After that, every day held smiles and shared glances, and I floated on a cloud knowing this wonderful guy had become my rock. Someone solid and real in a world where everyone I loved kept getting ripped away.
I didn’t have a party on my seventeenth birthday. With Brandy gone and Alex out of town for some work thing, I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. Instead, Uncle Peter took me out to dinner, and when he went out later that night, I took a twilight stroll down the beach to the tidal pools.
I sat on the rocks, careful not to slip into the pool and disturb the tiny ecosystem. The moon was full, so there was enough light to see the silver fish, brown anemones, and all the rest of the sea life that lived in that fragile little world.
I was bent forward, watching a hermit crab navigate its way across the pool, when I heard the soft pad of footsteps behind me. A spike of fear shot through me, and I jumped to my feet, not even thinking, and lost my footing. I started to go down, certain I’d either squash all the critters in the pool or scrape every bit of exposed skin on the rocks.
But then suddenly I wasn’t falling. I was flying, being pulled off the rocks and into Alex’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” he said as my blood pounded in my ears. Not from my near miss, but from his proximity. From the sensation of his body pressed against mine as he held my upper arms tight in his clenched hands.
Our eyes met, and though I’ve never considered myself particularly bold, I moved first, tugging my arms free so I could wrap them around his neck as I rose on my toes and closed my mouth over his.
There was no fear, no worry that he’d push me away. I’d known in the instant before our lips met that this was the way it had to be. This perfect, intense moment that ignited a firestorm inside me as he cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer until I felt like I could crawl inside of him.
“Ellie,” he murmured when we broke apart, and hearing my name on his lips was like throwing gasoline on a fire. I wanted him. All of him. And once again, I lifted myself onto my toes and lost myself in the taste of him.
He hesitated only a moment, but in those few seconds, I feared he’d push me away. But then he made a low noise in his throat and thoroughly claimed my mouth, his tongue tasting and teasing, dancing with mine as his hands slid down to cup my ass.
He pulled me close to him, and I moaned when I felt his erection against my belly. I’d never been this close to a guy, and the proof that he wanted me that way burned inside me, making my inner thighs ache and my core throb.
Then suddenly he wasn’t cupping my rear anymore. He had one hand down the back of my shorts and I was spreading my legs, offering him all of me.
“Please,” I begged, gasping for air. I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for. His finger? His cock? Did I want him to lay me down in the sand and make love to me? Did I want him to take me home?
All I knew was that the answer was yes. All I wanted in that moment was to be his, however and wherever he wanted.
When he looked down at me—when I saw the wild, raw heat in his eyes, I knew that’s what he craved, too.
This was happening. Oh, God, this was really happening.
But then something in his face shifted, and he pulled his hand out of my shorts. I heard myself whimper as he took a step back, breaking the contact between us.
“Alex?” I heard fear in my voice. Fear that he didn’t want me. Fear that I’d done something wrong.
“We can’t,” he said, taking my hand and holding it close to his chest. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you, Ellie. But we can’t do this.”
I tried to swallow, but the knot of tears stuck in my throat. And when I asked why my voice was little more than a croak.
He cupped my cheek. “You’re barely seventeen, El. And I’m almost twenty. Plus, I work for your uncle.” Something in his face hardened. “Your uncle’s not the kind of man who would overlook it. We’ve already been playing with fire. Push this, and we’ll both get burned.”
I wanted to shout back that I didn’t care. I wanted to burn. I wanted to get lost in the flames with him until we were both reduced to ashes.
But I didn’t say any of that because I knew he was right.
He shook his head slowly, his expression profoundly sad. “I never wanted—”
“What?”
“Here. I never wanted to come here.”
“To Laguna Cortez?” My voice rose in surprise. “I thought everybody wanted to come here.”
“My dad made me. Now, though… ” He trailed off, running his fingers over his short hair. “God, Ellie, now this is exactly where I want to be.”
“Please,” I said, blurting out the word before I lost my nerve. “I want to.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “Me, too. Obviously. But we can’t.”
“Yes, we can. Uncle Peter’s barely noticed that we’re friends, much less that there’s more.”
“Fine. We can.”
For a moment, my heart stopped, but then he continued.
“But, El,” he said. “I won’t.”
He stuck to that, too.
Every night, I’d go to bed and slide my hand between my legs while I imagined him doing all the things I read in romance novels. Every night, I’d silently pray for him to sneak into my room and into my bed.
But he never did. He kept his word, even though each time we were alone the air was so charged, I was sure that one of us would crack.
We didn’t, though.
Not then. Not yet.
For the next two months, our friendship grew even stronger. Especially with Brandy gone, he became my closest friend. We talked for hours that summer after he was done with work, mostly at the tidal pools. Sometimes he’d stay late at the house, because Uncle Peter was hardly ever home.
We’d talk or cook dinner or watch movies. Horror mostly, because it was an excuse to sit close and hold hands at the first scary scene.
And always, always, there was that greedy, guilty need that had me squeezing my thighs to relieve the pressure. I imagined crawling into his lap and doing exactly what the girls in those movies were doing.
And I didn’t even care that if I did them, then surely the monster would get me, too.
Maybe I should have cared more. Maybe in the end, I really did bring the monsters down on me.
I don’t know. But I vividly remember that September day when Chief Randall came to school and delivered the news that Uncle Peter was dead. Killed by a single bullet to the back of the head, shot from the gun of a monster.
In grief and fear, I’d run home, expecting to find Alex working in the office. But he wasn’t there. Later, I learned that he’d been checking the books at one of Uncle Peter’s properties when a detective had come to give him the news. They’d questioned Alex for over an hour, digging deep into Uncle Peter’s business, searching for clues as to who might have held a grudge.
I didn’t know any of that at the time. All I knew was that I was dying inside. That I needed to hear his voice in order to know that he was truly okay. Because everybody I loved—everybody—was taken from me. Over and over and over again.
All afternoon and evening I sat with my phone beside me, curled up under a blanket in the living room with Amy Randall, the Chief’s wife, bringing me hot tea and cookies. I loved her for taking care of me, but even with Amy in the room, I felt alone.