Page 7 of Reckless Roses
“Oh, fuck you,” I scoff. “I’m not jumping alone so you can all laugh at me and then run away.” They’d totally do something like that, and they know it.
“Fine, fucker.” Everett turns around, nearly slipping off the rail as he puts his back to the ocean. He looks at me with a shit-eating grin and his middle finger in the air as he leaps backward, dropping into the water below.
We all watch him disappear beneath the surface, and there is an innate kind of fear that overcomes you when you watch someone get swallowed up by waves. The air held captive inside my lungs is let go when Everett’s head bursts from the water only a second later.
“Let’s fucking go!” he shouts as he treads below us.
Elena’s hand darts out to grab mine. “Ready?”
Sparks alight across my skin where she touches me, fire spreading through every inch as I soak in the view of her next to me. She winks, and I know exactly what she’s doing. She can tell I’m not comfortable with this, and she’s making sure I know I’m safe.
She’d never call me out in front of my friends, and she’d never judge me for being less courageous than the rest of them, but she’ll hold my hand while she encourages me to be wild all the same.
Another moment cementing my belief that we might be soulmates.
I nod, watching her feet leave the railing a fraction of a second before I leap along with her. Time flashes as we fall through the air, and suddenly, I’m engulfed in the shocking cold of the ocean. Our bodies sink down between the waves, and my eyes are screwed shut, but I can feel her next to me. Her hand grips mine, our legs brushing as we kick toward the surface. Thewhooshof water rushes past my ears as she strokes our arms, pushing us upward.
The sun’s rays greet my skin as I break through the water, opening my eyes and blinking at the daylight. My blurry vision mostly clears, though I can’t see perfectly without my glasses. Still, I do make out Leo and Everett racing through the waves toward the shore. Elena pulls her hand from mine, laughing as she wipes wet hair from her eyes. Zach treads water nearby, watching us intensely—as if trying to see whether our limbs were entwined beneath the surface. If I’m not mistaken, there may be jealousy on his face, and my chest swells with some kind of strange pride at the sight.
As Zach’s eyes meet mine, that expression is wiped away by a smile. He cuts through the water, closing the distance between us. Lifting himself up, he places two hands on top of my head and tries pushing me below again. “Look at you, baby bro. You did it.”
“Fuck off,” I gargle through a mouth of salt water as he pushes me down.
I grab his arms and shove him off me, but he only laughs, finally letting me go in a show of strength and mercy.
Zach is athletic, while I am…not as much. I have endurance, sure. I’ve always been fast and agile, but sports just don’t interest me. It makes sense that we have different builds and tastes and interests, given that Zach is adopted. My mother was supposedly unable to get pregnant not long after my parents got married, so they went through the process of adopting Zach. A year or so later, she miraculously got pregnant with me.
People don’t comment on it much; it’s not noticeable enough to most. He has dark features and light skin like my dad. They don’t necessarily look alike, but it’s not enough for most to question a relation. I am, however, the spitting image of my mother—or so I’m told.
She was born in Greece and moved to the United States after being discovered by a modeling agency while on a trip toAmsterdam as a teen. She was a fairly prominent soap opera star in the nineties and has often been dubbed one of the most beautiful women in the world, so I can’t complain. I’ve got her forest-green eyes, olive-toned skin, and a sprinkle of freckles that’s most visible in the summer, plus her chestnut brown curls.
Being the miracle baby-twin to our mother is something that has always bothered Zach. He doesn’t say it out loud, but we can all see it. He does a decent job of not taking it out on me, at least.
I’m pulled from my thoughts as I realize both Zach and Elena are at least fifteen yards ahead of me now, paddling toward shore. Leo and Everett are already back on land, discarding the waterproof backpack Leo jumped with as they put on their clothes. By the time Elena and Zach reach the beach, Leo and Everett are long gone—likely off to meet some girls from school at Sweet Rue’s, like they mentioned earlier.
The water finally becomes shallow enough for me to plant my feet in the sand, and I dunk my head one more time to smooth back my hair. As I come back up, I find my brother and my best friend standing on the shore, far closer than I’d like. He’s holding her arm just above the elbow, rubbing his thumb across her skin. She’s smiling up at him like he hung the goddamn moon, laughing as he whispers something in her ear.
Elena’s mouth moves, and whatever my brother responds with makes her bite her lip and blush in the way I’ve been so desperate to make her do, but have never accomplished. Zach raises his arm, gripping her chin and extending his thumb to pull her bottom lip from her teeth. Elena nods, looking at him in a way she has never looked at me.
And my chest caves in, heart begging me to wash away with the tide as I watch my brother kiss the girl of my dreams.
ELENA
“Should we wait for August?” I ask, paddling after Zach as he swims to shore.
He turns around, wading backward. “He’s fine. He’s right behind us.” Flashing me the familiar grin that makes my stomach flip, he adds, “I wanted a minute alone with you anyway.”
That flip becomes a lurch, hurling out of my throat as I choke on air. I stumble over my own breath in the most embarrassing way possible. Zach doesn’t seem surprised, probably because I always act like a fucking idiot around him.
Alone with me?
The question ping-pongs inside my skull as we make our way to the shore. Climbing out of the water puts my whole body on alert, suddenly extremely aware of what I’m wearing and how I look. Salt water doesn’t do much for my curly hair, which I’m sure is resembling some kind of rat’s nest. I brush it behind my shoulder before smoothing a hand over the top of my head. Zach smirks as he watches me, reaching out to tug at the strap of my swimsuit.
“I like this on you.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. I can never muster the words to respond when he compliments me. It feels like a privilege to have his attention on my body, and a measlythanksdoesn’t seem enough to express the feeling that manifests inside my bones at his praise.
But telling himthatwould be crazy.
