Page 23 of Hearts Adrift (A Texas Beach Town Romance #4)
It’s something he says before I leave his room.
River’s on the edge of the bed in the guestroom. I’ve just gotten him settled in and introduced him to our cats Arial and Roman. He seems to have finally given up his fight for me and accepted my wish for us to stay totally professional while he hides in our guestroom.
Except that isn’t my wish at all.
I want River. And I want him badly.
I want to tell the whole loud world out there to fuck off so I can date him in peace, like a normal person, a man I want to know, a man I want to let inside me—in so many more ways than sexually.
But maybe it’s only because of our insane situation that we met at all. That this thing between us is even possible.
The scandal paved a path for our lives to cross.
And so here we are.
I’m about to leave him be, a foot out the door, when he says, “That night when we stood out on that rocky shore … breaking the rules, as free as the fucking wind …” He lets out a small laugh, shakes his head, then pierces me with his sensitive eyes.
“It was honestly one of the best nights I’ve had in my life, even despite the circumstances. ”
I wonder for a second what circumstances he means. Having broken into the bungalow and requiring my return that night. Or spontaneously jumping the fence and having moved me to follow him down the rocks.
Or the moment I slipped and nearly knocked myself out, only to have him catch me.
And stare down into my eyes.
Like the hero of a short film we were suddenly part of, a very short film with an uncertain beginning and uncertain ending. Maybe I’m still in that tiny film when I smile back at him and reply, “That … was a really nice night.”
A really nice night , I say back.
Suddenly the word nice has a large burden on its four-lettered shoulders, to stand in for all the far more superior words that could better describe that deeply personal and beautiful moment we shared on that shore.
“Goodnight, Finn,” he says softly.
I swallow, then leave before I do something reckless.
And that night, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for a solid hour, wondering if River is doing the same thing, or if sleep has already found him, or if he’s standing naked at his window for no reason at all, staring into the dark sea.
The days that follow are quieter than I expect.
It’s kind of funny, the unusual truce we all settle into.
River in the guestroom. Me pretending to keep my distance.
Brooke running her social media mission like a professional life hacker clacking at the keys of her laptop or the screen of her phone—with the occasional fun update to me and River about how her online campaigns are going, reminding us why we agreed on this peculiar living situation at all.
We don’t ask why she’s whispering when we’re the only ones in the house all day long.
Despite my initial worries, there aren’t as many close calls as I feared there’d be. Heather’s been staying out late nearly every night doing this and that. Dad, too. And when they’re home, they stay downstairs the entire time.
As it turns out, it’s far easier to hide a celebrity in your upstairs guestroom than anyone could’ve ever predicted.
During the day, River roams free from his prison of the guestroom, and everything feels beautifully mundane.
We have breakfast together. Lunch, too, often with Brooke.
His coffee mug ends up in the sink next to mine.
I’ll catch him humming a funny tune to himself while he’s filling Arial and Roman’s food bowls, then petting the cats as they rush up to eat.
His and Brooke’s laughter leak down the hall when I’m in my room, I just assume it’s because of another funny comment they got from one of Brooke’s posts.
It’s impossible not to feel a certain way, watching how he is with my sister. How it’s like to sort of live with him.
Even if it’s partly in secret.
I could even imagine Heather and Dad, in some ideal, magical situation, folding right into this scenario, too. I bet Heather would be over Theo in a heartbeat. River would be her new obsession. My dad would treasure him, too.
But we’re not in that alternate reality where all things work out. Here, life is messy and everyone gets in the way of everyone else. No one’s fully happy. Everyone pretends to be. Except for maybe Brooke, who wakes up each and every morning lately like it’s Christmas.
There are times when River and I are chilling in the same room, maybe reading or browsing our phones, and we don’t say much at all. But the silence feels charged, like both of us are holding our breath.
And every day that passes, the line we agreed to never cross feels thinner—and thinner, and thinner.
Was it an impossible ask, for us to keep our cool, when we are both so obviously holding back our desires, like two dams on the brink of bursting every single day?
One evening, the three of us get a bit too lost in a new angle Brooke wants to try, brainstorming clever hashtags, when Heather comes home unexpectedly.
