My memories of Riverside were the wood’s sun-dappled clearings, and Haven’s beautiful blue eyes.
His were nothing but pain.
But Haven is right.
I could have stood up for her. For Riverside.
I could have,should have, fought.
Except…
Losing Haven didn’t feel bad at first.
It felt…righteous. Like I’d chosen good over bad.
Dad hitting Ezra? Bad.
Mom standing idly by? Bad.
Me abandoning my brother? Bad.
Being with Haven? Good.
Chasing away my gloomy thoughts with games? Good.
Suddenly realizing Haven was a girl and I was a boy? Bad.
Thinking about doing adult things with her?Reallybad.
Using our games to sate the curiosity that just kept growing and growing the older I got? So bad, it was criminal.
So, yeah, I should have fought. But once I realized I’d be fighting for something bad, I couldn’t. So, I just let it happen. And the longer we were apart, the easier it became. The morerighteousI felt.
Now she’s expecting me to put all of that shit into words. And I know I have to try, because I owe her that much. But how am I supposed to admit that I was in love with her way before I should have been?
I want—need—her to see the good in me.
Not the bad I keep trying to convince myself isn’t there.
Haven shivers so loudly I hear her teeth chatter before she clenches her jaw.
I stand. Her shoulders slump. And there’s a knot in my throat because I don’t want to go back inside anymore than she does.
We belong in the wild.
Cool, salty air sliding over our skin. The patter of sand grains against our clothes when there’s a gust of wind. The puff of warm air as that same breeze stirs the heat of the fire, making the embers pop and spark.
Out here we can both pretend nothing else matters, just like we did when we were kids.
I don’t expect her to follow me as I walk back to the house.
And she doesn’t.
There’s such a suspicious frown on her face when I come back a few minutes later, like she’s wondering why I bothered returning.
I gesture for her to stand, and she steps aside, shaking off her clothes as I smooth down the bumpy sand where we’d been sitting, and lay down a blanket. The staff that came to air out the place packed us a picnic basket. We’d demolished most of the snacks while I gave Haven a tour of the beach house, but there’s still a bag of marshmallows and some skewers inside.
Haven pulls off her Uggs before stepping onto the blanket, plucking at her beige leggings before sitting cross-legged.
