Chapter Twelve

"When you're a hot mess, the best choice is to just own it and jump in with both feet, then succumb to the hotness before you explode."—Hazel Titus

Hazel

We stopped at the first hotel we could find that was right on the beach, far, far away from the bear.

They had several rooms.

Which made it awkward. Did we pay for two?

I was about to ask for two when August requested a King corner suite, then ordered wine and food.

No complaints.

It was easy to check into the hotel. We used the secret credit card Great-Grandma had gotten for me so that neither of our dads could trace anything—not that either of them really had access, but we didn't want to take any chances.

Parents had their ways.

We were at a small resort called Salty Peak. It had maybe forty rooms tops and was newer. They even had bikes you could rent, a gorgeous spa, and from what I'd seen, the rooms would be new and modern.

August was quiet on the elevator ride up, and when he tapped the card against the door and opened it, I almost wept.

The suite was at least nine hundred square feet done up in blacks and whites with bold turquoise accent pillows and art. It had a huge balcony to the right, and a small one to the left, with a fireplace in the middle.

The bathroom was huge with its white marble and glass shower, which kind of meant that he'd have to look away unless he wanted to see me naked.

"So…" I turned in a small circle and dropped into one of the chairs when a knock sounded at the door. I moved to get up, but August was already there.

Room service sure was fast.

He thanked the guy and rolled the cart into the room. Cheese, grapes, two bottles of red wine, crackers, and two yummy-looking dips greeted us.

I reached for a cracker. "This is how the trip should have started."

He grunted. "Next time, we just bring the tent inside the hotel room and say, yes, we camped."

I almost choked on my cracker. "Next time?"

"Yeah, I figure we need a re-do." He licked his lips and uncorked the wine, pouring each of us a glass. "Since the parents will never stop until we get along, and since I never really want to get along with you, this might be a yearly thing."

I actually did choke on my cracker this time, then grabbed my glass of wine and took a few sips. "What do you mean, you don't want to get along with me? That's really mean. What did I ever do to you that would make you want to fight with me all the time?"

"Fighting makes me feel alive," he said. "And sometimes you need to feel alive. I figure if I can just fight with you for the rest of my life, then I'll at least get some parts of you. Maybe that's selfish, but I can at least have one small part, right?"

I couldn't tell if he was joking. He had a small, sad smile on his face as if I were somehow leaving him or he was leaving me.

I was too tired to really read the room. All I felt was this tension between us and words that maybe were spoken but not really leaned into.

I took another brave sip of wine. "We don't always have to fight."

"Fighting's healthy." He looked away and set his wineglass down. "Do you want to watch a movie or something? Just relax and hang out for a bit?"

"Yeah, sure." Special moment gone, we took our snacks and wine to the bed and sat next to each other.

He put on Happy Gilmore. Classic. We didn't talk much, which I hated because I'd kind of been enjoying his company up until now, something I would take to my grave.

The next movie started playing.

And I almost dropped my wineglass. It was Unfaithful, where this married woman has an affair with one of the hottest men alive. While it starts out pretty normal, I knew it got really hot and heavy.

But I didn't want to be the person to switch the channel.

And he didn't seem to want to be that person either.

Neither of us wanted to be the uncomfortable prude.

So, we sat there and took sip after sip.

We watched.

In one scene, the actor reached down the heroine's pants. I squirmed a bit and coughed while the actor's tongue ran down her neck.

Hot, was it hot in here?

No, but it was painful, and all the wine was gone. Had we seriously pounded two bottles? I mean, over the course of a few hours, but still.

The credits started.

It was after noon.

And still we sat, wordless, watching the TV as it turned to something else. He shifted in his spot and set down his wineglass again. "This is bullshit."

"The movies?"

"No, the fact that a bear freaking ruined what could have been a day at the beach. Now, I'm sitting in a stupid hotel room, on a stupid comfortable bed that has no business being this comfortable, with a hot girl I've already kissed and would kiss again, all because our dads are psychopaths and because I was doing mine a favor by giving him the time I knew he needed, using you as an excuse to—"

He stopped talking.

I tilted my head. "An excuse?"

He scowled. "She's sick, Hazel. My mom's sick, and Dad just got home from his last trip. She's not doing better, and he wanted some alone time. Yes, the prank war was probably part of it, but it was just an easy excuse for me to give him some time."

"Excuse?" I repeated. "So, all of this was just me being a reason for you to get away? I mean, I get that you didn't want to spend time with me, but being someone you loathe on top of being an excuse now just makes me feel like baggage."

