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“That doesn’t sound good.”
His walkie-talkie crackles. “Victim is in her mid to late thirties. Multiple breaks. She’s in and out of consciousness.”
“Fuck.” He blows out a breath. “You know where the Marks girl is?”
“She’s at the beach. I’m heading there now. What the hell is going on, Logan?”
“There was an accident.”
14 SOMEWHERE SOFT TO LAND
BJ
Winter is in the parking lot when I arrive at the beach. I don’t want to be the one to break her heart like this. But it’s better me than Logan—or worse, her dad.
I pull into a spot, and she leans her bike against the low fence that separates the lot from the beach. She’s on me the second I step out of the Jeep, one hand wrapped around the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to hers.
“Whoa. Hey. Hi.” Half an hour ago I was all about Sweet Spot Saturday. Now everything is different. I’m about to turn her entire world upside down.
“Hey. I’m super glad you’re here. Today has been a bag of shit, and you’re the only person who can make it better.” Her backpack clinks when it hits the ground. “I brought you a gift.” She unzips the bag and holds it open.
“Vodka and gin, huh? Is it martini night, then?” I try to smile, but everything is off.
“This is what my dad bought with my tuition money. He didn’t pay the car insurance. He didn’t buy groceries or get someone to fix the broken washing machine. He bought booze and smokes and rubbed it in my fucking face.”
“I’m so sorry, Snowflake.” I hate that this is her life, her normal.
She smooths her hand over my chest. “I shouldn’t have gone home after the game. I should have gone anywhere but home, but I had leftovers from the team lunch, and they had the best desserts, so I figured I’d just leave one in the fridge for my mom—even though she’s the one who told my dad where the money was. It’s so fucked up, BJ. She throws me under the bus all the time, and I still feel compelled to take care of her. Why do I keep doing this? Why do I keep putting myself in positions where I know I’m going to get hurt? It’s so stupid. What’s wrong with me?”
I tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Nothing is wrong with you, Winter. You’re just trying to survive in a life that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“You know what he said when he saw the stitches? He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t even ask what happened. He told me my face was the only part of me worth looking at, and now I’d fucked that up too. I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t keep doing this.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I need to stop talking. You’ve already seen what a mess I am. I’m too much of a hassle.”
“Hey. Stop.” I cup her face in my palms. “Take a breath.”
She looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown.
Kissing her won’t solve her problems, but it’s a distraction from the shit I’m about to pile on top of her already bad day. I press my lips to hers. “You deserve better than this, Winter. I will tell you every damn day that you’re gorgeous, inside and out. A few stitches won’t change that.” I stroke her cheek, wishing I could make her life better, hating that I’m about to make it so much worse. “You can love the person and not love their actions.”
“I just want out, BJ. Of this life. Of my head.” Her chin trembles. “I just want to feel something other than hopelessness.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish this wasn’t so hard.” I wrap my arms around her, and in that moment, I think I finally understand what it means to hate someone. Really and truly. Because I hate her dad for what he’s done to her. Hate that she’s stuck in a life she didn’t ask for, hate that she feels compelled to protect someone who’s so deep inside the abuse she lets her daughter be her human shield. Hate that the only thing her father does is cut her down.
I hold her for long minutes, wishing we could stay inside this bubble. What’s coming next will hurt so much worse than what she’s already been through. And I can’t protect her from it.
“I want to escape my life for a little while.” Her hands slide up my chest, and she curves her palm around the back of my neck. I let her pull my mouth to hers, and I get lost in the kiss right along with her, wanting to postpone the inevitable, but knowing I can’t.
When her hand starts to travel down my chest again, I catch it in mine and break the kiss.
Her gaze roams over my face. “Should we go somewhere else?”
Dread fills me. Noxious. Toxic. I wonder if this is how Winter feels every time she goes back to that prison of a home. “I need to tell you something.”
She frowns and drops her hand. “Your expression and tone aren’t reassuring.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I squeeze her hand. “Your mom had an accident.”
The color drains from Winter’s face. “No, she didn’t. She’s fine. We were texting half an hour ago.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket, hands trembling as she taps on the messages. I catch a little of the content. Mostly it’s her mom begging her to apologize and make it easier on everyone.
