ADEN

“So we’re good?” I toss cash on the bar for the two drinks Lenny just made for me.

He snatches the money and nods. “As long as you’re a paying customer and you don’t start shit in my bar we’re good.”

I try to ignore his condescending tone and move through the room, weaving around people and tables. The cramped space has paranoia clawing at my nerves. My gaze is steady on Celia and imagining peeling those clothes off her to see how far those freckles go distracts me from the delusions.

“Here.”

Celia takes the drink from me and sniffs it. “What is it?”

“Ginger ale.”

She seems relieved and takes a long pull from her straw.

“Whoa, ginger ale.” Zöe’s words drip with sarcasm. “You guys are going big tonight, huh? You better not be driving.”

I take a swig and frown at the sugary sweetness. It’s been years since I’ve had a soda that didn’t have rum or whiskey in it, and the absence is an odd change. I have a limited number of days with Celia and if this date leads where I’m hoping, there’s no way I’m going to be drunk for that. “I don’t see you with a drink.”

Zöe jumps off her stool. “Excellent point! I’ll be right back.”

Celia’s stirring her soda with the straw and motions to the recently vacated stool. “Have a seat.”

“Nah. I’m good.” I lean back against the brick wall and the hardness buys me a little peace of mind. Thankfully the whiskey from dinner is still coursing through my veins, which takes the sting off being in a room with this many people. But even still, I can’t give them my back. Not if I want to keep my promise to Lenny about not starting trouble.

She shifts around uncomfortably in her seat and fidgets with her straw. I zero in on her body language; one hand rubbing up and down her thigh obsessively, chin dipped to her chest, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey.”

She peers up at me and her eyes dart around.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“What makes you think there’s something going on?”

I place my drink down and lean in close, making sure to hold her violently green eyes with mine. “Don’t answer a question with a question. You’re not comfortable here. Why?”

Her eyes flare wide and then she blinks. “I guess . . . let’s just say I came back here a different person and . . .” She takes a sip of her drink. “I don’t want to run into people I used to know.”

“Then why did we come here?”

She shakes her head and mumbles, “It’s stupid.”

I hook her chin and bring her eyes back to mine. “Tell me.”

She searches my eyes, I assume trying to figure out what her chances are of me letting her off the hook. I lift a brow, hardening my gaze. She sighs and straightens one leg to dig into her pocket and pull out a quarter. Flipping it over in her hand she shows it to me. “Because of this.”

I grab the coin from her and study it. Nothing special about it, looks like an average everyday quarter. “I don’t get it.”

“I tend to overthink things so when I’m forced with a decision I flip the coin.”

“No shit?”

She smiles, but it’s shy, almost embarrassed. “I told you it was stupid.”

“What if it lands on something you don’t want—”

“Hey, Celia!”

Her eyes flash with panic before she turns toward the voice of a woman who is shoving her way through the crowd toward us. It isn’t until she emerges from the crowd that I recognize her.

She throws her arms around my date. “Zöe told me you were back!”

Celia’s eyes dart to mine in a silent plea for rescue as she awkwardly pats the back of her unwanted guest. “Yeah, I am back.”

“It hasn’t been the same here without you!” She pulls away and looks at me as if she just realized I’m standing here. “Aden, hey . . . Lenny know you’re here?”

“Polly.” I grit my teeth. “He does.”

She drops onto the stool closest to Celia. “So? Where were you this time? Bali? Portugal? Spain?”

Celia shifts on her seat, the discomfort she spoke about earlier clearly showing in her body language. She clears her throat and sips her soda. “Phoenix.”

Polly wrinkles her nose. “Phoenix. Like Arizona?”

“Mm-hmm.” Celia has her straw in her mouth guzzling down her drink and pretty soon it’ll be gone and she’ll have no excuse to avoid talking.

“Why Phoenix? Sounds . . . boring.”

“Family stuff.”

“Oh yeah? Like what? Everything okay?”

The bubbling slurp signaling the end of her drink sounds just before she sets the empty glass down. “Sure.”

“Were you there to see your sister?”

Celia’s chin jerks toward Polly. “Why would you think that?”

Polly frowns. “I know you worry about her.”

“I do?” Her voice is almost a whisper and I have to wonder if she really spoke or I imagined it.

“Oh, I don’t know, just from what you said about her having no life and having that thing where she’s afraid to leave her house and stuff . . . what’s that called . . .” She purses her lips.

“Agoraphobia.” Celia’s face looks paler than usual.

I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze, hoping to signal to her that maybe it’s time to go. Clearly whatever shit she’s dealing with about seeing old friends is more serious than I thought.

