Page 113 of Catch the Sun

McKay seems to sense the gravity of my admission and his eyes soften. Nodding, he stretches out his legs and stares out at the dark water bleeding with darker sky. “I envy you both. Must feel nice to finally belong somewhere.”

A small smile lifts and I extend my hand, placing it atop his knuckles in the patch of grass between us. “You’ll find your place. I know you will. My brother used to tell me…” Emotion causes my voice to hitch, so I pause to regroup. “My brother would tell me that when things don’t work out, it’s because something better is waiting for you.”

“Sounds cliché. Bullshit to help us cope when we can’t do it ourselves.”McKay’s words start to slur as he sways side to side. He glances down at my hand on his, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Not to mention, he’s a murderer.”

I ignore that last part. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help.”

“You offering to help me, Sunbury?” His dark eyes lift, half-lidded. “Maybe you’re not so bad.”

Part of me wants to say:The notion that you thought I was “bad” in the first place is one big difference between you and Max.

But I don’t want to make things worse.

I pull my hand away and offer him a shrug. “Sure. I can try.”

“Yeah?” He scoots closer to me on the grass until our hips bump together. The alcohol has him nearly toppling into me as his face tilts and his nose skims my hair.

I stiffen.

“Mmm,” he says. “You smell nice.”

My stomach pitches, his proximity causing me to inch away. “Um, thanks,” I mutter. “We should probably get out of here. It’s almost midnight and the fireworks are going to start soon.”

When I move to stand, his hand whips out and curls around my wrist, pulling me back. Frowning, I glance at the contact.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles.

“McKay,” I state, slithering free from his grip. “We should go.”

“Don’t want to. I jus’ need a friend. You said you’d try to help me.”

“I don’t know how to help you right now. You’re drunk. We can grab coffee tomorrow if you want.”

“No.” He snags my wrist again. “Stay.”

Stay.

Somehow, the word sounds far less reassuring coming from him.

I shake my head and try to move away. “I don’t want to. I’m cold.”

“I can keep you warm.” His eyes dip to my mouth.

A tense beat passes between us and I freeze in place. I can’t move, can’t form a cohesive thought. His eyes hood as he stares at my parted lips, still swaying, drunk on booze and bitterness.

And then he leans in.

He leans in to kiss me.

Oh my God.

All my senses whoosh back like a sharp wind and I pull back quickly, horrified, shoving at his chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

My heart pounds.

Anxiety prickles the back of my neck and dances down my spine.

He’s still leaning in, far too close, a smirk lifting half his mouth. “Think I was gonna kiss you.”

---