Page 32 of Into These Eyes

“Oh, God,” I gasp, clamping a hand over my mouth. Fuck. Remembering how I once hoped something like that would happen to him churns my stomach. I’d thought he’d deserved it. The terror he must have gone through. And he shouldn’t have even been there in the first place.

Benny pats my shoulder, bringing me back out of myself. “Haven’t finished the story yet, so don’t go gettin’ ya knickers in a knot.”

I remove my hand from my mouth and stare at him with wide eyes, desperate for him to continue.

“Was just about ta go get some mates, when I saw somethin’ come over the kid’s face.

Think he knew right then that he wouldn’t survive what they were gonna do to him.

Better he die then and there fightin’ those pricks.

This wildness came over him, like he wasn’t human.

He turned into somethin’ feral, and he fought those arseholes like a savage beast. There was no skill in it.

Just pure fuckin’ determination and craziness.

Don’t get me wrong, those guys put up a fight, but they saw what I saw.

Fuckwits didn’t stop, though. Gav ended up puttin’ them all in the infirmary.

He took a goddamn beatin’, but that’s all he took.

After that, and after I convinced him ta shave his head and grow a beard ta hide those pretty-boy looks, no one ever touched him again. ”

“Jesus,” I mutter, blinking at the tears that threaten.

I can’t even imagine the strength it must have taken to fight off three men.

From what Benny just described, it sounded like he wouldn’t have stopped until he was dead.

His resilience astounds me. “He told me it was you who got him through it.”

Benny shrugs. “He earned my respect … everyone’s. That’s how he survived. And by learnin’ to hide who he really is on the inside.”

“Except from you. I don’t think you’re giving yourself anywhere near enough credit, Benny.”

He gives me a sideways glance and a crooked smile. “S’pose I can take some of it. But not all. There was someone else who got him through it, too.”

“Oh? He’s only ever talked about you.”

“Then that’s where we better leave it. Can’t go tellin’ you all his stories. Gotta leave some for him to tell you himself, right?”

A little disappointed, I nod. I don’t think Gavin will ever tell me the story I just heard. Benny’s right, though. They’re Gavin’s stories to tell.

After walking in silence for a while, I ask, “So, what about you? Gavin told me you were convicted of two murders, but both were in defence of another. I’d love to hear what happened.”

“Happy to talk ya ear off, love. Second prick I killed was tryin’ it on with a newbie. I ripped the arsehole off the skinny runt. Idiot tripped over his own feet and smashed his skull on the edge of a toilet. No one believed it was an accident, so I got another twenty.”

As we walk along the wet sand, I listen to everything Benny’s been through in his life.

It’s harrowing and unfair, but he doesn’t seem bitter.

To him, it’s just the way his life turned out.

But hearing his story makes me cringe inside.

I’m the person who tries to keep people like him in prison.

Listening to the reasons why he ended up incarcerated in the first place, then his second conviction, has me feeling dirty about my career again.

After listening to more of Benny’s prison stories, I finally spot Gavin walking toward us in the distance. The first thing I notice is the sheen of sweat shining in the sunlight on his bare chest. Why disgusting man-sweat has me intrigued just because it’s all over him , is baffling.

When he draws a little closer, I notice something dark over his left pec. From this distance, it’s just a blob with no definitive shape. So, he does have a tattoo after all. And the fact that it appears to be the only one he has, tells me it holds significant meaning.

Eager to see what it is, my eyes remain riveted as the distance between us narrows.

But just as the tattoo begins to take on a distinctive shape, he unfurls his t-shirt and shoves it over his head.

I know he’s hiding it from me, because he hadn’t bothered covering up when other people passed him.

It definitely means something. Something he doesn’t want to share with me. And for some reason, that hurts.

Which is ridiculous. We barely know each other.

Close now, he breaks into a jog and sails straight past Benny and I with a smirk on his face.

“Now what’s he up to?” I ask Benny.

“Beats me.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Gavin racing toward us, veering into the breaking waves. As he closes the gap, he kicks at the shallow water, sending a spray of cool droplets misting over us. I gasp, raise my salt-speckled sunnies, pop them on top of my head, and glare at him.

“Bugger off, Gav,” Benny warns, inching away from the water until he meets the soft sand.

