The Game Series (41 page)

She shakes her head. “God, no. My dad taught Braden to fish, and his mom taught me to shop.” She grins. “It worked out well.”

“Then make sure they have three poles on that boat,” Gramps announces. “We’ll teach you to fish!”

“Oh, I, er, um …”

“Nope! You’re coming on that boat, so you’re fishing. No just sitting there and looking pretty. You can look pretty and fish at the same time, you know.” He winks and opens the car door.

“Hang on, Gramps.”

“I can get out of a car, boy. I’m not that old yet,” he scolds me, grabbing his stick and climbing out. “I’m getting bait. You go and sort out that boat.”

He hobbles across the street with his stick. I open Megan’s door for her, pull her out, and close to me. Her arms go round my waist and she leans her cheek against my chest.

“Thank you,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head, letting my lips linger there. “Thank you for this. You don’t know how much it means to him.”

She pulls her head back and half-smiles. “Probably about as much as it means to you.”

I nod, realizing it’s true. “We haven’t fished since before the semester started.”

She runs her hands around to my stomach, her fingers splaying as they creep up my chest to my neck. “I don’t have to stay, you know. It’s your day. You and your Gramps can go out by yourselves if you–”

I silence her with a kiss. “No. No. Fishing was always our thing, just me and him, but if there was anyone in this world I want to share it with, it’s you.” And it’s true. She’s the only person I’d dream of sharing this with.

“Then let’s get to that boat. I bet he’s lethal with that stick, let alone fishing poles.”

~

The waters of the bay are calm today, and the small boat bobs along smoothly. Megan’s picnic is out of the way of any splashing water and she’s looking dubiously at the fishing poles. Her gaze drifts to the tubs of worms Gramps bought for bait and she scrunches her face up a little. I can’t help but smile.

“They’re just worms,” I comment as I casually hook one onto my pole.

“Exactly,” she mutters, still staring the tub down. “
Worms.
If I’d have known we’d be using real live worms, I …” She shudders. “I hate worms.”

I smirk. “They’re just worms, baby. You need them to hook the fish.”

“I know that.” She finally looks up at me. “I just wish I didn’t
have
to need them.”

Gramps hands her a pole. “You need to hook the bait.”

She takes a deep breath as I hold the tub out, trying to contain my amusement. Her fingers move toward the tub before she snatches her hand back, shuddering again.

It takes her five tries to grab one. Even then, she drops it.

“Grab the damn worm and slide that hook through it!” Gramps claps his hands. “Those fish ain’t gonna wait around all day to become someone’s dinner!”

“I …
Ewwww
!” she squeals as she grabs one quickly and slides it on. She holds the pole away from her body, the hooked worm floating through the air , and wipes her fingers on a rag next to her. “Ew, ew, ew, ew!”

I secure the lid on the tub and Gramps and I burst into laughter.

“Come on. We gotta catch some fish!” Gramps grabs his pole, hooks his bait, and casts out onto the water.

“Yeah …” Megan says vaguely. “I have no freakin’ idea how that works.”

I put my pole down and pull her up. “I’ll teach you.”

“He learned from the best!” Gramps calls from the other side of the boat.

I wink at Megan and position her in front of me, wrapping one of my arms around her stomach. “The wind is blowing from behind us, so we need to cast this way. If we try to go against it, it’ll just blow your line this way.”

“Right. But how do I cast it?”

I grin. “Patience. You need to hold the rod correctly.”

“Um, sure.”

I move my hand from her stomach and wrap my fingers around hers. “The reel needs to be facing down, and it should sit between your middle finger and ring finger for balance. Like this.” I move her fingers. “If that isn’t comfy, you can change it until it is.”

“Its fine,” she says a little breathlessly.

“Now …” I move my mouth closer to her ear. “You need to reel out until you have six inches of line hanging out, and turn the handle until the roller is directly under your middle finger.” I help her do it, my fingertips brushing against hers. “Now hold the line against the rod, and open the bait with your other hand.”

