Untamed Hearts (2 page)

I grab butter from the grocery store, and then
take my time on the way back, strolling the long route around that
takes me past Mrs. Olson’s diner. It’s empty, and the sign outside
reads ‘closed’, but I can’t help pausing to glance through the
window, searching for a familiar figure.

There she is.

Wiping down the countertop at the back of the
diner, her dark head bent away from me. She’s wearing her usual
uniform of an apron over cut-off shorts and chunky black boots, her
hair tipped with blue this week. Even cleaning up, there’s a grace
to her movements that mesmerizes me. I watch her, my errand and the
party suddenly fading right away.

Brittany Ray.

We’ve never spoken, not so much as a word, but I
know who she is. Everyone in this town knows. She’s only sixteen,
and the things they say about her... but I don’t believe them, not
for a second. Brit doesn’t even seem to care. She just strides
around town with her tough-girl outfits and that dark, piercing
stare, like nothing can touch her.

She doesn’t realize how beautiful she is.

Brit looks up from the counter, and I leap back,
embarrassed, but she doesn’t see me out here in the fading dusk
light. She says something to the person at the back of the diner,
and then pulls of her apron, grabbing a scuffed satchel and heading
for the front door.

I quickly take a few steps up the street, and
pull out my phone, like I’m looking at a message.

The door rings, and Brit steps out onto the
street.

“Hey Brit!” A voice calls, and she turns. It’s a
couple of local guys, toting six-packs and snacks. “You coming to
the party?”

Brit shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You gotta,” the other guy urges. “Last blowout
of the year. It’ll be crazy. Down at the beach, past the
breakers.”

“Cool,” Brit nods. “I’ll swing by later.”

She turns back and sees me watching. Brit looks
startled, and I quickly drag my gaze away and start walking, back
towards my truck. I feel like an idiot, but at the same time, I
sense the burn of her gaze still echoing through me, her dark eyes
full of secrets.

I’ve wanted her all summer long.

She’s always been here, around town, but
somehow, this year, everything changed. I took one look at that
glaring, wounded stare, and suddenly, she was the only thing I
could see. Other girls just faded into the background. I didn’t
want them. I didn’t care about anyone but her. I found myself
looking for her in every crowd, suggesting Sunday breakfast at the
diner just to catch a glimpse of her, imagining what it would be
like to touch that soft dark hair, taste those perfect pink
lips...

Maybe it would be different if I thought I
didn’t stand a chance, but now I know, this weird connection
between us runs both ways. Last week, I was working in the harbor
cleaning up our boat when I caught her watching me from the shore.
I didn’t let her know I saw her, I acted like nothing had changed,
but I felt her eyes roving over my body; caught the look of desire
on her face.

It took my breath away.

Any other girl, I would have strolled right on
over and asked her out. Taken her for a stroll on the beach, never
thought twice about kissing her. Hell, if I’m honest, I would have
sealed the deal too, shown her everything I already know about
making a woman moan with pleasure—and let her teach me so much
more.

But Brit isn’t any other girl. She’s like a
blazing neon sign on a dark night: ‘Warning: Danger. Keep out.’
Even now, heading back to the house, I see her face dancing in my
memory, and the beautiful burn of those dark eyes, calling to
me.

I shake it off. Even if I wanted to, summer is
as good as over. Come tomorrow, I’ll be miles away, and Brit will
be nothing but a memory—if she was ever anything more.

Back at the house, the party is still
underway. I suffer through drinks, and dinner, and more mindless
small-talk that even another secret vodka can’t improve, all the
while deflecting questions about college, pretending like when it
comes to my future, I have any say at all.

“And are you seeing anyone special?” One of the
nosy blondes asks. I’ve been stuck seated next to her all through
dinner, watching her push a single green bean around her plate.

“Not right now,” I force a polite smile.

“You know, my niece Kiki is starting at Harvard
in the fall, I should give you her number, she’s just a doll!”

“Then keep her away from Hunter,” Jace
interrupts, coming to my rescue with a teasing grin. “He’ll only
break her heart.”

“Oh, you boys!” The woman laughs, but writes me
out the number all the same. I crumple it into my pocket, not
interested in Kiki, or Jennifer, or any of the other numbers my
parents’ friends have pressed into my palm.

There’s only one girl I think about at night,
restlessly turning in the cool night breeze. One girl who fills
every thought, plagues me with fantasies I’ll never share.

One girl who’ll soon be out of reach
forever.

Unless you do something about it...

I try to ignore the whisper, but then there’s a
lull in conversation and Jace clears his throat. “Dinner was
lovely, mom, but we better get going now.”

“You’re going out?” Mom blinks in confusion.

“Sure, just a little good-bye get-together,” he
gives me a look, and I quickly rise to my feet. It’s the first I’ve
heard about it, but any chance to escape this party is one I’m
going to take.

“I don’t know...” My dad frowns, but Jace isn’t
deterred.

“I’m sure you don’t want us kids hanging around
while you go crazy,” he winks. “I know how rowdy your parties
get.”

There’s another chorus of charmed laughter, and
mom finally waves us away. “Alright then, but not too late. We’ve
got an early start back tomorrow morning.”

