Authors: Stacey Wallace Benefiel
Chapter Twenty-One
Penny
I lean into Wyatt’s firm chest, resting my cheek on him, his heart pounding against my skin. He’s standing with his back to the green door of my room. I’m still wearing the blue scrubs – the only detail of my glimpse that has been skewed so far.
I look up and take in his wavy brown hair, the way it curls over his ears and always looks like it needs a trim. My fingers beg to touch it. I hook my thumbs through the belt loops on his pants, making myself wait.
His deep hazel eyes watch me. The lashes surrounding them are so long they cast a shadow, adding smolder to his gaze. I want him. I want those eyelashes tickling, fluttering over my jaw line as he kisses my collarbone with his full, ripe lips.
I go up on my tiptoes and Wyatt’s big warm hands cup my face. He looks at my mouth, his stare a mixture of desire and apology, like he’s still not sure I accept him. I grab onto his hips and draw him nearer, closing the distance between his mouth and mine. I kiss him gently and then he reciprocates, the pressure deepening.
Reaching back, Wyatt turns the knob and opens the door. We tumble into my room, falling to the floor still attached, our legs tangled, our lips locked, my hands pressed to the taut flesh of his stomach. He wraps his arms around me and scoots us further into the room and then kicks the door closed.
Wyatt teases my tongue with his, drawing me out, revving me up as he slides his fingers underneath my shirt, his touch light and searching. He pauses just below the underwire of my bra.
I sit up, straddling him, and pull my shirt off over my head, loving the feeling of his eyes tracking my every move. I reposition his hands on me, higher. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.
“Not a chance,” he says, his voice breathless. Wyatt skims his fingertips between the silky cup of my bra and my breasts, exploring, pulling the fabric down.
“You sure you haven’t done this before?” I
ask, my own voice thin and airy. I fall forward, bracing my hands on his broad shoulders. My hair creating a curtain around our faces. He cranes his neck, his mouth meeting mine.
“I promise I haven’t. You’re my first everything.” I feel his lips draw up into a smile. “Although, I suppose if you think about doing something non-stop, it takes the edge off when your fantasies become reality.”
“Did you think about me doing this?” I ask, running my tongue along his lips, sliding my hand down between us and unbuttoning his pants.
Wyatt nuzzles my neck and kisses his way across my chest. “It’s like you can read my mind.”
“Or body language.” I move my hand lower, past the waistband of his boxer briefs.
There’s little talking after that. All our clothes come off. A condom is pulled from Elle and Kai’s stash under Elle’s bed, and I relieve Wyatt of his virginity. It’s nice and gentle and doesn’t last that long.
We do each other a favor and don’t say “I love you.” Because we don’t, not yet anyway. Even the fact that I’m considering the possibility…it’s new. He makes me feel new.
Wyatt grabs the duvet from my bed and drags it over us.
“Do you feel any different?” I say, resting my head on his chest, snuggled up next to him.
He turns his face toward me and kisses my forehead. “I feel…
bueno. Happy.” He chuckles. “Included? Which is…weird, but whatever.”
“No, I get it. It’s a rite of passage. Or it should be, at least.” I lightly trace the stubble along his jaw with my fingertip. “I was happy to, uh, go through that with you?” Now I’m the dork who’s chuckling, but then I realize something. “It was my first time being someone else’s first time.”
“So what you’re saying is,” Wyatt drawls and pulls me closer, “it’s refreshing to get back to basics?”
I slap him on the chest and then roll him on top of me. “Keep it simple, stupid.”
Wyatt catches on quick.
Kai is running down the near empty pier at night, the lights from the Ferris wheel intermittently illuminating his face. His eyes are wide, black pools of fear. He looks over his shoulder and then runs harder, going all the way to the end of the pier. Kai grabs the rough wooden railing and vaults over it, landing in the ocean with a short slapping splash. He goes under and then reappears, his dreads glistening in the moonlight reflected on the waves. Taking in a deep breath, he goes back under and surfaces again, farther out. He does this two more times until he seems satisfied by the distance between himself and the pier.
