PROLOGUE

brAXTON—Age 15

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"C ome here, you little shit." I laugh, scooping my arm around Amy's waist and lifting her.

She's five now and I like to think I'm a grown man. I'm not, but I've definitely got more muscles than other boys my age. I overheard my dad say that I was going to be big when I got older.

I'm old. I'm fifteen.

Well, I'm bigger than Amy.

Then again, she's only five and she might as well be my sister, not my cousin. Her dad, my uncle, died when she was only two. My family has been supporting her mom, my aunt Tracey, while she grieved.

It was a sudden death. He was hit head-on by a truck late at night. Horrible. I was twelve when it happened and something inside me broke when I saw Amy's little tears. I've been her protector ever since.

That's what Mom calls me: Amy's big protector.

"Let me go, Brax!" Amy giggles.

"You're not going back into the ocean." I carry her under my arm like a sack of potatoes as she wiggles around.

I do feel like a big strong man as I stomp up the sand, carrying her with just one arm.

Like Superman.

"Here she is." I drop Amy on the grass and slap my hands together as if it was a job well done. She kicks at me playfully and pokes out her tongue.

"Nice work, son." My dad says, then Amy tries to run off again.

I reach out and grab her.

"She's as slippery as an eel." I tickle her, grinning as she giggles.

"That girl isn't going to get away with anything with you as her cousin." My aunt Tracey says, almost as if she isn't impressed, while sipping her margarita.

She drinks a lot of those. Too many, I heard Mom say. But we all, apparently, understand why.

She's grieving.

I wonder when the grieving ends.

Or when she will start hugging Amy again. That's why I like her staying with us—which she does a lot—because I make sure she smiles and gets cuddles.

So does my mom.

Most nights Amy ends up snuggled up on the sofa with her head on my lap. Don't get me wrong, I hang out with my friends playing basketball and talking crap, but when I'm at home, Amy is like a little cling on...and that's fine with me.

More than fine.

Especially when I see the sadness in her eyes when she climbs in the car to go home.

If I was older, I'd let her live with us full time.

"That little girl loves you, Brax." Mom said to me one night, watching Amy snooze like a little kitten curled up beside me as I watched an action movie. "Don't grow up too fast and break her heart."

"Why would I hurt her?" I snapped back quietly so as not to wake her up.

"Soon you'll be more interested in girls than your family." Mom smiled sadly.

I remember clicking the remote and lifting Amy into my arms, thinking what a dumb thing that was for my mom to say.

Family is family.

Dating is...well, I guess I like a few girls, but they mostly just giggle and blush, watching us while we play sports. It's annoying, but I don't hate it.

It won't stop me from caring about Amy. I promised her she'd always have me, and I meant it. For some reason, I've decided she's my responsibility to look after.

That won't ever change.

"She's my cousin. I'll always protect her. Always," I told Mom, then carried Amy upstairs.

Mom followed and helped me tuck her in.

"Night, Buttercup," I whispered, planting a kiss on her forehead.

Mom brushed the hair from her forehead and then we walked out, pulling the bedroom door half closed. I made sure the night-light was turned on in the hallway and then went down to my bedroom, but Mom stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"Make sure you keep that promise, Brax. Losing her dad and, well, let's just say Amy is going to need our support for a long time."

Losing her dad and...?

What had Mom left out?

If it was that Aunt Tracey wasn't exactly being a great mom, because she was still...grieving... It was not a secret.

But it was an excuse I'd heard over and over for many more years.

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brAXTON—Age 26

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"I CAN'T BELIEVE you're a US Marine." Amy says as she takes a sip of my beer.

"Oy!" I grab it off her. "Aunt Tracey will kick my ass if she sees you drinking. You're sixteen!"

She rolls her eyes.

"I know how old I am. And Mom doesn't care." Amy picks up the bottle again and I don't say anything, focusing on the grill as I push the steaks around.

"She cares," I finally reply.

Amy snorts.

"Anyway, enough about my alcoholic mother. When can I meet all your hot Marine buddies?"

I lift my brows and side-eye her.

