Untamed Hearts (3 page)

“Brit, baby. Looking good...” A guy from
school whistles at me the moment I approach the crowd on the
beach.

I roll my eyes. “Keep dreaming, Jimmy.” I call
back, making my way through the crowd. It’s the last night of
summer, and Beachwood Bay is sending it out with a bang. Everyone’s
here, girls dancing in the light of the bonfire, guys downing beers
from red plastic cups. Music blasts from the speakers someone’s
rigged up in the back of a pickup truck, and I can smell the sickly
sweet drift of dope on the salty sea breeze.

“Where’s your drink, girl?” Some guy I don’t
recognize stumbles into my path. “It’s time to get wasted!”

He thrusts a can of beer in my direction, so I
take it and move along, leaving him calling out behind me in the
crowd.

I pop the tab and take a gulp, feeling the
familiar burn of self loathing as the alcohol works its way into my
system. Drinking is the easiest way to block out the world, but
every time I do, I think of my mom, sneaking whiskey into her
coffee at seven AM just to make it through another day. I struck a
deal with myself, back the first time some guy sneaked me a sip
from his flask down under the bleachers: one drink. Only ever have
one drink. I’ve seen what happens to girls who go too far, the
sloppy mistakes and barely-conscious hook ups that turn to ash come
morning. Sure, I’m no angel, but every guy I’ve been with has been
my choice, my rules. My way to block it all out, and lose myself in
a hot tangle of limbs and groping hands.

The music changes to some fast rock song, and I
feel the fire in my veins. I need to move, to let it out, so I slip
closer to the fire and let my body take over, moving to the
staccato beat and angry crash of guitar. My eyes drift closed, and
I try and let go, imagine myself a thousand miles from here, some
other girl in some other life, with nothing but the music in my
mind.

I feel hands grab my waist and I stumble back,
my eyes flying open. It’s some guy I don’t recognize, wearing an
oversized football shirt and looming in way too close. “Hey!” I
protest, putting both my hands against his chest and shoving at
him, hard. “What the hell?”

“Relax, babe,” the guy moves in again, and then
I feel someone else behind me. It’s another guy, grabbing at me
from behind.

“
Back off!” I yell, louder
this time. I turn, trying to slip out from between them, but
they’re too big, all meat-head muscles and grabbing hands, and I’m
trapped. The first guy grabs at my ass again, and I smack his hand
away, glaring. “I said, get your hands off me!”

He ignores me, yanking me
against him and laughing to his buddy.

“
What do you say?” He slurs,
smelling of beer and cigarettes. “Think she can handle the two of
us?”

“
Fuck yeah.” The other guy
grabs at my ass again, thrusting lewdly. “You like it crazy, don’t
you, slut?”

I snap. Pure rage courses through me, and I’m
just about to unleash hell on them and put to good use all the
karate moves Emerson taught me in the back yard when Meathead is
yanked back away from me. A split-second later there’s the sound of
someone’s fist smashing into his jaw.

Time stops as I lock eyes with the guy who hit
him: the one person in this whole crowd who noticed what was going
on and came to my defense. The last guy I’d ever expect to see at a
party like this.

Hunter Covington.

A jolt of electricity flies through me, setting
every nerve ending alight. Then time un-freezes and the world comes
rushing back in: the meathead goes flying back with the force of
Hunter’s blow, knocking into the crowd and sending people flying.
Someone screams, and then his buddy shoves me aside and goes
charging at Hunter.

I struggle to stay on my feet, watching in
horror as he tackles Hunter hard and the two of them tumble to the
ground. Hunter manages to twist on top, and then he’s raining down
punches: hard, sharp jabs to the guy’s face and throat, until his
fists are bloody; expression fierce and determined. There’s no time
for me to move, it’s like I’m fixed in place, but I look past him
and see the meathead on the ground recover and drag himself up,
murder in his eyes.

“Hunter!” I scream a warning, but he must not
hear me. Before I can say another word, the meathead pulls Hunter
off his friend and punches him hard in the stomach.