“Yes!” Polly grins. “Was that why you went?” Her eyes widen. “Did your sister finally snap and lock herself in her house like you predicted?”

Celia’s eyes come to mine and the terror I see flash in those emerald depths triggers something in my chest that has me helping her off her stool. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

“Hold on, Aden . . .” Polly stands too. “You guys just got here.”

“I’m sorry.” Celia stumbles to get through the cluster of barstools. “We have plans to, uh . . .”

I wrap my arm around her waist, surprised at how quickly she leans into me for support. “We’re late for our movie.”

“Movie . . .?” Polly mumbles.

“Yeah, we’ll catch up later.” Celia doesn’t look at the woman, but allows me to guide her out of the bar.

“Okay, call me!” Polly yells to our backs as we push through the crowd.

Once we’re outside I lead her down the sidewalk toward the beach, allowing the silence between us to stretch on until we reach a bench just shy of the sand. I motion for her to sit and she drops like dead weight, her eyes fixed on the black horizon, the only light coming from the moon and a flickering street lamp.

Too anxious to sit and trying to ignore the unwarranted paranoia, I pace with my fists propped on my hips. “Start talking.”

She blinks, as if my voice called her from wherever she was. “Excuse me?”

I stop right in front of her. “Your face went ghost back there. I want to know why.”

“It’s nothing.” Her gaze moves back to the horizon and I want to shake her to get her to look at me.

“You’re lying.” I hate how easily she can lie to me. “Answer me.” Her eyes snap to mine. “Stop barking orders at me.”

“Where I come from someone’s body language could mean the difference between life and death. One shifty fucking stare could mean you’ve got four seconds before someone strapped with C4 explodes in your face. The second Polly started talking to you it was like you wanted to jump the fuck out of your skin.”

“I don’t like talking about it and you can’t make me. Just because you’re used to bossing around men on the battlefield or wherever you came from. I’m not one of your men.”

I run my hands over my head wishing my hair was longer so I could pull it from my fucking scalp. This woman is infuriating. What the hell is she hiding and why the fuck am I so damn desperate to figure it out?

“I’d like to go home now,” she whispers.

“Celia—”

She cringes and squeezes her eyes closed. “Please, Aden . . . I don’t want to do this anymore.”

I stare at her, her usual stiff spine hunched over, her hands balled up in her lap. Whatever is hurting her is more serious than simply coming back from vacation a different person. I know what it’s like to carry around shit inside that’s not suitable for public consumption and I understand how it feels to have people beg for information you just can’t give.

I know what it feels like to have something living inside that eats away at your sanity. They call it trauma, a deeply distressing experience, but God . . . it’s so much more. It’s alive and breathing, it eats and rarely sleeps, it’s a monster that demands attention and never ever gives in. I understand hurting in a way that feels incurable, and no matter how many times people offer to hear it out, to take some of the burden, the idea that anyone would ever really understand the pain is laughable.

“All right.” I hold out a hand and she takes it so I can help her to her feet.

We walk in silence back to the truck and even though she’s not communicating with words she’s giving off some serious back-off vibes.

I can’t expect her to share with me.

But maybe we can help each other forget. If only for a little while.

SAWYER

Agoraphobic?

What a bunch of bullshit!

Why would Celia share those things about me? Just because I didn’t have the social life she had and spent my weekends at home watching movies doesn’t mean I’m a damn mental case. Sure there was a time where I didn’t leave often but Celia was halfway across the world while I was suffering. And I worked through it eventually—thanks to therapy.

I’m so sick of feeling like just because I’m not as free and uncomplicated as Celia there’s something wrong with me.

Did your sister finally snap and lock herself in her house like you predicted?

We hadn’t spoken much at all before she came home and yet she’s making predictions about my life. I rub the center of my chest hoping to push back the weight of betrayal.

This is what she thinks of me, and I’m giving up my vacation time, my pride, my freakin’ identity to help her out! And I’m lying to someone who I’m starting to care about, all for my sister who spoke about me like I’m some Howard Hughes freak show.

No, I’m not doing this! I won’t. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to Aden.

I’m telling him. Tonight. I’m going to confess and tell him who I really am.

He deserves to know. This charade has gone on long enough, and why I thought I would be able to pull this off, to live wild and unburdened for even a short amount of time was a joke.

This is the most burdened I’ve ever felt, and pushing against all my fears, smothering all my instincts is exhausting. I don’t have it in me to lie. It’s only been days and the guilt is smothering.

And Aden . . . he’s been so good to me. Sure he’s moody, but that hasn’t bothered me much. I’ve been flat-out lying to his face since the day we met, and something tells me he’s not the kind of guy who’ll forgive that kind of thing easily.

