Page 24 of Flint's Battle

Flint gazed over, nodding when Emery waved at him, beckoning him over. “Guess she is.”

“Wow, you didn’t even flinch at the ‘your girl’ comment. You just better hope she doesn’t dump your ass once she sees you surf, because brother, it’s not pretty.”

“Like I didn’t already make her promise she wouldn’t before I agreed to come surfing. I’m no fool.”

“You will be once you get up on that board.”

He laughed, taking a few steps toward the water. “She’s worth making a fool out of myself for. But you might want to have Kian standing by, just in case. Because I’m with Carter. If this surfing shit doesn’t kill me, Emery just might.”

CHAPTER 8

Emery kickedup to the top of the water, cresting the last of the wave as it continued onto the beach, smoothing out the sand before retreating. She loved this part of surfing almost as much as being in the thick of it. With a successful ride behind her, the sun glinting off the water, and another wave waiting for her — it was perfection. It had been a driving force drawing her back home when a part of her sill wanted to run — hide from the past she couldn’t change. The past that still haunted her.

She glanced over at Flint, watching as he talked to his buddies. Something serious based on how rigid they all looked. And how their heads were tilted slightly toward the middle of their lopsided circle. A subconscious signal for anyone else to stay away.

Then he turned and scanned the water, finally zeroing in on her. And she swore he smiled at her. All that tension gone until he turned back to his friends — resumed their talk.

She gave herself a mental shake. He was too far away for her to know if he’d smiled, or hell, had stuck out his tongue. But she liked thinking he’d smiled. That she lifted some of his demons the way he’d started to ease hers.

A flash of heat seared along her skin. She still couldn’t believe she’d told him — about the accident. How she’d been trapped. That her friends had died.

All of it.

And by choice because he would have let it slide. He’d said as much when he’d thought it was off limits. But she’d wanted him to know. Whether to judge his reaction or just to free a bit of the guilt she carried because she’d walked away still breathing, she wasn’t sure.

And he’d surprised her. Listening to her story without asking for more. Only his concern over how badly she’d been injured.

Everyone else had always probed deeper. Had it been raining? Had Scott been drinking. How did she feel being the only one to survive?

That’s why she’d gone to school in L.A. before joining the police force. Why she’d stayed away so long until she’d realized the distance hadn’t eliminated the pain or the guilt. Even now, she had trouble driving past that corner. And if it was during a storm?

She’d traveled an extra hour two months ago to bypass it.

But telling Flint had helped. Knowing he understood. That he likely had regrets in his past, too. Had lost teammates on missions and had been forced to face the same unrelenting guilt.

That maybe he didn’t think she was crazy for trying to make friends with the ghosts.

Moana paddled up beside her as Emery scrambled onto her board, looking at the men. “You know, in the right light and at the right angle, Flint’s nearly as handsome as Bowie.”

Emery laughed. They’d been teasing each other about their boyfriends and which of them was cuter ever since they were kids. “Almost.”

“But then, you do seem to go for the hardened guys. The ones with deep scars and a troubled past.”

Emery splashed some water at her. “I do not.”

“Do you want me to list the number of guys you’ve dated who fit that description? Because I might have to have Mia make me a spreadsheet.”

“Shut up. And at least I don’t fall for a guy just because he can strum a guitar and has a sweet voice.”

“I’ll have you know that Bowie doesn’t have a sweet voice and he couldn’t play a guitar to save his life.”

“I’m sure you’ll change that.”

“The guitar issue, maybe. But I don’t think I can make him a better singer.”

“I don’t know. You’ve told me a few times that he has a sexy bedroom voice.”

“Which doesn’t correlate to him carrying a tune. So, see? I’ve ventured outside my norm.”

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