Page 83 of Even in the Rain

“It’s sort of what Scarr and I were talking about last night. She was worried,” he mumbles. “It’s why she stayed the night after I passed out on the bed… she heard you’re supposed to wake someone up every couple of hours after a concussion.” He’s quiet for a second, then adds, “She wanted me to tell you. I just… I screwed up.”

This thing is all abouta concussion?

And why did Scarlett drive him here and not to the hospital?

I push myself off the bed. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Nothing they can do,” he mumbles. “They’ll just tell me to rest.”

Yeah… I think he’s probably right. I know that kids at school—the guys who play football, especially, get concussions all the time. Which… I mean, makes me even more confused about why Seb felt he had to deny it with me. Unless it’s an ego thing or something? Like he was worried about looking weak or not “manly” enough—appearing to be anything less than the infallible football God he’s revered as?

But even that makes no sense because Seb’s not concerned about stuff like that. At all. He sang along to a Carly Rae Jepsen song in front of me, for God’s sakes… has a Pride flag sticker front and center on his dash. Wore a Winnie the Pooh costume for Halloween so I could go as Piglet. Sebastian Murdoch is not the guy who buys into any sort of macho male stereotype or worries about what other people think of him.

And honestly, all of this just makes the fact that he felt the need to hide a stupid concussion from me—but tell Scarlett instead—even more hurtful. Not that different from how I felt when I thought he’d fooled around with her behind my back. In some ways, even more personal. Because this isn’t a physical thing, it’s an emotional trust thing. An exclusion thing. He chose to let Scarlett in, but not me. She’s the one who spent the night by his side, looking after him. Not me.

The emotions singeing me from the inside out are eerily similar to the feelings of humiliation I’d become so familiar with during my time at SH Prep before Seb and I became a thing. I feel like the outsider again, shut out by the cooler, “beautiful” people.

Only it’s even more humiliating when you realize it’s your boyfriend who has been shutting you out.

He’s fast asleep now, so it’s not like I can bring any of this up with him.

He’s not in any better condition to talk when I wake him an hour later; totally out of it and head still throbbing. Better than earlier, he says. But still, he’s in rough shape.

Twelve forty-two, I drive him home, and he sleeps the whole way there while I keep stealing glances at him. Trying to figure out if he’s really the guy I thought I’d come to know so well these past couple of months, or if there’s another side he only shares with people like Scarlett.

I don’t see Seb for the rest of the weekend. He just sends me a brief text Sunday morning, letting me know he’s doing a lot better but still resting. And he stays home from school on Monday, too. Everyone’s still talking about the big win, but all I can think about is the after party. And Sebastian. And that he didn’t feel he could tell me about a stupid concussion. Like I’m some fragile girlfriend who only gets to see the smoothest, shiniest parts of Sebastian Murdoch, while only his trusted inner circle gets to see the jagged dents and rough edges.

I only have a short shift after school at Board and Brews, and after that, I head over to Helicina Cove. There are no cars parked at Mallard’s Convenience, which means it’s unlikely anyone else is down on the beach, and I’m hoping that checking out the tidepools for a bit will give me a chance to clear my head a little. I’m supposed to complete my acceptance to Braden Hall tomorrow, and it’s been on my mind all weekend. I have the money now. It’s not about that. It’s that even with everything that happened this weekend with Sebastian, I feel weird about leaving. I mean, obviously I’m still going. I’d be crazy not to. I’m just not as sure about my reasons for going.

The sun is starting to set as I descend the mossy steps to the beach. Pink and dusky purple streaks reflect off the water in the dozens of little tidepools that dot the scraggly rocks up along the far side of the beach. It’s a little cooler, but still the same kind of evening as that first time Seb and I went to Scoopies. When we ran into Lisa and her friends. And I smile, thinking about what a huge deal that night was for me—doing something so normal. Funny how quickly I got used to doing those kinds of “normal” things these past couple of months, and yet how grateful I still am for every single one of them. I guess maybe deep down, I’m still convinced they’re just a novelty.

I make my way over to the end of the beach closest to the woods, poking around in the sand with a long stick as I walk. I find a small sand dollar and a cool smooth rock shaped like a heart, which I dig out with my fingers. Straightening up to pocket my treasures, I spot a tall figure descending the steps back where I came from just fifteen minutes ago.

I recognize him by the backwards ball cap first. And the color of the wisps of hair curling out from beneath the faded brim. But also the confident stride, the bronzed tone of his skin. Everything about him now is so familiar to me. From the way his lashes dip when he’s unsure about something or throws his head back when he laughs, the way his voice sounds deeper when he’s tired, or the glint in his eye when he’s scheming some wild idea, or his cheeks get pink and his breath hitches when I skim his muscled stomach with my fingers.

Only now, when I spot him, the feeling in the pit of my stomach isn’t familiar. Definitely not the usual elation triggered by an impromptu meetup. I scurry back toward the far cliff, out of sight. I have no idea why that’s my gut reaction. Probably because I’m not ready to face him yet? After he shook up my emotions so thoroughly and left me unsettled and mixed up and not quite sure how to handle this: our first relationship road bump. The first time he’s let me down, just when I was settling into the notion that maybe he never would.

I scramble the few extra feet into the woods. It’s only flat for a bit before the forest inclines suddenly up into the steep escarpment, but just before that slope, there’s a small shack, maybe the size of a tool shed. A bunch of kids built it years ago out of wood discarded from the old staircase they ripped out by the boardwalk.

Everyone calls it “The Shack.” It’s used mostly during beach parties, I think. The ones that happen mainly in the summer months. The ones I was never invited to before.

It smells kind of musty, but not nearly as bad as you’d expect for a place that gets used by a bunch of teenagers during wild beach parties. There’s an old mattress and a few folded camp chairs inside, but otherwise it’s empty. Which makes it the perfect spot to hide in until… well, I’m not sure what. Until Seb leaves, I guess? Only he would have seen my car at Mallard’s. He knows I’m here.

And suddenly I feel ridiculous for scurrying off to hide in the first place.

I hear him approaching a few minutes later, his footsteps so clunky and loud. Sebastian Murdoch has never had to make himself scarce or invisible. I’m sure he wouldn’t even know how if he had to.

“Caro?” he calls. And before I even have a chance to answer, he’s already ducking in the doorway. His Adonis-like features crinkle in confusion when he spots me. “Were you hiding from me?”

“Uh… not really. I just…”

Our eyes meet. His look sad. And still tired.

“You okay?” he asks, and it feels like there’s more than a two-day distance between us right now.

And then he’s in front of me in two easy strides.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling me against his warm body in one of his five-star hugs.

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