The Summer We Fell (The Summer, #1)(70)

Danny exits the water just as I arrive. “You want to go to the house with me?” he asks, but he isn’t even asking, really. He fully expects me to do it.

“I just got here,” I reply.

He stands there for a moment, waiting for me to give in. Of course he does. I let him think he could dictate my schedule for years because I just felt lucky he wanted me, and now…I don’t feel lucky. I’m angry I ever did feel lucky. I’m angry he encouraged me to think it.

When he gives up and walks away, I drop into the sand next to the other girls. I haven’t even gotten fully seated before Luke’s head turns and he rides a shitty little wave into shore…coming straight toward me.

My stomach tightens as he walks out, easily ripping the leash off his ankle and tucking the board beneath his arm. There’s something in his face that wasn’t there before: possession. He knows that I’m his, even when no one else does. I’ll jump if he tells me to jump. I’ll beg if he tells me to beg. I’ll walk out of the house with him in the middle of the night and let him fuck me, again and again, after claiming it can’t happen anymore.

“Come into the water,” he says, looming over me. A command, not a request, his eyes daring me

to say, “No.”

I have no desire to try surfing again. It was hard and the water is cold, and I’ll look like an idiot, especially next to him, the surf champion. Except…it’s a chance to be near him, and I will suffer anything for that.

People talk about love like it’s peaceful, but it isn’t, at all. It’s turbulent and anxious. It’s euphoria and despair. It’s the willingness to brave cold water and humiliation and stab the people who love you in the back. I’ll do all those things for Luke.

While I struggle into a borrowed wetsuit, he gets me a board—thick foam, several feet longer than his.

“I’m that pathetic, huh?” I ask.

His brow furrows. “It’s a beginner’s board. What else would you start on?” But even as he asks the question, I see the answer dawn in his eyes: that Danny didn’t bother putting me on something buoyant when he tried to teach me. That he sent me into the much bigger surf at home on a six-foot board, and then acted like it was a lost cause before I’d even tried.

We walk down to the ocean, side by side. He secures the leash to my ankle once we’re far enough out and we start to paddle, but I’m making no progress whatsoever. “I’m even bad at paddling, Luke,”

I wheeze, exhausted.

“Stop,” he says. “Just relax.”

He glides ahead of me and grabs my board between his toes, towing me out. I’ve nearly doubled the weight he’s pulling and he shows no sign of it. His shoulders rotate, leisurely bringing his arms into the water, that pronounced hollow in them the only sign he’s doing any work at all.

When we get to the break, we sit up, straddling our boards.

His eyes flicker to my mouth. He’s thinking about last night. I’m thinking about last night.

“We can’t do that again,” I whisper, biting my lip. “It just isn’t right.”

“Grady saw us walking in. He just asked why we were up. I told him we couldn’t sleep.”

I try to remember. Were we touching each other on the way in? Talking about it? No. We wouldn’t have been. We were careful. Mostly.

“We’re not going to be able to sleep tonight either, Jules,” he says, and I know it’s true. The pull he exerts on me is like the tide at its worst. It can drag me under easily no matter how hard I fight.

“I know. But it still has to stop.”

His eyes fall shut in silent argument, and then open again. “Lie flat. When I tell you to paddle, go for it. As hard as you can.”

A wave seems to have appeared out of nowhere. I’ve got no idea how he even knew it was coming. But now that it is, I’m newly terrified of making a fool of myself.

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” I whisper. “I’m really bad.”

“No. You’re a beginner. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe I should just ride it on my knees.”

He raises a brow. “Do you already have a fucking back-up plan for failing before you’ve ever even tried?”

I laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Paddle.”

Before I can respond, he shoves my board hard toward the shore. I paddle simply because he told me to and because I’m terrified of what will happen if I don’t, and then he’s shouting, “Get up!” and I’m doing that too.

I’m almost fully up when I lose my balance and go over the side. But when my head pokes back through the water, he’s reached me, smiling as if he’s proud, even though I completely fucked it up.

“That was great. You were perfect. This time, just keep your eyes forward.”

With Danny, I tried three waves. After the third, he’d said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

and I told him I didn’t. What I meant, though, was that I didn’t want to keep failing.

He’d seemed relieved. And I don’t think he’d have been relieved if I’d done it well. What he really wanted was not for me to learn to surf, but to stay on the shore, pretty and bone dry, remaining the failure who was just lucky to have him.