Page 47

I couldn’t sleep. And neither could Jonathan. So, we decided to meet at the outdoor pool when it opened at six in the morning. To cool off. It sounded good at the time. But it’s dark, and it feels like we’re doing something illegal.

“Stop looking paranoid,” he says. “We’re allowed to be here.”

“Right,” I say, leaving my towel on a chair. I sit on the edge, dipping my legs in with a sigh. The water feels so good.

Jonathan positions himself in front of me and lifts himself with his hands on either side of my thighs. He kisses me. A peck at first. Then a softer, slower one that has me leaning in as he pulls away. Just when I think he’s coming back for another, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in.

I shriek, and it sounds so very loud in the pre-dawn hour. Gasping when I resurface, I splash water in his face. He’s laughing at me. “You didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

“I should have,” I say, splashing him again. He ducks under the water, and I know I’m in trouble. I yelp and try to swim away when I feel his hand graze my foot. There’s no escaping him. He has me under the water in a few of my measly strokes.

I’m prepared this time and don’t swallow half the pool. Jonathan grips my waist, and I wrap myself around him like a monkey. “If I’m going down, so are you.” This doesn’t deter him. He lets us both sink and actually smiles at me underwater.

I can’t hold my breath as long as he can because, of course, it becomes a game of who can stay under the longest. I’m reaching for the surface while he just smiles like a gloating fool.

“Will you teach me how to do the breaststroke?” It’s one of Jonathan’s strongest strokes. And I can’t figure out how to move my arms and legs as smoothly as he does. The water parts for him, not the other way around.

Jonathan considers it a moment. He’s been swimming pretty much his entire life. It’s probably so natural for him that he’s never considered breaking it down to teach the movements.

My request amuses him for some reason. “Okay. Let’s start with the legs.” He can’t seem to keep this little smile from his lips. Is he making fun of me in his head already?

Jonathan holds on to the edge and demonstrates a frog kick, except his were like ballet underwater. Maybe I can do this.

Giving him room, I grab on to the ledge and slowly begin to mimic his movements. Okay, this isn’t so bad. He stops but encourages me to keep going, to get used to the motion. He comes up beside me, critiquing my form. He disappears behind me.

“Keep going.” When I extend my legs wide, he’s behind me, hand on my stomach, lifting me up and against him.

“That excited you?” I tease. He presses me tighter to him. Apparently, it did. His other hand runs up my thigh and to my backside, where the bathing suit did what it wanted, leaving me exposed.

“Your legs are my weakness,” he murmurs in my ear. “And they looked endless in the water. Not to mention the way your suit fits you, I’m having a hard time focusing.”

“You mean the wedgie it’s determined to give me?” I complain quietly.

Jonathan chuckles. I can feel the deep rumble of his laugh through my back. I lean against him, allowing him to support me. His strong hands slide over my stomach.

“Hold on to the edge.” His lips brush my ear. A shiver runs through me.

I obey and hold on. My breath expands my chest with every deep inhale of anticipation. He braces me against him while his hand runs along the seam of my suit, moving the fabric out of the way.

My eyes widen as I glance around the pool, alert for movement of any kind. Especially since the sun is rising and making everything more visible. Us included.

“Trust me,” he says. I don’t resist.

I will always trust him. With all of me—mind, body, and soul. He’s always had my heart.

There was a moment. More than one, if I’m being honest, when I was ready to let Rachel go. We connected over laughter and a need to escape the monotony that my life has become. I wrapped us in the guise of friendship, but I was never really her friend. She was always a distraction. Now, she needs me too much, and I can’t be what she wants me to be. That’s become loudly apparent.

Over the past month, it’s become more obvious that it’s not Rachel I’m here for. I may have empathized with her pain and loss. But I always sensed she wasn’t being transparent. A fellow liar. With such ease, it becomes a fluent language. Her truth is revealed in the vulnerable moments of drunkenness when she can’t resist.

Those moments don’t make sense exactly. They’re full of regret and tears, and incoherent ramblings. But they’re also filled with words that hurt. Hurt shadows Emma’s face every time she’s near her mother.

Emma’s guilt isn’t earned. It’s thrust upon her. I’ve worn the chains of guilt for most of my life. Never being enough. Underperforming. Talking back too much. Lacking discipline and respect. Until I finally understood I’d never be enough for my father. There was no approval to gain.

Then I was free. Because I didn’t care anymore. Didn’t mean he stopped hurting me. He actually punched me harder. And twisted my arm behind my back so violently, he dislocated my shoulder. The irony is, he was trying to get me to confess that I broke a guy’s arm. And that same guy was caught falling off a gate on my father’s security camera, breaking that same arm.

That guilt of not being enough is the reason it took me so long to confess my feelings for Sadie. The same reason I couldn’t see what was so obvious to everyone else. I never wanted to disappoint her. But I still did. Over and over again. I really was never good enough for her. The one thing my father got right. And the moment I saw that broken expression on her face, I knew she realized it too.

I fought for her our senior year in high school. The same year my father planted that seed of doubt in my head, that it was never going to be me. I thought maybe if she saw who I truly was, she’d still choose me. I believed in how much I loved her. And I almost lost her to the monster he brought out in me. Perhaps I should’ve let her believe that’s who I am. Because in the end, that’s who I became.