We scramble to get River out of sight and succeed the moment Heather appears at the top of the stairs, question-loaded daggers in her eyes.
“What’re you two up to?” she asks, suspicious at once.
Brooke and I share a look, then shout, “Nothing!” at the same time.
She doesn’t press the matter further, rolling her eyes and likely writing us off as “just being our goofy selves” before heading back downstairs, grumbling about her being the only dang adult in the house.
That night just before I turn in, River catches me at my bedroom door. “Close call earlier, huh?” he whispers.
He’s wearing an oversized Mickey Mouse shirt that belongs to Brooke. It’s low-key the most adorable thing I have ever seen. Theo would never be caught dead in it.
I should really stop comparing everyone to Theo . “Too close,” I admit. “We really should be more careful in the evenings. We lost track of time.”
“I always lose track of time around you,” he says with the sweetest look that’ll stick with me the rest of the night.
I smile—as I fight to reel in the devil on my shoulder begging River to touch me, to tenderly brush bangs off my forehead, to grab hold of me and make out with me against the wall, hands grappling all over the place.
To just give me one goddamned excuse to lose myself.
“Goodnight,” I say instead, then close the door.
Until his foot stops it. “We really don’t have to sneak around your family, y’know. I don’t think they’ll freak out as bad as you think.”
“River …”
“I never wanted to turn you and Brooke into liars.”
“We’re all liars,” I mutter back at him. “All of us, just actors playing roles every day of our lives.”
“So you do listen to my mindless morning ramblings.”
“No,” I mutter, fighting off a smile and looking away.
He pokes me. “You’re a bad actor.”
I look up. “That so?”
“Absolute worst, hands down.”
His sweet, amused eyes dazzle in the partial warm light spilling over them from my room. “I guess I am,” I agree, for a moment letting the professionalism mask slip, as my voice turns softer. “Can’t possibly compare to a … talented and handsome actor like you.”
“The most talentedest ,” he agrees cheekily. Then his eyebrows lift. “Did you just call me handsome?”
I roll my eyes, still fighting off my smile. “Keep your voice down.”
“And here you are, calling me handsome and talented , and you still haven’t even seen any of my movies.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.” I chuckle. “I’m afraid to see how convincing you are at becoming someone else.”
I’m not sure what I meant by that.
I feel weird the moment I say it.
“Is … Is that what you think I’m being?” he asks softly as his eyes dance over my face. “Someone else?”
I fidget. “It’s getting late.”
“Finn … when I’m around you, I just may be more like myself than I am around anyone else—my brother Mason included, who I haven’t spoken to in over a year.
I swear, if you could live a minute in my shoes, just a minute , you’d know how often I’ve gotta act like someone else …
even in my day-to-day life, how often I’ve gotta cover up how I feel …
my pain. But with you?” He shrugs. “I can be me. Messy. Human. What you’re getting right now, Finn, this version of me who’s all over the place, this is the real me. ”
I find my levity from before traded for something far more sincere when I ask, “And how would I know that?”
He brings his face close to mine, as if sticking it right through the invisible wall of professionalism, close enough to kiss. I don’t back away. “All you have to do … is look in someone’s eyes to know. Acting 101. The truth is always in the eyes.”
I do as I’m told: I peer right into his.
Like a diver into the deep end. From a place up high, plunging headfirst and splitting open River’s waters with my fingers, then my face, then my body, until my entire being is submerged in his depths.
This can’t be a fluke—the way my insides flutter the longer I search his eyes. I have to believe, in my lifetime of fake smiles all day at the Fair, all of the fleeting human connections I’ve known, that this is something real.
Something truly for me.
Something that I will know, long after it’s gone, was a true chance at everlasting happiness.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? I know it’ll be gone.
I know he’s only here for now. My heart is too na?ve, believing he is here forever, that this feeling I’ve captured from falling into the trap of his eyes will stay with me forever.
That he isn’t just another treasure with a time limit, ready to vanish from my life and abandon me the second the coast is clear.
I close my eyes, breaking the connection. “I’m … I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
This time, his foot doesn’t stop the door from closing.
What the hell am I doing?