Between Hearts: A Romance Anthology Page 10

  My lovely Delaney,

  That rhymes a bit, no? I hope you enjoyed the little gift I sent your way. Quite a handsome fellow, this Benjamin Hertz. Do keep him around, darling. You are going to need him for the game soon. And I hope the little one remembers not to romance the bad guys from now on. We have a tendency to be bad for a person’s health. Although I have to admit, her dabbling onto the dark side put the wheels in motion much easier than expected.

  Do you remember that beautiful dress you were wearing when we met? It was the exact same shade of azurite. Call me a romantic. It was a bit tricky to find such a large stock of the blasted thing, but I know someone who knows someone in the Tsumeb council.

  My regards to your team,

  M.—

  About the Author

  Katharine Leigh lives in a country you probably never even heard of, in a house full of books and cats. She loves reading, enjoys cooking, endures writing and abhors doing the dishes after meals. So basically her life is an endless cycle of cause and effect. Katharine loves to connect with people, so go chat with her on social media, her favorite method of procrastination. Bonus points if you guess where she’s from. (You will not guess.)

  Goodreads

  @KatLeighWrites

  authorkatharineleigh

  Snapback

  Breaking Waves Series

  Keller Ramsey

  Edited by

  Dawn McIntyre Decker

  Snapback

  A quick, short cutback into the power of the wave. Often used in a steep part of the wave when the quick maneuver will keep the surfer on the “power pocket” of the wave. Also used when the wave is too fast to offer a chance to do a full cutback because the wave could pass the surfer by.

  Chapter One

  February 2017, Paris, France

  Adam

  It’s 27 degrees and windy. I should be freezing, but I can barely feel anything beyond the hard and fast beat of my heart. I’m walking the six blocks from my apartment in Le Marais to the plaza at Notre Dame Cathedral to meet up with my high school ex-boyfriend I haven’t seen in 5 years. I’m about two blocks from my destination when it happens. My heart starts pounding and a cold chill runs up my spine. Suddenly my whole body is clammy. I feel like I don’t belong in my own skin anymore. Shit, I’m gonna puke. My anxiety disorder makes me throw up when it gets bad enough. Kind of like the performance anxiety athletes feel when they are about to hit the field or actors right before the curtain rises, only I’m not performing. It’s just regular life that fucks me up. No show here folks, nothing to see. No touchdowns, no Tony-winning performance. Just me. A 26-year-old scrawny, gay, neurotic, white dude having a panic attack. I head to the nearest building and grab onto the ice-cold metal railing near the steps, ripping off my coat and scarf. The cold air rushes over me, but it’s too late. My throat tightens like a vice, my tongue feels swollen and coated. My mouth fills with saliva and my eyes start to water as a prickling sensation floods my nose. I start to gag. I face away from the street and try to get control of my body.

  Deep breaths Adam. You’re not going to puke, you don’t have to. It’s just anxiety. Force it to go away. Breathe.

  I take a deep breath, then gag again, coming dangerously close to throwing up this time. Fuck. I’m sweaty and panting when I hear a little noise in the distance. It gets louder the more it goes on. I realize it’s my ringtone. I fish my phone out of my coat pocket and stare at the screen. Jamie is calling me. It’s enough of a distraction from my panic attack, so I swipe and answer.

  “Hello?” I croak out.

  “Adam, where are you? This is so beautiful; I can’t believe I’ve never been to Paris before. Man, it’s unbelievable. This church is unreal. There are so many people around here. I don’t know how to look for you, it’s been so damn long. Are you near the front doors? I’m walking that way. What are you wear…?”

  “Jamie.” I cut off his excited rambling. “I’m not quite there yet. I’m three minutes away. I’ll be there soon. Yeah, go near the front doors, I’m sure I’ll…” I have to stop, once again forcing down puke and my gag reflex comes out of nowhere. I try to speak again, but I can’t, and a noise I hope he doesn’t hear comes out of my mouth.

  “Ad? What’s wrong?” No such luck. All the cheerful exuberance of a moment ago is gone from his voice.

