CHAPTER 17

A pair of hands grip my waist. Legs that aren’t mine kick up toward the surface.

The cool night air hits my face again. Finally.

I’m boosted up onto the dock ladder by the strong hands that grabbed me beneath the surface. I’m coughing, hot tears rolling down my cheeks, when a body flops beside mine on the wooden dock.

“Ellie?” Miles rolls me onto my side and pats my back. “You okay?”

He’s out of breath. And worried. Even in my distress I can hear the panic in his tone. I force myself to nod.

I’m okay. I’m alive. I’m okay.

Water clogs my ears; my head spins. I squeeze my eyes shut and let more hot tears fall.

“Hey, look at me.” Miles is leaning over me when I open my eyes again. Creases form over his forehead. “You scared the shit out of me.”

I don’t even hear the others climbing the ladder to get back onto the dock, but soon Justice and Bret are leaning over me, too.

“We gotta get her out of here,” Bret says. “I promised the club we wouldn’t do this drunk. We’re gonna be in deep shit.”

“Then take her home,” Justice snaps at him.

My entire body is shaking, every inch of it.

Bret shakes his head. “I can’t drive. Way too many drinks.”

“Jacob? Chantel?” Justice prompts. “Can you guys drive?”

“No way,” Jacob says. “Not for a couple of hours at least.”

The ocean whooshes beside us, and all I want to do is get far, far away from it.

“Give me your keys,” Miles says to Bret. “I’m sober.”

I sit up slowly, indicating I’m down with this plan. Miles and Bret toss their shirts back on, and Bret scoops up my shoes while I work on standing and try to stop shaking.

Dominic grabs Bret’s arm, stopping him from stepping onto the sandy beach. “Don’t go, man. You can ride back with me. We’ll pick up your car from Beckett’s place in the morning.”

A silent conversation flows between them, and some realization pops onto Bret’s face. He looks at me, slightly guilty. “Is that okay?”

I’m not sure speech is possible for me yet, so I nod and follow Miles to the red convertible. I plop my wet body into Bret’s expensive leather seat and watch him and Dominic walk down the beach, away from the others.

I refrain from banging my head against the dashboard. I should have just let him kiss me and skipped the near-drowning. Because I know they’re going to do whatever it is Dominic had planned with someone on the phone this afternoon.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. Miles hits a button, and the top of the convertible rolls over our heads. He blasts the heat, points three of the vents at me. Even with the warm air blowing on me, I can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling waves crash over my head. I focus on the road in front of us, hoping it will block out visions of the ocean.

Miles waits at least thirty minutes before saying anything. Before asking me the question I’m sure all of them wanted to ask.

“Why did you jump in if you couldn’t swim?” He exhales as if warding off his own traumatic vision of the event. “But you can swim; I’ve seen you.”

“I just learned,” I admit, relieved my voice isn’t as shaky as the rest of me. “Over the summer.”

He glances at me for a moment then turns his gaze back on the road. “Only in the pool?”

I nod. No further explanation is needed at the moment because Miles goes silent again, hyper-focused on driving. He’s flying down the interstate, at least ten miles over the speed limit. But it’s smooth and easy, like his butterfly stroke. He hasn’t even touched the GPS, seems to know exactly where he’s going. Which is interesting considering he’s supposed to be from California.

I tune out the radio, the click of the turn signal, and allow my mind to drift somewhere else. Somewhere that might remind me how I ended up in the ocean tonight and why I need answers so badly from people who nearly let me drown.

“Our kids are likely to be brown-eyed, brown-haired,” Simon said.

“And short,” I added, looking over the genetics worksheet. “And right-handed.”

Simon nodded his agreement. “Well, that’s good. It’s easier to be right-handed.”

“Why?” I erased a line of our work and began to shift around some of the variables. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s more the norm,” he said. “Easy to blend in.”

I set down my pencil and looked at him. “Don’t you mean fit in?”

“Right. Fit in.” He laughed, a hint of nerves in it. “Not that left-handed people shouldn’t be accepted in society, they definitely should, but I’m just saying that it’s easier to be what most people are. If I had kids, that’s what I would want for them. To fit in.”

That seemed to be the biggest difference between Simon and me. If I commit to fitting in, I’m in. No problem. The question becomes whether or not I want to fit in. It was obvious Simon wanted to fit in with Bret and Dominic’s crowd, obvious he had more on his mind than genetics and dominant hands. But in that classroom, with so many pairs of ears listening in, I couldn’t ask him more. And a couple of days later, he was gone.

Had that been some sort of hint or cry for help? Does my intuition work only on people I don’t trust? And why do the people I trust keep leaving me? Even Miles is leaving. Not that I trust him. But he did just save my life. Who’s gonna pull me out of the ocean next semester? Certainly not Dominic or Bret.

God, I need to stop this. Drowning in my feelings is almost as pathetic as drowning in the Atlantic.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go in right away?”

I refocus on my surroundings and realize we’re in the parking lot of our apartment complex. Like I blinked and we were home. “Why not?”

