Page 11 of Wild Hearts

CHAPTER SIX

Brady

I’M TEMPTED TO GO AFTERWren, but something in her eyes holds me back. Hurt, sadness and... fear? The last time we saw each other was intense. I was such a dick to her. I hadn’t expected her to be frightened of me, though. Bile rises in my throat. How could she be scared of me?

“That was weird, right?” my sister asks, staring at the back of Wren’s retreating figure.

“Uh–” I pause to clear my throat. “Yeah, I guess.” I try to keep my face neutral as Ivy turns back to face me. I shrug. “She had a long drive this morning, and she’s probably been up since the arse crack of dawn.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.”

I can almost see Ivy’s brain ticking over, and I need to get out before she starts to put two and two together.

“I’m gonna go for a surf. See you back at home later.”

I don’t give my sister a chance to even acknowledge what I’ve said. I hand her a couple of twenties from my wallet, before grabbing Jordan and heading to the surf club.

My best friend grins at me as we pull on our wetsuits. “Geez, Wren’s looking better than I remember.”

My face heats up, and I shoot him a dirty look.

“What?” He sniggers. “I’m just stating facts.”

He’s not wrong. I turn away from him, closing my eyes. The way that yellow dress hugged her curves, her soft pink lips, those crystal blue eyes. I take a deep breath as my dick twitches. It wouldn’t bode well to let Jordan see how worked up Wren Murphy has me, and it’s not like my wetsuit would leave much to the imagination.Fuck.

“Dude, what’s with you?” Jordan asks. “You’ve been as twitchy as a fucking rabbit during hunting season for the last week.” He grins. “Lucky my parents got stuck in the GC. I think someone needs to get laid.”

“Shut up,” I say, giving him a playful shove as I grab my board and head toward the water.

“I’m serious, Brady,” he says, jogging to catch up with me, his own board tucked under his arm. “Who was the last chick you hooked up with? Ashley? Felicity? Fuck, man, it’s been so long even I don’t remember.”

Wren.The last chick I hooked up with was Wren. I still remember her silky, strawberry blonde waves wrapped around my fingers, the scent of her coconut shampoo washing over me. But that was nine months ago, and she hasn’t spoken to me since.

Ignoring Jordan, I jog into the shallow waves, relishing the feeling of the cool water against the heat coursing through my body that has nothing to do with the weather andeverythingto do with a certain gorgeous blonde who wants nothing to do with me.

Being out on my board inhaling the briny smell of salt water, is exactly what I need. It’s quiet at this point in the afternoon, so we don’t have to worry about any novice holiday surfers dropping in on us. Paddling out past the reef where the swell is solid with the onshore winds giving smooth faces, I sit up on my board and run my hand through my cropped hair. My fingers brush over the small scar, a reminder of the accident thirteen months ago. It took me eight months to get back in the surf again, but the water is my home.

The sun beams down and I close my eyes, tilting my face to the warmth. I’ve been surfing since I was four. Fifteen years later, it’s still my release from the stresses of life. A good set of waves roll in and I try to push thoughts of Wren out of my mind as I exhale, turning my board back in towards the beach.

I make the drop too late and get worked by the first wave dumping me unceremoniously in the whitewash.

Jordan cackles behind me as he shouts, “How long you been doing this?”

I shake my head as I heave myself back up onto my board.

C’mon, Brady. Get a fucking grip.

The second wave, I start paddling too late and curse as I fade off the back. I slap the water in frustration. The surf has always been my safety net, the one place I can go to work through all my problems. Today, however, it doesn’t seem to be enough.

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