26. Lighthouse

TWENTY-SIX

Lighthouse

I glanced at my phone as it started to ring, Aaron's name flashing across the screen.

"Ah, shit." I hit the ignore button, but it was too late. Marcus had already seen it.

"Aaron?" he asked. "As in Aaron Ryan ? I thought you broke up with him last week?"

"I was supposed to before graduation this morning," I muttered, turning to lean against the car door. "I forgot again,"

I had my legs laid over Marcus' lap, my feet resting on Jean's leg. She was attempting to paint my toenails, even though we were in the car. Her two friends from the track team, Jess and Kells, were up the front. Jess and Kells weren't my friends, even though we had been on the team together. Jess had accused me of stealing Jean, and Kells had accused me of stealing her track scholarship, even though I hadn't yet been accepted. She had been denied, and apparently that was the only evidence she needed to know that I had screwed her life up. Still, they tolerated me, because they liked Jean. Everyone liked Jean.

"All done," Jean said, patting my foot.

I glanced over at her handiwork.

"Even Satan could do a better job," Marcus scoffed, shaking his head at my messily painted nails.

I agreed, but I didn't say so. Jean wasn't great with playing at a lot of the "girly girl" things that best friends were supposed to do together. We'd tried, once, but got bored of it quickly and ended up watching an entire season of The Walking Dead dressed in the remnants of a makeover party gone wrong. Spencer had come home to us on the floor of the living room, spread-eagled and surrounded by snacks. I had been wearing a scuba mask and a dressing gown, and Jean had been wearing his raincoat and giant bunny slippers. We had complained about there being no interesting clothes to play with, and then we had made him sit down and watch the last episode with us while we painted his nails.

His manicure was even worse than mine looked now—Jean had actually improved since then.

"They're beautiful!" I told Jean, winking at her .

She smirked, tapping the headrest behind Kells. "We're here! They said to park down the street."

Kells pulled the car over and we all got out. I slipped my shoes back on and we walked down the street to one of the huge estate houses that sat right on the beach to the south of the strip. It was obvious that a party was going on, so it would probably get broken up at some stage, but I was nineteen now. I hardly had to worry about Spencer finding out that I went to a party. He had already given me enough lectures about calling him if I was ever drinking and needed a way to get home, and promising never to stay out the whole night.

There were three drunk guys on the steps to the house, and one of them jumped up and stood in front of the door as we reached it.

"Whoa there." He held his hands up, accidentally sloshing beer all over the steps. "Where's your invitation?"

"Grey?" another of them asked, and I glanced over at the familiar voice. Oh, shit. Aaron.

"Oh, hey." I waved at him.

His eyebrows shot up, and then he brought his hand up, mimicking my wave. "Yeah, hey . I almost missed graduation because of you!"

"I'm sorry," I said as the first guy slouched back down again, and the others pushed into the house, Jean giving me a pat on the back as she passed.

"Is that it?" Aaron asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Fine." He rolled his eyes, standing and slinging his arm around my shoulder. "Let's get you a drink, then. See you later, boys."

We walked into the house together, and I could tell that he was still upset, but I was a coward—I couldn't clear up his confusion without breaking up with him, and I was too scared to do that. I had never had a proper boyfriend before, and I had only ever been in love once. Duke had been a form of self-harm, Nicholai an obsession … and Aaron? He was almost a shameful necessity. A high school experience I thought I needed. I didn't think it would be possible for me to really be with anyone else, though. Not after Nicholai. He had ruined me.

None of the other boys interested me, and I hadn't even enjoyed sex with Aaron. It had been fine , but not great. I had taken control of our encounters, telling him what I wanted and taking what I needed. It had been important to me to feel in control. My first sexual experience had been Duke taking advantage of me, and I never wanted that to happen again. At first, I had told myself that Duke was the reason I wasn't enjoying myself, but really, the reason was Nicholai .

I was spoiled.

No matter how hard I tried to forget him, no matter how many times I told myself that he left, and that I wouldn't ever let him back in, I could still feel his lips on mine. I could still feel his eyes burning into me as he touched me. I could still smell his frigid ocean scent, and six months had only made me want him more.

Aaron pressed a cup into my hand and I drank quickly, needing the distraction from my thoughts. My body was already buzzing, my mind whirling. Nicholai had been so close, standing right there between the aisles. I could have walked over to him. I could have slapped him for leaving me. Or thanked him for handing his family over to me.

A few of Aaron's friends joined us, breaking the silence I hadn't realised we had been standing in, and I waited until they were all distracted before I left his side, seeking out another drink and wandering down to the pool area. I was wearing a black dress with spaghetti straps and a slip of lace around the waistline. I should have also been wearing heels, since most of the other girls had made an effort to look nice, but I had settled on flip-flops instead. I kicked them off, set my drink aside, dropped my tote onto the ground, and dove into the pool.

