Summer by Summer (11 page)

Bray watched me with a wary eye while I stoked up the fire and chattered about finding shelter. “Those giant palm fronds could make a decent roof. Not that they would keep us completely dry in a rainstorm, but I don’t really see
another
rainstorm hitting in the middle of summer.” I’d done my research on Belize before taking the job. It didn’t rain much this time of year. Good thing there was water on the island. If we had to depend on rainwater for hydration, we’d die.

I sat on my driftwood and pulled my soggy shoes from my feet. I wiggled my raisin toes and propped my shoes against a log where the flame could dry them out. “We
could
split up to search the rest of the island — you search in one direction and me in another — but I think it’s wise to stay together.”

Bray remained silent, but whenever I stopped what I was doing to look at him, he’d nod. He was watching me a little too closely. Didn’t he understand what was happening? The plane came. And left. It was all up to us now. I sucked a lungful of air, trying not to get frustrated at him. “We can haul the cooler to the lake and fill it. But it’ll be heavy coming back, so we should maybe do that at dusk.” I snagged some of the medium-sized sticks Bray had collected and tried to break one over my thigh. It bent, but wouldn’t give. “You know what? Those mammoth mosquitoes will be out at dusk. We
need to get the water in the daytime. And we’ll have to keep the cooler closed so bugs don’t get into it.”

I focused my attention on Bray and blinked when he didn’t answer. The cloud cover was gone, so the sun beat down in merciless waves on us. I shot a look up to the relentless burning ball. “Probably smart to stay in the shelter as much as possible during the heat of the day. We should collect more coconuts and —”

Gazing above, I hadn’t heard him moving toward me. But there he was, hands finding my shoulders and sliding down my arms. His hands were always so warm against my wind-cooled skin. A small part of me wanted to melt into that touch, just slouch there, letting him hold my weight. But we had work to do. Didn’t he realize that? Work. And lots of it. I opened my mouth to speak, but he slid his index finger to my lips. I swallowed.

For the longest time, he stared at me. His gaze drifting from my eyes down to my mouth, across my hairline, around my jaw and down to my throat. Suddenly, I was very aware of the strong young man holding me by the shoulders. His dusky blue eyes had darkened, causing my skin to prickle. I didn’t know what Bray was doing. Couldn’t read his thoughts. He just stood there, trapping me, eyes dissecting me. Maybe he thought I was going crazy. All the talk of shelter and water when our hope of rescue just flew away. The intensity of his inspection deepened. His eyes narrowed to slits. But he didn’t look angry, just inquisitive. His cheek quirked, and I could feel his breath fanning over my skin.

Bray licked his lips. “What happened to you?” It was a whisper. Not accusatory, just filled with curiosity. “What have you lived through that made you so strong?”

My eyes dropped to his throat. I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. All I could focus on was the tiny pulse in his neck below a barely visible five o’clock shadow. What had happened to me? He’d never
believe it. And I’d never share it because I promised myself that if I lived through it, I’d never
ever
relive it.

But I didn’t know how to answer Bray. I wouldn’t lie to him. Yet I couldn’t tell him the truth. I opened my mouth to speak, and when I looked up at his eyes, I saw Michael’s looking back at me. My blood stopped moving, ice chips in my veins. I tried to inhale, but I couldn’t breathe deeply enough to satisfy my lungs.

Bits and pieces of last summer swirled uninvited through my head. Scattered snapshots of a still-blurry few weeks. Michael. Strong; he’d grown tall over our sophomore year and stood about the same height as Bray. And that’s not where the resemblance ended. Michael had grown into everything I thought Bray was, a reckless partier. No longer the sweet boy who’d given me my very first Valentine in second grade, complete with little hearts he’d cut out and folded together accordion style. I still had it, tucked into the chest of Michael’s things I hid in my closet. Each item had a special meaning. First, there was his mom’s wedding announcement, with its embossed satin letters. I liked it so much, I’d made the mistake of telling Michael, and he’d bought me a bridal magazine and told me to start picking out all the things I’d want for our dream wedding. And that invite had a deeper meaning as well. His mom married a wealthy businessman our freshman year. By junior year, Michael was driving a BMW, had become popular, grown tall, and dropped his baby fat, making him, well, one of the pretty people. He went to parties while I went to youth group. But he’d never stopped caring for me. We’d been best friends since first grade when I beat up the class bully for picking on Michael, the new kid.