I take her free hand from the side of the boat and put it against the bait, opening it with her.

“Now what?” She leans back into me slightly.

“Point the rod at your target.” I help her position it. “Now we need to bring it up in a smooth, swift motion. You’ll feel when the top of the rod bends and as soon as it does, we need to push it forward. Halfway to the target, let go of the line. Then we’ll close the bait.”

“Up, bend, forward, let go, close,” she mutters, leaning back into me. “I think I can do that.”

“You can.” I run my lips along her ear, nibbling at her lobe slightly. She wriggles and draws in a sharp breath.

“I can’t if you do that.”

I smile against her skin. “Ready to try.”

“No.”

“Three, two, one.” I help her lift the rod straight up and when I feel the flex I flick it forwards. She squeaks. “Let go!”

Megan lifts her finger from the line and it flies out with rod, landing almost perfectly in the water. She grins. “I did it!”

“You did. Now you have to wait for a fish to bite.”

“How long does that take?”

“How long is a piece of string?”

“Are you telling me I could be standing here all day and not catch a thing?”

Gramps cackles across the boat. “That’s exactly what he’s telling you!”

I turn my face toward Aston, and he grins. “What?”

“I can’t believe I got roped into this.” This is ridiculous. I eat fish. I don’t catch it. Hell.

“Hey.” His hands fall to my hips and he nudges my collar from my neck with his nose. His lips brush the skin of my neck. “This was your idea, remember?”

“Yes …” My idea for them.

Aston’s nose runs up and down my neck, his breath hot against me, and I swallow.

“So you didn’t get roped into anything. You had to know that you’d end up fishing,” he reasons.

“Mhmm.”

“So why are you so surprised?”

I shiver when he takes a deep breath and exhales against my skin. His hands slide down my sides to the front pockets of my jeans. He puts his fingers in them, spreading them out and stroking my legs, before taking them back out.

“I’m not,” I whisper.

“Then don’t complain.” He’s smiling as he brushes his lips along my jaw lightly, and my eyelids flutter shut. Shit. He’s driving me insane. “Megan,” he whispers in my ear.

“Mm?”

“Keep your eyes on the line.”

Bastard.
My eyes snap open and I look at him. The desire in his eyes is probably equal to what’s in mine, and fuck this stupid boat. Why do we have to be on a boat? “You did that deliberately.”

He bends his head round and steals a kiss. He grins. “So what if I did?”

I narrow my eyes and look back out at the water. “So not–”

“Woohooooooo!” Gramps hollers. “We’ve got a big one, boy!”

“Hold that steady,” Aston tells me, releasing me and making his way across the boat to his Gramps, grabbing a net on the way.

“Giz a hand, here. Not as steady on the old feet as I used to be,” Gramps orders him. I glance over my shoulder and watch as Aston grabs the pole. It’s bending a hella lot, and he whistles low at it.

“That’s a good one, Gramps.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grunts. “Prize fisher, me.”

He reels in the fish slowly, and as soon as it nears the surface, Aston swoops it up with the net and drops it onto the boat.

“Late salmon!” Gramps cries happily, taking a seat and bending over to look at it. “And … You got a tape measure on you?”

“In the picnic bag,” I answer. “Dad always used to take one for Braden so I thought I’d pack it.”

“Genius, girl!”

I grin, and Aston leaves the fish flapping on the deck to grab the tape measure.

“Well, is it big enough?”

“I think …” He rolls it out next to the fish. “Hold him still, Gramps.” He rests his foot on the slippery salmon as they double-check the length.

“Well?”

“Just.” Aston grins at Gramps. “Half an inch over the size limit.”

He claps his hands. “Dinner tonight, kids!”

Something tugs on my line and my whole body twitches. I stare at the rod and the rapidly increasing line.

“Oh!” I squeak. “Something is there! What do I do? Help!”

Gramps winks, grabs a stick and kills the fish quickly. Aston steps back up behind me and steadies my hands on the rod.

