Page 88 of The Prodigal

He laughs.

It’s a laugh I’ve never heard from him before—it’s boyish and carefree. But then he ruins the moment.

“No wonder Gerald caught up to you at the motel. You’re a terrible runner.”

“I am not!”

His eyebrow arches skeptically.

“I’m not slow. I run around the motel in the evenings sometimes when I’m bored,” I argue.

“Maybe you should run every day,” he tells me, whirling around me in the water, like a shark circling its prey. “Then you could run for help instead of allowing Gerald to corner you in the lobby.”

“Maybe you should stop smoking,” I retort. “Then your lungs could expand like they need to.”

“My lungs are kinky.” A grin pulls at his lips as he teases me. “They like to struggle. It makes the experience more exciting.”

He’s absolutely hopeless. “Why are we even having this conversation?”

Remington seems to draw closer. “Because one day, it won’t be me behind you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He plucks something from my hair and tosses it into the water. “It means you need to be able to save yourself.”

I cock a brow. “You say that like my hero is going to be out of commission soon.”

Remington’s eyes darken, and he closes his mouth before opening it again. “I told you, I’m no hero. I need to know you’ll be able to protect yourself from the Geralds of the world. The smarter you are, the longer you’ll live.”

He moves in closer, looping my hands around his neck as the sand shifts beneath our feet.

“Why are you so worried about Gerald?”

Our foreheads touch as he leans down. “I just want you to take care of yourself, okay?” It’s as if the idea of something happening to me bothers him.

“I have taken care of myself.”

He shakes his head. “I mean when you leave Georgia. Living alone isn’t easy. You can’t trust everybody, Eden.”

“I don’t,” I argue. “Where is this coming from? You’re totally ruining the beach experience.”

“You’re right, never mind. Forget I brought it up.” He steps back and flashes me a fake smile. “Watch for sting rays. I’m gonna dry off.”

I don’t know how long I let the waves crash into my back before I decide to approach Remington while he doodles in the sand with a sour look on his face.

“You want to build a sandcastle with me?”

“No.”

Okay, rude ass.

“Can I bury you in the sand, then?”

Maybe a different approach will work.

“No.” He’s quick to snap again.

“What if I sit on your face? Then can I bury you in the sand?”

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