Free Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) by Stacy Kestwick Page B

plane, smoothing the paper out as best I could. I didn’t read it right away. Instead, I grabbed the next one and repeated my actions. Unfolded, smoothed, added it to the pile.
    When I had a stack of wrinkled notebook pages in my hand, I moved higher up the bed, stacking pillows behind me and leaning back against the carved-wood headboard.
    My hand shook and my pulse hammered in my throat.
    Somehow, it felt like these pages knew the answer. Like I was about to see what my future held.
    West or no West.
    I picked up the first one, tracing the creases his hands had made. The entire page was covered with the phrase I love you, written over and over again. Something shattered in my chest as some of the walls I’d thrown up to protect my heart cracked. A small PS message at the bottom said there was one I love you for each day since the morning I’d tried to save him from drowning.
    One airplane listed all the parts of my body he wanted to kiss me, and I blushed in places I didn’t know I could blush. Another ranked the best places we’d had sex—the stairwell after the BBQ coming in at number one. Several apologized for not being a better boyfriend, not knowing what I needed, and letting me down. He promised to learn, listen harder, communicate more, do better. But he wasn’t giving up. He made that abundantly clear. He would be waiting for me when my plane landed, he swore.
    But it was the one in my hand that had tears gathering in my eyes. It was the fourth time I’d read it.
     
    Sadie,
    Even though you’ll probably hate the comparison, you remind me of the ocean. See, I love the ocean. I switched addresses just to be closer to it. Moved in with my brother just so it’d be the first thing that I saw in the morning and the last thing I saw at night.
    But something’s changed. You’ve changed me.
    Now you’re what I crave. Need. Live for.
    Maybe I suck at showing it. But I feel it. I feel it deep and strong and wide and sure and as far as the horizon. I love you when you’re dark and stormy. I love you when you’re peaceful and calm. I love you when you’re wild and unexpected.
    I love it when I can still smell you on my skin and taste you on my tongue, hours after you’ve left.
    How I can close my eyes, and feel your nails scratching down my back and your hands in my hair. How your voice is the voice in my head now, arguing with me even when you aren’t there.
    You’ve given me a motivation to succeed I didn’t have before. Because now I have someone I want to take care of one day, spoil rotten with doughnuts and endless air hockey rematches and Lunchable picnics on my boat.
    I just want to touch you, be close to you, in you, near you . . . with you. My world makes sense with you there to ground me. Steady me. Love me.
    And I know you do.
    I see it in your eyes. Feel it in your kiss. Hear it in your laugh.
    Know it in my soul.
    I won’t give up on us. You can’t just pretend the ocean isn’t there. It’s too big, too much to ignore.
    Same with us.
    I love you.
    I should’ve said it sooner. I’ve felt it for weeks.
    I love you whether you’re here next to me or across the sea. In my bed or just on my mind. Today and a million tomorrows from now.
    I love you.
    I love you.
    I love you.
    —W
     
    Breathless, I collected the notes scattered around me into one semi-neat stack, then crushed the papers against my chest, a few rogue tears blazing hot trails down my cheeks.
    I loved him.
    Maybe it should be more complicated, maybe I should protect myself more, know better, run away, play it safe—but I loved him.
    And suddenly that wasn’t enough.
    I scrambled for my laptop, powering it up, impatiently waiting for it to boot up so I could log onto Facebook. I needed to see him—needed to see that he’d been missing me too.
    My hands were shaking so bad, I had to type my password in three times before I got it right. I typed in West Montgomery onto Facebook’s search bar, then faltered, remembering I’d