11. Wildflower

11

Wildflower

Your Mouth Must Be Dry From All The Panting

I've always hated the sound of slamming doors.

They remind me of my father, the way he stormed in and out of the house when I did something less than acceptable by his standards. Always me. Never my sister.

The first time he caught a boy in my bedroom, he slammed the front door so hard, the glass shattered. The day he found out I was pregnant, he slammed that door again, but the glass didn't shatter—only I did. When he locked me in from the outside. When he never let me leave.

The last time I heard that front door slam was only a few weeks ago, when I went to see him for the last time, the last time before he rushed back into my life unannounced and demanded to see me. He hasn't spoken to me since he left Pacific Shores two weeks ago with his tail between his legs. I don't think he was expecting to find Everett protecting me. I don't think he expected either of us to stay away at all. I think he was holding out hope that Darby was obedient enough to go crawling back. I think he thought I was too dependent on him to run away too.

But I'd been waiting years to get away, waiting for the perfect moment.

When I put my house on the market and it sold, I brought him a check in-person to pay him back for the down payment he'd put on my house when I bought it seven years ago, plus some interest for good measure. Lastly, I informed him of some information I happened to dig up one night working late. He'd made a poor mistake of keeping confidential documents on the network drive for his company, and he didn't know that I'd taken multiple programming classes in college.

I'd spent years looking for some kind of crack in his armor, something that could knock him down from the pedestal he rests upon, and just weeks before my sister's wedding, I found it.

I planned to sit on those files for a while, until the right time. But once Darby ran away, I knew we'd need the leverage, especially once he tried selling our grandma's house out from under her. He drained her trust account, thinking she'd fail on her own. Luckily, Leo had a plan of his own and ended up anonymously buying the home from my father, saving it for all of us. But I knew it wouldn't have been enough.

My father would've kept trying to find ways to ruin Leo, to force my sister home, to prevent me from leaving. We knew better than to believe he wanted us around for the sake of family or because of love. For Dane Andrews, it was—had always been—about control. He couldn't stand the idea of losing it.

So, I went over to my parent's house that day. The house I grew up in. The house that had never been much more than a prison to me. I gave my father that check and told him I was leaving town with my daughter. Then, I explained the documents I was in possession of, and that if he made any move against my sister or myself to bring us back, to prevent us from escaping him and that town, from moving on with our lives, I'd make sure he'd lose everything.

His empire is the only thing he truly cares about anyway.

The thumb drive in my nightstand is the armor I have against him. It's what I used to protect myself, to protect my sister and my daughter. I didn't expect him to fight to get it back, never thought he'd come to hunt me down for it. I told him if he did, I'd turn it in—turn him in.

I guess he called my bluff. He must believe I have enough love for him not to hand it over to authorities, even though he's wrong. It's just the only thing I feel I have to protect myself with.

But it doesn't protect me from the scars he left across my heart.

Wincing as a door slams down the hall again, I'm reminded of that particular fact.

I quietly slip out of my bedroom and into the bathroom next door. Lou stands in front of the mirror, her strawberry blonde hair a messy halo around her face as she brushes her teeth.

"Stop slamming doors," I hiss quietly. "Your aunt and Leo are still asleep. They didn't get in until very, very late last night."

"Sorry," she mumbles, mouth full of toothpaste.

As excited as I know we both are to see Darby, I'm trying to let them sleep. I stayed up to greet them briefly last night, but Lou had already passed out. I haven't seen my sister since the morning of her wedding, all haunted eyes and hollowed cheeks.

Last night, even in the darkness, she was glowing in a way I've never seen before.

It only served to confirm the fact that my intuition is always right. When I found that note she'd written to Leo in her desk drawer just weeks before her wedding, I knew she'd never planned on sending it to him.

But I did.

He showed up on the day of her wedding and helped her leave.

He showed up because even though they'd only spent one summer together ten years ago, he'd always known she was the love of his life. Deep down, she'd always known it too. She left him all those years ago for me. Because I was pregnant and I needed her.

Seeing her—both of them—now, happy and healed, settles that pang of guilt that had been eating away at me for a decade, the knowledge that she'd chosen me and my chaos over the boy she loved, and the fear that she'd never find that happiness with anyone else.

So, I'm happy my sister is home. I want to hear about their trip to Portugal and the life they've begun building together, but for now, I'll let them sleep.

I finish getting ready for Lou's surf lesson. I throw on a pair of denim shorts and a black tank top, tossing my hair into a loose topknot. I pack a bag with towels, sunscreen, water, and snacks, and Lou meets me downstairs.

