try to hide it.”
My breath catches. “Hide what?”
Lucy shakes her head like she can’t go on and releases her grip on my hand. I step back, upset. “Lucy,” I say loudly, “hide what?”
She shrugs sadly. “They’re in theater four.”
I glance down the hallway, and then back at her. Is she . . . is Lucy saying that Ezra and Soleil are here
Yanking open the door, I’m momentarily blinded in the darkness. When my eyes adjust, I notice them halfway up the aisle on the right. They’re sitting next to each other. Are they too close?
Fury builds under my skin, and I think about yesterday when Soleil called. When she called Ezra’s phone. Was she even looking for me? How long has this been going on? I choke on an angry cry and head down the aisle. Lucy was right. They aren’t even trying to hide it.
When I stop at the end of their row, it takes a minute for Soleil to look over. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she immediately passes the bucket of popcorn to Ezra, startling him from the movie.
“Where have you been?” she whispers to me, seeming shocked. As if she has the right to ask when she’s here with my boyfriend. Ezra looks over, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead he just seems to take in my appearance. A person in the row behind them tells me to sit down, and I shoot him a dirty look. I’m so . . . angry. I feel like I could tear this place apart.
“You’re cheating on me?” I ask Ezra. Soleil turns to him accusingly, but it takes a second for her to realize she’s included in the equation.
“Claire,” she starts. “What? No. We were waiting for you and—”
“Shut up,” I snap at her. “I can see what’s going on here.”
Ezra stands, and I feel the entire theater watching us. I just don’t care. “You’re freaking out,” he says, reaching to take my arms. But I won’t let him touch me.
“Go to hell,” I growl. “Both of you.”
Without waiting for another word, I storm up the aisle, tears racing down my cheeks. I can barely get my mind around what’s happening, and I break into a run, needing to escape. As I pass the concession stand, Lucy leans her elbows on the counter, her chin in her palms.
“Night, Claire,” she calls after me. I glance back, confused by her calm appearance when everything is falling apart. But I’m too upset to respond.
I burst out of the theater doors and run for the Jeep. The minute I lock myself inside, I sob and let the grief fill me. My life has just imploded.
Chapter 6
The anger fades slightly as I drive through the darkened streets. To be honest, I’ve never felt that sort of venom before. Right now all I want is to curl up and cry. I’m . . . heartbroken.
I don’t want to go home, not when my eyes are swollen and my cheeks stiff with dried tears. I’m suddenly so alone—so crushingly alone that it feels like my insides are being hollowed out. I stop at a red light, sniffling back the next round of tears, and look to the side to see the beach parking lot.
Francesca almost drowned here last night—now I’m the one who feels like she’s drowning. When the light turns green, I pull into the lot and park. I need time to clear my head. I’m too humiliated to face anyone. How blind I must have been not to see what was going on between Ezra and Soleil. How stupid.
I grab a flashlight and start toward the beach, where the bonfire had burned just the night before. It’s dark, and I click on my flashlight, cutting patterns into the sand. Fear creeps in, replacing my sadness. I don’t think I’ve ever come here by myself before. Does it always feel this eerie?
There’s the sound of a stick snapping, and I jump so high I nearly drop the flashlight. I swing around, shining the light in all directions until I hear the noise again on the other side of the boulder. There’s a faint glow, and I realize someone’s built a fire. I’m not sure if I should go any farther, but my curiosity wins out. I slowly step out into the amber glow.
“Harlin?” I say, surprised to see him sitting in the sand in front of a small fire, a sketch pad in his hands. His initial shock is quickly masked by that knockout smile.
He sets the pad aside on the blanket and crosses his arms over his chest. I can’t help but notice his bulging biceps again. “Hey, Claire,” he responds. “You following me?”
He’s trying to joke, but I can’t even return his smile. “Can I sit with you awhile?” I ask, feeling pathetic. “I’m having a shitty night.”
“Of course.” Harlin’s voice is twinged with concern, but he doesn’t press me for details. Instead he smooths out the edges of the blanket, swiping away sand before motioning for me to join him.
Although it’s dark here, in this little alcove next to the rocks it’s warm and inviting. I think more than a little of that comfort is radiating from Harlin. I sit, wrapping my arms around my knees, and he leans back on the blanket, resting on his elbows as he watches me. We’re silent for a while, my mood improving with each passing second. How does he do this to me? How does he make me forget about everything else?
“Who are you?” I ask, trying to figure out this effect he’s having on me. Harlin licks his bottom lip before answering, completely disrupting my train of thought.
“I think the real question is who
I turn away, shaking my head as I laugh softly. I can’t believe he’s feeding me lines and I’m not walking out of here. Ezra is downtown with Soleil, and here I am talking to another guy? “This is a bad idea,” I say, ready to get up.
Harlin straightens, his easy smile falling away. “No, please,” he says quickly. “Don’t go yet. I . . .” He glances around as if searching for an excuse for me to stay, and his gaze fixes on the sketch pad. “Can I show you something?”
I look at him doubtfully. “If it’s a drawing of me, I’m going to be freaked out.”
He chuckles, and then stretches over to grab the pad. “You have no idea how funny that statement is.” Harlin shifts his position until he’s next to me, our shoulders touching. He holds the sketch pad in front of us.
As he tries to find the page, I admire the lines of his face: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his lips. If I was to imagine the perfect guy—I might just conjure Harlin. Guilt hits me, reminding me that until twenty minutes ago, Ezra was my boyfriend. Technically, he still is. I shouldn’t be thinking about this guy at all. And then there’s what Lucy told me. She knows Harlin—and they’re not friends.
Although he must feel me staring at him, Harlin doesn’t meet my eyes. He taps his finger on the sketch pad, drawing my attention there.
“This was my girlfriend,” he says quietly. My heart dips, and I search the image, a little jealous even though I have no right to be. I’m not sure why he’s showing me this, but I find myself leaning closer to get a better look in the low light of the fire.
“She’s pretty,” I say, noticing the waves of her hair, her delicate features. I wonder if this is Lucy’s sister, and try to see the similarity between them. Harlin stares at the picture with a sad smile.
“She was beautiful.”
I look at him again. The tone of his voice is so final, lost. So incredibly sad—I ache for him. “Do you still love her?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, setting the pad aside like he can’t bear to see her face any longer. After a pause, he turns to me. “She always comes back, though.” His hazel eyes are sorrowful, but deep with a passion that reaches out, wrapping me up and pulling me in. This close together, I can barely catch my breath, drawn to him and his pain.
“And every time I find her,” he whispers, trailing his gaze over me, “we fall in love all over again. Helplessly.” He reaches to take my hand and presses it over his heart.
The heat of his skin burns through his shirt, the pulsing beneath fast and strong. He slides his fingers
