Unafraid

“What the hell, Brit?” Garrett steps out of the back room in time to catch the carnage behind me.

“I’m on my break,” I snap, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar as I steam down the back hall.

“Brit, wait a second!”

Garrett’s voice and the noise of the bar recede behind me as I hurry up the back stairs. I bypass his apartment on the first floor, and keep climbing, even when the staircase narrows into a winding spiral. Finally, I heave open the rusted fire escape and push outside into the crisp night air.

The rooftop is empty, home to a couple of old lawn chairs and an ancient grill. I walk slowly to the edge and lean out over the railing.

Why do you always do this?

The scene replays in my mind, but I don’t see Trey’s smug face staring back at me. No, I see the blonde girl instead. Sweet, and pretty, and so damn naïve. Sitting there with her perfect family, it never crossed her mind for a second that Trey could betray her.

I can’t tell if she’s lucky or just another fool.

He didn’t take me to dinner. They never do. I’m not that girl, you see: the one who gets dates and flowers and sweet whispered goodnights. I’m the one they screw up against the back wall of a club in a neon-lit alley; who they text at 2:00 a.m. when they’re bored and need something to pass the time.

I always told myself it was better this way. No use believing in a dream that would only fade to ashes in the end. But feeling this used and empty, over and over again… What’s better about that?

I take a gulp of the whiskey, feeling it sting in the back of my throat. The anger, the adrenalin, it slowly seeps away, leaving me with nothing but the low burn of rejection in my gut. I look out across the harbor and the few lights bobbing on the water, down past the row of tourist stores and the new beachfront townhouses. In the pale dusk light, Beachwood lies quiet and still, lights glimmering,—with nothing to drown out the echoes in my mind.

“You know what everyone says about her. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing.”

It’s true. That’s what they do say about me. Growing up in a small town like this, with a junkie mom and a runaway dad, I was never going to escape the gossip. I figured I’d just embrace it instead. Let people say what the hell they want about me: I won’t tie myself up in knots trying to live down the family name. They want to write me off, spread rumors, and ‘tsk’ under their breath as I walk by? Let them.

I even used to revel in it when I was younger: strutting around town wearing the sluttiest outfits, flirting with all the men, seeing the look of disapproval in everyone’s eyes, like their good opinion meant a damn thing to me. It was all just a game, anyway. And this way, I could feel like I was winning.

Then everything changed.

One night: that’s all it took for me to get a glimpse of what life could be like, and after that, it all just felt wrong. The victories didn’t taste so sweet; the gossip and rumors started to get to me. Slowly, my bad reputation felt less like a badge of pride, and more like an albatross around my neck, always dragging me down. Now I wonder what it would be like if I’d grown up normal. Unknown. Able to walk down the street without the whispers behind me, to meet some guy who hadn’t heard the rumors, the half-true legends of all my wild antics. Someone who didn’t think they had an easy shot just because of my last name.

Someone to know me, the real me.

I brush away the thought and take another swig of whiskey. This is the rejection talking, and the booze. I know, even if they got to know me, it wouldn’t mean a thing. A few weeks of playing at happiness, maybe, before they hit the road again.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that people always leave.

I sink down into one of the chairs. The whiskey is finally working its magic, warming my bones from the inside, even though it feels like I’m made of solid ice. I should go back down and help out Garrett, I know, but I can’t drag myself away just yet. The last wisps of twilight are fading, and way up here, I can pretend the ugly mess downstairs doesn’t exist. Nothing exists but me and the distant lights of the shoreline, so pretty that I can almost forget what this town is like up close.

I come here all the time. This is my secret spot, up above it all. It’s where I come to think and be alone, to spend hours just watching the bustle of the town below, letting the distant sound of the ocean wash away my pain as I daydream of some other life, some other future, far away from this town and all the memories chasing me down.

Some good those daydreams are. The years slip past, and I’m still here: hiding away up on my rooftop, while they all gossip and scorn me behind my back. I wanted so badly to prove them wrong, but all I do is live up to their low expectations.