The cool water washed over me, drowning out the noise from above, and I swam to the bottom, settling against the base of the pool with my legs crossed. I could see the polish that Jean had attempted to apply, and the ring on my second finger. It was bronze, with a small, spiked helm in the centre. A present from Spencer on my nineteenth birthday. He had given me another present, too. A copy of The Trial by Franz Kafka. I had asked where he had gotten the idea from and he had shrugged. We both knew that the present was really from Nicholai.

My lungs began to burn then, so I settled my feet against the bottom of the pool and propelled myself up. I gasped for air as my face broke the surface of the water. There were several people standing by the side of the pool, peering at me with concern. I waved them off, swimming back to the side and pulling myself out. I slipped my shoes back on, grabbed my bag, and went inside for another drink before hunting down Jean and Marcus. I was buzzed by more than just the memory of Nicholai by now, and I pressed myself into the swell of bodies jumping around to the music someone was blasting from the house's sound system.

An hour later, my dress was mostly dry, my hair a mess, and I was smiling again. We all dragged ourselves away from the crowd and out into the balmy night air, collapsing onto one of the outdoor daybeds by the pool .

"I'm really going to miss you," Jean murmured, laying her head in my lap.

I stroked her hair away from her face and then nudged Marcus with my shoulder until he let me lay my head down in his lap. He had to lean up against the back of the daybed.

"What about me?" he demanded. "Why are you only going to miss her?"

"Because she's going to get a scholarship to Stanford and I'm still stuck here for another year. You aren't leaving!"

"I might not get the scho?—"

"Yes, you will," they both replied.

I huffed out a sigh. "Stanford isn't that far away, even if I do get in. And Spencer said that I have to come back for the holidays because I promised to help him out at the restaurant in my breaks."

"He doesn't need you to work at the restaurant, he just wants to make sure you won't forget about him."

"How could I?"

Neither of them replied, and a minute later Kells was flopping down onto the end of the daybed, giggling almost hysterically.

"You'll never believe what just happened," she said, between bouts of laughter.

"Matt finally dumped Jessica because she's a self-serving egomaniac?" Marcus asked.

I twisted my head around to look at him, my eyebrows raised.

"No," Kells replied, after pausing for a beat. "Kara and a few of the girls were crashing her big brother's gig at Gwen's Tavern, because it's an all-ages event, and they wanted to get in without having to use their fake IDs for once …"

"Please tell me this story isn't about Kara getting "discovered" by some sleazy agent at a bar," Jean broke in. "I've told her so many times it doesn't work that way."

Kells snorted. "Will you guys let me tell my fucking story? Anyway, Kara spotted Mr. Fell there, you know that hot-as-hell counsellor that worked at the school for a while? She said that he came onto her , but Sarah told me that Kara asked him to buy her a drink and he told her to go home and get her daddy to buy her some cheap booze, instead."

"Wow," Jean muttered, sitting up and glancing at me quickly, before looking back at Kells. "Hot counsellor guy got mean."

"I'm going to get another drink," I announced, jumping off the day bed and walking inside.

I walked through the house … and then out the front door. When I hit the road, I started running. I had been lectured many times by Spencer about running at night, and especially running from my pr oblems, but this wasn't one of those times. For once, I was running toward my problem, because it was past time for me to confront Nicholai Fell.

An hour and a half later, I realised that running on a belly full of alcohol—wearing only a damp slip of a dress and flip-flops—wasn't the smartest idea that I had ever had. I ended up leaning against the outside of Gwen's Tavern, my hands on my knees, my breaths heaving in and out, trying not to be sick.

"Hey!" someone shouted, a shadow passing before me, blocking out the lights from the entrance. "Don't be sick right here, lady, go find a trash can somewhere."

I glanced up at the bouncer, straightening away from the wall.

"I just ran five miles," I muttered, slipping past him toward the doorway.

He didn't stop me, still standing where I had left him, his face scrunched up in confusion. The club was dark inside, a band set up on a stage, the heavy bass of a rock song vibrating over the wooden floor.

"No wristband, no entry," a voice declared, an arm sticking out to prevent me from going any further. I glanced up. Another bouncer. "Need to see your ID," he told me .

I pulled my wallet out of my tote and quickly handed over my ID, scanning the room for any familiar faces. He shined a light on it, handed it back, and then wrapped my wrist in a band with "UNDER 21" written on it. Great . I winced, but thanked him and moved over to the bar, where I would have a better view of everyone. There were a few high bar tables set up along the left side of the room, black curtains sectioning each table off from the others with less light shining on the private little spaces. It seemed like a place that Nicholai would hide in, so I focussed my attention there.

