A row of houses peek over a cluster of palmetto trees, faintly illuminated in the yellow glow from the streetlight. No cars or people crowd the main highway that parallels the beach, which is perfect because I just want to be alone.
Except I’m not.
“CJ, stop! Wait a minute!” His voice booms over the waves and I pick up speed, the sand grains spraying up on my legs like a thousand tiny razors as I slog through the dunes. He has nothing to say to me. Let him go check on his girlfriend.
Up ahead, the pier breaks the horizon, its underneath dark and quiet. If I could just get there I could disappear into the shadows, away from the drama and the excuses and the pain.
“CJ, dammit, I know you hear me!” Closer this time. He keeps gaining on me, his heavy breathing in sync with the crashing waves. I dig in with all my strength, but instead of going faster, my feet sink lower into the drifts and slow me down. A heavy hand grabs my shoulder. “Listen to me, chick.”
Chick. I hate being called chick. The memory of the first day I met Jett in the market floods my brain. My first instinct was to push him away. Why didn’t I listen?
I stop and whirl around as we come face to face. “Who are you calling chick?”
“Ha!” He laughs and juts his finger at me. “Jett mentioned…one time…how much you hated that. I knew it’d get you…to turn around.” He pushes out the words through heavy pants and presses two fingers to his neck, so dramatic-like. “Dang. Are you…trying to kill me with that marathon sprint?”
I deadpan. “What do you want, Trévon?”
He takes a deep breath and plants his hands on his hips. “I know you’re pissed…and hurt…but don’t give up on Jett. You’re good for him.”
My jaw about hits the sand. No way would he say something like that if his girlfriend was in earshot. I snort and jab my finger at some indiscriminate spot down the beach where I know she’s standing. Probably laughing. “That’s not what Rachel thinks.”
Trévon glances over his shoulder as if following the invisible line emanating from my finger. He turns back and waves me off. “What Rachel said back there…she—”
Oh no. I’m in no mood to listen to some lame excuse. “Why defend her?”
“She is my girlfriend.”
“That’s your bad decision-making. Not mine.” I pivot on my heel and trudge toward the pier. Just shut up and leave me alone already.
“Hey!” He claps his hands together hard, three deep echoes in the dark. It’s the same thing I’ve seen him do when pissed off at the impromptu race meetings outside The Shrimp Shack, when Jett’s dad is chewing him out for something. “I know you think she’s just some mean girl with an agenda, but—”
“You’re telling me she doesn’t have an agenda?” I yell into the night air, refusing to spend any more face time with Trévon and his laundry list of Rachel-isn’t-that-bad propaganda.
“She does, but it’s not what you think.” Trévon runs past me and steps into my path. He grabs my shoulder, forcing my attention. Nothing he says is going to change a thing, so he might as well save his breath. I roll my eyes as he continues. “No, really. Hear me out. Rachel’s dream is to race with the pros, but she can’t get there…not on her own.” He licks his lips and bites down on the lower one for a quick beat. “She needs Jett to carry her. She needs him to win this race to get her—our team—to the next level. You’re a threat to that.”
Go figure, she’s hopped on board the blame train to guilt me for her shortcomings instead of pointing the finger back at herself. “That’s such bull! I’ve never tried to take him away from—”
“He’s missed practices lately to see you. He’s texted you continuously throughout strategy meetings. The track is dangerous if your head isn’t in the game. Rachel thinks you’re distracting him, and she wants you gone. Plain and simple.”
My stomach drops. Jett had been calling me more, texting when I knew he was at the track, but the thought of him sacrificing his racing for me never crossed my mind. My stomach drops to my toes. The track is dangerous if your head isn’t in the game. A terrible image of flipped race cars and smoke filter into my brain, my knees wobbling. “What do you think?”
Trévon lifts his eyes to the expanse of beach behind me, a small grin creeping onto his face. “I think Jett’s happier than ever, and if he can focus and harness that for his racing, he’ll be unstoppable.”
I snort and shake my head. “Don’t let Rachel hear you say that. You’ll be minus a girlfriend. Besides, why would Jett want me when he has Dani the racing model fawning all over him?” My eyes focus once again on the pier, and it pulls me like a magnet. My feet fumble forward in response. “Rachel said Dani was better for him. Maybe she’ll make him happy.”
