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“Jesus, Everett. You’re like a panting dog.” Ryan laughs at me. “I’m about to start barking.”
“I was thinking of something more like colorful. Bright. Resilient. Sprouting up in the places you least expect them and blowing away on the wind just as quickly.” That wicked smile morphs into a full grin. “Beautiful, too, of course.”
“Dios mío, hijo. ¿Eres capaz de mantener una conversación con alguien que no consista en coquetear?”
“¿De repente tus brazos dejaron de funcionar? ¿Ya no eres capaz de ponerte tu propio protector solar?” Monica asks with a knowing tone. He rolls his eyes. “Mamá, ¿por qué tienes que seguir interviniendo? Sólo relájate.”
“Bella, ti parlerò in qualunque lingua tu mi dica se questo ti farà continuare a guardarmi in quel modo.”
“Don’t flirt with me.” I tsk, giving her a smirk. “Telling me not to flirt with you is like telling me not to breathe around you. It’s biological, written in my DNA. It sustains my life source.”
It’s then I realize loving the two of them may come far too easily.
I’m not going anywhere, Dahlia. You can ask things of me, and so can your daughter.” His eyes bore into me, as if ensuring I absorb every word. “It’s not unreasonable.”
“And I haven’t found that purpose yet. My purpose for healing.” Suddenly, all that intensity—all that focus—is concentrated on me. “But you know what, Dahlia? Taking that kid out on a surfboard and watching her laugh, watching you laugh because of it”—he smiles to himself—“it certainly feels like the sun is shining after years of cloud cover.”
“Taking a night off does not make you a bad mother. Going on a date does not make you a bad mother. Having casual, consensual sex does not make you a bad mother. You are wonderful to that girl, and anyone with eyes and a functioning brain stem would be able to see that. You’re allowed to be a human being, Dahlia. You are not exclusively tied to that title. You can be a woman. Have a career. Hobbies. Be a friend and a sister. You’re entitled to all of those things—to having an identity outside of Lou’s mother. There is nothing wrong with that.”
Grief kind of feels like a bullet wound that never fully heals. Sometimes, it’s just a scar, and then other days, you wake up and feel like it tore right through you again, this gaping hole in the center of your chest sucking the life right out of you.
Looking at her makes it hard to breathe, makes me feel like I need to clutch my chest and ensure I’m not dying.
I’ve met a lot of pretty people in my life, but never someone who makes me feel like that, like they could actually kill me just by existing. Like gazing upon her is such a goddamn privilege, I might as well end it now.
“I don’t have a type. Well”—he pauses, and it’s almost like I can feel the smile I can’t see as I stand in front of him—“at least not until I met you.”
“We’re friends,” I bite out, holding back a moan. My body ignites beneath his touch and teeth and mouth. “Friends,” he muses, and I feel his smile against my neck. “Do all your friends make you squirt?”
I know then that I’d do anything she asked of me. I’d go to the ends of the earth for her—for her daughter. I’m lost to her storm, and I belong to her sea.
“Dahlia,” he rasps, eyes meeting mine. “I speak three fucking languages—three—and when I tell you that there is not one word in any of them to describe the way you look right now. You’re beyond beauty. You’re beyond comparison to anything in this plane of existence. You’re something beyond comprehension. Unreal.”
Men like them have no idea how many different ways you can abuse a person—not just their body, but their mind. Their spirit.
I’m out here in the middle of the ocean, drowning, flailing my arms and screaming for help, but no one can hear me, and my haunted past is pulling me under.
My heart feels like frozen soil, like flowers gone dead in winter’s frost. A lifetime of being iced out by those who are supposed to love you tends to do that to a person, I think. A lifetime of poison leaves little space for one to bloom. Meeting Everett feels like planting seeds, like the hope of spring.
August has that shy, damaged boy vibe and the soft smile that makes you think you might be able to fix him.
There is no world in which any person—including those bitchy parents—would be able to convince anyone you’re a bad mother. And even if someone tries, I’m going to be right there next to you the entire time. I’ll fight with you, fight for you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Wildflower.”
“I’m always here, Wildflower, for whatever you need. But I hope you know”—he lifts his hand, taking my necklace between his fingers and sliding his thumb across the metal—“that there is no place I’d rather be, and nobody I’d rather be spending my time with than the two of you. It’s not a chore to me. It’s what I want to be doing.”
“Potrei annegare in questa figa. Muori qui. È mio. Tutto mio.”
She tastes like she fucking belongs to me.
“Your body is my new religion, baby.” I wrap both arms around her legs, gripping her inner knees. “Now, spread those thighs and baptize me.”
“Quiero vivir, ahogarme y morir entre tus piernas, cariño.”
I grip her chin and drop my mouth to hers. Her wetness is dripping off my lips as I grasp her jaw, and her mouth drops open. I gather up a mixture of my saliva and her release, and she sticks out her tongue, as if she already knows what’s coming. I spit into her mouth. I swipe my thumb along her bottom lip, smearing the remnants of my cum. “Tell me, Dahlia—does this taste fucking fake to you?”
“Would you beg?” “Beg?” He huffs a laugh. “I’d fucking crawl.”
“Estas tan mojada. Tan estrecha. Eres perfecta, cariño,” he rasps against my lips. “Todo lo que siempre he querido. Te necesito para siempre. Dime que eres mía. Por favor. Mía, cariño. Sé mía.”
“Mierda. Me estás matando.”
“What have I become to you?” she whispers, as if she’s afraid to ponder those questions too. I lift my head and find my whole world in that sapphire gaze. “My purpose.”
“You think the chase is over, baby?” he growls. “Fuck, no. I’m going to be chasing the high you give me for the rest of my life.”
“I’m keeping you, Wildflower. You’re mine,” he rasps. “Se mia per sempre.”
“I’m not easy to love,” I find myself saying. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. The hard part is that you won’t let me.”
“You’re my wildflower.” He lets out a breathless laugh. “You blew into town one day on a whim and planted yourself right inside my soul. You’re rooted in me now, baby. I don’t mind waiting to watch you bloom.”
“You’re my compass, Wildflower. I’ll follow you forever, because that’s where I find home.”
“T–Ti ho…a–aspettato per tutta…mia vita.”
“Wouldn’t worry about that, sir.” I smile, watching Jason’s eyes blow wide. “I fucked all those daddy issues right out of her pretty head.” Knowing it’ll twist the knife further, I add, “The only man she’ll be calling daddy from now on is me.”