“There’s a fish – has it bitten?” he asks me.

“How am I supposed to know? I can’t see it!”

He half-sighs, half-laughs, and rests the side of his head against mine. “This is gonna be a long day.”

~

So I’m not cut out to be a fisherwoman.

That’s fine. I’m not particularly fond of the worms anyway … Or the shrimps. Worms are meant for gardens, and shrimps are made for eating. If you wanna catch ‘em or fish with ‘em, that’s cool. I just won’t do it.

Although I might just be tempted if Aston pressed himself up against me the way he did today …

Even in the cold sea breeze, I still felt like my body was on fire when he was behind me. I was so aware of him and the slightest movement of his body I don’t think I actually learned a freaking thing about fishing. All I could think about was his fingers playing with my jeans pockets and his lips ghosting along my neck. Add in the warmth of his breath across my goose pimple covered skin, and I’m ready to melt against him right now at the mere thought.

Now back in his room after eating the salmon, Aston’s hands ease up my thighs and his thumbs brush along the inner side. I look into his gray eyes as he leans into me and runs his nose down mine.

“You didn’t need to do that today,” he mutters as his fingers probe their way to my ass.

“I know, but I wanted to. You guys loved it.”

“It was made better by you being there.” His nose nudges at my jaw, causing my head to tilt back.

“You were pressed up against my body for most of it.” I run my fingers through his hair, and he presses open-mouth kisses along my shoulder. “I’m sure it was better than normal.”

“It was. Much better.”

He dips his tongue in the hollow of my collarbone, my shirt catching as he moves his hands up my back. I turn my head and kiss his neck, resting my cheek against his shoulder. He breathes out heavily, shuddering slightly, and I recognize that movement. He’s remembering. I hold him tighter and press my face into him.

“You don’t have to leave, do you?” His voice is small and vulnerable, cutting into my chest.

“No,” I whisper. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

And I mean it. If he needed me to stay forever, right here in his arms, I would. I’ll stay for as long as he needs me whenever he needs me. 

“Good.”

His fingers dig into my back and his jaw clenches, his whole body going rigid. I slowly smooth my hands across his back, slipping them under his shirt. His muscles are solid beneath my fingers, rock solid, and his grip on me tightens as he tries to control the shaking of his hands through shallow breaths.

I feel the burn of tears as I sit here, completely powerless to stop whatever is going through his mind. He could be remembering anything, any horror, and there’s no way I can stop it. I’ve been here so many times already and it’s ripped my heart apart each and every time.

But I won’t leave. Love is stronger than hate.

Whatever hate is locked inside his body and whatever hate is burned into his mind, I know our love can push it out. I believe in the power it gives us.

And that’s why I will break my heart over and over again.

I will break my heart to heal his.

“Don’t go.” The words are a muffled, desperate plea into my hair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise him. “I’m right here. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

“I hate …”

“You’re safe.” My voice is soft yet firm, my hand moving to the back of his head as I fight through the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “You’re safe here with me.”

His body twitches and he relaxes suddenly, his breathing broken and harsh. “Megan.”

Shit.
He’s so broken. His voice is so quiet, so scared. My hands are shaking and my chest is heaving. I’m still fighting the tears that surface every time he remembers.

“I’m here. I’m always here,” I reassure him.

“Don’t go. Please don’t ever go.” His voice is ever smaller now, barely there, yet it seems like he’s screaming. I feel each word slicing into me, and a tear escapes my eye despite my best efforts.

“I’m staying. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” I stroke the back of his head.

“I remember. Fishing with Gramps and Gran. I was four – it was just before she died. It’s patchy. One of the last of her. She was wrapped in her favorite blanket on the boat. Gramps didn’t want her to go and she told him to shut up. She wasn’t going to miss it. She loved coming on the boat. She’s the only person that ever came with us.”

