Page 75 of Only and Forever
My sister glances my way. She seems stunned. “You do?”
“So much. I’m sorry if I haven’t shown you that.”
“Tallulah, don’t be sorry for a thing. You’ve been so much more to me and Harry than you ever should have had to be.” She squeezes my hand back. “I’m where I am in so many ways because ofyou. I have always admired your strength, your confidence. I’ve learned to believe in myself because of how you believed in me, because of how you showed me, if I put my mind to something, I could be successful.”
I tug her close, wrap my arm around her, and hold my sister. We sit in silence, temple to temple, watching the ocean.
“I love you, Tallulah,” Charlie whispers. “You don’t... have to say that back. I know you don’t like that word.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. I haven’t said it since we were little. Since I started hating that word so much. It sits on my tongue, sharp and daunting, the word I haven’t said in so long. But, staring at my little sister, I know I feel a bond to her unlike anything else—that I’d kill for her, die for her, take on any pain to protect her. If there’s one kind of “love” I can get behind, it’s that. And she deserves to know it.
“I love you, too, Charlie. I’m sorry I haven’t said it. I should have. That kind of love, family love, that’s not what I’ve taken issue with. That kind of love, it’s different.”
My sister smiles up at me, eyes glittering mischievously. “Is it?”
I give her an arched eyebrow and attack my ice cream, indulging in a big, cold bite. “Don’t push it.”
Her laugh dances on the sea breeze, so loud, it outstrips the waves’ roar. Mine joins hers, softer, not as strong, not as bright. Not yet.
But I think there’s a chance that, one day, it will be.
—
Killing the Vespa’s engine, I frown. I’m looking at a soccer field full of kids. Cones, small nets, balls flying through the air.
This is... not what I was expecting when I got Viggo’s SOS text:Ashbury won’t start.
After parting ways with Charlie, watching her pull out, I was just tugging on my helmet when I felt my phone buzz in my pants pocket. I checked it, took one look at Viggo’s text, and texted him back, asking where to pick him up. Then I gunned it for the dropped pin he’d sent me.
I didn’t think anything of the details of the destination. I was too focused on getting there. Now that I’m here, I am thoroughly confused.
Viggo stands at the edge of a field, wearing white soccer socks bunched down at his ankles, yellow athletic shorts, and a white T-shirt. The weirdest part of this isn’t that he’s in soccer gear, surrounded by elementary school kids—it’s his T-shirt. It says nothing about romance but instead,Bergman Northwest Outfitters—Bringing the outdoors to everyone.
I squint against the sun, walking toward him. This is bizarre.
“Thank God you’re here,” he says, pulling me into a hug, like he’s on a ship about to go down and I’m his lifeboat.
I pat his back stiffly. “You okay?”
“Never been better.”
A soccer ball flies toward us. Viggo spins with me still in his arms, shielding us from the live fire. He takes a shot to his back and curses under his breath, hot and right in my ear. It makes longing rush through me, imagining a very different scenario, in which Viggo would be holding me tight, hot and sweaty, swearing into the crook of my neck. A scenario in which his long body was pressed into mine, rocking into me, making me gasp and beg for harder, faster—
Another soccer ballthwacksinto his back, snapping me out of my dirty thoughts. I pull out of his arms. “What is going on?”
Viggo steps a smidge to his left, adjusting for my movement, shielding me still. “Mutiny,” he says darkly.
I frown. “Viggo—”
Another ball smacks him, and he spins around. “Okay, now, that one was my butt. Cut it out.”
I move past him just as another ball sails our way. I catch it tight in my hands, my old goalie reflexes returning. Viggo’s head snaps my way. He blinks, stunned. “Damn, Clarke.”
“Oooh, Coach Viggo swore,” a kid says, pointing up at him.
Viggo turns bright red. “I—”
“A dam is simply a human-made or animal-built barrier that stops water from flowing,” I tell the kid, staring down at them sternly. “Coach Viggo was referring to my goalie skills at stopping the ball the way water is stopped by a dam. Now, run along, urchin, before he makes you run sprints for your impudence.”