Sure enough, I found him three tables down with four other guys. They were on bar stools, each of them nursing a drink. They seemed to be paying more attention to each other than to the band, though I had no idea how they could hear each other over the noise.

I pushed toward them, suddenly realising how out-of-place I looked as people shot me surprised glances. My makeup had washed off in the pool and while my dress had dried out, it was too creased and wrinkled from dancing and running. My hair was also a little too wild for the current crowd, tumbling over my shoulders in a tangled, blonde mess. Not that any of it mattered. Nicholai still hadn't noticed me, but one of his friends had. He was tall, with glasses and a handsome, broad chin—he had the "rich city boy" look about him that had me pegging him as a friend from Stanford. He nudged the guy beside him, who also looked over, and then Nicholai began to turn. His eyes locked onto me when I was only a step away, and I suddenly realised that I had no idea what I was doing.

He set his drink down, and I stopped, because there was a step up to their little area. He stepped down, and we stared at each other. He was dressed the same as he had been earlier in the day, though he had lost the jacket and loosened the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing a few inches of golden skin. His pants were creased in all the right places, his muscled forearms flexing as he briefly clenched his fists, like he didn't know what to do with his hands. The look was so carelessly sexy. Ruffled, unaware, and totally unprepared. His facial hair had started to grow out a little, his shadowed indigo eyes even more captivating than I remembered, the blue streaking across his irises so achingly familiar I found my fists clenching just like his.

I swallowed, trying to find the right words.

Or any words.

They didn't immediately come … so I punched him instead.

I hadn't been aiming for anywhere in particular, but I seemed to hit the side of his face, causing him to stumble back. One of his friends jumped out of the booth and caught him. They both straightened, and the friend that had caught him sat back down again, leaning over the table to mutter to the others.

"Three guesses who this is."

One of the others chuckled. Nicholai ignored them. He was staring at me with blazing eyes, the right side of his face turning red. I thought about hitting him again, but before I could, he reached out, his fingers shaping to the dip of my waist, the dress bunching a little beneath his hand. Just like that, it didn't matter anymore. There was nothing that either of us could say. There was only need—bright in his eyes, burning in my chest. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine.

The hand at my waist swept lower, over my ass, hoisting me up. I wrapped my legs around him and he swore softly against my lips before quickly deepening the kiss. It was the kind of kiss that shouldn't have happened in public. The kind of kiss that melded me to him, that proved to both of us that I had never been anything other than his. I could feel him growing hard already, and I pressed into him, overwhelmed to have that elusive, burning need back. It had been missing since the night at his house, missing in every guy I looked at, missing in every touch I endured that wasn't his. He grunted, one of his friends whistled, and he broke away, holding onto my legs when I made a move to climb down.

"This is Mika," he said, his voice gravelly, turning slightly to address the others. "Say goodbye, everyone."

"We know." One of the guys smirked, raising his beer to me. "Bye, Mika."

Another one muttered something that I didn't catch, and then Nicholai was setting me down. He grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as we broke outside and started across the street.

"Away," he answered, his fingers twisting through mine. "Do you need to go back inside?"

I shook my head, and we walked hand-in-hand, my arms shaking with how suddenly nervous I was. We were only two blocks away from the main beach, and it seemed to be where he was heading. I gravitated toward the lighthouse, changing our direction.

"We need to talk," he told me, as we reached the lighthouse. He turned me so that my back was against the weathered surface, my front facing the ocean.

"I know why you left," I muttered. "You don't need to explain it to me."

"I never really left you." His hands were shaping to the sides of my face, forcing my eyes to his. "I made Dad give me constant updates. I would have been back here so fucking fast if you had ever needed me … "

"I know why you left," I repeated, my hands wrapping in the material of his shirt, trying to pull him closer. "It's okay."

"Don't forgive me." He ducked his head, his cheek scraping over the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. His lips skimmed my skin, making me shiver. "I hated leaving you."

"You're back, now," I muttered, pulling his lips back to mine.

He gave in immediately, his kiss as intense as it had been back in the club, each scrape of his tongue slow and deliberate, deep and possessive. I responded desperately, burying my hands in his hair, pulling myself up to fit my body flush against his. His hands slid beneath my dress in reaction, tracing along the edges of my panties before gripping me with both hands and shifting me to rub tightly against him.

"Fuck." He broke away, his forehead against mine. "We should talk this out more."

"No more talking." I reached down, my fingers drifting over his erection through his pants. He was painfully hard.

He swore again, his lips taking mine with more intensity than before. When he pulled away, his hand dropped to my chest, at the base of my neck, his fingers splaying out. My heart seemed to jump right into his palm, and there it stayed, beating furiously .

