The Truth About That Summer

seventy-five

"What're we waiting for exactly?" I mumble, squinting into the sun behind Luke's overgrown head of hair as he stands over my spot in the sand.

He's at that length where he could probably really go for a haircut - I bet his mom is bothering him about one already. I've always liked it a little longer, though. It suits the whole Luke look he's got going on, anyways, always has.

Sand shifts beneath my butt as I settle deeper into the dunes, where I've been waiting the past ten minutes, as I huff out a dramatic sigh.

Today's surfing lesson had been the thing to get me through a particularly loud day at the center, following a night of restless sleep - thanks to the dreams of Casey that cleaning out his closet had stirred.

Well, cleaning out his closet, yes, but maybe the photos had more to do with my sleepless night than anything else. I peer at Luke through my lashes, gnawing my bottom lip.

When was Casey planning on giving me those photos? What was he waiting for? 

Was this his version of giving his blessing, somehow? His forgiveness? Showing me that no matter what... no matter the nasty things I said that night, no matter the fact that I never said goodbye, no matter the fact that I only feel okay with the one who took him away... No matter what, he's still my big brother?

He still loves me?

When Luke quips a brow at me, I shake my head and the thoughts away with it, holding back an eye roll at my own expense.

I found those photos by accident, because ironically, an accident took my brother away from me. There's no other big, cosmic reason to it.

Even if it would make the whole thing hurt a little - or even a whole lot - less.

Needless to say... It's been a long day.

Still, this surf lesson with Luke got me through it.

But now that I'm here, the sun is too bright in my eyes, too hot on my skin. The air is too thick, my one-piece is too tight, biting into the skin of my hips.

Staring at the waves, listening to the refreshing slap against the shore, I'm getting jumpy.

I want to feel the numbingly cold waves rush over my skin, zapping away the heat and the sweat and replacing it with sand and briny sea. The numbness that seeps into my core, so that all I can focus on are the pins and needles beneath my skin.

No stupid theories, no guilty conscious.

"Patience, Pickle." Luke smirks, snapping my attention from the shore but giving me no real answer. He slips his t-shirt over his head, long, lean abs glistening under beads of perspiration.

My eyes trail the hard lines of his abs until they meet the drawstring of his swim trunks. Wetting my lips, I cock my head to the side at him.

"When have I ever been patient?" The words come out a childish exhale. Standing upright in front of him, I pull my dress over my head by its hem, revealing the black swimsuit I changed into at the center.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt to start." Luke grins, taking in my long legs. Reaching out a long finger, he drags his touch across the line where suit meets the skin of my hip. "I'm surprised you listened about the one-piece though."

He looks slightly disappointed that I did in fact heed his advice and forego my usual choice of a bikini.

"I didn't want to give you any sneak-peeks." I stick my tongue out at him.

"We'll save those for later." Eyes hungry on my lips, Luke keeps his voice, his demeanor, light. Easy-breezy for public eyes.

Glaring at the group of teenage boys some yards down the shore, I'm even more glad I listened. Getting caught by a wave and dunking up out of the water moments later, boobs exposed to a herd of puberty-wild boys, would not be a great way to end this very long day.