Summer's Kiss (The Boys of Ocean Beach 1)

sp; I fail to keep the laughter down. The fact they all know…it’s too much.

He breaks into a grin and rubs his chin. I see the grease stains on his hands from working on the boats.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, ready to cut to the chase.

“It’s not your fault, Summer, but that whole thing at the bar with Mason, it was like a moment ripped out of my childhood. I can’t go back to that place.”

I’m confused. “What are you talking about?”

He looks around and lowers his voice. “All I ever saw was my mama and daddy fighting. It was always about other men or other women. More than once, things got physical. Once some guy showed up with a gun and threatened to shoot us all because my daddy couldn’t keep it in his pants. I’m not living that life again, Summer.”

“I’m…I’m not asking you to,” I stammer. “None of that was normal for me.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. I just don’t know if you appreciate what it’s like to live like that.”

“What? Where you’re the kid waiting around while your parents fight and divorce and leave one another for someone new? My dad was a cheat also, Justin. It’s one reason being with Mason ended so badly. He had a fiancé. I had no idea.”

I see his resolve weaken—just for a second—before the walls come back up. “Good, then you understand.”

“I wish I didn’t.” But the familiarity gave us a common ground. A better understanding of who we are outside the basic attraction and fun days on the beach. A woman bumps into my foot with her cart and I jump out of the way. He reaches out to steady me and his fingertips shoot a jolt of electricity through my body.

Fight or not, there’s no denying our attraction to one another.

He looks into my cart. “So you’re going to the party?”

I nod.

Bobby calls his name and he leans in and I think for a brief moment he’s going to kiss me, but at the last second he hesitates and pulls away. “I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you there,” I echo, watching him walk away.

* * *

“Already unpacked?” my mom asks. I’ve just finished resorting my clothes in the cabinets over the bed. The only thing I kept out was my bathing suit and a cotton dress to wear over it.

The breeze picks up and hits the kitschy wind chimes made out of pearly shells my mother hung up when we moved in. After a moment she says, “Do you want to know why I ran away back then?”

I brace myself. “Yes, if you want to tell me.”

“I want to.” She takes a deep breath and starts, “In 1974, Richard, Sugar, and I were accosted by Donald Gaskins on the highway between here and Myrtle Beach.”

This revelation should be more shocking, but it’s not. I’ve seen the scar. I’ve connected the dots, between the jagged mark on Martha’s chest and the one on my mother. Even so, I’d hoped it wasn’t true.

“Oh Mom, I’m sorry.”

“It was the single most terrifying moment in my life. I still have nightmares. I’ll wake up in the pitch black and think I’m back there. Back with him.”

I have no idea how to respond. We’ve spent the last month digging up story after story about the evil Gaskins performed, each one worse than the one before. I swallow through the lump in my throat and ask, “Did he hurt you?”

“He hurt all of us,” she says. Her voice sounds stony. “In our own ways.”

My mind spins around the book, the interviews, the desire to find other close-call victims. “Is this why you found Martha?”

“I’d always wondered if we were the anomaly. Were we the only ones that got away? It seemed unlikely since he was such a risk-taker. That wasn’t my intention with the book, though. I just needed to get the story out there. Stumbling upon the idea of other victims gave me a second focus—something positive to search for.”

I look down at my hands. “Is this why you and your family here stopped speaking for all these years?”

She nods. “We were young and immature. Terrified. Even though we walked away alive, the encounter haunted us. Unlike Martha, I didn’t find my guardian angel. All I wanted to do was blame everyone else. I blamed Sugar for talking me into sneaking out that night. I blamed Richard for his terrible car breaking down on the side of the road. I blamed Gaskins for being a disgusting pervert. Most of all, I blamed this tiny part of the world for no longer being the safe sanctuary I thought it was. So I ran. I ran fast and furious and I never looked back.”