“I don’t want Dani. I never did.”
The words rocket icicles through my veins, icy hotness sprinting down my spine and turning the muscles to stone. Everything seizes: my breath stagnates in my lungs, my gaze homes in on a lone crab scuttling in and out of the long beams of light radiating from the pier. When he steps beside me, I shift my eyes diagonally to his sneakers and let them run up the length of his body. Trévon pats Jett on the shoulder, ducks his head, and jogs back up the beach.
Jett moves closer, so close the sourness of old beer assaults my nose. He trails his fingers down my arm; the wake of his touch leaves tingling phantom paths on my skin.
“We need to talk.”
I shrug my arm away. He says he doesn’t want her, but the images of him and Dani together on the beach gut me like the fish his dad puts on display in the refrigerator case. My insides are hollowed out.
“Please, don’t shut me out. I have to tell you…” He grabs my shoulders and spins me toward him but pulls back when we come face to face. “You’ve been crying?”
Looking in his eyes is torture, so I shift my stare to his T-shirt. “Consider it another win, Jett. First place for being the person who finally got CJ to cry.” I slap both hands against his chest and push him away. He stumbles backwards in the sand, then steadies himself and charges toward me again.
“I don’t want that prize. You think I want to hurt you?” He grabs my hands, holding them tight in his. “I did not hook-up with Dani tonight. I never have. I don’t want to.”
“Not according to Rachel.”
“Screw Rachel. She makes up shit because she’s trying to ride our team to the big time.”
“Whatever.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Why don’t I believe you?” His questions kick the hornet’s nest in my gut. My entire body begins to sting. “I came out here to find you and explain about Trent because you didn’t stick around long enough to give me a chance. You took off.”
Jett exhales and rubs his hands over his face and through his hair, then threads his fingers behind his neck. “He showed up saying y’all are together. I freaked. Forgive me if I’m a little jaded.”
“I’m not your mom, Jett.” I plunge my finger into the V-neck of his T-shirt. “And I’ve never lied to you. How could you think—?”
“I have trouble trusting people because of her. I told you this. That kind of rejection scars people.”
“Scars?” A guttural laugh seeps out of me like one of those horror movie moments. “You want to talk to me about scars?” I grab his arm and pull him with me into one of the broad bands of light shooting across the sand. In one fluid motion, I criss-cross my arms, grab the hem of my T-shirt, and yank it over my head. Anyone might think I’d be self-conscious standing in front of Jett in my bra, but there’s no point. He’s looking at something else. Something that, besides me, only Daddy and Memaw have seen.
“Oh my God.” He steps forward and traces his fingers along the silvery-pink chasm “From the accident?”
“Where else? I don’t just feel my scars on the inside. I see mine every day. It’s a reminder; I’m here when they’re not.” More tears streak my cheek as the secret words I’ve pondered a million times push their way across my tongue. “Why didn’t I die, too?”
Jett circles his arms around me, pressing my head to his chest. I don’t push him away this time. Instead, I inhale his familiar coconut scent that reminds me more and more of home.
“The world needs you, Cami. I need you. After tonight, I know that more than ever.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze, holding him in place until I finally get to tell him the entire truth. “Jett, I’m not with Trent. He—”
“Bo and Trent told me what happened. I get it now. I mean, I told the guy it probably would’ve been better to call, but…”
“But what?”
“But he said breaking up needed to happen in person. Not some random phone call.” Jett laughs. “Ironic since you were the one who thought he broke up with you in an—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Anyway, he said to tell you good-bye. Seemed pretty eager to get back home.”
A smile inches up the corners of my mouth just thinking about that reunion, when Trent finally puts Emmalyn out of her misery. Good for them.
Jett’s lips press into my temple and stay there for a minute; curlicues of warmth circulate from the spot. “I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve listened earlier and saved us all this drama. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I whisper, and then pull back just far enough to look him in the eyes. “So, does this mean we’re okay?”
A smile breaks across his face, the corners of his lips and eyes stretching upward. “We,” he whispers, “are so much better than okay.” He lunges forward, scooping me into his arms, and crushes his lips into mine with so much force we lose footing and tumble to the sand in a tangled mess.