Gavin’s roguish eyes lock with mine. He’s not done, and I’m the closest target.

With a rush of lightness bursting through my chest, I take off. As my bare feet fly over the compacted sand, I feel free, like a kid again, and I realise that’s probably the last time I actually ran anywhere.

When I hear his footfalls over the waves, I put on an extra burst of speed.

I run and run, my dress plastered to the front of my body, my ponytail whipping my back.

Grinning, I revel in the spontaneity and unexpectedness of this moment.

When I left the house this morning, I never imagined I’d be chased along a beach by a man I hope catches me.

Then the show-off shoots past me as if I’m running backwards.

Once he’s far enough ahead, he stops and turns, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

I swerve toward the soft sand, but he mirrors me, and when I veer toward the water, he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder.

Squealing like a little girl, I pummel his back with my fists as he carries me into the waves.

His body shudders with laugher as I watch the back of his knees disappear beneath the swirling foam. When the next wave crashes into him, he stumbles, and we almost go down, the jolt sending my sunglasses into the ocean.

“My sunnies!” I shriek.

He twirls around, his laughter vanishing. “Hold on! We’re going under!”

“Gavin! Don’t you dare!” I buck and squirm, kicking my legs. “Please! The salt water’ll ruin this dress,” I shout, not having the faintest idea if that’s true or not.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles, heading to shore.

When the water becomes shallow, one of his hands releases the back of my thigh, and he dips low as if he’s about to put me down.

Before my feet touch the sand, he straightens up.

It’s not until he clutches my thigh again, that I tune into the position of his hands.

Holding down my dress, they curl around each thigh just below my backside.

I should be grateful he’s not giving the whole beach a view of my undies, but my concentration is on the way his pinkies graze my bare skin below the hem of my dress, the heat of his hands and the firmness of his grip only centimetres from my arse.

I should be screaming that this is highly inappropriate, but the way my body’s reacting drowns out all rational thought.

Trying to distract myself, I accuse, “I can’t believe you lost my sunnies.”

“You can have mine.”

As he steps free of the water, I watch the damp sand turn dry. He needs to put me down before those hands of his turn me into a puddle of mush.

“Can’t … breathe,” I whimper.

In a whirl of movement, he catches me in his arms, hoisting me close to his chest. I instinctively clutch his shoulders and stare straight into his grinning face. A face wearing my sunnies.

“You bastard!” I laugh, snatching them from his eyes and shoving them back where they belong.

“Well, that’s not a very nice thank you .”

“Ha! You’re the one … where’re we going?”

“I want to show you something,” he says through laboured breaths he’s trying to mask. As he walks halfway up a sloping sand dune, I take in the effort on his face, feel his feet sinking into the loose sand.

Just as I’m about to insist he put me down, he loses his footing. I squeal, wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight.

With lightning reflexes, he pivots, landing on his butt with me in his lap, the arm around my back holding me tight to his chest. While I wait for him to release me, I realise I’m not letting go either.

Heart thundering, I lean back a little.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

When I meet his eyes, there’s not an ounce of apology in their striking blue depths. “No, you’re not.”

I get a bullshit hurt expression in response. “You don’t believe me?”

“You’re having way too much fun to be sorry.”

“And I love that you are too.”

He’s right. It’s been so long since I’ve felt free and happy, since I’ve had fun . Maybe as long as it’s been for him.

But I’m pretty damn sure that’s not why my face is on fire. Because, oh my God , I’m sitting in his lap, and his fingers on my waist keep gently squeezing and releasing, as if he can’t decide what to do with them.

“I should …” As I make a move to free myself, his restless fingers tighten on my waist.

“Don’t go yet,” he says softly, like he’s making a wish.

I freeze, our eyes locking. The way he’s looking at me … it’s pulling me in.

“I want to show you something, remember?”

I nod dumbly, afraid my voice might crack if I attempt to speak.

He shuffles me around until I slide between his bent legs. My butt hits the warm sand as he rests his forearms on his knees, his chin hovering over my shoulder.

Although he’s no longer touching me, his presence is everywhere, encapsulating me in an embrace of pure energy. It buzzes with life, warmth and promise in the miniscule space between us. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so protected, as whole as I do right now.

Right beside my ear, he murmurs, “How long since you’ve stared out as far as the eye can see?”