Surrender (Seaside Pictures #4) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,2

look: my nose ring, earrings, lip ring, multiple tattoos decorating my arms and chest, or the blinding, albeit semi-fake, smile.

I always gave them time to figure it out.

“Me.” She pointed to herself and then fidgeted with her iPhone. It had a pink case with a bunny on it. God, I’d never felt so old. “You’re my favorite — well, and my mom’s, though she would never admit it to your face. I was just wondering if I could get a picture?”

Fuck. At thirty-six, I was almost extinct, wasn’t I? Her mom? The hell!

“Did you know that every picture someone takes of me steals another part of my soul?” I said. What? It slipped! She had a bunny case! Calm your tits.

She gaped and then went completely pale.

I reached out and touched her shoulder. “I’m kidding. Relax.” Her body was warm and stiff beneath my fingers. I tilted my head at her while she nodded quickly.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just been a really hard day.”

Somehow, I doubted she knew the meaning of the word hard with her designer sunglasses, Louis Vuitton purse, and acrylic nails, but I took her for her word and held out my hand. My black fingernails looked out of place against my long-sleeved white pullover, which was a completely random thing for me to notice and a little irritating, yet again reminding me that I’d been off.

She pressed the sleek phone into my hand, and I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Geez, she felt frail. I frowned a bit and then said, “Smile.”

I took three shots.

Her smile was hesitant. I didn’t pull away right away but felt like I should say something, I hated it when girls were insecure; hated, even more, when they starved themselves to death to try to obtain the perfect look that was nearly impossible to achieve.

“You should eat more,” I said softly. “You’ll waste away if you keep it up, beautiful.”

She stiffened even more. “You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me,” I fired back. “Not really. I just want you to know, from one stranger to another, you’re beautiful the way you are.”

Her other friend approached then, at least I thought it was one of her friends. She was taller, obviously older, with dark Prada sunglasses and curves that went on for days. “Thanks for doing that. It’s been a hard day with the diagnosis—”

“Mom!” the girl snapped. “Don’t.”

“Diagnosis?” I repeated, my stomach sinking. And how the hell was this person her mother? She looked about my age, maybe a year or two older. Maybe. I couldn’t even tell. She was too damn beautiful for words. Why the hell did she look so familiar anyway? I couldn’t see her eyes, but I was instantly attracted, instantly wanted more.

The girl turned away quickly. “Let’s go, Mom. Apparently, I need to eat more.”

I felt that mom-glare all the way to my toes as she jerked off her sunglasses and eyed me up and down.

I nearly choked on my tongue. “Mrs. Connors?”

Had I just lost my friggin’ mind? Was I imagining shit now? Or had I actually conjured the woman I was just thinking of? Like a crazy person, my gaze whipped to the girl and her friend and then back to Braden’s hot-as-hell mom, my mouth forming the word “what” but nothing coming out.

“She’s been in remission,” Braden’s mom said with a hollow voice. “But today the tests said it might have come back. They aren’t sure, but—”

“What can I do?” I interrupted.

“I think you’ve done enough for our family, don’t you?” She didn’t say it as an insult.

I’d basically taken her son under my wing and made him one of the most famous stars on the planet. I’d toured with him. I’d helped him after there’d been a tragic shooting at his concert. I had tried to be his rock while his mom stayed home to take care of his two younger sisters. For all my fascination with her, I’d seen her maybe five times in the few years I’d known him, but every other time, her hair had been lighter and shorter. Amazing what darker hair did and, paired with those eyes…

I was drowning.

I know she was thankful that she’d been able to stay back and not worry about work while her daughter sought treatment.

His money provided them with everything.

And yet, money didn’t fight cancer, did it?

“Shit.” I hung my head and turned toward Braden’s little sister. “I’m sorry. I wondered why you looked familiar. Amelia, right?”

The girl shrugged.