In the bottom of the cedar chest, a plastic trash bag held the shirt he died in. I guess it was morbid to keep it, but they’d cut it off him at the hospital and just discarded it by his bed. Just like they’d eventually discarded his lifeless body. But even at the hospital, I knew it
was too late. I knew he’d never wear the shirt again. Any, for that matter. I was with him when life left. He wasn’t coming back.

Arms closed around me. Safe. Warming the sudden cold. I blinked. It was Bray. With his hand, he guided my head to his chest. He held me there. Not speaking, just breathing. His hand stayed against my hair, radiating heat into me from my head down. “Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Bray said.

Good. Because I couldn’t. And somehow, he knew that. The slightest nod of my head answered him.

“One day,” he whispered. “When you’re ready.”

How many people had said that to me? More than a few, and each time it made me angry — like they had a right to demand my story — but strangely, Bray spoke those same words and it made me feel understood. He hadn’t pressed. And he didn’t seem to want to hear the story out of morbid curiosity.

I squeezed my eyes shut and said the one thing I’d never said. “Okay, one day.” I hoped I’d be forgiven for the lie. Where this subject was concerned,
one day
would never come.

Bray

It took all my strength to not press Summer. Some horrible tragedy had taken place in her life, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the wounds were still raw. She’d completely shut down at one point, but before that, tiny glimpses of pain manifested in her gaze as she relived . . . whatever it was that caused her to be so fiercely tough, yet so shockingly delicate. I had to know more. There were layers to Summer. Layers as intriguing as they were alluring. And I had to be careful with her — on a lot of levels. She was a little bit like the wild cats at my grandpa’s ranch. You could feed them, maybe even touch them, but move too quickly and
zip
. They were gone. And you were bleeding.

Of course, there weren’t many places to hide here. We were together. And alone. But there were more ways than one to check out, if not physically then mentally. The last thing we needed right now was for Summer to check out on any level. So, I didn’t press. But one day would come. If I wasn’t wrong, she needed to talk. Right now, I’d give her space. I needed space myself after watching her earlier as she dove into the clear lake, and all that fresh water running over her body and disappearing into the seams of her swimsuit . . . Yeah. I needed to watch myself. Summer had no idea how hot she was. And that made it even worse.

I glanced over my shoulder to find her situating the nuts we’d gathered on the cooler top. Her hair was wet and lay in strings over her shoulders and back. The wind was in it, drying the ends and causing her to angrily brush through it. A little laugh escaped my lips. Her hair was everywhere in this forever breeze and, apparently, it was driving her nuts. I forced my thoughts away from Summer and concentrated on my plan. Tomorrow, I’d explore the east side of the island. Something about this place was becoming vaguely familiar. Like I’d seen pictures of it. Maybe it was known as Cannibal Island, and the east side was where all the tribes lived. No. Probably not. In fact, in the deepest reaches of my mind, I suspected maybe . . . just maybe . . .

And that’s all I’d allow myself to think, because if I was right, there might actually be some provisions for us. But if I was wrong — I was probably wrong — there’d just be more of what we already had. A whole lot of deserted island.

Right now, all I really wanted to do was relive swimming at the lake with Summer. Her clothes were wet where she’d pulled them over the bright pink swimsuit, and the moisture created a perfect replica of her bikini. I figured Mom had picked out the swimwear. It was too flashy for Summer. She was a one-piece kind of girl.

Without realizing it, I’d moved to where she sat counting nuts. “Why’d you wear the bikini on the dive trip instead of your one-piece?”

She stopped counting and looked up at me with her soft, green eyes. “I don’t know.” Red tinged her cheeks, and I knew she was lying.

“Why, Summer?”

She huffed and anchored her palms on her thighs. “I . . . it was sort of a last-minute decision.”

“But why?”

Her head dropped. “I thought you’d like it.”

Something solid hit my chest.

