Page 20 of Under the Waves
That had to mean something,right?
Her tall frame shivered. My sheets reeked of whiskey and cigarettes, of Xander Hawthorne. The asshole was probably fucking in here before everything happened. He was the heir to James Hawthorne—his family owned the town, hence it being named after them. It was hisgreat, great, greatgrandfather or something who founded it with his little polish mechanic shop on main street and it grew from there.
He was practically royalty as far as this town was concerned.
The king.
“Jasper.”
Poppy’s hoarse voice drew me from my thoughts as she stirred beneath me.
“Shhh,” I whispered, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, “I’ve got you. Will you let me take this off you, Wellsy?”
She shivered, before giving a slow, exhausted nod.
“I need to hear you say it.”
I didn’t fuck around when it came to consent.
Unlike some bastards I knew.
“Yes,” she stirred, and that was all the invitation I needed before slipping my hands under the jersey, gently taking her arms out of the sleeves and tugging it over her head.
Walking over to my bathroom, I threw the jersey over the side of the bath and pulled out one of mine from my closet. Something tugged at my chest, but I ignored it, pushing it so fucking far down I couldn’t feel it anymore.
Pulling my jersey over her head, I watched as she smiled wearily and breathed in. “It smells like you.”
A small laugh escaped my lips, “Yeah, Wellsy? Do tell, what do I smell like?”
Her lips tugged up into a tiny smile—someone else mightn’t have noticed it butIdid. I noticed every single fucking thing about her, it terrified me. No matter how much I hated it, she was in my head so fucking deep I couldn’t get her out of it. It had only been one day since she’d been back, but she’d been in my head foryears.
I hated her for making me feel like this,
and I hated myself for letting her.
“Like…home.”
My. Heart. Fucking.Shattered.
“Like the ocean, summer breeze, and…lavender. You always smell like lavender,” she mumbled before falling down against the pillows.
“My mom used to put lavender drops on my pillow when I was younger. She said that it would scare away the nightmares. I’ve never stopped using it,” I whispered before realizing what I’d just admitted.
Panicked, I looked down at her to see if she’d heard what I’d said but all I found was her shivering frame fast asleep on my pillows…in my bed.
Relief coursed through my veins—she didn’t hear me.
But why did that make me feel worse?
Poppy stirred, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she rolled over onto her back. Brown curls fell across her chest and as I dipped down to push them away from her face, my eyes caught hold of nearlytwelvefresh bruises, making up nearly triple the size of my fist, scattered across her collarbone and disappearing beneath my surf jersey.
She wascoveredwith them.
Fresh bruises.
Recent fucking bruises.
Someone hadhurther.