Holiday Tides (Wilks Beach Holiday Novella)

3. Nick

three

Nick

D isorientation isn’t a new sensation for me. Being an avid surfer means that I occasionally wipeout and get rag-dolled before I can determine which way is up. But I’ve never felt so unclear of my surroundings on dry land. It takes me a full ten seconds to notice I’m still staring at the decorative stained-glass window of Summer’s closed front door—frozen.

Summer Owens is back. Doctor Owens, technically.

Okay, yeah, so I shouldn’t have kept tabs on her over the last few years. I shouldn’t know that Summer accomplished her goal of becoming a pediatrician, that she’s still as breathtaking as ever, and she hasn’t posted on social media since July. It sounds bad, but I don’t check on her that often. It’s just hard to give up the one who got away—even if Summer never knew how I felt about her in high school.

That last night flashes forward easily. I’ve only retraced every step thousands of times over the years. It was graduation night, and everyone was high on the possibility of the future. I was set to move to Connecticut and Summer to North Carolina. I knew there was no chance of an us , but I’d just needed a few more seconds in her presence before life took us our separate ways.

“Great speech, Bummer.” My knuckles lightly tap the shoulder of her graduation gown.

I catch the exact second she suppresses an eye roll. “It was a real shock you didn’t want to take over the valedictorian speech.”

“I never said I was good at public speaking,” I say, palms lifted.

“Only that you’re good at everything else,” she mutters.

The rest of the students are cheering, caps abandoned, but because we are both class valedictorians, we’re onstage. The principal, vice principals, and the handful of staff from Baywater High School are exiting directly into the audience, but a large balloon display forces Summer and I to go through the darkened wings of the stage before rejoining the crowd.

“Hey.” I grab her hand, pulling her to a stop between blue velvet curtains. “I just wanted to say…”

There’s no way I can tell Summer what these last two years have meant to me. How messed up I was with everything that happened at the private school I attended before coming to Baywater High. How academically competing with her has made me feel as close to normal as someone with my insane family can get. Instead of being honest, I clear my throat.

“Congratulations.”

Her brows pinch. “Okay. You too.”

Summer turns to walk away. I’m mentally kicking myself before she stumbles over a floor outlet. I catch her with a palm to her ribs, my other hand coming to her upper arm to steady her.

“Darn heels. I told Sage I couldn’t—”

Her words drop off as my hand on her arm slides over her shoulder until my fingers glide up her neck, my thumb light on the corner of her jaw. I don’t even realize what I’m doing. I’ve imagined this scenario so many different times my body is moving on autopilot. All I know is there’s something final about tonight, about this moment.

I might never see Summer again.

This is my only chance.

Her mouth drops open as if to chide me, but only a stunned breath blows over my skin. Those gorgeous blue eyes lose focus before drifting to my lips and stalling. Her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip is all the invitation I need. I move forward slowly enough that if this isn’t what Summer wants, if she doesn’t feel this insane electrical spike every time we’re in the same room, she can easily pull back. Relief surges through every muscle the instant Summer leans in, her fingers gripping my gown. My eyes fall closed, and then everything is ruined.

“Whoa. I cannot be seeing what I think I’m seeing.” My vice-captain, Trent, is in the wings with our soccer seniors. “Please tell me you’re not leaning in to lock lips with Summer Owens.” He says her name like it’s a disease.

Summer’s neck flushes as she rips out of my grip. “Real nice, Nick.” She enunciates my name with a hard K, like she often does when she’s angry with me. “Couldn’t resist one more chance to mock me, could you?”

The guys chuckle like this was my plan all along.

“Summer—”

I reach out, but she’s gone down the side stairwell and into the audience. Trent slaps my shoulder, stopping me from following her. “It’s celebration time, Cap.”

As soon as I’m in the auditorium, I search for her, but Summer and her large family aren’t anywhere, and neither is her best friend, Kayla.