Miles scans me from head to toe and then cuts the engine, turning off the headlights. “No offense, but you’re a wreck. You’re shaking, and you look freaked as hell. Your sister is gonna flip, for one. Maybe if you just come inside with me and get some dry clothes, you’ll be more—”

“Yeah, okay,” I say firmly, wanting to end Sympathetic Miles’s long speech. I’m beginning to return to normal, enough to be embarrassed by what happened at the beach club.

We start to walk across the courtyard, but both of us stop when we hear Aidan’s and Jack’s voices. They must be hanging out by the pool.

“Is that Miles?” I hear Aidan say.

I dive into a bush. Miles is right, I’m not in a place at the moment to make up a story about my drenched clothes and freaked-out state. Especially knowing that Aidan warned me against hanging out with Bret and Dominic.

Miles walks across the courtyard, exposing himself. “Yep, it’s me.”

I creep behind all the hedges, making my way around the pool, toward the steps to the second-floor apartments.

“Ellie,” Miles says in response to something Aidan must have just asked him. “She’s riding home with the others. She’ll be back soon. I have a paper to write. Bret let me borrow his car.”

My feet are still bare, so they land quietly on each step. I’m nearly to the top when Jack stands and sticks a hand out to Miles. “Agent Jakowski. I went to school with your father. Great guy, top of his class, if I remember correctly.”

“Thank you, sir,” Miles says, tension biting every word.

“What is he up to now?” Jack asks. “I had him pegged for FBI back in the day—”

“Sorry, I have to take this call. Great meeting you, Agent Jakowski.” Miles smoothly puts his cell phone to his ear. “Hey man, everything okay?”

Nice diversion tactics, neighbor.

I roll that around in my head for a second too long because I swear to God, Jack looks up and sees me. But just as quickly, he looks away. I lunge forward, putting myself out of sight, my back pressed against Miles’s apartment door. A minute later he’s in front of me, sticking his key in the lock.

“I think Jack saw me,” I say once we’re in the safety of his apartment.

Miles tenses. “Yeah, me, too.”

I open my mouth to ask if he means Jack saw me or saw him… But they shook hands. Why hadn’t that introduction happened at the store parking lot a couple of weeks ago? Jack had barely given Miles a second glance. Maybe he didn’t know who he was that day…didn’t know he was the kid of an old classmate. And why is that stirring Miles up so much? He almost looks spooked. I mean, it is an odd coincidence. Not as odd as having Jack cover for me…that one I really can’t figure out. He’s Aidan’s boss. Seems like he would feel some obligation to tell Aidan if he caught me in a lie.

“You want some dry clothes?” Miles asks, employing more diversion tactics.

I follow him down a hallway, an area I hadn’t explored when I came over for tuna casserole night. “No Clyde?” I ask.

Miles shakes his head. “Business in New York or Boston. I don’t remember.”

We pass two closed doors, an open bathroom door, and a half-open bedroom door. “Didn’t realize you had a three-bedroom.”

“Uh…yeah,” he says somewhat reluctantly. “Clyde uses the extra room to store his junk. I’ve never been in there.”

Miles swings the half-open door the rest of the way open and waits for me to enter the room first. Miles’s bedroom is more bare bones than mine. And disturbingly neat. The twin-size bed is perfectly made, hospital corners and all. A pair of shiny dress shoes sits neatly under the bed. The open closet displays pressed shirts and pants, hung and organized by item. The dresser top and desktop are empty except for a small cup of pencils and pens on the desk—no computer, no books, nothing.

I stand in the center of the room and watch Miles open a drawer. My eyes widen at the sight of the perfectly folded shirts. He plucks out a navy T-shirt, closes the drawer, opens another, and removes a pair of gray sweatpants.

“No ironing board?” I joke when he hands me the clothes.

He’s about to spit a clever comeback at me but instead, worry creases his forehead. “You’re still shaking.”

“Probably the wet clothes.” Yeah, that humiliation I’ve warded off is setting in now. “Turn around so I can change.”

He shifts from one foot to the other. “There’s a bathroom—”

I roll my eyes. “Just turn around.”

Okay, so I like seeing him uncomfortable. It helps with the whole humiliation thing. With a sigh, he complies. I keep my eyes trained on the back of his head while I worm out of my clothes. It’s not easy removing soaking-wet clothing. At the sight of my denim shorts and top on the floor, Miles seems to get even more uncomfortable.

I’m feeling like myself again, enjoying this shift in power. Which is why, after I’ve got on Miles’s soft, warm sweatpants, I decide it might be fun to fling my wet panties at the back of his head. “Thanks for rescuing me, by the way.”

“No prob—” He snaps around the second the panties hit him.

I’d figured he was way too disciplined to turn around no matter what I tossed at him. Apparently his defensive reflex takes priority.

A squeal escapes my lips but it’s cut off the moment I see Miles’s face. He’s frozen, staring. At me. Shirtless. I don’t move for what feels like ten minutes but is probably only seconds. Heat creeps from my chest to my neck and face. His gaze flicks away from my chest and I jolt to life, reaching for the T-shirt and pulling it over my head.

