Page 85 of Hate Wrecked

“About this place?”

“Maybe. But only if you start writing songs. I’ll write my book here, if you write songs.”

“Rowan…” she groans, but I don’t let her deny her talent.

“No. Make a deal with me. Here and now. Let’s do it. It’ll motivate us.”

Riley pulls away, turning to face me. “Don’t make it lies. Don’t mask what you’re feeling out here.”

“Same goes for you.”

“Will you let me read what you write?” she asks.

I shake my head. “When we leave. No sooner.”

She pulls a face. “Boring.”

“That’s the deal.”

“So I have to write songs and sing them and you’ll know everything in my head? But you get to keep yours a secret?”

“You don’t have to sing what you write. But I think it would be a beautiful thing to do. Like…therapy.”

She smiles then, and I know she misses that outlet. She puts her hand out, and I grasp it. What a tease to touch her this way, after the way I touched her earlier. But I have to remain in control. I shake her hand, and she pulls me forward, hugging me.

So much contact today, giving in, and pulling away.

I’ll have to be honest about this dance in those pages, and I’ll have to write it as I feel it, without worrying about her eyes reading the pages.

I’ll have to let go there, so I won’t let go here when I touch her.

When she stands, walking toward the water, I can’t help but follow her with my eyes. When she turns to me, she smiles, like I wasn’t touching her moments before, like every break wasn’t at the surface. Ever the actress, feigning vulnerability, pulling me in like a siren. And didn’t I crash while looking at her? While being drawn into her?

She dips down into the shallow, her yellow bikini almost transparent. She turns, running her hands over her hair, knowing what she’s doing. And I stand, walking toward her.

What if we stay here forever? Back then, I thought about marrying her, about forever, even though I was too fucking young to have dumb thoughts like that.

Riley’s eyes are on me. “Your hair,” she whispers, pointing. “It's more…”

“I know,” I murmur, self-conscious. It’s going grey. I’m predisposed to turning grey early, like my mother, but one spot in the front quickly started turning a few years ago. The wreck, the caring for Riley, the hopelessness…it’s hastened it.

“I think it’s beautiful,” she finishes, her hand falling to her side. My chest warms, though we are covered in a canopy of shade and cawing birds. She warms me. Heats me.

“Hardly.” I scoff, walking past her deeper into the water.

She moves behind me, close. “Just like this scar.” I feel her before she touches me on my shoulder. Like a phantom. A wanting. I turn around and grab her hand, pulling it from my shoulder and pulling her closer.

“No.”

“Rowan,” Riley continues, a hand finding my hip. “Maybe I’m just going fucking crazy. Maybe I just needed to get all of that out. Someone will come. And someone will take us from this place. But here, you can let your guard down. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for past, but I was a stupid girl.”

“Riley,” I protest, but she can hear me giving up in my voice. She can see it in my eyes. She is like a mirror.

I let go of her hand, and her head tilts toward me. “Our anger toward each other…it’s ruined us. It’s stronger than whatever it was we felt before…”

“Love. It was love,” I declare. My feelings for her are the one thing in this world I never doubt. It was real, regardless of how she felt and how it ended.

“Yes. It was. and I have never felt anything that has come close. I never will.”

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