Letting You Go (Stone Lake 1)

My eyes adjust and I watch as he shuffles around, finally settling by lying down, his head on his jacket. His arm goes around my waist and he pulls me, so I lay too, positioning us so that I’m facing the lake, my back to his front. He holds me tightly pressed against his body.

I’ve never lain like this before. Spooned, warm and safe, tightly held, so close that I can feel his breath fall against my hair, as his arm cushions my head. I close my eyes and drink it in. Committing the entire moment to memory. I don’t ever want to forget it.

Ever.

“What was everyone doing back at the campsite?” I ask, not really caring, but wanting to hear Gavin’s voice some more.

“Still partying. Although your friend Jules was asleep and drooling on Randy.”

“I don’t know Randy,” I mumble, figuring that was the guy she was with earlier.

“He’s an asshole.”

“Maybe I should—”

“Your girl is safe enough. She’s not alone with him, besides he’s an asshole, but he won’t hurt her.”

I frown, still not sure, but Gavin seems like he is, and I don’t want to move from the warmth of his body, so I let it go.

“I didn’t know you had a flashlight. That was smart.”

“I keep one on my keyring. So, not that smart. It would have been smart if I’d brought a sleeping bag or a pillow,” he jokes.

“Probably,” I grin. “Still it’s nice. I love this lake.”

“Me too. I come out here and sit on this dock to get away from Atticus and Dad. It’s peaceful.”

“You and Atticus don’t get along?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“How come?”

“That’s the hundred-dollar question, Babe. But I don’t want to waste time talking about my dick-head brother tonight. Not when I’m here with you,” he says, kissing the top of my head. I smile so hard that it could almost be painful.

“Fair enough,” I murmur, wondering if you can die from so much happiness.

“Are you sweet on my brother?”

“What?”

“You got a thing for him?”

“Of course not. If I did, I wouldn’t be out here with you,” I assure him.

“Some girls like to play games.”

“I don’t.”

“I didn’t think so,” he answers.

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because, I wanted to make it clear. Although, if I’m honest, he might be better for you than I am.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s more of what you want, Luna.”

“I think I know more of what I want than you do, Gavin.”

“I know you,” he says and for some reason the way he says it, makes it feel like maybe he does. I turn over on my back so I can see him.

“You’re so sure?”

“You’re a forever kind of girl. You don’t look at the present and just let things be enough, Luna. You plan, you dream.”

“You make it sound like there’s something wrong with dreaming,” I state, not bothering to tell him he’s wrong. He’s not. I do plan. I do dream. I’ve been dreaming about him for years.

“Nothing wrong with dreams, Luna. I have a few of my own,” he says, leaning up on his elbow to look down at me. His hand moves along the side of my face and I swear I can feel his fingers heat my skin.

“Then, what’s wrong with the fact that I plan and dream?”

“Why do you have the nickname Icebox?” he asks, instead of answering.

I frown, my body stiffening at his question.

“I don’t like that name,” I warn him.

“I guess that means you know why you got it?”

“Larry Richards started spreading it around after I wouldn’t go to prom with him,” I mumble, anger and humiliation mixed in with my explanation. I hate the nickname. I let on like it doesn’t bother me, but it does. The fact that Gavin knows about it makes it worse. No girl wants the boy she likes to know that kind of stuff about her.

“Why didn’t you go to the prom with him?” he asks.

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you went to the prom on your own. No date, right? I thought you girls loved having prom dates.”

“I would have liked going to prom with a guy I liked. I don’t like Larry.”

“He’s the football star quarterback.”

“He’s also a douche canoe,” I argue.

Gavin laughs. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

“Then you should know why I didn’t go out with him.”

“Fair enough, but the point is you could have gone out a million times the last two years and you shot every last one down.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m cold,” I mutter.

Words are powerful. They wound you deeply. People thought they were being funny and cute. But, every time I heard someone call me that, it felt like I was swallowing down rusty metal—and choking on it.

“I didn’t think it did,” he says, but that’s when something occurs to me. Something so horrible it feels painful only thinking it.