I flinch at the blow, my heart twisting as I
watch Hunter reel back, pain flooding his expression.

No!

Hunter may be fast, but this guy is massive:
built like a truck, and now he’s pissed too. I don’t know what I
can do to stop him, this is already way out of hand. I look around
for help, but everyone is just standing, watching. They’ve even got
the nerve to look thrilled, like this is some game for their
entertainment. Do they even realize Hunter is about to get ripped
limb from limb?

My heart races in desperation, and I try and
push my way towards them. I don’t know what I’m planning to do, I
just know I have to try and help Hunter, but before I can reach
him, someone else appears through the crowd and grabs hold of
Meathead in an iron restraint
.

“
Enough!” He orders. It’s
Jace, the other Covington brother. Older, gorgeous, the one who has
every girl in town panting just from walking by.

“Are you kidding?” The guy screams, furious. “He
started it!
He’s fucking crazy!”

Jace says something to him,
trying to calm him down. Whatever it is, it works: I can see both
guys relax, still pissed, but not looking to throw any
punches.

I catch my breath, relief
breaking over me like the tide. It’s over. Hunter is
safe.

But now the danger has passed,
the world comes flooding back in. I realize I’m in the center of a
huge crowd, and I can see their stares, hear all the whispers as
their eyes rake over me, the gossip in their not-so-hushed
tones.

It’s your fault. All this
drama, they’re blaming you. They probably think you deserved
it.

I feel a hot flush of
humiliation as I realize just what happened. God, bad enough to
have those assholes with their sweaty paws all over me, but he saw
it all. He saw everything.

Hunter.

What must he think of
me?

I check one last time to see
he’s OK—bent double, but recovering from that punch—and then I
whirl around and flee, fighting my way through the rubber-necking
crowd until I’m out on the dark beach alone.

Damn.

I walk quickly, my feet bare
on the cool sand, wishing I could leave that scene behind, like it
never existed. But the shame trails me, sharper with every step. I
always told myself, I don’t care what anyone thinks. Don’t care
about the rumors and whispers and bitches in school spreading their
lies, but the thought that Hunter sees me that way too—that he had
to jump in to defend me, or stop them following through on their
filthy comments...

I can’t take it. It’s
different. I don’t know why, but it is.

Hunter...

I let out a sigh, thinking of
him. Those blue eyes, brighter than the summer skies. The golden
glint of his tanned skin, the artless, ruffled shock of blonde
hair. All summer long, I’ve been fighting my attraction to him,
writing it off as some useless hormonal crush. I mean, a guy like
that would never look in my direction; I may as well daydream about
some Hollywood actor or rock star, for all the good it’ll do me.
Even now, I’m surprised to see he’s still in town. His family takes
off after Labor Day, every year: back to their perfect, preppy
lives in Charleston, and the privileged world I’ll never
know.

But he’s here, tonight. And he
saw me, with those guys...

The shame burns hotter. I wish
the tide would surge in and carry me away. Now he thinks what the
whispers say are true, that I’m just some cheap slut who’ll hook up
with anyone.

“
Brit!”

I hear a call behind
me.

“Brit, wait up.”

Oh God. It’s him. Hunter. His
voice calling me through the dark. The first time he’s ever spoken
to me, and it’s now. What could he possibly want?

I brace myself and
turn.

Hunter catches up with me,
looking disheveled from the fight. He’s got a dark bruise already
blossoming on his cheekbone, and I have to dig my nails into my
palm to stop myself from reaching out and touching it.

He catches his breath, and
when he speaks, his voice is even. “You weren’t even going to stick
around and see if I was OK?”

I flinch, disappointment
crashing through me at his words. So that’s it, he expected some
kind of pay-back for stepping in back there, and is pissed I didn’t
fall at his feet and do whatever he wanted. What he figured was a
sure thing.

“I didn’t ask you to come
flying in and rescue me.” I snap, coldly. I guess he’s just like
the rest of them, after all. “I had it handled.”