Jace kisses her on the cheek. “We’ll be good, I
promise.”

I follow him out, marveling for the hundredth
time how he’s got our parents wrapped around his little finger.
“How do you do it? If I asked, they would have shut me down in a
heartbeat.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t spend the summer
shaking hands with all Dad’s biggest clients.” Jace gives me a look
as we head out through the kitchen. “When are you going to learn,
it’s give and take? You’ve got to give some charm to take what you
want.”

I shake my head. “Enough about our parents,
where are we headed?”

“There’s a party on the beach, end of summer
thing.” Jace replies.

I stop. The party those guys invited Brit to;
the one she said she’d drop by. “How did you hear about that?”

“I hear everything, little brother.” Jace
laughs. “I already snagged some booze from the cabinet while we
were packing up. We’re all set.”

I pause by the back door, feeling torn. I’ve
kept my distance from Brit all summer. Just one more night, and
I’ll be safe a hundred miles away from her chaos.

But do you really want to be?

I catch my breath, feeling the kick of
anticipation in my veins. “Let’s go.”

***

“Hey sweetie, I guess you’re out, or busy,
or... Well, it doesn’t matter. I was just checking in. Things are
real good here, I’m going to meetings. Eight weeks sober now...
I’ll be home soon, I promise. I miss you, baby.”

I listen to the voicemail message five times
over, and then delete it before I can listen five hundred times
more. There’s a pain in my chest so tight I feel like I might
explode, a hot stab of anger and bitterness and desperate ache.

She does this. Every few months, like clockwork.
Just when I’ve forced myself to forget, mom calls and leaves some
bullshit message, and it all comes flooding back: that she just
took off and left me alone here, with nobody but my brothers to
watch out for me.

That everyone I love always leaves me in the
end.

“I’m going to meetings again..”

I know too well not to get my hopes up, that her
promise to be home soon is nothing but a temporary plan. Soon, too
soon, she’ll slip, on pills or booze or worse, and then she’ll drop
off the face of the earth for another few months, leaving me to lay
awake in bed at night, wondering if she’s even alive anymore.

You can’t do this again.

I bite down against the swell of tears rising,
but I refuse to cry for her—not when I’ve wasted so many tears
already. Instead, I grab my purse and take one last look in the
mirror.

This dress is dangerous, even for me: a flimsy
red scrappy thing that dances around my bare thighs. I run my
fingers through my choppy dark hair, and smudge a line of black
liner around my eyes. The desperate ache in my chest is building,
and I need to go find some way to block it out. Lose myself for an
hour, a night, just get the hell out of my own skin for a while and
quiet the dark thoughts whirling in my mind, and the emptiness
crying out in my soul.

I clatter down the hall and find my big brother,
Emerson, just coming in from working at the bar. He takes one look
at me and shakes his head.

“No way in hell are you going out looking like
that,” he vows, glaring in determination.

I push past him. “You don’t get to tell me what
to wear.”

“Jesus, Brit, you look like... like...?” Emerson
struggles.

“What?” I shoot back. “A slut? A whore? It’s
what they’re saying anyway,” I shrug, even though it stings coming
from him. “Why should I care what anyone thinks?”

“Because you don’t know guys.” Emerson’s jaw
clenches. “You’re only sixteen, can’t you act it, just for a
night?”

“You mean invite some girls over and watch The
Notebook?” I snort. The last time anyone invited me to a sleep-over
was in eighth grade, when Marcy Hampton accused me of stealing her
charm bracelet and then spread I’d confessed to fucking half the
basketball team. I had to put up with whispers and stares for a
month after that. And Emerson wonders why I don’t have any
girlfriends. “Yeah, never gonna happen.”

“I’m worried about you, Brit.” Emerson’s glare
slips, and I can see my brother is genuinely concerned.

“We both know I can take care of myself.” I
sigh, then reach up on tip-toes to land a kiss on his cheek.
“Relax, Em, it’s just a party on the beach. I’ll be back before
dawn.”

“Midnight.” He demands. I laugh.

“Or what, you’ll ground me? See you
tomorrow!”

I head on out before he can say another word. I
love my brother, but he can’t talk. Odds are, he’ll be hooking up
with some skank in a bar in the city tonight—still trying to forget
the epic heartbreak he suffered at the hands of his last
girlfriend, Juliet.

That’s another reason I won’t believe in
fairy-tales: I’ve seen up-close the damage love does when it’s
over, when somebody walks away and all that’s left is the wreckage
of a broken heart.

The empty ache in me twists, and I find my
resolve slipping. The truth is, part of me wants to stay home
tonight: to curl up on the couch with Emerson, order pizza, and
watch bad TV. To stay safe in the embrace of what little family I
have left.

But then I’ll go to bed, and turn off the light,
and all the dark, desolate thoughts will take over. The loneliness,
the bitterness, the anger. And that one, dangerous, awful
question:

Why did they leave?

I can’t take it, not tonight. So I keep walking,
out in search of some distraction, and a way to soothe this pain
that cuts deeper in my chest with every heartbeat.

In search of just a single moment of peace.