M A D I E

November Eleventh

Five

Footprints only last until the next

tide comes in,

until the next wave rolls up.

And then they are washed away like the past.

—

The ocean rushed up to meet us, frigid in its approach. The warmth of the seventy-five-degree skies did not extend to the water. I waded into it anyway, knowing Bren was right behind me. A wave rushed forward, hitting against my knees. It rocked me back into him, and shock spread through my body as I hit his hard chest.

His arms slid around my bare waist, steadying me.

I let out a little squeal. It might have been from the suddenness of his touch or the cold water or his warm breath on my neck as he caught me.

I wasn't sure exactly why I squealed, but Bren responded with, "I've got you, baby."

I shouldn't like it when he called me that, but I did. It should have bothered me. Quinton used the endearment—or whatever it was for him—all the time. But with Quin, the little term slipped out most often when he was trying to apologize or distract me, when he was trying to convince me with his words to forget his actions.

It felt so different coming from Bren's mouth as he murmured behind me. He wasn't trying to prove anything.

"You still want to go swimming?" His lips actually grazed my ear as he spoke.

"You know," I began, "if you're too cold, you don't have to come."

Bren made a little humming noise, like amusement had tickled the back of his throat. "I already told you that I'd go wherever with you, and that includes the icy Pacific."

He lifted me, still holding around my middle, and took two steps forward. We were thrust into a wave, suddenly covered up to our waists with the cold swirls of saltwater.

I squealed again, and I felt Bren shudder a little bit. But husky laughter rippled from him at the same time.

Acting on impulse, I twisted around in his arms so I could peer up at him. I was used to seeing those soft brown eyes by now, but they were different today. There was a spark I hadn't seen before, and it was hitting me, warming me in the freezing sea. Water dripped down from his hair, which had been partly drenched as he'd brought us deeper.

"Hey, Madeline." I'd never heard his voice drop so deep before. I'd never heard anyone say my name like that. A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth, drawing my attention.

But not for long. Because my attention was drawn elsewhere as Bren's palms flattened against the small of my back. They smoothed over to my sides, pushing down through the water, dropping over my hips. The strokes stopped for only a moment, his fingers toying with the ties on my swimsuit bottoms. And all the while, he watched me with care, eyes dancing like the water around us.

"Hey, Bren." My response was so delayed, but the heat from his hands and the look on his face had momentarily taken all words away, even the simplest ones.

I dropped my gaze and was greeted with the vision of Bren's chest, rising and falling, dripping with water. Meanwhile, his hands didn't stop their slow perusal. They slid down my legs, the silky caress making me shiver. He hooked his hands beneath my thighs, gripping them as he picked me up, urging my legs to their place just above his hips.

I gave into the moment, curling around him, looking back up to see his tilted grin. I threw my arms over his head, slung behind his neck. A wave hit my back, slamming me into his chest, and we both held onto each other tighter.

Somehow Bren kept from falling even with me in his arms, and a burst of laughter erupted from my mouth. Bren's smile grew wider than I'd ever seen.

When the waves lulled, he dipped me back and my hair mixed with the sea. Letting go of his neck, I flung my arms out into the waters. My legs still clung to him though, circling around sharp hip bones. We were anchored together, his firm grip on my waist not budging as I swayed in the ocean.

I was weightless, floating.

Staring up at the sky, I saw a flock of seagulls swoop down, skimming over deeper waters. I'd never be as free as that, but this was likely a close second.

"And you wanted to do homework," I heard Bren scoff, humor evident in his voice.

"And you didn't want to get into the water," I shot back, tilting my head to look at him.

The sun was behind him, creating a perfect halo. Bren, usually so dark and enigmatic, lit up like it was still summer. But it was always summer here in Malibu, wasn't it?

He didn't seem to know what to say to that. He just gave his head a little shake and looked away. When he peered back down at me, he cleared his throat. "You are..." He laughed, smiling. "You're amazing, Madie."

And then he let me go, and I fell into the ocean, the sea whooshing over my head. My legs dropped from around him, my toes digging into the sandy bottom. I came up sputtering, and Bren laughed without care, without control. But after one big splash of saltwater in the face, his smile dropped, making it my turn to point and giggle.

Eventually, we trudged back up to the shore and headed back to the house. Despite saying I was going to do homework that afternoon, I collapsed onto the couch and slid into a very long nap. I didn't swim much, but apparently, even hanging onto Bren into the crushing waves was enough to tire me.