  “Nothing, I’m fi…” and fuck if I don’t gag again, right into the phone this time. Sexy.

  “Oh damn Adam, you’re nervous. It’s okay. I’m sorry. Listen, it’s just me. Okay? I know we haven’t seen each other for a while but it’s still just me. You know me, I’m still the same dumbass I always was. I might be even dumber now if that’s possible. Just take a couple of breaths, okay? Try to relax. Tell your body it’s not sick, that your mind’s playing tricks on you. You can do this. Keep talking to me and start walking this way. I’ll get you here okay. Just listen to my voice…”

  I manage to mumble a yes as he keeps talking about absolutely nothing, and damn if my body doesn’t start to relax. The anxiety begins to retreat, the way it always had when Jamie was around. His carefree wild spirit is already winning the war against my high-strung neurotic one, even from blocks away. I’m getting close enough that I start scanning the front steps of Notre Dame to look for him. My anxiety has mostly faded. I’m cold again, so I stop for a second to put my coat and scarf back on. A skateboarder with green hair breezes past me, and I watch him as he does a perfectly executed ollie, nailing the landing. I smile despite myself and when I look up again I see someone walking toward me. Jamie. He holds up his phone and waves at me. A huge toothy grin lights up his face. He’s more gorgeous now than ever before. Taking my phone from my ear, I wave back and wait for him to reach me.

  Chapter Two

  April 2009, Carmel California, High School

  Jamie

  Calculus is a special kind of torture that could probably be used as psychological warfare. Mr. Hendricks has been scrawling numbers, signs, and symbols on the board for the last half hour. It might as well be hieroglyphics for all I can tell. Academics are not my strong suit. I’ve never loved school. I have no interest in racking up a hundred grand in debt while struggling my way through four years of college. I slam my book shut and sigh. It’s a good thing I’m well on my way to going pro as a surfer. I’ve won the last two competitions in my age group and I’ve already pretty much committed to a sponsor. I would quit school now if I could, but it would break my mom’s heart. I promised her I would graduate from high school before I started to travel the world on the pro-surfing circuit. So here I am, suffering my ass off though my junior year, currently pulling a low C-average in calculus class. A movement in the glass panes of the classroom door catches my eye. It’s my friend Ben Porter waving to get my attention. The window is pretty high, but Ben is already 6’2”, same as me. As soon as we meet eyes, he gestures for me to come out. I shoot him a questioning look and he mouths, “Adam.” I give him a quick nod to let him know I get it, then grab my stuff, stand up and walk to the door, momentarily forgetting I’m in the middle of a lecture.

  “Mr. Seller’s, going somewhere?” Mr. Hendricks voice halts me mid-stride. Oh yeah, crap, class is still in session. I pivot around to look at him, grabbing my waist in fake pain. “Sorry, my stomach feels like Mount St. Helens about to erupt. Got to hit the restroom or everyone in here is gonna be sorry. They should really rethink chili as a lunch option in the cafe, sir.”

  Laughter rings out in the classroom and Mr. Hendricks gives me major side eye, but nods as I exit the classroom. Ben is waiting for me with a worried look on his face.

  “Where is he?” There’s no need to ask what’s wrong, I already know. Adam has been my best friend since we were twelve. He’s suffered from major anxiety and panic attacks for as long as I’ve known him. We’re polar opposites that way. I tend to not give a crap about anything and just take things as they come. Adam…well, he worries enough for the both of us and then some. It doesn’t help that h
is parents have been mostly absentee for a few years now. They’re loaded and have three older kids who they managed to stick around to raise, but they couldn’t quite go the distance with Adam. Nope, they bolted when he was thirteen, and started traveling the world. Small trips at first, then eventually the time they spent at home became less than the time they were away. Now, he’s left living with an older sister who is rarely around and a live-in housekeeper who masquerades as a glorified nanny. He doesn’t talk much about it, but I know it bothers him. Hell, a lot of things bother Adam, but you’d never know it if you weren’t close to him. He puts up a good front for everyone, dressing like a gutter punk from the early 90’s most of the time, and mastering the art of the intimidating “don’t fuck with me” glare.

