Kylie

I could've saved myself a great deal of embarrassment had I let Emma know about my lack of swimming skills. It was too late when she jumped off the dock and hauled me with her down the water below. I learned a lesson or two: firstly, flailing your arms rapidly doesn't keep you afloat. Secondly, survival mode has embarrassing consequences.

It took me a while to realize where my limbs had gone to survive. Said limbs were swathed around Christian. Sure, I should've opted for a decent hug.

But, no.

I chose to cling.

A koala clinging to a branch kind, I'm afraid.

I have multiple excuses. One: I could pretend my life was flashing before my eyes and I didn't like what I saw, so I decided to grip myself back into life. But my head was barely dunk on the water for a minute to allow me those visions. Two: I panicked. But then again, I could've stuck with a hug. Three: I did it on survival mode. But I enjoyed the survival a little.

Because, fine, Christian had the warm body that felt good.

I kept to myself the whole evening and chose a dark corner in the porch. They were kind enough not to mention more about the earlier mishap. Especially when their youngest sister came to spend the night. Chandra would freak and pry me for more details. And I can't really talk about the experience without my cheeks burning.

I shake my head, diverting my mind to other stuff. Like the upcoming death anniversary of my family. My face screwed up at the thought. I hadn't acknowledged it entirely, but subconsciously, I started wearing my mother's hair bow again. I never needed a call from Aunt Becca to remind me.

I reached behind my head, fidgeting the ivory hair bow I kept since I was ten. If I could bring my entire family's closet, I would. My aunt Becca thought I had adjusted quickly. I hadn't acted out like I was expected to. I was mellowed out. I hadn't cried on the day my family hadn't showed up to my ballet recital. I hadn't cried when my aunt Becca told me why they couldn't come. And that they would never come to any of my recitals.

Then on the night after the funeral, I wept. It came like a blow. A sense of ruination. A haunting thought that I'm all alone. Even when Maggie came to my room and hugged me, followed by Tricia and Olivia, it wasn't comfort enough.

Aunt Becca came to my aid. Uncle Sam too.

They told me they were always going to be there for me. It should've made me stop from crying. It should've stopped the sickening ache in my chest.

It wasn't enough.

I wanted my mom. I wanted my dad. I wanted Robbie and Gab.

I wanted my family back.

I was alone.

Completely, terribly alone.

A shard slit down my throat. I quickly sprang off the wicker chair, willing the discomfort in my chest away. I walked to the railing and gazed out into the dark.

"There you are, Buttercup."

I jumped. "Stop doing that," I hissed.

"Whoa, miss cranky-pants." He chuckles. "I thought you'd be in a better mood by now."

I turned, lifting myself to the railing and securing a hand on of the wood posts. "Just leave me alone."

He watches with curious eyes.

Maybe it was the lack of aggravation, because without it, it just sounded... sad. I tore my gaze away, hoping it would at least bring some malice.

"What are you doing out here?" He walks further, stopping in front of me.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

He leans to the wood post. "Tell you what, let's do a little dirt for dirt."

"What's in it for me?" Darn it. My voice sounded downright sulking.

"I'll leave you be with your beautiful thoughts. The porch is all yours." He crosses his ankles casually.

I risked a glance at him.

"Oh, and I won't shut up." He winks.

"Fine." I clicked my tongue. "What dirt are we exchanging tonight?"

A finger traces his jaw. "Let me think."

"Let's just get this over with," I deadpanned.

He snaps his fingers. "How about the one thing you never told anyone?"

I shot him a confused look.

"I'll go first." He clears his throat and paused for suspense.

"What have you never told anyone?" I ask impatiently.

He rested his head on the wood post. "I wish I'm not prone to bad decisions."

"Wait. That doesn't sound enough. It's too vague." I shifted on the railing.

"Okay. Which part is vague?"

"All of it."

He purses his lips with thought. "Okay, Buttercup. Good point."

"What made you think you're prone to bad decisions?" My head dip to the side.

Christian did another pause. This time, not for dramatic effect. He was hesitating. I hid a winning smile, knowing his dirt for dirt has backfired. "Scaredy-cat?"

He shakes his head, a wistful look on his face.

"What made you think you're prone to bad decisions?" I repeated.

Christian shrugged nonchalantly. "When I woke up in a hospital bed and was told I couldn't play soccer anymore."

My tongue turns stale.

Only Christian Parkinson can make something tragic sound unimportant. There was the boyish grin again. Suddenly, I realized it was a reflex. A deception to what was truly going on behind the cocky grin. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, it was a long time ago."

I could only nod. There were questions lingering in the tip of my tongue but when I looked at him, the topic was already done with.

"Now, your turn." He crosses his arms over his chest. "What have you never told anyone?"

I shoved my emotions aside. It doesn't help that I was in a fragile state before he came looking for me. I wish I had a reflex too. But I don't.

"Kylie?"

I blink.

"You're not going scaredy-cat on me, are you?" He teased.

I reached behind my head, hoping to find comfort when I touched my hair bow. "I wish I didn't have to be alone."

There was silence. I keep my gaze locked to my lap.

His hand went to my cheek, his thumb nudging my face upward. "Kylie, I'm sorry."

I forced a smile. "It's okay. Not that I've been ungrateful that I've been a part of my aunt's family. That would be terrible. My life had been great. They're good people. They try to..." I trailed off from my babbling when he gave me a gentle smile that was so unlike-Christian.

"It's okay to think they can never replace your family. Don't punish yourself for it," he says softly. His thumb brushes my chin as he peers down to me.

I leaned to his finger, my hand going around his wrist. I push my cheek to his palm, seeking warmth and comfort.

His eyes blink at the gesture.

I look up, my heart pounding when I felt his breath. He was close. Too close for my liking. Or not. I haven't thought about the 'liking' part. My stomach fluttered when he steps closer.

He doesn't move. He stares at me, a look of indecision on his face.

He's so gorgeous and so temptingly close. He smells of aftershave and a perfume  that smelled so sexy.

Normally I would prefer looking at his nose, but for whatever reason, I was looking straight into his eyes like I was asking for something.

Was I?

Then a daunting realization slaps me across the face.

I want Christian Parkinson to kiss me.

His head dips lower. "Kylie," he whispers, his voice husky.

I gulp at how sexy my name suddenly sounds coming from his mouth. And I think my heart just pounded more loudly.

His gaze left my eyes, only dropping to my lips.

The anticipation was a torture. But in a very crappy timing like in those stupid movies, the freaking door opened, and Audrey's voice followed, the anticipation gone in a blink.

Christian pulled back, pivoting to the direction of the door.

"Nothing," we blurted in unison.

My boss stood, confused. Her head cocked to one side. "It's late. Leave Kylie alone."

I lowered myself from the railing. I walked past Christian then headed inside the cabin without a word.

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