She angled away from me to look out over the water. “I’d treated you so badly when we first met, and you’ve been so nice to me, teaching me how to dive and all.” She shook her head. “It was a stupid, snap decision, like I said.”

“I have a confession to make.”

She turned to face me. “First, I love the bikini. But that’s not the confession.” My heart pounded, telling me to stop, but I had to be honest with her.

Summer blinked, waiting.

“I asked my mom to send you back to Florida.”

Summer’s mouth dropped open as a frown creased her forehead. “What?” she whispered.

I ran a hand through my hair in an attempt to remove the yuck I felt. “I’m so sorry, Summer. But I felt like we needed time together as a family. I asked her to send you home after the dive trip. I told her I could take care of Josh.”

A short puff left her mouth, and Summer dropped from her knees to her butt. A mix of emotions splashed across her face. Anger was there, then confusion, then something like determination.

“Why are you telling me this?” The warmth was gone from her voice, and I hated that I was the cause.

“We’re here. We’re together. And I think we need to be honest with each other. I’d do anything to be able to take it back.”

“Did your mom agree?”

“No. She flipped. Got really mad at me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then I wouldn’t have ever known if you hadn’t told me.”

“No. Probably not.”

She pulled a deep breath and let it out slowly. Chin tilted back, she extended a hand for me to shake. “Okay. I can live with that.”

What? She should have been throwing fists at me. I’d tried to get her fired.

Her eyes widened. “Are you going to shake my hand or not? We’re in this together, Bray. You were honest with me. I appreciate that. Kind of pricks my pride, but you were honest.”

“You’re a really unique girl, Summer.” I shook her hand, and we continued counting the nuts.

After a while, she glanced over. Her lips weren’t smiling, but her eyes were, her long hair flying like a cyclone around her head. She’d forgiven me, just like that. And now there was something I could do for her.

“Turn around,” I ordered, my voice coming out in a low growl.

Without even flinching or arguing, Summer pivoted so that she sat looking out over the water. I slipped behind her and rested my back against the cooler.

My fingers dug into her scalp and tugged gently until strands of hair slid over my knuckles and through my hands. Over and over, my fingertips dug in at her scalp and slid down, down until they emerged at the ends where the palm of my cupped hand brushed her shoulders and arms. The golden and brown strands began to dry as I moved. One hand had become the comb while the other moved sections of hair from her shoulder to her back. After a couple of minutes, Summer settled against me. I continued working the hair, holding it out for the wind to dry, then combing through another section. I moved slowly. There was no reason to hurry. In fact, I was already dreading when the hair would be dry and I’d have no excuse
to run my hands through it. I felt the exact moment when tension left her body. Her shoulders dropped by a tiny margin. I pressed my lips together hard and tried to concentrate on the task.

When I hit a snag, I worked my fingers to loosen the strands, and then gently tugged until it was free. The sun rode low on the horizon. Another snag. I pulled. Summer groaned.

It almost undid me. My lips had gone dry again, but I didn’t mind. It was the best kind of torture I’d ever experienced.

Summer’s head lolled against my collarbone. Her chest rose and fell in long, deep measures. She was asleep. I moved just enough to reposition her so that I could see her face. I wondered what she would think if she knew I spent so much time watching her as she slept. Her full lips, eyes shaded by thick half-moon lashes, a small nose that flared when she got angry. She was beautiful.

With her head tilted back in the crook of my arm, the wind threw her freshly dried hair into her face. I frowned and used my hand against her cheek to force it off her and stop it from blocking my view. Her cheek was soft and smooth against my calloused hand. Even though she was sunburned, her skin was fresh and dewy. I ran my hand over her cheek again, using the same slow strokes I’d used on her hair.

Her lips parted and a tiny moan escaped her mouth. Oh man. What was I doing to myself? I rubbed my hand over my own face, but my fingers smelled like her. Feminine. Woman.

I cleared my throat.

Her eyes fluttered, and then opened. It took her a moment to focus. When she did, she stared up at me. And I stared into her. “I fell asleep,” she mumbled.

One side of my face slipped into a smile. That was all I could manage. “It’s okay.”

The self-consciousness tried to take hold of her. I saw it, creeping into her eyes, crawling over her body, fitted so perfectly against mine. She squirmed.