“That was quite some scene.”

A guy’s voice comes from behind me, amused.

“Leave me the hell alone,” I snap, not turning. I’m not in the mood to deal with any more bullshit tonight—especially not from some guy who heard the whispers and figures I’m an easy score. “This is private property.”

There’s a low hum of laughter. “The Brit I knew never cared about that.”

My heart stops.

It can’t be, I tell myself. Not here, not again, after all this time.

But it is. I know the truth even before I brace myself and turn. I’d recognize that voice anywhere: the low, sexy drawl that echoes in my dreams, smooth as honey and sweet as the night we shared together, three long years ago.

Hunter Covington.

“Waste of a good plate of nachos, if you ask me.” Hunter grins at me across the rooftop, hair glinting dark gold in the setting sun. “And you always said, nothing exciting ever happens in this town.”

My heart pounds as I stare at him, disbelieving. He’s leaning in the doorway, casual as can be. A ghost, a relic, a memory I’ve clung to through dark nights and desperate days.

I never thought I’d see him again.

My legs give way beneath me, and I clutch at the back of the lawn chair for support.

“You’re here,” I breathe.

“I’m here,” he agrees, and fixes me with a crooked, heartbreaking smile.

Everything falls away.

The bar, the rejection letter, Trey—it all dissolves under Hunter’s piercing gaze. My eyes devour him hungrily. He’s older now, we both are, but somehow I’ve been carrying the picture of who he used to be. The boy he was, not the man he’s so clearly become. There’s power to his athletic body now, clear in the broad frame of his shoulders, the muscles beneath his preppy Oxford shirt. His blonde hair falls over his golden skin, blue eyes still blazing like the brightest summer sky I’ve ever seen.

I feel an ache slice through me, longing, and pure bittersweet regret. Just one night, that’s all I had with him, but somehow, it’s meant more to me than anything else in my life since. I thought in time it would fade, that I would feel those feelings with some other guy, that I would dilute Hunter’s power with a hundred other kisses, dozens of other bodies and lips and hands.

I was wrong.

He’s still the only one. The one guy I let slip through my defenses. The one guy who shared my pain.

The man I walked away from, before he could have a chance to break my heart.

“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Hunter’s brow furrows. “I figured after that show, you’d be up here celebrating. Not…”

He trails off, but I can fill in the blanks.

Not moping here, defeated. Not stuck, exactly the same as when he saw me last. Not hiding from the whispers and scorn like some scared little kid.

I lurch up. “I can’t…” I stutter. “It’s not…”

Hunter stares at me, confusion masking his chiseled, tanned face. He probably expected some witty banter, my usual tough barbs, but right now all my defenses are down and I feel like my chest is ripped wide open, heart beating bloody and raw for the whole world to see.

Why tonight? Why him, here, now of all nights?

“Brit?” Hunter moves towards me but I flinch away.

“No!” I stumble back. I can’t do this. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face him again, but right now, every instinct in my body is screaming out to run.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I gasp. I turn, bolting for the door, but my foot catches on the gravel and I stumble, scraping my shin painfully against the jagged metal edge of the chair.

In an instant, Hunter crosses the distance between us to hold me up.

“Easy there,” he murmurs, holding onto my arm. A shock of sensation floods through my body at his touch, and despite everything, my heart leaps just to feel him next to me. He holds me to him, tight against the solid warmth of his body, and for a moment I’m caught there, lost in his eyes, in all the memories of the past.

But the past is done. It was over almost as soon as it began.

“Goodbye,” I manage, breaking free from his embrace. I hurry down the stairs, crashing through the bar hallway and out into the back parking lot. Garrett’s truck is parked right by the exit, and I know the keys will be up under the mirror. I scramble in, gunning it into drive and taking off, not stopping a moment, not until I’m a mile away, speeding down the dark streets, and Hunter is just a memory in the rearview mirror.