"Don't make it about you," he snapped, then ran his hands down his face. "I'm sorry, it's not that, it's just…"

"What? What is it, August? Just be truthful."

He was deathly quiet, not making eye contact when he said the words. "You aren't the excuse. I make excuses or made excuses to see you. You aren't the excuse, you're the reason. And life hasn't exactly been normal for us. With my mom being sick, I'm taking care of her. I didn't even get to finish my first year of college, and here you are, all smart, brilliant, pretty, and thinking that after six years, I'm still the same person who taunted you from next door. And maybe that's true. Because I do like taunting you. I like teasing you. I like getting a rise out of you because it's cute, you're cute, and I had a crush on you back then. Now, I'm literally having the hardest time sitting a few feet from you on a bed without thinking about what it would be like to taste you again."

My heart stalled in my chest, then got caught in my throat.

The buzz from the TV and the A/C were the only noises in the room.

My exhale shuddered past my lips. I turned to look at him. His hair was a wreck, and he was staring down.

"So, are you done?" I asked.

His head popped up. "What?"

"With your speech. Are you done?"

His eyes moved back and forth, searching mine. "What the hell are you talking about—?"

I jumped onto his lap and straddled him, my legs resting on both sides of his.

His hands gripped my hips as he rolled his beneath me. "Yes, done. I'm totally done. I'll never speak again."

Our mouths collided in a rush, and his hands dove into my hair. Our lips were so meant to meet over and over again, the way his tongue flicked against mine as he moved beneath me.

August was mine.

That was the only sentence that kept repeating itself over and over in my head. That he was mine, and that this was inevitable.

He'd been my best enemy.

My first crush.

And now, I was kissing him.

His hands slid down my neck and then grasped my shoulders before our mouths broke apart in a pant. He nipped at my lip once, twice, three times, then flipped me over onto my back. "Ceasefire," he whispered against my lips.

I could barely breathe; my heart was beating so fast. "Ceasefire? And what happens after?"

Something beautiful broke in his eyes as he stared me down and shook his head. "I don't know anymore. I don't know."

"Tell me the truth," I whispered. "Are you okay?"

I could see the strain in his face. "I don't think so. No."

I rubbed both hands down his back. "Well, I guess it's a good thing we aren't getting attacked by a bear, it gives me the opportunity to be the one attacking."

Tears filled his green eyes. "I don't know if I'm ever going to be whole, Hazel."

I leaned up and kissed his jaw, then found his lips before pulling away. "Don't be stupid, August. You were never supposed to be whole to begin with. When you really think about it, how can you share your soul with someone who has no space left? It's all about the fractured pieces and the people in your life that fill them—so beautiful and ugly at the same time. You have damage? Missing pieces? Wounds? Scars? That's why people are brought into your life. It may not be pretty, but what a beautiful mess in the end, don't you think? All the colors? The personalities? The disasters? I'm sure I have a spot in some of those cracks, some of those missing pieces. Think of it as an honor when people stand by your side, rather than find you lacking in any way."

A tear slid down his cheek and dropped onto his chest. "Who made you so wise?"

I proudly stared him down and whispered, "My great-grandma. Warriors stick together, you know. Plus"—I turned my right hand over and showed him my wrist, where I had a small heart tattoo—"Great-Grandma Nadine Lainheart is infused in me. So, when her soul left, I kept her memories and wisdom and put them in a small tattoo so that no matter what I touched or did with my hands, I'd be reminded of how powerful my words are. How powerful a helping hand can be."

"Did that extend to me?" He brushed his thumb over the heart tattoo.

"Oh, no. I hated you. But she did give me one piece of advice about the boy next door."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. "What was that?"

"We fight what we love the most because we're afraid if we don't fight for it, we won't actually deserve it in the end."

"Maybe." He swiped his thumb across my lower lip. "We'll never deserve those precious things. Maybe the point is to try to earn them every day."

"One hole and bear at a time," I joked.

His mouth slanted against mine over and over, and I was lost in the waves crashing against the beach while he peeled off his shirt, then followed it by removing mine. Clothes rustled, waves slammed the sand. The taste of wine blessed my tongue as he parted my lips again.

No more words were spoken.

They weren't needed.

Sometimes, the best conversations happened when you listened to the soft breaths of the person next to you, the sounds of nature around you, the air giving you life. And at the end of the day, the slow beats of someone's heart.

When it beat for you.