Page 25 of Always: A Legacy Novel

Catherine looked up again. “But his girlfriend does.”

“He looks out for her, or whatever.”

Cross walked further under the pier.

Catherine followed.

“Besides, Wolf or Cal would cut his nuts off if they thought he was driving me around while stoned out of his mind.”

“Who?” she asked.

Cross tossed his leather jacket to the sand. “Wolf is his dad. Calisto—but I just call him Cal—is my step-dad. Sit.”

She did, tucked tight into Cross’s side on the leather jacket. The sound of the water echoed under the pier, and it made a soothing sound. Cross rested his arms over his knees, while Catherine stared at him from the side.

“I thought I was supposed to be making friends,” she teased.

Cross grinned. “You did. Three of them.”

“But mostly just one.”

His gaze met hers. “So?”

“So … thanks for punching Hugh and getting suspended for me, I guess?”

Cross chuckled, and went back to staring out at the water. “It was worth it. I kind of hate him, anyway.”

Catherine bit her lower lip to hold back the laughter. “That’s kind of terrible.”

“Terrible is my thing.”

She wiped her sandy hands off on the pleated skirt of her school uniform, but it did no good. The sand still stuck to her skin, scratchy and bothersome. Silently, Cross’s larger hands captured hers inside his. Without a word, he took his time to brush all the sand off her hands and fingers until there was nothing left. His careful hands and serious expression, focused in on his task of making her clean and comfortable, made Catherine smile.

And her chest got tight, too.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Cross shrugged. “No worries.”

Catherine thought he’d drop her hands when he was done. He only dropped the one, and then he quickly grabbed something at his side before he was holding her hand with both of his again in a firm grip.

She felt him slide something into her palm.

“A gift,” he said quietly.

Catherine raised a single eyebrow, and flipped her hand over to see what it was when he let her go. A small conch shell, maybe an inch and a half long, and pale pink in color.

When had he even seen it?

“It’s pretty,” Catherine said, turning the little conch shell over in her hand. “Thank you.”

Cross plucked the conch from her palm, and gave her one of his winks. He began unwinding the thin leather cord that had circled his wrist like a triple-wrapped bracelet of sorts until it was fully undone. Quickly, he wrapped the conch shell securely in the cord, and it hung like a pendant.

“Give me your wrist,” Cross said.

Catherine held her arm out, not hesitating a bit.

Cross wrapped the cord two times more around her wrist than he needed to for his, even with the conch tied into it. Once it was secured, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, and held her wrist still while he burned the leather knot.