Page 36

“It’s wrong.”

Following Tate’s lead, I dig my hands into the sand and lean back. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks.”

My eyes slide to him. Eighteen looks good on Tate. I wasn’t watching for it, so I’m a little struck by the change in him. He’s filled out in a way I wasn’t expecting. Not just his body, but his face, too. His jaw is hard and square and there’s a shadow of scruff. Scruff! On Tate.

I don’t pull my gaze away as I ask, “What did you do?”

He finally looks at me. Green eyes sweep my face in the moment before he knocks his head back an inch with a grin that looks far too old for him. “What do you think I did?”

I smirk. “Got drunk.”

His grin widens, looking a little more boyish. I think I prefer it, honestly.

“Legally, Faye. I got drunk legally.”

I snort a laugh. “Of course, you did.”

He shrugs. “If you weren’t so young, you could have been there.”

My spine straightens. “I’m going to be sixteen in a month.”

He sighs a sound that is filled with mock grievance. “So young.”

I swat at him. “Whatever. You just turned eighteen.”

“But I am eighteen. All done with school, now, too. I can drink in bars and vote and get a place of my own.”

“Oooo, you get to work every day, pay bills, and bitch about the state of your country.” I shove a finger into my mouth on a fake gag. “Can’t wait.”

His eyes study me carefully. “Not excited to grow up?”

I shrug. “I like it here. Like being—like this.”

“I think you’re the first person I’ve ever heard say they like being a kid.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a kid. I’m nearly sixteen. But I also have it pretty good, and I don’t care for change. As soon as I’m done with school, turn eighteen, and get thrust into the ‘real world’” I give air quotes. “Everything is going to change.”

“Oh, come on, Faye. Look at the bright side of things, why don’t you?”

My brows rise. “That is?”

“You get your own space. No one telling you what to do, where you can go, and when you’ve got to be back.”

I roll my eyes. “Your parents don’t even do that now.”

“No, they don’t.” His eyes drift over my face again. “But yours do.”

There is a deepness to his voice that I can’t pick apart. Can’t decipher.

Sometimes, the way Tate looks at me makes me feel like he sees more of me than I’m showing. Not like he’s looking for what is beneath my clothes, but like he’s seeking the darkness beneath my skin. The real parts of me that might be beautiful, but also could be hideously ugly.

He looks without any worry for what he might find, as though he knows that whatever it is, it’s only human. And even the ugly flaws are beautiful in their own way.

Tearing my gaze from his, I look to Holt again. “I think I’m most afraid of him.”

“Holt?” There’s an edge of darkness to his question. Worry. “Why would you be afraid of him?”