She's wearing the bathing suit I bought her on Friday with a pink dress draped over top of it. I take a minute to brush out her hair and braid it back before we grab our things and head out to my car.

"Can we drive in Everett's Jeep again sometime?"

"Maybe."

Lou insists on cranking Taylor Swift as we make the short drive down to the boardwalk. Another phase she's going through, which I don't mind at all. I make her hold my hand as we cross the street and enter Heathen's.

Everett's standing at the counter, talking with the same man I met the first day I came in. I feel slightly embarrassed at seeing him again, but he doesn't mention the incident with my dad, and neither do I. Everett formally introduces him to me as Adam, Leo's personal assistant. He works for Leo part time and fills the rest of his hours here at Heathen's.

I can't help but notice the way Adam stares at Everett like he has stars in his eyes.

I can't help the way it makes my insides twinge a little, knowing that other people look at him that way, find him as desirable as I do, that he may be giving others the same soft eyes, intense attention, and knowing smiles he gives me.

I shake it off as Lou runs up to him with excitement.

"Hey, kid." He smiles at her. "You ready to go?"

She jumps in response. "What board am I using?"

"I've already got everything set up on the beach for us, so you'll see it when you get down there." He moves away from the back counter and leads Lou toward the door, calling over his shoulder to Adam, "Just shoot me a text if anything comes up. I'll be around!"

Lou leads the way, even though she doesn't know where she's going. Everett directs her down the boardwalk steps and onto the beach, with me trailing behind them. A short distance away, I make out an umbrella and towels laid out in the sand. A dark-haired figure sits back in a chair beneath them, and there are two surfboards propped up against her.

"Your mom wanted to join?" I ask, hiding a laugh.

"You know how she is."

Once Lou spots Monica down the beach, she takes off in a sprint. Reaching Everett's mom, she takes off her dress and drops it into the sand, showing off her new bathing suit. I can see Monica make the motion of clapping her hands as Lou twirls around.

"She seems really happy, you know," Everett says next to me as we walk at a slower pace. "I don't know a lot about being a parent, but I feel like there is this constant worry that your child isn't fulfilled, that you're not doing a good enough job."

I look at him, but he's watching my daughter. After a moment, his eyes meet mine. Rays of mid-morning sun float across his face, turning those eyes to a shade of molten amber. "From the outside looking in, I can tell she's your whole life, so I wanted you to know that she looks happy. She's full of light, and I think that kind of iridescence only comes from the deep knowledge of being loved."

I realize now that we've both stopped walking. Waves crash against the shore behind me, sea breeze blowing between us, but momentarily, I'm entirely lost in those eyes. I study his face—his long, ridged nose, luxuriously full lips beneath his rough yet soft beard, the smooth tanned skin of his cheeks, his short, dark hair.

He runs a tattooed hand across the scruff of his jaw, breaking my trance. As I begin to study his hands—the intricate artwork that crawls along his fingers and his wrists, looking like flowers and vines—I realize that I'll only get lost again in the memory of how those hands felt along my bare skin.

I remember the way he looked at me that night, like I wasn't someone's mom, someone's daughter or sister. I was just a girl in a bar who caught his eye. He looked at me like I was desirable, alluring. That look in his eyes made me feel free and wild and unworried. It made it easy for me to say yes, to throw caution to the wind and let myself go.

The way he looks at me now is no different, as if none of those other factors matter to him. Still, I can't change the fact that they matter in general. I'm not just a girl in a bar. I don't get to throw caution to the wind. I'm no longer wild and unworried. I'm not even sure I'm free.

I break my gaze and look away, back to where my daughter sits on a surfboard in the sand. "Thank you," I whisper. "She is my entire world. Her happiness is my only priority, so…" I swallow. "That means a lot."

I let myself glance at him, just briefly. He's still looking at me. He's not moving, so I begin walking again, breaking the moment of tension between us. As I approach Lou and Monica, I hear the shuffle of something behind me before a flash of tanned skin jogs past me.

Suddenly, I'm met with the unobstructed view of Everett's bare back. He doesn't have tattoos there, not like the ones that crawl up his arms and around his neck. His back is entirely smooth, muscles rippling as he catches up to where his mother and my daughter sit in the sand. I watch his body move with fluidity as he bends down to kiss Monica on the cheek.

"Alright, Luce. Help me carry these boards a little closer to the water. I'm going to go through the basics with you on the sand, and then we'll get into the water and practice standing up."

