Prologue
Hudson
5 years ago – 13 years old
The July sun is blasting down on me, sticky air making sweat pop on my forehead. I’m stretched out on the bank of the Jones River, hands behind my head, just zoning out. My brain has drifted to tanned arms and a chest I’ve paid more attention to than my own.
Jeez, get it together, Hud. He’s your best friend. You can’t keep thinking about him this way.
“Hey, pumpernickel loaf!”
I jerk upright just as Cullen rockets off the bank in a cannonball. I twist my head, narrowly dodging the splash of dirty water that comes flying at me. He pops up through the surface, grinning like he just won a prize. The prize being my pissed-off expression.
We’ve been best friends for three years, and he lives to torture me.
But I secretly love it.
I scowl at him. “I regret ever telling you about that. And that water’s disgusting. Basically a toxic waste dump.”
He just shrugs, floating a few feet out, completely unbothered. “You named your poop and told me, so that’s on you,” he points at me. “And it’s hotter than Gracie Johnson’s ass today. The water feels amazing and might make you less grumpy.” He chuckles and slices his hand through the river, sloshing more water my way.
I have no idea how hot Gracie Johnson’s ass is, but I get the metaphor. Even though it’s late in the afternoon, it’s a hundred degrees and muggy as heck here in North Carolina.
Huffing, I shake my head. “I’m not grumpy. I’m hungry. You dragged me out before Mama could even set down the fried chicken.”
Cullen gives me a flat look—probably because I’ve been stuffing my face with chips all day. Not the point. You’d be mad, too, if you missed out on Mama’s fried chicken. I only snagged one juicy leg before Cullen was hauling me out the door, fishing poles in one hand, and me in the other.
“You’ll survive,” he drawls. “Just swim around with me a bit to cool off, then we can head back. I’m not ready to leave yet.” He turns and swims toward the middle of the river, where the water flows faster between the two banks.
A request from Cull is hard to deny. Sighing in defeat, I wade into the dirty, catfish-infested water. Tossing my t-shirt aside, I ease in, shuddering at the squelching mud between my toes. The ground drops away beneath me as I swim out to where he’s treading water.
The setting sun catches his upturned face, glinting off the beads of water sliding down his tanned neck. My stomach flips just looking at him.
I’ve known I liked guys for a while. Going to an all-boys soccer camp last summer made that painfully obvious. But being here with Cull, watching him smile and splash water, is different.
He’s the first one I can’t stop looking at.
My eyes linger on his shoulders, the freckles on the bridge of his nose, the way his wet hair sticks to his forehead. I try to make myself look away, but my mind won’t let me.
He eyes me the closer I swim, a tiny smirk on his face, then quickly dives under.
Just as I start treading water, something brushes against my leg. I startle with a girlish screech, Cullen’s broad shoulders parting my legs from below. Surging up through the gap, he grabs me by the waist and hurls me forward back into the river.
I resurface sputtering, wiping water from my eyes. He’s hysterically laughing, so I lunge, dunking his head under. My own laugh breaks free, swimming away before he has a chance to get revenge.
The current helps guide me toward the old railroad bridge, hoping to put some distance between us. But after a few strokes, I realize he isn’t chasing me. I glance back…
He’s not there.
Cullen is always quick to get back at me and never lets me have the upper hand.
But not this time.
“All right, dude, really funny. Don’t be a dick. Where are you?” I yell.
My nerves prickle, swimming back toward where we’d been messing around. I strain for any sound, like Cullen’s laugh or a splash, but the only sound is the river’s babble and birds squawking in the pines.
Calling his name again, my voice cracks, panic blooming in my chest.