I woke up much later to the doorbell ringing and the wafting smell of cheese, bread, and pepperoni. Bren and I spent the rest of the evening sitting on the patio, listening to the ocean, picking at pizza, and doing minimal amounts of schoolwork.

That became the trend as the week wore on. We relaxed by the ocean during the days. Bren found a soccer ball stashed in the garage, and we'd kick it back and forth in the sand. If it rolled too far away, Bren would always insist I wait while he ran to grab it. I stood there, feeling useless and acting annoyed even though internally I knew that jogging all over the place would wear me out in no time. And so I let him baby me a little bit.

I really wanted to run, though. I wanted to feel my feet pound into the sand. I wanted to feel the ocean breeze slap at my skin. I wanted to fly. 

At night, we'd make simple meals and sit on the patio, plowing our way through textbooks and meaningless assignments. Bren, I'd learned, was somehow still passing his classes despite not actually attending them. He said they were mostly lectures that didn't take attendance.

His hand seemed to heal, which was a relief to me. I watched when he removed the bandage one day, flexing his fingers to test them out. And then Bren threw the bandage away and continued typing on his MacBook. He appeared unbothered, and I hoped it wasn't just an act.

It was a good life we had so far, almost too good. I knew I was deflecting, pushing away all thoughts of Oakland and Quinton and everything that had happened. But for now, I was okay with that.

I didn't swim much again, for the same reason that I didn't chase after soccer balls. My head still ached on and off. But I wanted to jump back in—I really did. Because I suspected that Bren would join me. And he might hold me again, run his hands around me, press his body against mine.

But I didn't swim. And so he didn't touch me. Even though we slept in the same bed every night, he didn't touch me. It was the same as it was before; the touches were reduced to hot gazes and an occasional barely-there caress as we'd pass each other.

I didn't know what we were or what we would be or if there would ever be a name for the connection between us. But I knew Bren Hadaway, and I liked him.

It sounded so simple. It was anything but.

One evening, I trekked up to bed before Bren. He had to finish a Geo quiz, and I was growing sleepy on the patio. Waltzing into the lavish master suite, I stripped down, needing to change out of the swimsuit I'd been wearing. But as I began to dig through my suitcase, searching for something to sleep in, I realized all my clothes were dirty. Grimacing, I gave a shirt the sniff-test, and it did not pass.

A washer and dryer had to be hiding somewhere in this house. Tomorrow I would have to check it out, but right now, I had a problem.

Scanning the room, I glanced at where Bren's suitcase had exploded on the sofa.  He hadn't brought much with him—a few outfits and a stack of his vinyls that I always wondered about; there was nowhere to play them here.

One of his black v-necks was strewn across the top, and I grabbed it. Even without lifting it to my nose, I could smell the fresh piney scent that seemed to follow him everywhere. Now it was just spritzed with a little bit of salt, too.

Hoping he wouldn't care, I threw it on. It hung to my mid-thighs—the perfect nightshirt.

Pleased with myself, I walked back to the bed, climbing under the covers. I didn't even get a chance to lie down before I heard Bren's footsteps coming up the stairs. As soon as his head popped around the door, he froze, blinking.

"Are you wearing my shirt?"

"Yeah," I admitted, suddenly unsure about that decision. "Hope that's okay."

Bren looked down and shook his head, making me nervous. But then he whipped off his own shirt, throwing it down as he crossed the room in purposeful strides. The tight muscles in his torso distracted me as he moved; they twisted under tanned skin.

Wearing only a pair of black shorts, Bren slid into the bed beside me. He crossed the centerline of the bed—something he never did—and in an abrupt, thrilling movement, he flung an arm around my hips. With a tight little tug, he pulled my back into his front.

"Madeline Rose Lenertz, you drive me wild." Bren said the words on an exhale that whooshed past my ear. "Of course it's okay. Shit, I hope you never take it off."

Though a bit shocked, I managed a breathy reply. "If I knew you were going to use my full name to scold me, I wouldn't have told you."

He laughed. It was soft, mocking. "I'm sorry." 

I wasn't. I liked it a little bit.

But I was beginning to realize that when it came to Bren, I liked everything.

__

November Eleventh

Four

You're as powerful as the ocean

when it comes to washing away

the things I want gone.

🖤
You were all just so very nice to me yesterday when I was feeling unsure about the last chapter, and it motivated me to finish this one early. Thank you for everything!

Oh! Also, I'm usually very much a planner when it comes to writing. But I just can't make up my mind on if the next chapter should be Bren or Madie POV. Thoughts?
xoxo amelie