I catch up to them, dropping our bag onto the ground next to Monica's. Lou's dragging the smaller of the two surfboards about fifteen yards from where our chairs and umbrella are set up. "You need to put sunscreen on before you start!" I call out to her.

"Oh, speaking of. I forgot mine," Everett says as I squat down and dig through my bag. "Can I use some of yours?"

"Yeah, sure." I hear Lou jog up to me. Flipping the cap on the lid, I squeeze a generous amount into my palm. I lift my hand to lather her when my gaze is met with the most gorgeous chest I've ever seen in my life.

All the air leaves my lungs on a swift inhale as I look up at him. A fine dusting of hair starts over his chest, trailing down his stupidly perfect stomach, beneath the band of his shorts. Endless ink dances across his muscles when he moves, the sunlight reflecting off his bronze skin with an obnoxiously golden glow. I feel saliva gather on my tongue like I'm a fucking dog staring at a rare piece of steak.

"Ah, Mom. This is my new bathing suit," Lou's voice breaks my trance.

I look down to find that I placed my sunscreen covered palm right into the center of her chest. "Shit. Fuck." I reach into my bag for a towel, wiping off my hand and then her swimsuit. "Sorry."

I ignore Everett's knowing chuckle as he drags his surfboard across the sand and next to Lou's.

"That's two dollars," she says matter-of-factly.

"Sorry," I mutter again as I wipe her down to the best of my ability and glob another generous amount of sunscreen into my hand, rubbing it up and down her arms, legs, face, and ears.

After I finish lathering her up, I straighten out her swimsuit, make her give me a kiss, and then send her running. Everett high-fives her as they pass each other, telling her to sit on the board and wait for him to come back. I can't stop staring at his stomach—the way it flexes when he walks, how his body is all hard lines and fine points and muscle. So much muscle. So much strength.

I think about the way he folded me against that door and held me up like I weighed nothing at all. How I didn't get to see his full body that day, and what a disservice to the experience of fucking him that was.

Because that body deserves to be worshiped. Studied. It's a work of art.

"I brought water," Monica chimes. My head snaps sideways to face her, her dark brows raised behind her sunglasses. "Your mouth must be dry from all the panting."

I realize for the first time that my jaw has been hanging completely open as I've been watching Everett. I clamp it shut just as he reaches us.

"Can you do me next, Wildflower?" he asks with a grin.

" ?De repente tus brazos dejaron de funcionar? ?Ya no eres capaz de ponerte tu propio protector solar? " Monica asks with a knowing tone.

He rolls his eyes. " Mamá, ?por qué tienes que seguir interviniendo? Sólo relájate. "

"I, uh—" I have no clue what they're saying. I stare blankly at the two of them with the bottle of sunscreen in my hand.

Monica smiles at me. "I'm sorry. We're being rude. Everett can put on his own sunscreen."

He places his hands on his hips, tilting his head toward the sky as he shakes it. I extend my arm to him, handing him the bottle. He takes it without looking at me, and I settle into the chair beside Monica as Everett hands the bottle back.

Our fingers brush when I take it from him, and when my eyes snap up to meet his, they're already on me. He winks as he pulls away.

"Please be careful," I say breathlessly.

He flashes me an easy smile. "She's safe with me, Wildflower. I promise."

And in my bones, I know that's true.

Lou and Everett have just migrated into the water, and all my mother senses are on alert. I'm watching them intently, the conversation with Monica fading out as my focus remains on them.

"I used to be afraid of my kids in the water too," she says. "It got easier as they grew, though. Then, it got hard again after Zach."

"Zach?" I ask, still unable to pull my gaze from the water.

It's not just that I'm hyper-aware of my daughter being in the ocean. It's also the way she laughs constantly when she's talking to Everett, the way he teaches and guides her with kindness, patience, and ease, how happy and comfortable she looks next to him.

"He was one of Leo and Everett's best friends growing up. Elena's first boyfriend." She clears her throat, and my eyes perk up at her use of the past tense. "Leo, Everett, Elena, Zach, and his brother, August, were inseparable from the age of about ten. Darby, too, that summer she was here." She's quiet for a moment. "He was in a surfing accident about three years ago. He didn't make it."

I gasp, breaking my gaze from the horizon and facing Monica. "Oh my God. I…" I shake my head, unsure of what to say. "That's awful. I'm so sorry."

She nods thoughtfully. "None of the kids could stomach the ocean for some time after that. Leo… He found his way back first. It's something written in his D.N.A. Everett followed soon after," she says in a contemplative tone. "But Elena… She hasn't stepped foot on the sand since. Went so far as to run away to New York City just to get away from it, I think."

