Wrecked (Sons of San Clemente Book 2) (18 page)

Hollis didn’t know what to say, what to do? It was as if everything around her were suddenly in a different language. She held on to the waistband of his board shorts to steady herself.

“I don’t—” She broke off, biting down on her lip.

“You know you drive me crazy when you do that,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “Bite your lip. I lose a little bit of my mind each time.”

She bit her lip again, not to drive him crazy, but because it was a habit with him, because she was never sure where she stood.

“I don’t see myself like you do,” she confessed. “I was never enough for my mother or father,” she said. “Holland had always been their favorite. He was more likable. I was private and prickly and resented how little they got me, and when he died, they didn’t want me around at all. Not at all.” She remembered the pain, still not dull or distant enough after fifteen years to not make her knees buckle and her soul want to howl. “It was like we had both died that day only my body was still here. And they so wanted him, not me.”

He wrapped his arms around her, rested his chin on her head.

“He was your twin,” he said softly. “Your everything.”

Hollis closed her eyes against the spurt of tears. She had loved Holland, but Kadan had been her everything. Her sky, her stars, her moon, her sun. And it had scared the hell out of her because he, too, could be flung into oblivion with any wave. She tried to suck in enough air and calm her pounding heart. She had never quite been able to believe he loved her.

“I guess I wanted to be enough for you without having to follow you everywhere,” she said. “I never had that.”

“So you kept testing me,” he said softly. “Us.”

She closed her eyes and tried to absorb his warmth. Maybe that was it. The water crashed over her legs, sprayed the tops of her thighs. She forced herself to stand. Imagined herself as strong as a tree, rooted, holding on to Kadan forever.

“And I was never a good test taker, as you know.” He said.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him, listened to the steady rhythm of his heart as it seemed to match the beat of the waves.

“Swim with me.” He urged. “Like we used to. Naked.”

“No way! You can’t go in the ocean before you’re healed.”

“The ocean will heal me. It will heal you.”

It had killed her brother. Sucked him under, devoured his soul, and spit his body out miles from his home. The ocean had thrashed Kadan over and over. Sweat broke out between her breasts, ran down her spine.

“No, please, Kadan. Heal more. I’ll take you to the pool.”

“Naked?”

“Yes.” She agreed rashly, anything to stop him from pushing his luck tonight.

Even the roar of the waves sounded louder. Calling.

“Okay,” he said softly. “We’ll play your way tonight, but Hollis, you’re going in that water with me again.”

She breathed in his scent so mixed with the smells of the sea they were nearly indistinguishable. Kadan stared out at the black roiling sea for a few minutes, Hollis holding on tightly as if she could prevent the inevitable, her body leaning away from the ocean as straight and strongly as he leaned toward it.

K
adan floated on the water, exhausted. He felt like a baby. So out of shape. He’d only been swimming, letting Hollis lead him through some exercises for about thirty minutes, but he could feel the muscles in his hip, leg and calf trembling.

The moon sailed low, just starting to rise, nearly full. He could tell it still bothered her, being in the water, but she was game. His Hollis had always been game. His.

“You going to tell me?” He finally filled the silence that had been building between them, the rift.

“I quit being a PT,” she said her fingers lightly splayed beneath his ankle, lightly massaging, stretching the muscles. It hurt and felt good at the same time, he thought analytically accepting the pain. He could deal with physical pain.

“Why’d you quit?”

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” she said. “I was working with vets and the damage and the pain they were in just overwhelmed me.”

He caught the edge of a float and hauled himself halfway up so he was facing her. She’d always been so tender. A walking heart.

“Why vets?”

“I wanted to be patriotic,” she said softly. “Do something good. Holland was always into the military. The navy. He thought about being a pilot before he thought about being a doctor. Then it was a doctor in the navy.”

She took a deep breath, spoke quickly, breathlessly, the husk in her voice that always made him long to pull her close nearly caught in her throat and caused his stomach to knot.

“My first year of residency was, well, disaster is too nice of a word. So I changed and tried PT, which I told you I couldn’t hack. Then I went to massage therapy school and opened a spa with a friend, but that went bust, too.”

“Why bust?”

“A lot of reasons with my business partner, but really, I didn’t like touching people I didn’t know,” she whispered the confession. “With PT it was hard, but it was in a bigger room with a lot of equipment and other people, but with massage, it’s much more intimate.”

There was a beat of silence, then he stifled a laugh. She stiffened, but he caught her, kissed her mouth fast and hard. “I’m sorry, Hollis. I’m sorry, but you have to admit, it’s funny you even thought you could be a masseuse.”

“I don’t know why that’s funny,” she said all stiff, posture erect in the pool. “I knew all about nutrition and what stress does to a body. Bones, ligaments, alignment, muscles, connective tissue.”

He touched her head. “Yes I know. In here. In your beautiful, fact-filled head, but applying knowledge is totally different. You’re an introvert. You don’t want to be surrounded by people all the time. It drains you. And you were always cautious about physical touch. Remember how you wouldn’t sit on benches or in other people’s car seats with bare legs unless you sat on one of my T-shirts? And how you brought your sleeping bag to hotels. Even the nice ones.”

“You’re making me sound like I have OCD,” she said.

He laughed. “No. You were just always worried about germs or lice.”

“I sound totally neurotic.”

