Page 2 of Be Your Anything
And then, all too soon, the moment is over. He cuts that part of himself off, hides his heart away again.
Lucas rolls off me, looks up at the ceiling, and lets out a sigh that’s a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.
It means he’s going to collect his clothes and head home, like he’s done every time before this.
He turns on his side, his eyes scanning my face with a fine-tooth comb: my eyes, over my flushed cheeks, taking in my nose and chin and settling on my neck. He reaches up, setting his hand there for a moment, his thumb gently stroking the space just below my jaw.
His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, and I hold my breath, hoping maybe this time, he’ll ask to stay.
But before anything comes out of his mouth, his phone starts to ring from the nightstand on his side of the bed.
I clench my eyes shut and turn away, facing towards the French doors that open up to my small balcony overlooking the ocean.
I know that ringtone.
It’s not one I hear often, but it’s still familiar enough that it makes me want to dig my fingernails into my palms.
The ringing cuts off as he answers, and I feel the bed dip slightly as Lucas gets up from where he was lying next to me. He gets farther and farther away from me with every passing second, even though he’s just a few feet from where I rest, curled on my side, my arms wrapped around my own naked form.
“Hey,” I hear him say, his voice soft, warm, caring. “It’s late. Is everything okay?”
I continue staring blindly outside, trying to zone out, attempting to ignore the sound of his voice.
When I first fell for Lucas Pearson, I would have promised him the moon if it meant he’d look at me like I was his everything. I would have made myself be anything to please him. Would have volunteered for any role just to be a part of his world.
I just never imagined that in the story of our lives, he would cast me as the other woman.
Or that, given the choice, I would willingly play the part.
CHAPTER1
LUCAS
It’s like therapy.
Surfing.
When shit gets hard, I tell my problems to the ocean, share them with the waves that ebb and flow, rush in and fade out, the rough and the calm, just like life.
Sometimes I float on my board, letting the push and pull of the tide calm and soothe me. Other times, I can’t get to my feet fast enough, need that feeling of slicing through the water, of knowing I’ve managed to tame Mother Nature.
Even just for a moment.
But mostly, being in the water is a reminder of how small I am, how unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and owning a wave can only happen if I’m willing to both accept that fact and reject it at the same time.
Accept it, because I know a wave can take my life just as quickly as it forms. Reject it, because I have to truly believe in myself if there’s any chance for me to come out the other end unscathed.
There’s an indescribable rush, a connection with the earth’s energy, a sense of belonging and groundedness that I really can’t find anywhere else.
It makes me feel complete in a way nothing else does.
Of course, I didn’t always feel like this about the ocean.
I remember the first time my dad put a board in my hands: a five-foot, Liquid Shredder Softboard. He was on one of his random visits, and I couldn’t have been more than five or six years old at the time. I just remember thinking to myself how absolutely terrified I was, and that there wasno wayI would ever take it out into the water.
I grew up next to the beach, mere feet from the sand my entire life, but up until that point, I’d always been a bit intimidated—more than a little afraid.
On the rare occasions my mom wanted to go down to the water, we’d take a basket of toys for me and a chair and a book for her. She’d read and drink vodka while I got knocked on my ass and my bucket and shovel got sucked out into the water.
