“What?”
“Shark shifter, remember? Although I don’t know all of them very well. To be honest, I kinda don’t talk to my family, not since my sister got sick.”
Now it was his turn to look away—and my turn to reach out. I grabbed his hand, linking our fingers together.
“What happened?”
He grimaced, but he didn’t hesitate like I had.
“Shark shifters—well, shifters in general—can be pretty traditional. My family especially ‘keeps to the old ways.’ Hell, my parents spend more time in the water than on land, barely use technology, all of that. When my sister got sick…they said it was shifter business. That we take care of our own. But no one had ever seen a disease like this before, not in sharks anyway. But it had been seen in humans, and…well, she needed human treatment.”
He paused.
“I made sure she got that treatment, and they fought it. I haven’t talked to any of them since.”
Sometimes I hated this town, the unending sameness of it. But the thought of being cut off completely from Lupe, my family, my abuela, even my mom…I couldn’t even imagine that.
“But your sister, she’s better now?”
He sighed. “Getting there. It’s all experimental treatment at a special clinic down in Miami. But we’re seeing progress.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
He looked at me like I was dumb.
“I don’t think that’s true for anyone.”
The pain in his eyes nearly broke my heart in two.
“I’m lucky to have you. And so are the turtles.” I gave him a grin, hoping he’d take it.
He did, chuckling.
“Always thinking about those damn turtles, Torres. A guy might get jealous.”
He always did this to me. Had this uncanny ability to take the heaviest moments and make them light again, to absorb all my pain so I didn’t have to hold it alone.
“Don’t worry. You are much prettier than they are.”
We stood there, hand in hand, the ocean at our feet and the moon above us, the weight of our choices hanging in the air between us. It was a moment suspended in time, fragile and precious and more real than anything I’d felt in a very long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chase
I wantedto kiss all the tears from her cheeks. I wanted to hold her close and tell her she was magnificent and beautiful and perfect, even though I knew she would just make the face she always did and brush it off.
So I settled for holding her hand as the ocean licked around our ankles while another confession bubbled up out of her.
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the volleyball tournament,” she said, squeezing my fingers.
“Should I be surprised that the woman using me for sex had ulterior motives?” I retorted, wanting to ease her guilt. She had nothing to be sorry for; I’d always been a very willing participant.
She didn’t take the bait.
“It wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”
I remembered vividly how she’d felt during our match. How the real Selena had shone through like a beacon, not wrapped up in borrowed magic.
