The gold racing championship ring won’t fit any of my fingers, so now it’s threaded on a delicate chain around my neck. We were lying side-by-side in the sand beneath the pier when Jett propped on one arm and slid it from his pinky, offering it to me. His most prized possession for me to wear as an outward symbol of our togetherness. “So you—or anyone else—can never say we’re not official.” He smiled as he slid it on my middle finger, but the band swallowed that one and even my thumb, so when we got back to Memaw’s, I dug a simple gold chain out of my jewelry box, and it became the ring’s new home.
I fiddle with it, leaned across the Beachin’ Books counter, and stare into space, reliving those moments under the pier from this past weekend. Cuddling on the sand. Jett kissing away all my tears. His hands—
Snap! Snap! Someone’s fingers pop in my face and deflate my daydreams like a punctured balloon. “Earth to CJ.” She barely gets the words out before spotting the ring dangling from my chain, which she grabs and yanks to her eyes. “Shut up! No freaking way!”
I straighten, and the ring slips from her fingers. It bounces back onto my chest. “Yep.”
Gin slaps her hand over her mouth, but the edge of her broad grin peeks out from her fingers. “Bo said you and Jett made up, but”—she giggles—“this is huge.”
The door chimes interrupt us as Rachel and Trévon step inside. They walk to the freezer case. Rachel wags her head childishly but stops when Trévon jabs her in the ribs with his elbow. After they grab two drinks, he approaches the counter. Rachel follows behind, using him like a shield. Though she stays quiet behind Trévon’s blockade, her very presence spews venom into the atmosphere.
I hand Trévon his change with the usual, “Thanks and come again.”
He offers a quick smile, grabbing the drinks with one hand, and ushers Rachel out with the other. But her focus lands on Jett’s ring.
“What the—?” She pushes past Trévon and plunges an accusatory finger in my direction. “Why do you have that?”
I twirl the ring between my fingers, holding it out. “Jett and I are together. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”
Rachel balks, jerking backwards. “Get used to it?” She huffs out a loud breath and shakes her head, as if the mere thought of “getting used to it” is preposterous. She jabs Trévon’s arm. “Now it makes perfect sense why he blew off practice yesterday. A total no-show. He was with you, wasn’t he?”
I pretend to shrug off her accusations, but a rush of dread bubbles inside. He was with me—all day—with his phone turned off.
When I don’t respond, her eyes bug out a bit. She clenches both fists in the air, looking ready to explode. “He’s crazy. He’s gone loopy! He’s throwing everything away, and for what? Her?”
“Let’s not do this,” Trévon mumbles, trying to corral her.
“No, no, no, wait.” She slams both her hands on the counter. “I want to hear what you have to say about it, CJ. Are you really okay with Jett blowing off practice, not putting in time at the track, and then going out there unprepared? Because I can tell you, this is not going to end well. Tyler is already talking crap and threatening Jett. You think it’s fine for him not to be on his A game? You’re willing to risk his career, his life, for your ‘relationship?’” She accentuates her verbal jab with air quotes. Her laser-intense gaze stares holes through me.
The words trip over my tongue. “I…I didn’t know about yesterday’s practice…He never mentioned it. How was I to know?”
“You couldn’t have,” Trévon reassures me and then grabs Rachel around the waist, pulling her to the door.
Her mouth drops open, and she jerks away from his grip. She takes a few steps backwards, shaking her head. “Yes, let’s all protect poor, fragile CJ from the truth. You’ll ruin him. He needs to focus on his racing…on his team! You’re a distraction that’s gonna cost him his career…or his life!” Trévon reclaims her hand and with a final yank, shuffles her out the door. It slams behind them, leaving Gin and I in stunned silence.
“What a witch,” Gin mumbles, reaching across the counter to grab my hand. “Don’t listen to her.”
I swallow hard and force a grin. “Already forgotten.” But it’s not. Not completely. If Jett spends so much of his time thinking about us, then how can he be putting his full attention into racing? How can he be preparing for his race when he’s not even bothering to show up for practice? Could I cost him his career, or worse yet, his life?
No. I won’t let that happen, and neither will Jett. Our relationship will bring strength, not division. It’s just another one of Rachel’s attempts to derail us, and she’s not getting her way.
Never again.
“Come with me to the race this weekend? I want you to see what I do.” Jett’s eyes sparkle in the dim lamplight as he shuffles across my room and stretches out on the bed. He drops his backpack to the floor and kicks his sneakers off beside it.
“You know, you’re gonna have to quit showing up to my room in the dark of night. People are gonna start talking.” I laugh as I walk across the room to lock the door to the hallway. Memaw wouldn’t give two craps he’s here, but still…privacy.
“A little after ten is not exactly the ‘dark of night,’” he laughs, looking up from his watch as I slide onto the covers beside him, propping myself on my elbow. He immediately stretches his arm around my shoulder and draws me in, capturing my lips in an easy, smooth kiss.
“You’re an idiot, Jett Ramsey.”
“Maybe, but you’re a question-dodging subject-changer.” He laughs and falls back against my pillow.
It’s not that I don’t want to go to his race. Of course, nothing would be better than watching Jett zip himself into that cute orange and black jumpsuit. Part of being with him is supporting him, and I want to, but Rachel’s prophecies parade through my head non-stop. They won’t shut up.