  “He’s in the language arts hall bathroom. I tried to talk to him but he flew right past me. Looked like he was gonna hurl.”

  “Got it. Thanks B.” He nods as I give him a slap on the shoulder and I head off to the language arts wing. Entering the bathroom, I spot his eggplant-colored Doc Martins right away in one of the stalls. Thankfully, there is no one else in here and I don’t smell puke.

  “Ad?” I tap on the door. “Lemme in.”

  “No, shit, how did you know I was in here?” Adams asks, then immediately gags followed by a muttered “fuck.”

  “Adam, let me in.” I give the door a few hard shakes that rattles all the stalls, then I hear the slide of metal against the lock as the door swings open. I cram inside the stall with him, lock the door behind me and assess the situation. He’s leaning back against the wall with his hands covering his face. His dark brown hair is getting long again, and his bangs hang well below his nose. He doesn’t look at me as I walk in. Instead he pitches forward and gags again, aiming for the toilet, making hurling noises. Nothing happens. I grab the back of his neck, slowly pulling him back up to a standing position. Our eyes meet. He looks panicked and pale as fuck. He starts to pull away from me but I just tighten my grip on him.

  “Ad, just relax and breathe. You don’t have to throw up, you’re just freaking yourself out. You already know this. So do I. Just hang with me, right here, and breathe.” I massage his neck a little and force him to look at me. Dark brown eyes that are nearly black meet mine. I can tell that just my presence is calming him down. I do what I do best and give him my goofiest grin ever. By some miracle it works. Finally, he gives me that cynical, one-sided smile I’ve come to know so well over the last few years.

  “Good timing man, you got me out of calculus.” I laugh and let my hand fall from his neck. His smile fades a little as he watches my hand drop to my side. He brushes his bangs out of his face and takes a deep breath.

  “Shit, sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing? I just told you, you busted me out of class. What happened, Ad?’

  “Nothing,” he shrugs, staring at the bathroom wall like it holds all the secrets of the universe.

  “C’mon man. It’s me. I know I’m an idiot, but you can talk to me.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” he says, now focusing his gaze on me. “I’m not bullshitting you, it was nothing. I just was sitting in lit class and it started happening. No trigger.”

  “Ok.” Although it bothers me because more and more lately he’s been freaking out for no reason. Usually, I can talk him out of whatever he’s worrying about, but these panic attacks that seemingly come from nowhere are a struggle because I don’t know how to stop them.

  I give him a serious look.

  “Are you sure nobody’s been fucking with you?”

  He rolls his eyes and shakes his head because he knows what I’m alluding to. Adam’s gay. He’s been out since his freshman year. Even though we live in a very liberal part of the country, there are still closed-minded morons out there.

  “Nobody’s fucking with me Mom, and I honestly don’t care if someone calls me a faggot. I am one. I don’t give a fuck who knows it. But you might want to get out of this stall before someone walks in, gets the wrong idea and starts calling you one too.”

  “I don’t give a shit what people would think if they walked in here, you know that.” It’s true. I really don’t care if someone walks in, sees us and thinks we’re together. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. I spend most of the time I’m not surfing hanging out with Adam. Usually we’re skating or playing video games, but yeah, there have been rumors. They’ve never bothered me though. I date my fair share of girls, and I’ve long since lost my virginity. I’m secure in my sexuality, or at least I was, until a few months ago when I realized my feelings for Adam went way beyond friendship. Only he doesn’t know that yet. No one does because I’m not quite sure what to do with that little factoid. Regardless, I care about him. If people want to let their imaginations run wild, that is on them. Except…lately, maybe those rumors aren’t that far from the truth.

  A loud shrill bell rings, jarring my thoughts and signaling the end of the class period. Pretty soon people will start flooding into the bathroom. I study Adam one more time before opening the door to let us out. He looks fine. The color has returned to his cheeks. He’s wearing his white worn-out Smiths t-shirt and black jeans, he looks normal. Well, normal for Adam.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah, I’m cool. I’m gonna skip my last class and head home to paint.”

