Read Online A Matter of Fate by Heather Lyons - Free Book Online Page B

same—a very distinct feeling of safety with him. An inherent knowledge that this guy would do everything and anything to make sure I stay safe.
    So I lean my head back and savor the scenes whipping by us, green-and-brown watercolors of blurred trees mixing with the rain streaking on the windshield.
    Kellan leans against a guardrail overlooking the ocean and tells me, “I like this place.”
    It’s still raining, so I allow myself the opportunity to move close enough to feel the lovely warmth radiating from him. “Why?”
    “I feel connected to the ocean, like I’m part of a larger picture. Part of a whole. But at the same time, very singular.”
    “How very poetic.”
    He laughs, cheeks pink. On him, it’s amazingly disarming and tempting at the same time.
    “Is that why you enjoy surfing so much?”
    “Yeah,” he admits. “It helps me think.”
    “Deep thoughts?”
    He pretends to consider about this. “Occasionally shallow.”
    “I watched you surfing on Saturday,” I confess with a sheepish smile. “You’re very good. It seems to suit your personality.”
    “More than the yellow car?”
    I laugh. “More than the car.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Well, it sort of goes back to what I was talking about earlier. Everyone was talking about you. You were impossible not to notice out there.”
    He puts a hand against his chest, pretending to be wounded. “So what you’re saying is that I’m some sort of attention whore?”
    “No! I mean . . . that came out wrong.” I fumble for the right words. “I don’t think you do it on purpose. I think you’re the sort of person who is impossible to ignore.”
    He taps a finger against his chin. “Impossible?”
    “You know what I mean.” A flush creeps up my neck.
    “Let’s say you’re right about this attention thing,” he says, generously pretending to ignore my foot in my mouth. “How does this explain my brother? He’s just as good as me at surfing. If he wants to . . . how’d you put it? Blend in? What does it say about him?”
    Now I’m completely flustered. “Oh. Um . . . he likes to hide out in the waves?”
    “You can do better than that, or I’ll start to think you’re just grasping at straws,” he teases. And then he tucks a strand of misty hair behind my ear and my knees weaken. I am excruciatingly aware of every inch of him, of how fabulous he smells, and of how each accidental graze against me makes my heart feels like it’s going to smash out of my chest. “Do you surf?”
    I struggle to find a level voice. “No, but I wish I did. My parents never would let me. They told me such activities don’t suit my personality.”
    “But cheering does?”
    I roll my eyes. “According to my mother, who I should point out barely knows me, it does.” And then—”I want to quit.”
    “What?” he gasps, pretending to be shocked. “You aren’t a perky cheerleader?”
    “Definitely not.”
    “I thought not,” he says rather smugly. “You don’t have the temperament for it.”
    I stare at him, perplexed.
    He clarifies, “You hide your true feelings a lot from people.”
    I blink a few times, surprised by this assessment. “And you know this . . . how?”
    He shrugs. “I have a knack for this sort of stuff.”
    “This sort of stuff,” I repeat.
    He doesn’t say anything further, just smiles knowingly. I’m flustered again and rather breathless at the same time. “So,” I say, still wanting to hear his voice, “how long have you been surfing?”
    He thinks about this. “Since we were six. We had an uncle who surfed, and he’d take us out to help us deal with things.”
    Deal with things? I shift through my memories for anything Jonah might’ve told me over the years that Kellan might be referencing. Maybe . . . their mom’s death, since it occurred around the same time?
    Kellan’s quiet for a moment. “You know, if you really want to try surfing, I’d be more than happy to show you how. We’ve got some extra boards at