"You miss her," I say quietly. She only nods in response. "Do you wish she'd move home?"

Monica shrugs. "If I thought she was happy in New York, thought she really moved there for her career and not to escape her grief, I'd be happy to have her there. But she hasn't published a book since she landed there. I doubt she's even tried writing one. I think she's hiding from her sadness, and I don't think she'll ever get better by doing that. I think she needs to come home in order to heal." She sighs. "But she's an adult, and she's stubborn as all hell. You'll never convince that girl to do something she doesn't want to. So, what choice do I have but wait for her to figure it out for herself?"

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

She gives me a soft smile, and I decide to change the subject. "Does your family always speak Spanish to each other? Or only you and Everett?"

She chuckles quietly. "It's interchangeable. Depends on the mood, I guess? The kids took Italian when they were younger too. Elena is a little more drawn to that, as am I, so we try to speak frequently. A few of the other workers at the garage can speak Spanish, so Carlos and Everett converse more frequently in that environment. I think the Spanish comes a little more naturally for him, and with Elena gone, it happens to be what's spoken most often at home."

"Italian?" I ask.

"My grandparents are from Sicily," she says. "My mom could speak a little, so I would learn from her when I was a child, but I was never fluent. When the high school the kids went to offered Italian classes, they both wanted to learn for me." She smiles proudly. "So I wanted to learn for them. I began taking online classes, and we've been practicing together ever since."

Fuck. The man is fluent in two romance languages?

"That's beautiful," I say, shaking away those thoughts as I realize I'm literally conversing with his mother.

We're interrupted by the sound of screeching laughter, both of us looking out to the waves. Lou is calling for our attention as she stands on her board, her arms thrown out wide. Everett's about a foot away, waist deep in the water with his hands held up, as if showing her that he isn't touching the board. As she balances on her own for the first time, she cheers, and both Monica and I clap and whistle.

A small white cap breaks beneath her, and just as she loses her balance, Everett's arm shoots out and grabs her around the middle before she can tumble into the water. He steadies the board, setting her down on top of it and giving her a high-five again.

A few moments later, they make their way back to us, dragging their surfboards through the sand. Lou runs into me, exclaiming her excitement. "You did so great, bug," I croon as I wrap her in a beach towel. "Can you tell Everett thank you?"

She turns to face him as I brush my fingers through her wet hair. "Thank you, Evvy."

He purses his lips. "Oof. Yeah. That nickname is a no for me." Lou rolls her eyes. "But of course, Luce. I had fun." He looks at me. "Does this time next week work again?"

"Sure." I smile, my eyes getting stuck on his glistening, wet skin, the beads of water that run the length of his torso. I track one as it disappears beneath his shorts. "Thank you," I say, breaking my stare and meeting his gaze again.

His smile is wicked and knowing.

"Can we get ice cream on the way home?" Lou asks.

I let out a dramatic sigh, pretending like I'm contemplating it, even though I knew she'd ask. "I guess so. But we'll have to get it to go." She cocks her head at me. "I think there are a couple of people waiting to see you back at the house." I smile.

Realizing she'd forgotten that her aunt got home late last night, she jumps up in a flurry of excitement and rapidly begins packing up our things. Everett, Monica, and I all laugh as we begin helping her.

"I can get a head start with her if you want to help Everett carry the surfboards back to the shop?" Monica asks. "I can meet you at the ice cream stand on the end of the boardwalk."

I'm a little suspicious of her encouragement to leave Everett and I alone, but I say, "Yeah, that's fine." Nodding toward my daughter, I add, "Lucille, can you help Monica with the chairs and towels? I'll meet you at the ice cream stand soon."

I kiss Lou atop her head as she scurries off with her hands full. Bending over in the sand, I grab her orange board. Everett grabs his at the same moment, and we both stand tall as we face each other. My eyes stick on his body once again, traveling slowly along the planes of his chest, his broad shoulders, his tattooed neck, before meeting his face.

"You'll need to stop looking at me like that, Wildflower." He smirks.

"Looking at you like what?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. I'm looking at him like I'm hungry. Because I am.

"Like you've seen me naked. Like you wish you could see it all again."

I bite my lip and glance away, willing myself to remember all the reasons I made him promise that we'd never cross that line again.

"I didn't know you could speak Italian."

What a stupid fucking thing to say. I nearly wince at myself.

His laugh rakes along my skin. " Bella, ti parlerò in qualunque lingua tu mi dica se questo ti farà continuare a guardarmi in quel modo. "