing her skin. And the way the prickly weeds beneath her were poking sharply against her. And the way the sun was suddenly too hot, shining too brightly overhead, leaving her feeling as if she was under a spotlight.
Quickly she swallowed the last of her beer and set the bottle aside. The warm brew sloshed uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.
“I’m going to go change,” she mumbled and shot to her feet. Grabbing her backpack, she whirled away and hurried off through the crowds of people.
Reaching the dirt path, feeling overwhelmed by stomach-turning images, awash in unwanted feelings, Debbie picked up her pace.
Why had she even brought up the beach in the first place? What had she thought was going to happen? Maybe some small part of her had begun to hate the constant lying. Maybe that same part of her had wanted to set free a sliver of her truth and unburden a bit of her soul in the process.
Her eyes burning, she released a bitter snort. Whatever the reason, she should have known better.
Debbie slowed her steps and dug her sunglasses out of her backpack. She didn’t think she was going to cry—she hadn’t cried in forever—but just in case she did, she didn’t want anyone to see.
God, she wouldn’t ever be normal, would she? How could she hope to let someone else in when she couldn’t even let herself in? The burning in her eyes intensified. Beneath the tinted lenses, she blinked furiously. Her chest tightened. She would not cry. She would absolutely not fucking cry.
Noticing a bathhouse just ahead, she felt a small sense of relief. She would lock herself in a toilet stall and fall apart in private.
“Wheels!”
Debbie jumped, nearly tripping over her own feet. Whirling around, she found Preacher striding up a small incline, concern darkening his features. Her stomach flip-flopped. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn’t want him to look at her like that—with concern or pity.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Nothing is wrong, she wanted to scream. I’m normal! Please, just look at me like I’m a normal girl!
“I’m fine,” she managed to squeak out.
“Lie,” Preacher snapped and plucked her sunglasses from her face before she could stop him. She attempted snatching them back, but he held them just out of reach.
“You’re fine, huh? Like hell you’re fine. What the fuck happened back there?”
Standing in the center of the path, a large group was forced to part around them, and Debbie could feel their questioning, curious eyes on her as they passed by. Biting her bottom lip, she looked down at her bare feet.