“It would’ve been better if you’d said a few words during the ceremony.” My father’s dry voice cuts off in a curse. “Sitting up there like a model. Embarrassing.” He turns away to allow my stepmother to press her bony collarbone into my chest.

“You looked nice.” Her thin fingers pat my shoulder once. “We’ve got dinner reservations, and Xavier is waiting in the fire lane.”

Heaven forbid we drive ourselves anywhere. Not when my parents can drink themselves into a stupor on the way to whatever overpriced and stilted dinner we have to look forward to.

As my stepmother slides her arm through mine, I cast one more fleeting look over the crowded room before following my parents toward the future they planned for me.

The memory of that night has me rubbing my chest, even though I know it won’t relieve the gritty buildup of guilt and regret. I never wanted Summer to think that moment between us—when I was being honest for the first time in years—was a joke. Even though I reached out via social media and even cornered a mutual friend for Summer’s phone number, she ignored and then blocked any communication from me. I never got an opportunity to explain myself.

Aldon’s truck pulling up beside mine reminds me that I’m supposed to be working. I set Summer’s broken gate back on its hinges as best I can before rushing to thump my adoptive brother on the back.

He’s not my brother, legally, but since Aldon took me in the summer I turned eighteen, I think of him as one. He’s been more family to me than my parents, since I decided not to bow to their money noose. Neither my father nor stepmother have contacted me since, moving from Wilks Beach and acting as if I’ve committed murder rather than chosen to pave my own way in life.

Aldon already had four brothers when he absorbed me into his life and his successful renovation business. Our ten-year age gap means that I’m also the youngest ‘brother,’ and therefore it’s my job—nay, responsibility—to be a perpetual thorn in his side.

“Hey, big daddy, how’s my niece doing?”

Aldon winces. “Please, for the love of the ocean, never call me that again.”

Laughter rips from me. “But you’re technically a da—”

He holds up a weathered hand. “Don’t do it. Don’t even think it. In my household, I’ll be Dada until she can pronounce Dad. End of story. I don’t care that we live in the South.”

My eyes widen as I suck in a pursed breath. “You know that’s a contentious subject.”

Some argue whether Virginia counts as a southern state.

“We’re below the Mason-Dixon line. We live in the South. Here.” Aldon hands me a box of accent tile for one of the four main bathrooms. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and take this inside?”

His gruff words might as well be fluffy mini-marshmallows.

“I’m planning on heading to the mainland once we finish out this afternoon. Do you need diapers, wipes, or more Sour Patch Kids for Jane’s stockpile?”

This was supposed to be Aldon’s jobsite, but since their beautiful daughter came two weeks early, I’m taking over. After years of trying, their miracle baby is here, and Aldon is taking a long-earned break—or he’s supposed to be, anyway.

Aldon pins me with a look. “When doesn’t Jane need candy?”

“I’ll get her two jumbo packs,” I say through a growing smile.

All of us islanders have to travel to the mainland for supplies not available at Dotty’s small market. Which brings me back to this morning’s conundrum—what is Summer doing at her grandmother’s cottage? Probably just visiting, though I haven’t seen her brother, Sam, in a while. Before I have time to ruminate, the woman herself slips out of her side exit, cutting toward the back of the house. She’s wrapped in red running tights, a light-gray half-zip, and a red snow hat pulled over her hair.

Summer’s choice in running attire makes me grin before I place the box of tile in my truck bed. “Text me if you need anything else. I’ve got to check on something.”

If Aldon sees what’s got me jogging away from an active jobsite in the middle of a reno, he keeps it to himself. All I know is that Summer didn’t walk back into my life—across the street from where I’ll be working for the next few weeks—for no reason. I’ve never believed in the ‘magic’ native islanders claim runs beneath our sandy shores, but I’m not wasting this opportunity. Not when I never thought I’d see her again. This is my chance to explain everything.

I just have to catch her.