Whisper to Me(6)

I headed toward Shane’s house to take a leak. Nudging past a few people in the kitchen and then a couple of dudes who high-fived me, I made my way to the guest bathroom located on the first floor. Shane’s mom always used some sort of strong lavender air freshener in here and it brought me right back to our high school days and all the drunken weekend bashes.

It was probably wrong of me to have sought out Rachel at this party. To have wanted contact with her. Call it homesickness or nostalgia or whatever the hell you want, but I swear, she was like a goddamn remedy or cure or something. Still, she had no clue how I felt about her. She’d never know. Behind the weed, the piercings, the girls, and the I-don’t-give-two-fucks attitude, I hid it well.

If she found out I’d fallen for her during her recovery, she’d freak. Her heart had been broken and she’d lost the substance of her former self. A huge wall of grief surrounded her on all sides. I’d gone day after day as her friend. I held her hand when she cried, her hair back when the contents of her stomach wouldn’t cooperate with her medications, read her books, and watched countless hours of television with her.

So tonight, when I’d pulled her into my chest like a brother would do to antagonize a kid sister, she never suspected that I’d just wanted to smell her. To push aside her hair and taste the skin just below her ear. My elbow rested just above her breasts and I couldn’t help noticing how they’d filled out, along with her shapely hips, since her recovery. She looked healthy and gorgeous and irresistible.

And most surprising was that she didn’t push me away like she normally did. She didn’t tell me I smelled like weed or that I was too rough or whatever excuse she’d usually give to get away. Tonight I felt her settle against my chest like she was relishing it. Like maybe she missed me, too. Even though it could never be as much as I’d missed her.

But then I made the stupid-ass move of finding her scar. What a douche bag. It probably reminded her of how broken she once was, when all I wanted to do was help her remember that we were connected. Shit.

I needed to find her and apologize. Tell her I didn’t mean anything by it. That I didn’t want her to run away from me. I was probably still such a fuckup in her eyes. I was the guy who’d gotten kicked out of my internship in Amsterdam after Johan’s too-young-for-him girlfriend came on to me. Returning to my father’s disapproving gaze sucked big time, but finding out Rachel had returned as well almost made the whole thing worth it.

I headed back outside and heard the low rumble of a hot rod pulling up to the field in back. I looked over my shoulder at the sweet blue ride with gleaming silver tail pipes. My gaze slid to the driver’s side and my whole body tensed. And just like that, I knew I was meant to be Rachel’s friend tonight more than anything else. She was going to need me.

Because Miles had fucking wrecked her and now he was here to screw with her again.

I stormed through the crowd, pushing past people to search for her. Julia tried to reach for my arm, but I shrugged her off. I was pretty sure she only wanted to drag me into the woods to hook up for old times’ sake.

I rounded the bonfire and slowed my steps as I spotted Rachel near the wooden fence in the back of the lot. With her jaw set and her fists clenched tight, she looked fierce. Determined. On fire.

I realized that she’d done pretty well without me the past few years.

Maybe she didn’t need me to protect her anymore. Not when it came to him.

She could probably kick his ass all on her own. And maybe mine, too.





Chapter Three


Rachel





There was a squealing of tires as a muscle car pulled up and got the attention of everyone at the party. It was hard to see who was behind the wheel through the tinted side window. But then a couple of the guys whistled, knuckles rapped the bumper of the car, and I heard the nickname I hadn’t heard in years. One that I hadn’t become immune to—yet.

“Big M, I was hoping you’d make it!” shouted a voice above the din of the crowd.

Big M, also known as M, also known as Miles, my ex-boyfriend. The boy I hadn’t laid eyes on in years. The same boyfriend who’d told me my recovery was too much for him to handle, who’d never even questioned what had happened to the promise ring he’d given me a couple of months before the accident. The person who’d vanished from my life and never visited me in the hospital again.

And I got it. Damn, I got it. We were young. He was on his way to college on a basketball scholarship. Still, his desertion cut deep. Because after his phone calls and visits stopped, I’d felt so alone. Hollow. Gutted.

Sure, I had my parents. And Dakota. And Kai.