Miles bends down, scoops the wet clothes off the carpet. “I’m gonna hang these. In the bathroom.”

When he disappears, I scrub a hand over my face and exhale. God, what the hell am I doing? What’s my angle? If this isn’t a con, what is it? Maybe it’s me being curious. Or me thinking about Miles laying a hand on Justice’s shoulder tonight and hating that image. Or maybe I don’t know how to be here, like this, without a game in place.

Miles returns from the bathroom, and I force myself to say something, anything, before it gets more awkward. “So…Jack knows your father? Kinda weird considering you’re from California and all?”

He seems startled, either by the question or the shift in topic, I’m not sure. He looks away from me and plays with a pencil on his desk. “I said I grew up in California, not my parents.”

“So your parents are—or at least your dad is—from around here?” I watch him closely, studying, looking for any indication of lying.

His gaze stays focused on the pencil. “Something like that.”

“And he was destined for the FBI,” I press. “What’s that about?”

“No idea. Maybe when Agent Jakowski was in school he talked about joining the Secret Service and, you know, those types of jobs came up… Who knows?”

“Come on, Miles, you’ve got to have a better lie than that,” I say. “I’ve spilled my family drama to you already. You owe me the Dad story.”

“I owe you a story, huh?” He looks up from the desk, his expression hard, his entire body seeming to have tensed. “You really want to hear this?”

I plop down on his unwrinkled bed and cross my ankles, hoping this provides enough of an answer.

Miles releases a breath, focuses on his hand tracing lines across the wooden desk. “My parents both…”

“Both what?” Okay, showing my cards a little here, but the anticipation is killing me.

“They work overseas,” he says finally. “Government jobs.”

“Government jobs, huh?” Yeah, that’s about as unspecific as you can get.

“I used to travel with them. But then I started going to boarding schools in the U.S. instead.”

I sweep the room again with my eyes. “Would these boarding schools happen to be military?”

He ignores my question and continues. “Last year during break, they were supposed to meet me in Switzerland. We had a whole family thing planned for Christmas.”

The eeriness that’s taken over his tone is giving me goose bumps. I rub my arms with both hands. “Okay, so what happened in Switzerland?”

Miles abandons his desk, crosses the room, and slides onto the bed beside me. He scoots until his back hits the wall and then leans against it. “I got to the house we rented and…well—”

His voice catches and he drags his fingers over the blanket, maybe waiting to regain control. My heart slams against my chest, my stomach twisting and tumbling. Maybe I don’t want to know. Except we’ve hit the point of no return. I have to know. “And what?”

“They were…” He swallows. His eyes lift to meet mine. They’re glossy and haunted. Gravity shoves me from behind, forcing me to move closer. “They were dead. Murdered.”

I release the gulp of air I’d held in for several seconds. “How did you—” I clear my throat. “I mean, what did you do?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t do anything.” Miles rests his head on the wall and turns to face me. Now that he’s seated beside me, the warmth of him hits me everywhere. “I was alone in a foreign country with my parents’ dead bodies. I wasn’t even old enough to buy plane tickets home.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Is that why you’re here? With Clyde?”

He nods. “I couldn’t afford my boarding school tuition this fall, and I lost my spot. Holden offered me a scholarship for the semester. And my old school—my real school—has a spot open for January and some extra funds, so I’ll get to go back soon.”

Maybe that explains his relationship with his uncle. He wants his parents, not Clyde. He really wants to be somewhere else, and obviously Clyde can’t fix that problem for him. And it could explain his sudden interest in the cool kids. He could be taking my advice and finding connections with money.

My hand decides on its own to find his and lie right on top of it. “I know what that’s like, getting stuck by outside forces, being able to solve a problem with money but not having enough.”

“Or not being able to solve something with money and having plenty of it.” He gently tugs his hand out from under mine, and just when I’m cursing myself for giving in to that impulse to touch him, he reaches out and slides some of the wet hair off my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. “You look better. Less blue. More pink.”

The mention of pink causes my face to flush even more. And the fact that he’s as close to me now as he was to Justice on the dock tonight.

His thumb roams over my cheek, slowly but deliberately. What’s your angle, Miles? My pulse speeds and my heart thumps loudly in this silent, nearly dark room.

“I’m sorry.” My voice sounds thick and unsure. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me any of that. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine.” He lifts his head from the wall. Warm fingers curl over the back of my neck, drawing me closer.

I stare at his lips and try to think of an angle, of something I could gain from getting closer to him. But it’s just Miles and me and his hands that saved me from drowning tonight and his mouth, which is dangerously close to mine. And now I want it to be closer. I lean in more, my eyes closing.

“Ellie, wait…” Miles’s forehead touches mine, but he stops our lips from colliding. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

But the doubt I’d felt has passed and now I know exactly what I want. And it’s this kiss. On me, in me, all around.

My fingers curl around the front of his slightly damp T-shirt, tugging. “No more waiting.”

I release his shirt and reach up for his face, bringing our mouths together.