Snatching, too.”
“You don’t mean that,” he said.
She didn’t. She hated what he’d done, but she didn’t hate him . She might even still love him, and she hated that most of all. How could she love him after everything?
We don’t choose who we love , her mother had once said. Love sweeps you off your feet like a riptide, and leaves you blind by the time you find your footing on the shore.
“I’m thinking of chasing the horizon,” Lock said, aiming his words at the waves.
“You can’t be serious.”
When he didn’t respond, Bree noticed his gaze drifting in the direction of his boat. She’d helped him carve it from a trunk several years back, sanding the contours of the hull, perfecting the form and float. He’d won a few friendly races in that boat over the years. It cut through currents like a spear.
“You can’t. It’s a death wish, Lock.”
“Staying is one also.”
“What about Heath?”
“He’s going to lose me either way.”
“You ass!” Bree shoved Lock’s shoulder. He wasn’t expecting that, but at least he was finally looking at her again. “You think Heath wants to see your body wash up on shore? Of course he doesn’t want to lose you, but don’t do this, Lock. Don’t take the easy way out.”
“What easy way? There is no easy, Bree. You wouldn’t understand—how this date has been looming all my life, how I knew I’d never amount to anything but another loss.”
“And running guarantees it. Maybe there’s something else after you’re Snatched. Maybe you’ll end up wherever those birds fly to. Maybe you’ll sprout gills and live with the fish. I don’t care how ridiculous it sounds: The truth is, you have no idea what happens after eighteen.”
“There isn’t an after .”
“You don’t know that! That’s what I’m saying. Please, Lock. Just meet it. Greet it like an equal and maybe I’ll end up the same. Maybe in a few months we’ll both be together again, and then Heath will follow another few years down the road.”
“And maybe we’ll all meet in death, too.” He held her gaze. By the dim light of the moon, his green eyes seemed almost storm gray. “You’ll take care of Heath, right? You’ll watch after him for me?”
Bree felt her chin trembling and forbade herself to cry.
“Promise,” Lock insisted.
The best she could do was nod.
Lock studied her a moment, like he was etching a permanent rendition in his mind, then he reached out and tucked a tangled mess of hair behind her ear. His hand paused there, fingers grazing the nape of Bree’s neck. She knew she should pull away, but he looked so resigned and broken, she couldn’t bear it.
“I’m sorry, Bree. And I’m scared. I know I told you I wasn’t, but I’ve been scared my entire life. Especially the last few months. Please just be with me tonight. Here. With the waves and the stars and the whole sky as our blanket. I can’t be alone.” He moved nearer, so close his lips practically brushed hers. “I can’t be alone, and you’re the only girl on this whole island who makes me feel like I’m someone worth having.”
Against her better judgment, Bree kissed him.
It was bittersweet and simple. It was a distraction from the real issue.
She pulled away.
“We should go home. Before the tide comes in.”
“You afraid to get your ankles wet?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to do something stupid.”
“This is stupid?” He kissed her neck. “I thought we were having a good time.”
“I was talking about your boat.”
Lock tensed and drew back, stared out to sea. In the distance it appeared calm enough to be ice, moonlight winking off the surface.
Bree stood. “Are you coming?”
Lock stared at her outstretched palm, then her.
“I’m really sorry, Bree.”
“I know. Let’s go home.”
She extended her hand farther.
He took it in the end.
Walking back to the hut with their fingers threaded, the regret hit Bree. She shouldn’t have kissed him. And even
“You don’t mean that,” he said.
She didn’t. She hated what he’d done, but she didn’t hate him . She might even still love him, and she hated that most of all. How could she love him after everything?
We don’t choose who we love , her mother had once said. Love sweeps you off your feet like a riptide, and leaves you blind by the time you find your footing on the shore.
“I’m thinking of chasing the horizon,” Lock said, aiming his words at the waves.
“You can’t be serious.”
When he didn’t respond, Bree noticed his gaze drifting in the direction of his boat. She’d helped him carve it from a trunk several years back, sanding the contours of the hull, perfecting the form and float. He’d won a few friendly races in that boat over the years. It cut through currents like a spear.
“You can’t. It’s a death wish, Lock.”
“Staying is one also.”
“What about Heath?”
“He’s going to lose me either way.”
“You ass!” Bree shoved Lock’s shoulder. He wasn’t expecting that, but at least he was finally looking at her again. “You think Heath wants to see your body wash up on shore? Of course he doesn’t want to lose you, but don’t do this, Lock. Don’t take the easy way out.”
“What easy way? There is no easy, Bree. You wouldn’t understand—how this date has been looming all my life, how I knew I’d never amount to anything but another loss.”
“And running guarantees it. Maybe there’s something else after you’re Snatched. Maybe you’ll end up wherever those birds fly to. Maybe you’ll sprout gills and live with the fish. I don’t care how ridiculous it sounds: The truth is, you have no idea what happens after eighteen.”
“There isn’t an after .”
“You don’t know that! That’s what I’m saying. Please, Lock. Just meet it. Greet it like an equal and maybe I’ll end up the same. Maybe in a few months we’ll both be together again, and then Heath will follow another few years down the road.”
“And maybe we’ll all meet in death, too.” He held her gaze. By the dim light of the moon, his green eyes seemed almost storm gray. “You’ll take care of Heath, right? You’ll watch after him for me?”
Bree felt her chin trembling and forbade herself to cry.
“Promise,” Lock insisted.
The best she could do was nod.
Lock studied her a moment, like he was etching a permanent rendition in his mind, then he reached out and tucked a tangled mess of hair behind her ear. His hand paused there, fingers grazing the nape of Bree’s neck. She knew she should pull away, but he looked so resigned and broken, she couldn’t bear it.
“I’m sorry, Bree. And I’m scared. I know I told you I wasn’t, but I’ve been scared my entire life. Especially the last few months. Please just be with me tonight. Here. With the waves and the stars and the whole sky as our blanket. I can’t be alone.” He moved nearer, so close his lips practically brushed hers. “I can’t be alone, and you’re the only girl on this whole island who makes me feel like I’m someone worth having.”
Against her better judgment, Bree kissed him.
It was bittersweet and simple. It was a distraction from the real issue.
She pulled away.
“We should go home. Before the tide comes in.”
“You afraid to get your ankles wet?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to do something stupid.”
“This is stupid?” He kissed her neck. “I thought we were having a good time.”
“I was talking about your boat.”
Lock tensed and drew back, stared out to sea. In the distance it appeared calm enough to be ice, moonlight winking off the surface.
Bree stood. “Are you coming?”
Lock stared at her outstretched palm, then her.
“I’m really sorry, Bree.”
“I know. Let’s go home.”
She extended her hand farther.
He took it in the end.
Walking back to the hut with their fingers threaded, the regret hit Bree. She shouldn’t have kissed him. And even
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