How about never?

"When you're thirty," I reply.

She rolls her eyes again. "You do know you're not my dad, right?"

I feel like I am sometimes. There are ten years between us, but she's right. I've always been protective of her rather than the fun older cousin.

And Dad was also right; I grew up to be huge. I'm six foot three and 220 pounds of ripped muscle. Though the latter wasn't so much genetic, as it was a lot of hard fucking work at the gym.

And yeah, I'm now a Marine.

Proud as hell.

And shipping out next week.

Hence, the family get together in the Hamptons. My two older brothers, Liam and Gareth, have never been as protective of Amy as I am, but I figure it's the age difference.

Mom and Tracey were born ten years apart, hence us kids being so different in age.

I kept my promise to Mom, and more importantly, Amy.

Yes, I've dated girls—heck, I was the captain of the football team, so there were a lot of choices—but I've always found time for my little cousin.

The Marine Corps takes up more time than girls, honestly. And now it's taking me away from her completely. But Amy's a sophomore now and more interested in boys than she is in me.

No fucking way am I introducing her to any of my Marine buddies, though. They are too old for her and with all that blonde hair and her blue eyes, I know a few of them would think she was older than she was.

So that's a hell no.

Christ, maybe I do act like her dad.

Amy sips my beer again and this time, I turn, blocking the view of her from the house and take it from her.

"Buttercup, for fuck's sakes. You want to end up like your mom?" I snap, instantly regretting my words.

But I worry. Aunt Tracey is still grieving. AKA drinking and, if my instincts are right, there is more than just alcohol happening in that house.

Amy's face pales and she takes a step away. "Nice, Brax. Real nice."

Damn it.

"Fuck. Amy. Come back." I glance at the steaks and figure I have a minute or two before they burn. "Amy!"

I go after her as she heads down the section to the beach.

"Buttercup!"

"Stop calling me that. I'm not a kid!" she cries.

I jog until I'm in front of her and turn to face her. "Sorry."

She turns her face away, but I reach out and place my hands on her shoulders. I force her to stop walking and she drops her head.

"You're right." Her voice is small. "I'm going to end up just like her."

"I'm not fucking right. You won't." I lift her chin and hold her eyes. "She's griev—"

"No, she's an addict. An alcoholic. She's not grieving, and we all need to stop telling that lie," Amy snaps at me.

Damn.

When did she get so wise and grown up?

I press my lips together, still holding her gaze, then figure it's better to just be honest about it even if our parents aren't. I nod. "Yeah. She is."

Tears pool in Amy's eyes. I've always hated seeing her cry, and it's happened way too many times since her dad died. Way too many times.

I pull her against my chest, cursing. "Fuck, Buttercup."

"I don't want you to leave." She cries softly.

Goddamn it.

I don't want to either, but I know I have to live my life and let Amy grow into the woman she's going to be. She's going to be beautiful. Hell, she's already too beautiful. I'm not letting any of my horny friends near her.

Not now and not in ten years.

She'll survive this. I know she will.

Amy has dreams. She wants to be an interior decorator. I've heard her talking with my mom, helping her with colors and decisions when they were redecorating our holiday home here in the Hamptons.

She's never told me directly, but I saw her browser open when she was looking up courses. I really hope she follows those dreams because she's fucking smart and creative.

The rest is up to her.

Like all of us, it's the choices we make every single day that actualize our dreams into reality.

I had to work my ass off to become a Marine—thirteen hard long weeks at bootcamp—and I need to keep working hard to remain one.

And stay alive.

I've protected Amy for ten years and I love her like she's my little sister. It might be me leaving the nest, so to speak, but it's up to her to fly.

"Promise me you'll keep your grades up. Don't talk to boys and follow your dreams, Buttercup." I say, pulling her off my chest and taking her chin.

She nods and smiles.

"Can't promise I won't talk to boys, though."

"Two out of three, I guess." I roll my eyes, share a smile with her, then head back to the steaks.

I hear her soft giggle behind me.

She's going to be okay...at least that's what I thought.

Turns out I was completely fucking wrong.