“Damn,” he curses and treads water, looking around. “Hurry it up, Penny.”
The sound of a boat engine buzzes to his left. Kai starts swimming toward it.
But it’s too late. He realizes too late that it’s not me. As the boat gets closer, Kai is pulled up out of the water until he’s suspended in the air.
“NO!” his mouth screams, without sound. He begins to convulse, his hands raking at the sides of his head, his shoulders hunched in pain. Blood pours from his ears, his eyes, his mouth. His white t-shirt darkens quickly. For a split second, everything stops. The waves lapping against the boat, the Ferris wheel turning, the sounds of the sea birds and the clanging of a nearby bell buoy.
Kai’s lights go out. Time starts up again. He drops into the water – a soft
splish
-- and doesn’t come up. The boat moves away, the person driving it a dark form with no distinguishing features.
I wake up with a start, terror churning in my gut. I’m in the dark, night blind, unsure of my whereabouts…naked. I’ve been violated. Bile rises in my throat.
STOP. I command myself. Check in. Calm down.
I suck in a breath. There’s the duvet on my calves. I reach out and my hand lands on Wyatt’s back. He’s got the remainder of the duvet tucked in all around him. I’m where I’ve been all evening, all night.
I stayed put
.
“Blanket hog,” I mutter.
“Penny, we need to talk,” a male voice says to me from over by the door. I immediately yank the duvet from Wyatt to cover myself, my body going into panic mode all over again.
The door opens a crack, letting a shaft of light in from the hallway. Kai ducks his bare torso into the light, a pained expression on his face. His eyes trail from Wyatt’s naked body to me and back again.
“Kai, what the hell?” I hiss.
He doesn’t respond, just continues staring daggers at me like I’ve defiled his best friend. I paw around for my shirt and pull it on. Find my underwear and pants and do the same. Get a hold of my badge, all tangled up with Wyatt’s -- pocket them both. I cover Wyatt back up and then stand, grabbing Kai roughly by the arm on my way into the hall.
We stand there for a moment, my fingers digging into Kai’s forearm. Him letting me hold on tight.
“What did you dream of, Penny?” he says quietly, taking a step toward me.
I swallow. No.
Fuck. No.
“I dreamt of you. Of your death. So?”
He nods. “And you’ll dream of me again tomorrow night and the next.”
“What?” I try to back away from him, but he twists his hand around and firmly grips the arm that I was holding onto him with. “It doesn’t mean anything,” I say, my voice trembling. “You’re Elle’s trigger. I’m with Wyatt. I like Wyatt. Want to be…I’m, I’m a freak, an anomaly. I usually don’t even have regular dreams where I wake up in the same place as I fall asleep!”
Suddenly gentle, Kai drops my arm and caresses my cheek.
It sends shivers throughout my body. The bueno, warm, tingly kind.
“I don’t want to hurt them,” Kai says, moving his face closer. He leans in and sniffs my hair. A wave of excitement rushes through me. “But I can’t resist you any longer. Not now that I know it’s true.”
NO. My voice cracks. “What’s true?”
His mouth is on mine in an instant, hard and needy. I put my hand on his bare chest to push him away, but he captures it in his and holds on tight.
Electricity pulses, building a bridge between our bodies. My teeth nip at Kai’s lips, my hips find his like a magnet. He pushes me up against the wall, grinding into me.
“Penny?” Wyatt calls from inside my room.
My heart breaks at the sound of Wyatt’s voice. Kai kisses me harder, shoves his hand up my shirt, finds my breast and my heart repairs. It takes all of my willpower to shove Kai off of me. He looks as wild and out-of-control as I feel. If Wyatt sees…after what we just shared? My brain knows that much.
“Penny?” Wyatt says again.
Closer. Louder. Anguished.
“Oh, God,” Kai says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “
Brah, I…”
Doors open down the hall and sleepy students poke their heads out. Elle looks from Kai’s room, her eyes meeting mine.
I ruin everything.
I hurt everyone.
Focusing on the door to the stairwell, I feel the two badges in my pocket.
