Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(57)

“Lyrik!” I sputtered and shouted. I gave a good punch to his stomach. “You’re such a jerk.”

But there was no anger.

No venom.

Because I no longer believed that assertion myself.

He jumped back, his abdomen flexing, his body rolling with laughter.

Carefree and light.

Shivers spread, and that need in the pit of my stomach kept growing stronger.

He smirked that cocky smirk.

God, I liked that, too.

“What’s the matter, Red. You think a little water’s going to hurt you?”

Anticipating this very thing, I’d only put on gloss before I’d left. My face was void of the makeup I normally wore, not even caring everyone would see me this way.

Romping in the water with a boy.

A month ago, who would have ever thought?

Who would have thought I’d splash him back? That I’d laugh and dodge when he retaliated with the same?

Who would have thought it would feel so good? That I’d crave the mouth hovering an inch from mine? That I’d hunger for his touch?

Who would have thought I’d need a man?

Want a man?

I clutched his sides.

I did.

I needed him.

Needed the safety I’d found in his arms.

Needed the belief that shone from his eyes.

Needed all that bad and that unfailing good.

It was there.

In him.

His nose brushed at my jaw, voice raw. “Blue…you make it feel different.”

There was something so inherently sad in his statement, that voice twisting through me with the intent to tie.

But that was okay.

I was pretty sure I wanted to be bound.

We all played and splashed as the sun slowly slipped from the sky. Darkness wove a pattern within the clouds. In the distance, the faintest flashes of lightning flickered within the storm.

My heart twisted and mourned and begged.

Suddenly overwhelmed, I took a fumbling step back.

In concern, Lyrik’s grin fell. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just going to go dry off by the fire.”

Telling him I was fine was nothing more than a lie.

Because I was staggered.

So close to feeling courageous.

More than brave.

Whole.

I spun around, fighting my way through the waves as I climbed back up the beach. The fire roared, logs aflame where Anthony stood guard.

Kind of the way he seemed to stand guard over all the guys. Their protector. Supporter.

I guess even the baddest boys needed one.

I flung my hair back and heaved out a breath as I approached.

“How was the water?” Anthony asked.

“Glorious,” I replied.

Or maybe it was the air and the sky and the excited feeling that shimmered over the earth, my own secluded world set ablaze.

I sank down onto the blanket next to the fire.

The people who’d somehow become my family continued to play in the water. Zee and Lyrik and Ash wrestled in the waves like teenagers, while my sweet friend who I’d come to adore wore a white bikini with her baby belly on display. She clowned around with her husband and daughter, so free and unrestrained.

A tender smile pulled at my mouth and prodded at my fractured spirit.

Long gone was the snark and sneer.

Anxiously, I glanced at my camera. My pulse spiked and blood coursed through my veins. I ran my palms over the blanket to dry them. They were shaking by the time I finally got the courage to pick up my camera.

This hopeful feeling came over me when I focused the lens over the water and on the little family that brought a pang of hurt and hope beating through my spirit.

Four years ago, I made a promise to myself I’d never take another picture. Like a morbid punishment for the fool-hardy choices I’d made.

My little brother’s face wove through the deepest recesses of my thoughts, my mother’s words so clear.

Come home.

I wanted to because I missed them.

Because I wanted to do the right thing.

Because I wanted to be that girl.

Tamar Gibson.

I almost felt like her.

I just didn’t know how to let hope and belief outshine the fear that was so intense. Didn’t know how it could ever blot out the shame. How it’d ever make up for my guilt.

But staying only amplified it.

Sucking in a stealing breath, I clicked.

I wanted to sob as I broke that promise.

A promise that had been faulty.

Profane.

Misdirected.

Another way I’d allowed Cameron Lucan to steal what I had loved.

It was a single tear that slid down my face when I snapped the first picture I’d taken in four years. A darkened image of a family that represented joy.

Joy. Joy. Joy.

Lyrik was suddenly standing over me.

His expression both hardened and softened when he looked down at me. My face was wet from the waves. But I knew…I knew this man recognized my tears.

“Blue,” he whispered.

I turned the lens up at his striking face and my lungs felt like they just might implode. I focused on that pouty mouth and the sharp angle of his jaw and those hypnotic eyes.

Click.

I was coming apart while a broken piece of me came together.

He stretched out his hand. “Blue…come here.”