Apart from me.
His gramps accepted me so readily. Let me go on a trip that was reserved for them only – and his wife before she died. Today must have meant so much more to them than I thought. I hold that thought and squeeze my eyes shut.

“But then I went home. Took a fish. Mom was there. When Gramps left, she told me to put the fish in the freezer because she had to go to work, and I’d have to have toast because that was all she had. She went to work. I dropped the toast she’d made, the plate smashed, and he was angry. He was so fucking angry. He grabbed me by the back of my tee shirt and shoved me into the wall. My face smacked into it. The bastard broke my nose. Over a fucking plate!”

He tries to push away from me, and I hold him tighter.

“Megs–”

“No.”

He rips his head from my grip and stares at me, his eyes hard and cold. I wrap my legs around his, pinning him to me, and cup his face.

“I’m not letting you go,” I warn.

“I’m not fucking asking you, Megan!”

“I’m not asking you, either. I’m here, Aston. I’m right here in front of you.”

“I …”

And I realize. He’s scared. He’s scared of being the man he was told he would be. Scared of doing the things they did to him to me.

“You’re not him! Any of them. You’re more than that. You’re
not
them,” I finish softly. “You. Are. Not. Them.”

“You … I …
Don’t
.”

“I love you.”

He closes his eyes tightly, breathing harshly through his nose, and shakes his head.

“Yes. I love you. Every broken, mismatched piece of you. I love every single freaking piece of you, even when you feel this way, and that isn’t gonna change. You can be angry, afraid, sad, and I’ll still love you the same way I love you when you’re happy. Listen to me and believe me, Aston. I love every part of you the way you love every part of me.”

His arms shoot around my waist, and he lies me down on the bed, tucking me into his chest and locking our legs together. His body shakes as he holds me against him. I tilt my head back and stroke my thumb down his jaw and brush his lips. My fingers smooth over his closed eyes, and I press my lips against his softly.

“I’m here, Aston, and I’m not leaving you. Don’t push me away anymore. We’re past that now. I know all of you and you can’t change that.”

“I’m scared that one day … One day I will be the person they tried to make me. Don’t you get that? I’m scared … I’ll hurt you one day. I’m so fucking scared.”

“You won’t.”

His eyes shoot open, locking onto mine with a desperation for answers. “You don’t know that.”

I do know. I know with every part of me.

“You love me,” I say simply. “You have what they didn’t. You have love.
We
have love. Every time you feel that hate, think of me, and I’ll give you love. Always.”

He doesn’t move, his eyes never flickering away, his grip never wavering. The only movement in his body is the rising and falling of his chest as he regains control of his breathing. I run my thumb under his eye and across his cheek again, as if I can wipe away the pain he feels. Like if I do it enough it’ll actually work.

A long, pain-filled breath leaves between his lips, and he presses his face to mine, his eyes clearing.

“And this is why I need you,” he whispers. “It could be pitch black and you’d still break through with your light.”

“You need my love, not me. I’m just the person that gives it to you. I might be your light, but unless you wanted me to, no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn’t be able to break through the darkness. You’re the one that makes it better. I just help.”

He shakes his head, and I nod.

“I give you the light. It’s up to you whether or not you let it break through.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Why you love me.”

“There’s no logic to love. It just is. Just like us. We just are.”

~

Everything is easier when a secret is out. Now I don’t have to worry about looking at Aston wrong or saying something that might look suspicious. I don’t have to watch my every movement, bite my tongue or clench my fists so I don’t touch him.

And I love it.

I love that we can just be.

I don’t care about the whispers from people outside our circle of friends, the ones who don’t know the truth, and I don’t care about the looks that come from other girls. I just care that I can fall into his arms when I find him standing outside my classroom, just like he is now.

“Shakespeare hasn’t killed you yet, then,” he says as he smiles at me, taking my hand.

I look over at him. “No, not yet, but there’s every possibility of it in the future.”

“Not a damn chance.”

“How do you know? Have you ever read act after act of Shakespeare?”

“Because I’d revive you before you completely died.”