I questioned him about the skipped practices, and he shrugged it off with a dicey explanation that his Dad knew about it, so Rachel’s opinion didn’t matter. No big deal, he’s got this, and all the usual deflections. But what if it’s just a sugar coating to what’s actually going on? What if Rachel’s right, and I am a distraction that pries his thoughts away from the track, causing him to wreck? It’s scary enough he’s chosen a path that requires being behind the wheel at break-neck speeds, but if something happens to him because of me…I can’t even.
“I’m not dodging your question.” I sit up, criss-crossing my legs in front of me, my knees grazing his hip. “I just…I don’t know…if I should go…I mean, racing’s your thing…and I don’t want to be in the way.”
He turns onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. With his free hand, he cups my cheek; his skin burns like embers against mine. It’s all I can do to focus on what he’s saying and not lunge toward him, especially when he launches into a speech about how I’ll be his motivation above anything else, then sweetens the pot with the promise of some quality one-on-one time afterwards. His dad and Jenniston are camping overnight, and we’re invited. Of course, that could also be an excellent cover story should we want to spend some alone time elsewhere.
“You need to get used to the track, because you’re definitely coming to the big race in August, right?” His gaze is hopeful, like an expectant puppy.
“When is it exactly?”
“The second Saturday.”
My stomach clenches. “Oh.”
“Is that a problem?”
No, the second Saturday is open. It’s the day before—the second Friday in August—that’s already slated to be one of the hardest days of my life. Testifying in court against the man who ran us off the road won’t be a cake walk. Only the day of the accident could ever compare in my book, and I’ve tried so hard to block it out, just to have all this court stuff throw a stick of dynamite into the memories. “I have court that week. The day before actually. Back home.”
My own words deliver the one-two punch. Court. Back home. Bam-bam.
The words sit like hundred-pound dumbbells on my tongue. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Edisto’s home now, the only place I can channel some version of the new CJ—the one who survived the worst and is somehow still standing. With Jett and Memaw and Gin and Bo by my side. As the truth sinks in my gut, the huge implications of what I have to do in court loom before me. And once it’s over, I have to move on. Away from Edisto. Back with Dad. The summer I’d initially wanted to fly by has done just that, except now I need a pause button to freeze-frame things the way they are.
To pause us here in this moment.
Jett pulls at a loose thread on my comforter. “I didn’t realize you’d be gone by then.” His voice cracks over each word.
“That’s when I have to testify.”
He swallows hard, his eyes searching mine. “Are you prepared for that?”
I clasp my hands behind my head and lie back, looking at the ceiling. How do you prepare for something like that? In truth, how can I prepare for anything I have to do by summer’s end? All the good-byes to be said, the chapters to close. It seems inevitable and impossible all at once. But right now, I only want to focus on what’s in front of me. “Let’s not talk about it. Tonight, only happy thoughts…about me and you.” I lean forward, our faces a whisper apart, and nibble his earlobe.
“You’re good at changing the subject,” Jett says through a throaty moan, reaching for the lamp switch, which is just out of reach. He swings his legs off the side of the bed and accidentally kicks his backpack, which falls over with a thud.
“What’s in the bag? You bring me another headshot?” I crawl behind him as he sits near the edge of the bed and circle my arms around him, kissing his neck until I reach the stubble on his jaw.
“Something better.” He opens the zipper and hands me a thick, black spiral-bound book.
“What’s this?” The book’s supple leather cover is smooth under my fingertips. I settle against the pillow, my back to the wall.
“My portfolio. My drawings. Thought you might wanna see them.” The weight of the book increases three-fold. These are Jett’s secret talents and dreams, ready to be shared with me. I open the front cover and peruse the first plastic-protected pages as if they’re sacred relics that might crumble in my hands. But nothing about the designs are fragile. Massive coastal homes with expansive windows and open living spaces spring to life from the dark precision-perfect strokes. Notes about green construction materials, renewable resources, and energy-efficient mechanics crowd the outer perimeters. He fidgets his feet and chews on a hangnail. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him unsure of himself, but examining his designs, I can’t imagine why he’d ever doubt his abilities. My mouth can’t formulate anything discernible from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my mind. “You’re looking at me weird,” he says.
There’s only one thing to say. “These are amazing.” I fasten the book’s silver clasp and lay it beside me on the bed, then lean forward to cup his face in my hands. His green eyes, pulled back at the corners in a wide smile, connect with mine. “You are amazing,” I whisper. Our lips meet in the middle, and we collapse backward onto the covers. Jett hovers above me at first before I yank him to my level, running my hands up and down his back, under his T-shirt and against the rippled landscape of skin stretched over lean muscle. It’s impossible not to touch him when our lips lock. Some urgent need to pull every bit of him as close to me as possible hijacks my motor neurons and demands it. It’s as if I’m trying to absorb him. His own hands explore my body too; his roaming fingertips fill my veins with fire. My skin might melt like hot wax. His lips brush over my scar, my hidden shame, but the old instincts evaporate. I don’t pull away. I push closer.
After a few minutes, when we’re both seriously in need of oxygen, Jett settles on his back and pulls me to his side, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I rest my head on his chest; the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart drums against my cheek. Our legs tangle together. My niche, the place where my body magically seems to conform to his. He kisses the top of my head and whispers through the dimly lit room.
“Promise you’ll come back to me.”
“What?”
He inhales deeply, holds it a minute, then blows out a loud breath. My head, still on his chest, rides the wave of air to completion. “When you have to leave…in August…promise you’ll come back.”
I grab his hand, weaving my fingers around his, and pull it to my lips. “Promise. I’ll always come back to you, Jett.”