Page 25 of Dear Future Husband

I managed a slow head bob, but I felt far from okay.

His thumbs swiped at the tears on my cheeks before he spun back to Clayton, who was groaning, face first in the sand.

In two strides, Trey crouched beside Clayton, shoving him onto his back. He gripped Clayton’s face, his large hand muzzling the boy’s jaw. Trey reached into Clayton’s pocket, retrieving my phone before sliding it into his own pant pocket. Before releasing Clayton, Trey pulled at his face, speaking too softly for me to hear. But by the look of wide-eyed terror in Clayton’s eyes, I felt a twinge of satisfaction and relief.

He pushed Clayton’s head back to the ground before he stood and returned to me. He didn’t stop walking when he reached me. He grasped my hand and whisked me away. He led me away from the crowd, the eyes, the noise, from Clayton, all of it.

Trey led me far enough down the beach that the music and chatter faded into a dull rumble behind us.

10 Broken Drunk

Maybelle

I was so relieved to leave the rowdy party behind that I hardly noticed Trey was holding my hand, fingers intertwined.

Key word: Hardly—I noticed.

We didn’t speak as we trudged through the damp sand up the beach. But once we made it a significant distance, Trey halted and enveloped me in his arms.

I should’ve been a little taken aback by his sudden show of physical affection. But I was to overcome with the solace that flooded me as his grasp tightened to think too long on it. Instead, I impulsively wrapped my arms around his middle and held him back with equal fervor.

His heavy breathing was the only sound I could hear. Besides the rolling sea. One of his hands held to the back of my head, tangling with my curls. The other hand flattened in the middle of my back, hauling me into him.

Beginning to feel lightheaded, I released a deep breath that almost transitioned into a sob, but I quickly choked it down.

“I’m so sorry, May,” he whispered, and I felt my own arms reactively cinch tighter around him.

Feeling like there was a high probability that I would break down in uncontrollable tears if I tried to look up athim, I nestled my nose against his chest.

“What do you have to be sorry about?” I asked, because, really, what did he have to be sorry about? Didn’t he just do all the rescuing?

Trey laid his chin down on the top of my head. “I told you to come to this stupid party. I promise, I only got here about a half-hour ago. I started looking for you as soon as I got here. Of course, Liam didn’t know where you were—” He paused and heaved a deep, frustrated huff. “Last thing I wanted was for you to be alone, least of all, harassed by that scumbag Clayton.”

Hoping I wasn’t about to unravel into a mess of tears and snot, I lifted my head from Trey’s chest and chanced a look up at him. His jaw was clenched. In fact, his entire face was taut as he stared out towards the waves that crashed only feet away.

I didn’t think as I lifted a hand and placed it on his cheek. My thumb swept back and forth like it could coax those beautiful dimples back into his face.

“Trey, what is this?” I whispered.

I didn’t know why I asked, especially right then. Maybe part of it was to serve as a distraction from the Clayton situation.

But another weighty part of me needed to understand.

I needed him to answer the questions, doubts, and confusion I’d been contemplating all day. Trey needed to set me straight. Tell me it was all a façade. That he was only interested in looking out for his best friend’s sister, and that I needed to get my head out of the clouds.

Or say what a very minuscule but vital part of me hoped.

He dragged himself away from the black of the ocean and focused on me. “What’s what?”

Both of his hands were now on my hips, just under my sweater, holding to the fabric of my dress like at graduation.

He held to me so naturally, like his hands belonged on me and nowhere else. I dropped my hand from his cheek and held on to both of his sculpted arms just above the elbow. Filled with the need to mirror his fervent grasps.

“This, Trey. Us. Before this morning, we hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in passing. Now you flirt, you touch me, and save me.”

My heart was going to beat straight out of my chest. My brain was an anxious, chaotic mess of alarm bells sounding, pleading with me to run, to hide, to freeze. But I didn’t. Instead, I took the leap.

“If this is a game for you, I’m not playing. I’m afraid my heart is too vulnerable with you for me to ever win,” I admitted and surprised myself with my own fluent candor.