“I was happy to do it.” I stifle a yawn. He pulls me to the bed.
“That shower wore me out. Really the last two days. I was totally out of it.”
“Yeah, sometimes you were.” I think over our “conversation” during his last fever. “You said something last night about thinking you’re not good enough for me. Is that true?”
His jaw tenses. “Although that may sound like the ramblings of a man with a fever, I won’t deny that sometimes I wonder.”
“What? That you’re not good enough? That’s ridiculous.”
Looking down, he says, “I’ve spent my life being told I’m not good enough—or specifically if I don’t do this one thing I’ll never amount to anything. I’m caught in a weird spot right now and unfortunately you’re caught up in it with me.”
“Whit, I support you no matter what, do you understand that?” I want to tell him I’m struggling too and how I want to change schools—but it feels idiotic. Moving for a bunch of guys.
He nods, but I’m not sure my sentiment sticks. He sighs and says, “Let’s take a nap.”
I raise an eyebrow, thinking about all the other things he said last night. “A nap?”
“God, I wish it was more than a nap, but I don’t think you’d be very satisfied in my current condition.”
I follow him into the bed, snuggling under the blankets. He kisses my forehead and my lips and I ease into the crook of his arm. I feel the warmth of his skin, the thud of his heartbeat.
It’s coming to light that Whit is carrying more demons than he wants to share—more desire than he’s willing to commit to. Both of these things I’m willing to help him through, and as I drift to sleep in his arms, I plan on doing just that.
40
Summer
Pete showsup just after I’ve locked the bookstore door for the day with an apologetic expression on his face.
“What’s wrong.”
“I know I was supposed to take you out for authentic Carolina seafood but my internship called and I have to run down to Myrtle for a minute. I doubt I can make it back before the restaurants are slammed.”
I won’t deny that I’m bummed. Not because of the seafood but because I want to spend the evening with Pete. He’s been so busy. “That’s okay. Maybe another night.”
He tilts his head and a lock of black, curly hair falls in his eyes. “I did have an alternative.”
I lean against the porch railing. “What’s that?”
“I thought maybe you could drive down with me. Check out the original O.D.”
I frown. “What’s O.D.”
“Ocean Drive. The big pavilion, or what’s left of it. The boardwalk. We’ll avoid the new tourist stuff. Once I get my work done I can take you on the authentic tour.”
“We can definitely do that. Sounds fun.”
I’ve taken the drive before with my mother to interview people for her book, but we never made it all the way into town. She made it clear that things had changed drastically from when she was younger. Back then there wasn’t much between Ocean Beach and Myrtle—just a few beach communities but now it’s a thriving city.
Pete’s office is in the government offices downtown. He’s working with the city engineer’s office which handles zoning, development and other infrastructure. His work doesn’t take long and soon we’re driving toward the ocean and he turns on Ocean Drive the buildings change and it’s a little like being transported to the past. Dozens of hotels are tucked on both sides of the street. Some are new, others are old and look like they haven’t been updated in sixty years. They advertise cable and air conditioning on the letterboards outside. There are giftshops every fifteen feet and ice cream parlors and in one section a tall shop with glass windows stands out.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“That’s the Gay Dolphin. It’s a landmark. We’ll go there first.”
He parks the car and circles around opening my door for me. I’ve learned to wait for little things like this with the guys. Mason never would have done something like that, but down here? The guys make an effort and it’s pretty damn sexy.
The late afternoon sun is hot but the blast of AC once we enter the Gay Dolphin, which turns out to be a massive multi-story gift shop, feels like the arctic. We’re not the only ones in the store but it’s so big it feels like we’re alone. Pete leads me past the keyrings and tiny license plates with every name you can think of (except Summer, of course) and finally stops infront of a wall that reaches the ceiling. Arranged from A-to-Z are oval patches with hundreds of different names. The paper cards they’re attached to are old and fading but the stitching is still good—vibrant red or blue.