  “Alright, I can meet you later. The surf forecast is ugly. I’d rather come skate with you.”

  “Cool, see you later,” he says, as we both leave the stall. “Thanks Jamie.”

  “Always bro.” I say to him as I head out of the bathroom, giving him a little salute. The look on his face confuses me a little, though, like whatever I just said bothered him. I wipe the thought away and head to Spanish class.

  Chapter Three

  Jamie

  I pull up at Adam’s and walk around to the backyard where I hear the rails of the skateboard scraping the pavement before I see him. I love that sound. It’s not as awesome as the sound of water surrounding you when you’re riding in a wave tube, but for me it’s a close second. Adam spots me and waves. He’s smiling and he looks happy. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on at school, but I can see there are now streaks of red paint along his arms. He’s a freaking brilliant artist, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. That’s his thing, his special talent, just like surfing is mine. He can also skateboard like nobody’s business. His parents installed this upscale skate ramp in the backyard for Christmas last year. I think they spent a fortune on it, mostly out of guilt because they were never here. Regardless, it works and we’ve been tearing it up for months.

  I watch him as he drops in from the top of the ramp and glides down. He’s a few inches shorter than me. While I’m big-boned and muscular, he’s all sharp angles, thin, wiry, and toned. As he pulls up for a jump, his t-shirt rides up his stomach, exposing his lower belly and hip bones. I catch a glimpse of his bare skin and something inside me flutters.

  And there it is. Again.

  That pull of attraction that’s been happening for a few months now. It surprised the fuck out of me at first, but now I’ve gotten used to it.

  I like it, actually. I like Adam. As in, I want to make out with the guy, and possibly do other stuff. No, definitely do other stuff. I’ve already let myself go through all the emotions of that little revelation over the last few months.

  I let myself deny it.

  I let myself freak out over it.

  Then, I denied it and freaked out over it about fifty more times. Rinse, lather, repeat. Those were not fun times.

  Eventually, I let myself settle into an understanding that everything I thought I knew about myself was slowly changing. Or maybe it changed quickly and I was finally letting my mind catch up to what I think I always knew. Who knows?

  What I did know now was that I like guys.

  And girls.

  Both of them are beautiful and attractive to me, and both of them are capable of making my dick hard.

  Th
at said, the first time that I popped a boner for a guy was one of the scariest nights of my life.

  Adam and I have been racing in his pool for almost an hour. I’m tired, but he has enough nervous energy to power a windmill, so I keep going. After the final race, which he wins, we climb out of the pool, dripping wet. I make a joke about the sun in Pisces weighing me down. We laugh, then he lays his hand along my lower back. He rests it there and I feel it sear into me. Adam has never touched me. I touch him a lot because I’m that kind of dude. I’m always the first to come with the bro-hugs and headlocks. I always felt like he was afraid, since he was gay, it would give me the wrong idea. But right now, his hand is sitting at the small of my back, along my hip bone. The warmth of it spreads through me with such heat that I look up at him in unguarded amazement, which he quickly reads as something different because he rips his hand away from me immediately and starts walking away.

  Before I can even get a grip on what’s happening, I catch him by the wrist and pull him to me in a rough hug. Then I push him in the pool. Because that’s what idiot teenagers do to each other. I jump in after him. My insides are still quaking, and even though I’m submerged in cool water, I can still feel the heat from his hand on my back. When I get to the surface, I watch as he comes up out of the water and pulls himself onto the deck, laughing and swearing at me the entire time. Then he flips me off, but I don’t even laugh because my eyes are now focused on the beads of water gliding down the long lines of his back, and the way his soaking wet board shorts are clinging to his ass. I feel the blood rushing south faster than my mind can say what the fuck? It’s too late. I’m sporting a rock-hard boner for my best friend. The revelation is terrifying and I immediately submerge myself underwater again until it subsides. Then I get out of the pool and make a bunch of dumb excuses to get the fuck out of here ASAP.