If only he could just stay that way.

I slam the steering wheel, my cheeks burning with humiliation. What’s he even doing back here? Hunter Covington, Ivy League prince, heir to a society fortune. He should be off playing tennis at the country club, or partying in Monte Carlo, or whatever it is that young, gorgeous men do when they have the world at their feet and a multi-million dollar trust fund burning a hole in their designer pockets.

He could be anywhere, doing anything, and instead, he’s back here in Beachwood?

I shake my head in determination. Just because he’s back doesn’t mean a thing. He’s probably just passing through, the way his family did every summer when I was growing up. The Covingtons had an old horse ranch out on the edge of town, and a fancy new mansion on the waterfront too. They would come for July with Hunter and his brother, Jace; bring their rich friends down too, dock their yachts and stroll around town, cooing over how ‘quaint’ and ‘rustic’ we all were.

That’s not fair, a voice warns me. Hunter wasn’t like that.

No, he wasn’t. I sigh, remembering him back then. I was fourteen, fifteen, too young to really care at first, but even I noticed that every year, he got more gorgeous: growing taller, his muscles filling out. The slim, athletic boy who first bounded around town like an eager puppy turned into a strapping young man, in front of all of our eyes. God, the girls in town would go crazy over him: flirting and giggling if he so much as looked in their direction. And with his older brother along, too…

They were the golden boys, alright.

Handsome. Charming. Wealthy.

Untouchable.

At least, until that night…

Don’t even think about it. I tell myself, pulling the truck into the drive of the beach house. Whatever the reason he’s back in town, he’s still the boy who’ll inherit the whole world, and I’m still the girl with nothing.

Some things never change.

I wake at dawn to the memory of Hunter’s eyes, watching me on the roof. I’d never seen a blue like that before him, and I haven’t found it since. Maybe it’s the golden tan of his skin that makes them shine the way they do…

I stop that memory dead in its tracks and leap out of bed. There’s a restlessness stirring in my veins, and I know I can’t just stick around town—especially not with the thought of Hunter waiting for me around every corner. I’m not due at the bar until the evening shift, which gives me the whole day to myself.

I quickly shower and throw on a denim miniskirt and one of my favorite shirts. I made it myself, taking a bright neon printed scarf and sewing it over on itself to make a handkerchief top. I fasten it in a halter-neck with a thin leather cord, pull on my ankle boots, and head downstairs. I want to get on the road right away, but I force myself to take a beat and circle the house, checking the windows, and watering the plants out on the back porch. It’s the least I can do, since I’m house-sitting, rent-free, for my brother, Emerson, and his fiancée. I couldn’t understand it, when he said he got it for her; I mean, who buys a place right before they move to the city? But they wanted to keep it in Juliet’s family, and I can’t complain, I know. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be crashing on the couch up in Garrett’s tiny apartment, or stuck in a tiny studio somewhere in town. My big brother, always the one looking out for me.

I’m lucky. He’s all I’ve got. Dad left when I was barely four years old, and Mom bounced on and off the wagon for years. Booze, pills, and f**ked up men—you name a ticket to self-destruction, and Dawn Ray would give it a try. Us kids watched her fall apart, and there was nothing we could do, like seeing a slow-motion car-crash on the road ahead and you can’t find a way to swerve in time.

In the end, it was a twisted relief when she left us for good, the summer I turned fifteen. My heart broke that she could walk away from me, but at least I didn’t have to spend every waking moment fighting the fear and uncertainty that cloaked my life. No more wondering if she’d come home or not at night, or if I was going to walk in the front door to find her passed out, coming down off another Oxy high.

She was just gone.

I shake off the shadows. It must be seeing Hunter again that’s got me drifting down memory lane, but I’m not getting caught up in my same old disappointments, not today. Everything’s safe and locked tight, so I finally grab a Pop-Tart and hit the road, but I’m barely past the county line when my cell rings. Garrett.