“In a quirky, cute way. You didn’t like hugging people, only really close friends. I used to get high on that, the fact that you didn’t like to touch anyone else but me. How you could never get enough of my hands on you.” He took a deep breath trying to get sex out of the equation for once. “Why you thought you could put your hands all over strangers and touch them for an hour is funny.”

He laughed now, the sound bouncing off the stucco and wrought iron of her grandmother’s pool courtyard. “You really need to consult me before you launch your next career.”

She splashed him with water, but he just laughed.

K
adan wasn’t smiling ten minutes later as Hollis worked at rotating his hip out. He’d said they’d been bothering him. She had his injured leg strapped to a float and she slowly ran him through a series of exercises.

“You look so beautiful,” he said.

“Don’t distract me,” she said sternly refusing to lose her focus. She wanted him healed. Better than perfect. He still had a good range of motion, but she could feel tension in his hip joint.

“Beautiful but serious.” He amended.

She found herself hiding a smile. She wanted to be mad, especially about his career crack, but he was right. She had been standoffish, not on purpose but just uncomfortable with everyone’s physicality. She remembered now. How all the surfers were so affectionate with each other—elaborate handshakes, or different hugs depending on who it was. She’d always felt like a cardboard cut out, full of dread that they would include her, hurt if they didn’t. How contrary was that? And then the women and the girlfriends, always the weird distant hug or the insincere air kiss. She’d hated those, too.

“I think I’m weird.”

“Very,” he agreed, grinning. “But I must be, too, because I find your weirdness hot. I think it’s because of your bubble.”

“Sh-sh-sh. I’m still concentrating, trying to get a feel.”

“I am so damn glad you are not a PT or masseuse anymore,” he said. “I think I’d have to kill your male clients.”

She rolled her eyes. He’d never been jealous. She’d been such a sure thing always.

“You have a gigantic bubble,” he said, reverting to his earlier topic. “That’s what the preschool kids call it.”

“What do you know about preschool kids?”

“Nothing yet.”

Hollis felt her mouth drop open. Kadan was a pod person.

“And, full disclosure, I think I’ve mentioned it before that it was always a turn on that I was the only one you let in your bubble, and, baby, you really, really let me in all the way.”

His gaze settled on her mouth.

“You make everything sound kinky,” she said. “And promising.”

“Very. That coupled with how elegant and proper you were about everything except me and I was a goner.”

“No wonder you called me duchess. I sound like a total priss and a neurotic, too, just to keep it all interesting.”

“The opposite. You never cared when I was sweaty or sandy or reeking of the ocean or greasy from working on my bike or had just had a beer. I’d reach for you, and you were ready.”

“Easy,” she said. “Too eager to please.”

“Giving.” He corrected, angling his head so that his lips were millimeters from hers. “And passionate. I see I need to make a massive effort to shift your self-perception.”

Her lips parted, her eyes drifted shut, and he could see her desire almost physically uncurl.

“But we’re talking,” he said, still not kissing her, and a small sound escaped her. “Don’t distract me.”

“You distracted me.”

“Predictably easy,” he whispered. “But I’m keeping my focus.”

He speared his fingers through her hair so that it was slicked back off her face. His intense stare was almost predatory. She felt captured, laid out on an exam table, secrets bared.

“So you’re home because everything in Seattle is gone?”

She nodded, eyes downcast. “I need to figure out my next step.”

“You need money?”

She shook her head fast. “I want to resolve it on my own.”

“Resolve what?”

“You know.” She stared at the light dancing in the pool water. “The spa went bust. I’m going to start over. Fix it on my own this time.”

“Fix it? How?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does.”

“I’m going to get a job, start over.”

“What about your debts?”

“We’re declaring bankruptcy. Allison, my business partner, just walked out,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much we owed so it’s really the best option.”

“Like hell. You’ll destroy your credit.”

“It’s not your business,” she said, her amber eyes heated almost to gold and snap sparks.

Kadan reached out, a finger traced along her arched brow. She knocked his hand away.

“I’m going to be thirty next month. I’m fixing it on my own. No grandma. No mom. No dad. He’s got other kids.”

“Declaring bankruptcy isn’t fixing anything. Don’t be an idiot. It’s better to be thirty with intact credit than thirty with crappy credit.”

“I don’t want to be one of those trust fund kids always with their hand out. I’m not going to my grandmother. She paid for my school. All of it. And look at me. No way. Not again.”

“Hollis, I can—”

“No. I said no. You’ve worked too hard to get where you are. I don’t want help. I’m going to solve it on my own. Get a job. Start over. Live simply. Figure out my life. Not ask for help. Not drag anyone down.”

She unstrapped his leg from the float and hauled him over to the steps then she splashed out of the pool, grabbed a towel and his crutches.

“I’m only telling you because I want us to be honest, and I want you to know the real me, whoever that is.”

“I don’t want to know the bankrupt you. It’s ridiculous. I want to help.”

“No. I don’t want you to bail me out either. I have to stand on my own.”

“No one stands on their own.” Kadan scoffed.

“You did.” She drew herself up ballerina straight. “You do.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re holding my crutches.” He mocked. “And driving me around, making me healthy food, pouring over recipes that are anti-inflammatory because I’m so fucking independent. That’s why I’m living in your grandmother’s beach guest house for free, for however long I want to she said. Mr. Independent. How much?”