He pulls his truck up to the cottages and figuring he was just going to drop me off, I’m surprised when he shuts off the engine.

“You don’t have to walk me—”

He turns to me, the intensity of his eyes silencing me immediately. “I think we can help each other out.”

“What does that mean?” My voice sounds breathy even in my own ears and I can’t control the quickening rise and fall of my chest.

“That thing . . . whatever it is that you don’t think I’ll understand . . . I know what it feels like.”

“How could you—”

“I have it too.”

To anyone else what he said would sound ridiculous, but for me it’s as if he’s reading my soul and understands the words. “You do?”

There’s no way a man like Aden could understand what it’s like to struggle between who he is and who he’s trying to be. That every day I spend as Celia only makes me more frustrated at being Sawyer. But I can’t change who I am, no matter how much I want to. The guilt and the self-hatred is crippling and I’m so lost in who I am and who I wish I could be that somewhere along the way, I’ve lost my way.

His gaze turns tortured and pleading. “Let me help you.”

“How?” I force myself to breathe, feeling light-headed at the way he’s staring at me, as if I’m the key to something he’s desperate to unlock.

I’m frozen, tangled and consumed by his penetrating presence. He leans in and as if we’re magnetized I mirror his movement. His hand cups my jaw so gently, his fingers sift into my hair and I press into his palm, fitting into his hand as if I were made to be there.

“I know the struggle,” he whispers, his gaze locked on mine in an unbreakable bond. “I can help you let it go.” He slides the quarter I gave him earlier into my palm. “If you’ll let me.”

I want that, I want to release all the back and forth, throw my hands up and succumb to every desire I’ve managed to suppress.

I don’t have to flip the coin to know I want to get lost in Aden’s touch without a single thought to the consequences. That’s what I want.

But there’s something I need to do, he needs to know the truth. He deserves—

“Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” Our breath mingles as the way our eyes are locked together robs me of coherent thought. He flashes a tiny smile before he kisses me.

My eyes shut as the heat of his mouth invades mine. I’m caught in the power of his lips as they draw me in. Consumed, dominated, all the reasons why I should pull away dissolve with every slide of his tongue. My thoughts scramble and sink, leaving nothing but my desire for more. Every nip of his teeth and brush of his callused thumb against my sensitive skin is like a soothing balm to my overactive thoughts.

I loop my arms around his neck and he moans into my mouth as I crawl closer. My leg gets stuck on the stick shift and he chuckles low and deep, the vibration humming against my lips.

He uses both hands in my hair to pull my mouth from his and I’m panting, pathetically, and hating the space between us. “What?”

“You’re eager.” He licks his bottom lip as if savoring the taste of my mouth from his. “I wasn’t expecting that.” His crooked smile makes my belly flip-flop.

I should probably be embarrassed, but he’s ignited something in me that refuses to take a backseat to anything else. “You started it.”

“I did.”

I push hard against his hold to get my lips back on his where I whisper, “Then finish it.”

He groans and his hips flex into me. “Not here.”

I kiss a trail down his jaw enjoying the bite of his stubble against my skin.

“Fuck, I’d kill anything that got between me and that mouth.” He lifts his chin, directing my attention to the middle of his throat. “You feel too good.” His fingers grip my head, pressing me lower. “Keep going.” I tug at the neck of his shirt. His pecs contract with every brush of my lips.

I dart my tongue out to lick along his collarbone and my eyes slide closed at the spicy, salty taste of his skin. I lick at him again, then pull the firm flesh into my mouth hoping it’ll leave a mark.

“Enough.” He pops the handle of his door and slides out so quickly I almost fall forward after him. His hand stops me from face planting and he practically lifts me from the truck and sets me on my feet. “Inside. Now.”

“You like ordering me around.”

“Fuck yeah I do.” He kicks the door closed behind me, then presses me back against it. He buries his face into my neck and nips at the sensitive skin. “And you like taking my orders.”

I blink up at the stars while he peppers my neck with kisses. There is something nice about trusting someone enough to know I can do what I’m told and he’ll take care of me. Then there are no lists, no overthinking, but rather a complete release of power. The idea is intoxicating. “Yes.”

“I can tell.” More kisses up my jaw. “On the boat, at the bar, and now . . . you relax when I take control.”

I do? “I do?”

“Mm-hmm.” He licks at my earlobe. “It’s fucking beautiful.”

I’m breathless in his arms.

“Your place or mine?”

“M-mine.”

He grabs my hand and just like that he’s tugging me down the paved pathway to Celia’s cottage.