"Wait," he muttered, taking a step away. I stayed where I was.

He walked to the lighthouse door and then turned back to me. "Do you have any hairpins?"

I glanced around for my tote—it was on the ground at my feet. I fished out a hairpin and handed it over. He twisted it up, inserted it into the lock of the door, and a few minutes later, it was swinging open.

"How'd you learn to do that?" I asked him.

"I was a teenage deviant, remember?" He turned in the dark doorway, his beautiful face cast in shadow. His lips were trying to hold back a smile, those little indentations flashing either side of his mouth as the sharp rocks cut through the waves behind me … and I fell in love all over again.

He turned and disappeared inside. I followed, casting my eyes around. The interior was mostly bare—only a cold stone floor with a cupboard pushing up against one of the walls, a desk beside that, and a corkboard with several maps and other paraphernalia pinned to it. On a weathered end table beside the desk, there was a bucket—it had been cleaned up, with only a few marks remaining from the fire.

My bonsai.

Someone had adopted it.

As soon as I closed the door, I lost most of the light, but Nicholai had my hand in his and he was drawing me over to the desk. He pushed me up against it, his mouth finding mine again, and I stopped thinking completely.

I tore at his clothes, trying to push them off, and he picked me up, sitting me on the edge of the bare desk. It occurred to me only briefly that we should slow down, that we should take more time to enjoy each other—that I should take more time to enjoy him … before he disappeared again, once more slipping out of my reach. But I couldn't. He was right there and I needed him.

His kiss was heavy, his hands shaping desperately to every part of my body through my dress, filling his palms with my breasts, grunting in annoyance at the material that got in his way. I finally managed to pull his shirt off, and then I started on his pants. He stepped away to pull out his belt with his left hand, his right slipping up the outside of my thigh, hooking into my panties and tugging. I lifted my hips, and the material slipped down my legs, and then he was right there, his mouth claiming mine, his hands digging into my legs, his erection pushing up against me.

I could tell that this was the moment he usually paused, where he waited to get another round of consent. It seemed like habit—this micro moment of stillness, to check in that his partner still wanted what he was doing. I hated that. I hated thinking that he had done this before—even though I had also done it before. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him into me before he had the chance to ask the question.

Is this still what you want ?

He groaned, filling me completely and pausing, his head falling onto my shoulder, his teeth nipping at my skin.

"Fucking hell, Mika."

I rolled my hips up in answer, forcing another pained sound out of him. He pulled back, surging forward again, rough little sounds spilling out against my skin as he trailed kisses over to the base of my neck, and then up to my mouth. He started to move faster, and I held on as he carried me closer to release. I hadn't ever orgasmed during sex with Aaron, not without touching myself at the same time—but here, with Nicholai, I was already on the verge of falling. He was everything I needed.

"I'll always want you," he growled, pulling out of me suddenly and sliding me from the desk, turning me around. He pushed me back up against the edge and my hands naturally moved to the wall above the desk, as he anchored one hand against my hip and pushed himself back into me. I was lucky that I was braced against the wall because his sudden force would have bent me over the desk .

His arm wound around my front, his hand settling against my chest again, his fingers splaying out over my collarbone, pulling me back against him as he drove into me. It was hard and rough—the opposite of what I wanted from everyone else, and everything I wanted from him in that exact moment. A maelstrom of need to match every violent emotion I had attached to him over the past year, since my first day back at school. He was fucking it all out of me, washing liquid heat through my body with enough force to make me explode.

"Say it," he forced out, as I neared the point where I couldn't hold on any longer. I didn't answer, because I had no idea what he was talking about. "Say it," he repeated, his voice a little more desperate. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," I cried out, as I finally exploded, my body arching up against the hand that held me to him.

He groaned, following me over the edge, holding himself in me as he pulsed, spilling heat into me, and then both of us collapsed against the desk, our breathing laboured. My body felt abused, but my soul felt cleansed. There was bliss spreading through me, and a momentary feeling of peace descending over me, coupled with exhaustion.

"Come here," he muttered, pulling me into his arms .

He pulled his pants back up with one hand, while kicking the chair out from beneath the desk as he gathered me up. He slumped into it, settling me over his lap, and I curled up against his chest as he ran a soothing hand over my hair and down my neck.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, the words carrying more weight than I liked. He was making it seem wrong—what we had done, or the way we had done it.

I snuggled closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding on.

"Say it," I ordered, my voice soft, but unwavering.

He found my lips, pressing a kiss there, and then another to my forehead, his hand still stroking over me in a soothing way. "I think I'm going to love you for a really long fucking time."