I run, wishing I’d never been found.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stacey Wallace Benefiel is the author of the
Zellie Wells trilogy
,
FOUND
, the
Day of Sacrifice series
,
The Toilet Business
– a collection of humorous essays, and multiple
short stories
. She sometimes goes by S.W. Benefiel or
Reina Stowe
, but knows she’s not
foolin’ anybody. Stacey lives in an orange house in Beaverton, OR with her poet husband and their two young children with old people names.
If you enjoyed FOUND, please consider leaving a review.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Some part of each book I write is difficult – whether I keep going off on tangents or that brilliant idea I had turns out to be a dud – and FOUND was certainly no exception. I guess I should’ve expected nothing about Penny’s story would be easy. :)
I’d like to thank
Chanda Hahn for the countless brainstorming sessions at Ava Rosteria, while doing some epic mall-walking, and guzzling Acai iced tea at Panera. Chanda is an expert at coming up with crazy ideas for me to shoot down so that my brain comes up with its own crazy ideas. You’re the tops! (Seriously, look at any top ten teen fantasy category and her books are there.)
Three cheers for my beta readers/editors/comma wranglers: Sarah Scott, Lisa Nowak, V.J. Chambers, J.R. Pearse Nelson, Angela Carlie, Magan Vernon, and Vicki Keire. I’m lucky to have so many awesome friends who can spell and do the grammar!
As always, I’d like to dump a bucket of love on my family for putting up with me.
Finally, I’d like to thank all of my readers for, uh, reading my books! Everything I do, I do it for you! (Just try and get that song out of your head now.)
Please enjoy this excerpt from
Dead Heat
by Lisa Nowak
Chapter 1
He’s dead when they pull him out of the car. I know it sure as I know my old man would sooner slap me upside the head than say good morning. Oh, they throw him in the meat wagon and all. Try to make it look good for the people in the stands. But it’s too late. I know it. Everyone standing around knows it. By the end of the race an hour later, the fans know it too. The announcer’s the only one pretending he doesn’t, saying they
ain’t had word back from the hospital yet.
I feel like
I been dipped in Freon. So cold and rigid I could crumble in a million pieces. What am I supposed to do? I help the tow truck guys load his car on the trailer, cram all the tools and stuff in the back of his pickup, and drive to the hospital, where no one will tell me shit.
So I take the truck back to his place.
Torey’s Prius is in the driveway. She don’t like me, but I gotta know what happened. I rap at the door.
“Alex.” The word is flat. She
ain’t wearing her normal look that tells me to get the hell out of Cole’s life. She ain’t wearing any look at all. Her eyes are as dead as her voice.
“He didn’t make it,” she says. “He had a traumatic aortic rupture.”
Even though I’m expecting it, the words slam me hard. Whatever the hell they mean. How am I supposed to understand her stupid nurse talk?
I stand only half breathing. For once, she takes pity. “The big artery that carries blood away from his heart tore loose. He died within minutes. It happens sometimes with that sort of impact.”
I don’t know what to say. The Freon-numb that got me this far is fading. “I brought his stuff back.” I jam the keys into her hand and take off. It’s a long walk to the speedway where I left my bike, but I don’t bother with the bus. I need to move, need to feel my body working. The rain’s starting by the time I get there.
I don’t go to the parking lot, where my motorcycle’s sitting all by its lonesome. I walk around the grandstands, out onto the track.
I go to turn four, to the end of the wall, where Cole’s car hit.
Even with nothing but streetlights, I see the streak of red paint. Concrete crumbles under my fingers. The pain comes fast and hard, tearing at me from inside. It rips me open, claws its way out. I stumble away and fall to my knees. I can’t remember the last time I cried, so it takes a minute to figure out that’s what’s happening. Animal noises spill out. My throat’s like flame. I curl in a ball, the wet asphalt rough on my cheek.
Nothing my old man did—not the cigarettes he put out on me, not the times he bashed my head against a wall, not the night he pimped my 8-year-old ass out for a fix—none of it ever hurt like this.
The rain drills into me.
It’s over.