Read Online Ripple by Mandy Hubbard - Free Book Online

That one blemish is enough to keep me a step behind Sienna’s flawless record.
    It should have been her, falling apart when he died. And yet instead, it turned into fuel. Instead of melting down, she became empty and mechanical. “Excellent. So, you’re going first since your standpoint is positive, and then Cole will obliterate your argument. . . .”
    Sienna keeps talking, but her voice becomes little more than a hum in my ears. The sun has set, and it feels as if invisible lines have been lashed around me, as if the ocean is reeling me in. This is the closest I’ve been to the ocean at dusk in two years. I clench my hands in my lap and impatiently tap my feet against the hardwood floors, eager to give into the urge to leave this place and walk across the dunes.
    My irritation grows as Sienna drones on. This is a debate, not rocket science. I grit my teeth and force myself to listen to her. But try as I might to ignore the sea, it’s nearly impossible. It’s like the tide is actually lapping at my back, begging me to turn around.
    It takes us another ten excruciating minutes to run through how the debate will work. With each passing moment, everything inside me coils tighter. And then, finally, we’re done.
    I stifle the urge to run full-speed out of the house and into my car.
    Cole walks Sienna and me to the door, and I taste the freedom, can almost feel the water of my lake washing over my skin. We step across the threshold and part ways, not bothering to say good-bye to each other. I’m just sitting down in my seat when Sienna’s tires squeal and she rips out of the driveway, disappearing through the iron gates. I guess I wasn’t the only one ready to go.
    I shiver against the cold as I turn the key. But then . . . nothing. Instead of the car sputtering to life, all I hear is a series of clicks. A lump forms in my throat in an instant.
    No, please, this can’t happen. . . .
    I close my eyes and turn the key again, holding my breath, but still, the car refuses to start.
    Seriously, this can’t be happening. I have to get up into the mountains. I have to get to my lake. I have to swim.
    Tears spring forward and I can’t stop them. If I can’t get to the lake . . . if I can’t swim, and it gets worse and worse . . . would I buckle? Would I swim in the ocean?
    No, no, that won’t happen. I won’t let it. I’ll get the car fixed if I have to sell a kidney to do it.
    But no matter what I tell myself, panic swells in my chest. The tears come faster and faster. They spill over my eyes and trail down my cheeks, dropping off at my chin. I put both hands on the wheel and bury my face in my arms. My body racks with the sobs, shakes with them,
    I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
    A tapping on the window makes me jump, and I look up to see Cole standing there. I can’t make out his expression through the tears.
    “Go away,” I say, my voice bloated and raspy.
    He tries the door, but it’s locked. I close my eyes and try to wipe the tears away, hoping that by the time I open them, he’ll have just disappeared.
    For a second, I think I got my wish, because he stops tapping on the window. But then I hear the passenger door squeak open, and I hear him slide into the seat beside me.
    I close my eyes tighter. “Please, just go away,” I say. Why is he here? Why, after two years, does he give a damn?
    I feel his hand on my arm and I jerk away. I don’t deserve comfort. Not after what I did. Or could do again.
    Cole tries again, placing his hand on my shoulder. This time I don’t pull away. The heat of his fingertips burns through my jacket. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me. The weight of his hand feels like a thousand pounds; it’s so unnatural and unfamiliar. But it’s a good weight.
    “Are you okay?”
    I raise my head and glare at him, then try to wipe the tears that still brim in my eyes. “Do I look okay to you?”
    “You haven’t looked okay since Steven died.”
    I turn away again and