“
Didn’t look like it from
where I was standing.” Hunter sounds pissed, but I don’t have time
for this—not if he’s just looking for his ‘reward’.

“
Yeah, well maybe you
shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.”
I tell him.
I try to stay angry, but I can’t help the sadness slipping through
my voice. I thought he was different, but I guess nobody is.

Hunter must have heard the
catch in my voice because his expression changes. He lets out a
long breath. “Hey. I’m sorry, that came out wrong.” His eyes
soften, caring. “I just couldn’t stand to see them treat you like
that.”

I blink, confused. “
Maybe I
liked it,” I tell him, still defensive. “Maybe you just screwed up
the wild night I had planned with the both of them.”

“
Hey, what did I ever do to
you?” Hunter demands, looking hurt. “I was trying to do a nice
thing back there, and you’re trying to rip my head off.”

I stop.

He’s right. He’s done nothing
but be good and decent. I’m the one jumping to conclusions and
assuming the worst about him. “I’m sorry.” I admit. “You’re right,
you didn’t deserve that.” My voice is breaking, so I quickly say,
“Thanks,”
and then turn and walk away, back the direction I
was heading across the empty moonlit beach.

But Hunter doesn’t leave. He
falls into step beside me, matching my stride easily with his long
legs. “Where are you heading?” he asks. “You shouldn’t be wandering
alone after dark like this.”

I can’t help but smile at
that. “It’s Beachwood Bay,” I point out. “What’s someone going to
do, smother me to death in coastal charm?”

Hunter doesn’t reply for a
second, and I wonder if he’s thinking about what happened back at
the party. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I’m still a little
shaken up. I like to think I’m invincible, that nothing and nobody
could ever hurt me, but those guys... They made me wonder for a
minute if they were just talk, or if they really would follow
through on their disgusting plans.

I shiver in the
dark.

“Where are you heading?”
Hunter asks. “I’ll walk you.”

“
Nowhere, it’s fine.” I fold
my arms, on edge. Part of me refuses to believe Hunter is just
being a nice guy. He has to want something from me.

They always want
something.

I shiver again in the breeze,
and before I know what he’s doing, Hunter pulls off his hoodie and
drapes it around my shoulders. It’s warm from his body, soft
against my skin, and smelling like him: clean and fresh, and some
hint of aftershave too. I breathe it in despite myself, suddenly
feeling safer.

“
What a coincidence,” Hunter
drawls, “I’m heading nowhere too.”

The comment is so ridiculous, I laugh.
“
You?” I ask him. “You’re heading straight to
Yale. And then the White House, if what they say is
true.”

Hunter falls silent, and even in the dark I can
see a flash of disappointment slip across his face.

I pause. He can’t be self-conscious about his
background, can he? He’s the perfect one, the Golden Boy, everyone
agrees. Kids around town would hold it against him, if he weren’t
so damn charming and likable. He’s got everything in the world
going for him, but here he is, looking like he’s carrying the
weight of the world on his shoulders.

And I just put my foot in it. Crap. I wonder
what to say. I’d do anything to take that frown off Hunter’s face,
but I have no idea what’s going on with him.

That’s when I realize, maybe I don’t know him at
all. I’ve been judging him by the gossip around town, the charm he
gives so easily to people on the street, just what’s on the
surface. But wasn’t I spitting mad a moment ago, thinking he was
doing the same thing with me?

We’re strangers here, connected by nothing but
this inexplicable bond between us. Strong enough to make my heart
skip, beating restlessly in my chest just at his nearness, but too
far apart to know what to say now, or how to bridge this
divide.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Hunter turns to me
with a wide grin. “
I don’t think we’ve met,” he
says, sticking out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Bob. Bob
Smith.”

I giggle in surprise. “Bob?” I
ask, taken aback.

“Sure,” Hunter keeps his hand
out. “And you are...?”

I study him cautiously for a moment, not sure
where this is coming from--or going. Then I see: he feels it too.
The weird distance; the undeniable connection. This is his way of
saying we can be anyone we want tonight, just between us.