The dark laugh he gives me melts straight to my core. "Of course not."
"Then don’t think that about yourself either. I want you. I think about your hands, your mouth, your skin—constantly.You’re all I think about." My voice drops into a whisper as I guide his hand lower, slipping beneath the fabric of my swimsuit.
His breath catches. My body arches. "Are you sure?" he rasps, already stroking me with a gentleness that makes my vision blur.
"I’ve never been more sure," I gasp against his lips.
He groans into my mouth, his fingers working magic, building pressure until my knees tremble around his waist. I cling to him, my nails raking down his back, every nerve alight with fire.
"I can’t stop thinking about you," he whispers between kisses, his lips finding my ear, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone. "I need you to feel how much you mean to me."
“I’m in lo—” But his touch tears a moan from my lips, so loud I’m afraid even the ocean might hear, cutting me off before I can summon the courage to pour my heart out.
-*?? . ??? ? ?.-*??
We’re still laughing when we come back to our friends, clutching the shells we grabbed last minute. I tug at my swimsuit straps, while Vincent runs a hand through his messy hair, but our smiles falter when we see Steven holding my phone and Max pacing in the sand, muttering into his own.
“What’s going on?” Vincent asks, dropping the shells onto his towel.
Steven just shrugs, passing me my phone before sinking back under the umbrella with his book. “It hasn’t stopped ringing for ten minutes. And Aurora’s still not here.”
My stomach knots when I see my mother’s name flashing. Asher’s supposed to be home this afternoon. A hundred scenarios rush through my head.
“Fuck.”
I swipe the screen with shaking fingers. Vincent’s hand settles on my shoulder, steadying me, his chest warm at my back. I lean into him because I need something solid. “Mom—”
But her voice cuts through, flat and colorless.
“Your father’s dead. He was coming home with your stupid cake and had an accident. It’s all your fault.”
The words hollow me out. The joy from moments ago rips away like it was never there. The line goes dead.
My phone slips from my hand into the sand. My knees give out, slamming into the ground. My body starts shaking violently, like my bones don’t fit under my skin anymore. My chest locks tight. No air.
Vincent drops down beside me, Steven too, voices sharp and frantic—but I can’t understand them. The world muffles, like I’m trapped underwater. My vision tunnels, dark spots blotting out everything but the empty sky.
Tears stream hot and fast down my face, but my body feels frozen, heavy, useless. I’m aware of my mouth opening, but no sound comes out. My heart hammers so hard it hurts, then slows, heavy thuds echoing in my ears.
My dad... My daddy. No. It’s not possible. Itcan’tbe. And Asher—where is Asher? Please, God, don’t let him have been in the car during the accident. Please.
A phone rings again. Vincent’s voice, frantic, cuts through the haze: “I have to take her home now.”
Then strong arms scoop me up, and I feel him pressing me to his chest before I lose consciousness.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Nova Marshall
PRESENT (2023)
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"My body is damaged from music in two ways. I have a
red irritation in my stomach. It's psychosomatic, caused
by all the anger and the screaming. I have scoliosis,
