Snow On The Beach // R.C.

1.05

The moment I step foot on the beach, I learn that my plans to confront Topper are foiled. My feet barely hit the sand before my phone goes off. Pulling it from my back pocket, I see a slew of texts from Sarah telling me that her and Topper got into an argument so neither are coming to Lydia's party.

I freeze when I read that, the sounds of the ocean and loud laughter reaching my ears. Slowly, I look to my left, spying a group of Kooks sitting around a fire, red solo cups already in their hands. Looking to my right, I see an empty beach. Above, the sky is a pale blue as the sun just barely begins to set. Thinking over all the weirdness that just happened with my brother and his friends and the conversation I just had with Peterkin about it, I pull my baseball hat lower on my head and head to the right. I'd rather be alone right now.

When I went to the sheriff, she didn't seem surprised to see me, nor did she seem all that shocked when I told her two armed psychopaths were harassing my brother and his friends. As I begin my trek down the beach, I can't decide if her failure to react is a good thing or not. If she already knew, that could explain why she needed to talk to John the other morning. Maybe she's working on getting everything under control. But if that were the case, they never would have made it within a mile of The Château. Peterkin never would have allowed it.

Something is going on. And it has everything to do with The Royal Merchant. Therefore, I know I shouldn't concern myself with it. I have too much shit going on in my reality to add a handful of make-believe problems on top of that. However, I think my brother might have just done that for me—because his problems are my problems too.

God, I want to fucking scream.

The warm summer breeze wrapping itself around my bikini-clad torso does little to calm me, and instead, suffocates me further. Running my fingers along the belt loops of my shorts, then taking my hat off and putting it back on, I try to find something to distract my racing mind. I'm so lost in thought that I don't notice a tin beer can in the middle of my path until I've already stepped on it and left it behind.

Veering towards the shoreline, I sigh when the water rushes over my bare feet. I keep my line of sight on them as I walk, focusing on the way the water crashes forward before pulling away, keeping a steady rhythm. I count each step I take.

When I notice a pretty white shell, I bend down to pick it up, liking the way it feels in my hand. Before I know it, I've gathered a handful of shells with nowhere to put them. So I take off my hat and pile them in there. I think about asking John to drill tiny holes in some of them so that I can loop them onto string for my friends, when something hard slams into my hands causing me to lose my grip on the hat.

It—and all my shells—land in the water just as the tide rolls in, subsequently pulling them out.

Turning to my right, I see what hit me. A soccer ball. Turning to my left, I see who hit me, and I quickly gather that it wasn't an accident.

"My bad," Rafe says, chuckling as he approaches. There's a slight pep in his jogging step, beer sloshing in the glass bottle he holds.

Silently staring at him, I fight what's rumbling inside of me. I fight against it so hard. But when I look to where my hat has drifted out to a couple yards and all the shells I collected are presumably back at the bottom of the ocean, I lose.

Stomping forward, I rip the beer out of Rafe's hands and splash it in his face.

Amber liquid pours down his forehead and beads in the lashes of his closed eyes. It runs down the planes of his cheeks, sinks into his lips, and continues racing down his neck and bare torso in rivulets. Tracing each bead of moisture with my eyes, I notice everything, from how low his swim shorts are sitting on his hips to his stupid backwards hat. It only manages to piss me off more.

When he slowly opens his eyes, they zero in on me. "You should walk away."

"Or what? Says the guy who just kicked a soccer ball at me like a 10 year-old!" I take a step forward so that my chest is almost flush with his. Every heavy breath he takes causes us to almost touch. "What are you going to do Rafe? Set the sprinklers off on me? Pop my bike tires? Kick a soccer ball at me again? I'm terrified."

"You need to back up, Cecilia," is all he says.

"Oh, so I'm Cecilia now, am I?" I goad him. Reaching for his wrist, I feel him tense as I shove the empty beer bottle back into his hand. "You owe me a new hat."

"I don't owe you shit. You dropped my hat into a toilet. I drop yours into the ocean. We're even, Paup." He jerks away, wiping the beer from his eyes with his forearm. Then he walks away from me. He actually walks away from me.

Unable to help myself, I storm after him. In fact, I run at full speed, beating him to the soccer ball. When I do, I pick it up with my hands and throw it with everything I have into the ocean.

He doesn't even react. He just stares at me. "I thought you were supposed to be smart."

His meaning dawns on me when the ball simply floats back to shore, coated in wet sand.

We look from the ball to each other. "It doesn't take much intelligence to piss you off," I say.

"You don't piss me off." Walking a few short steps towards the ball, he expertly rolls it across the ground with his feet before sending it flying across the beach with one perfectly aimed kick. The Kooks at Lydia's party cheer when it lands amongst them, and he shoots them a two-finger wave and a smile in response. When he turns back to me, it falls. "You make me want to punch my fist through a wall."

I realize he's referring to the beer I threw in his face. "Over that? Oh, that was nothing."

"Nothing?" He raises his brows.

"Nothing compared to what I'm going to do next." My arms cross over my chest, and I feel a smile tugging at the right side of my lips that I try—but fail—to expel. "You want to make my life hell, Rafe? Okay. Fine. But if you honestly expect me to just sit back and take it...maybe you should pay more attention."

Or maybe I just decided, at this very moment, that I want to retaliate. His little pranks have bothered me, yes. But when it comes to getting even, I had no desire to... Until now. I am so sick and tired of being docile. I am sick of letting people walk all over me—and my brother—just because they think they can. Because we're Pogues. If I'm so willing to go after anyone who even so much as bothers John, like Topper and those Royal Merchant psychopaths, why not defend myself too?

Rafe Cameron kicking a soccer ball at me is no big deal. It's extremely annoying, but it's not enough to make me lose it. However, he's caught me at an exceptionally bad time. Rafe Cameron kicking a soccer ball at me is my last straw.

"I promise you...I'm paying attention," Rafe says, eyes narrowing as they glance down at my feet, then back up at my face.

"Good," I say, stepping forward and patting him on the arm a little too hard. He flinches, trying to mask a grunt. "Let the games begin."