Page 52 of Unfinished Summer

That’s more than plenty of people have, and it would have been enough if Derek hadn’t turned the knife on me.

“If I never found happiness leaving, how could I possibly find it staying here?” I swallow the emotion bubbling up from somewhere deep within me and leave the rest of the burger and fries, my appetite now drowned.

“Well, maybe you need to be honest with yourself about a few things. Maybe you’ve held on to the pain so long that it’s turned into something that it never was in the first place. Distorted and warping your reality.”

“So now I’m crazy?” I laugh.

“No. But, perhaps you need to work at putting the past behind you.”

She stands and leaves me with her wisdom, and somewhere inside of me, it feels like words I need to heed.

I push the plate of food away, angry that my indulgence has backfired so spectacularly, and leave Molly’s. As I force open the doors, I look up and see the surf shop ahead of me, mocking me. I’ve avoided it for days, but fuck it. Not now. Why should I?

After my heart-to-heart with Molly, my emotions are swimming closer to the surface than ever, and I want something or someone to aim them at. I pause, looking at the door, and remember the first time we walked past this shop together. The shop was closed then, and we were meant to be on our version of a first date.

I press the handle down and an electronic buzzer sounds, alerting Jayce or whoever’s in the shop that I’ve entered.

As I browse, it looks like any other surf shop, not that I’ve been inside many. Racks of boards line one wall, with fancy lighting behind. Clothing, posters, and photos make it look pretty cool, and I have to admit it looks nice. I’d want to spend money here if I was into surfing or anything close to it.

“Well, well. Zennor Williams.” Jayce’s voice is pleasant enough, but an air of satisfaction makes me want to swipe at his handsome face.

“I thought I’d come and see what all the fuss was about.” I make a point of looking around, and the huge photograph of a massive wave behind the counter catches my eye. “Big wave.”

“Yep.”

“You found it then?” I point to it and assume it’s him riding down it. “Your dream to chase waves.”

He looks at me like he did when he first saw me in the pub, and it tears down a layer of my defences that already feel weak and unstable from my earlier conversations. This boy meant the world to me at one point in my life. But he ruined that same world.

The memories transport me back to that miserable time when I missed him and hated that I did—hated that I wanted to be with him.

“Did you really come back here because of us?” I blurt out, confronting him with a vengeance that’s near impossible to contain.

He keeps staring at me, providing me with no insight or explanation that I can rationalise.

“We were teenagers, Jayce,” I say, exasperated.

“I know.” His calmness only stokes the anger he’s flaming—that I’m flaming myself as I take in what he went on and did with his life while I picked myself up off the floor here in Tregethworth.

“I spent a long time building my life back after you left. And while I was in pieces, you had everything you ever wanted,” I cry, lashing out with my arms, signalling what he has around him now—a homage to a life he went out and lived.

“Not everything.” He catches my wrist in his hand and tugs me to him, burying his other hand in my hair. “I wanted you every single day I was gone. I missed you every single day I was gone, but you were too stubborn to stay in touch. Don’t put this all on me, Zee.”

I don’t fight him. Instead, my stomach drops, and my mind blanks as rage blinds me. I push up and kiss him. Not softly or timidly. My lips slam against his—punishing him for everything he just said, but unable to stop the pull of our attraction.

And Jayce is right there with me, fighting me, holding me captive in his grasp. The last few days have been bitter and vengeful, but I push that aside, and so does he.

He hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he leads us to the back of the shop—still open in the middle of the day—where he shoves me against the back wall next to a surfboard.

“Romantic,” I murmur.

“Oh, we’re long past that, love.” He follows up with a bite to my neck that makes my limbs weaken and crackle with desire, it’s so delicious. I curse him under my breath but give in and decide I can hate him and still enjoy what he does to me. I’ve done it once. I can do it again.

There’s no foreplay. No build-up.

His hand snakes under my maxi skirt and tears at the tights stopping his access. The rip echoes around us and sounds so fucking erotic. His fingers plunge deep inside of me, and my head drops back against the wall.

“You want this. You want me to fuck you like this?”

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