The Final Piece by Maggi Myers Read Free Book Online Page A

it confuses me. It’s hard to get much out of such things when you are constantly wondering about ulterior motive. Somebody always wants something in return. Nothing comes free.
    As I study the rest of the beach set-up, my attention is drawn to the water. Eyes popping wide, I am dumbstruck at the sight of a shirtless Ryan guiding the boat to shore. His shaggy blond hair is raining drops of water down his chest, making my heart somersault. I dip my head as my face flames, I have seen him in his board shorts millions of times, but there is something about the way his lean muscles strain against his skin that makes me giggle nervously. I peek without lifting my head to find Ryan eyeing me curiously.
    I want to die.
    “Blossom, you want to help me carry some of this?” Gran interrupts.
    Thank you, Gran! I jump up to grab a cooler and work my way toward the back of the boat. If I busy myself, maybe my face will return to its normal shade of pale and freckled. I give Tommy and Ryan a curt nod as I wiggle off the end of the boat and wade through shallow water toward camp. I’m just beyond Ryan when water hits my back so hard it sprays over the top of my head. Still gripping the cooler, I spin toward the culprit. Ryan is crouched down with his hands spread out along his sides, sluicing the water between his fingers, and his green eyes glow with mischief.
    “You looked a little warm under the collar there, Beth,” he smirks.
    I swallow the lump in my throat and try to feign indifference, but I am mortified. I roll my eyes at him, give a disdainful, ”Whatever,” and proceed to drag my humiliation to shore.
    “That was mean, Ry!” Aunt Melissa is wagging her finger at him “That boy is such a teaser,” she tsks.
    “How is my tenth grader? Come here, you sweet thing,” she chirps as she wraps me in a towel. “How does it feel?”
    I pretend to adjust my towel and glance over my shoulder. Ryan is still in the water, unloading a bag of charcoal from the boat when he turns my way.
    “Wet.” I deadpan, shooting Ryan the stink eye. His face lights up with laughter as he hands Tommy the charcoal and dunks himself in the river. He pops up out of the water with his arms cast wide in a “ta-da” gesture. Right, like that makes us even. I shake my head at him and turn my attention back to Aunt Melissa. She is looking at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.
    “What?” I ask, sheepish.
    “Listen up, Stinkerbell, I get enough sarcasm from your uncle. Don’t you dare blow me off, I want deets!” she nudges. I feel bad for Aunt Melissa. Uncle Rob tends to speak in phrases, particularly his arsenal of idiom originals. It’s hard enough to decipher what he means when he busts out with ‘Never mind the cart’s on fire, keep loading the wagon!’ When you couple that with his sarcasm, it’s almost impossible to decode his lingo.
    “It should feel like a huge relief,” I breathe out on a long sigh, “but it hasn’t really sunk in yet, ya know?”
    She nods her head and starts shucking ears of corn. “I can see that. Once you have a couple of days of freedom, I bet you’ll feel different. Have any big plans?”
    “I am spending my freedom on the porch swing with a book,” I say wistfully.
    “Mmm. That sounds wonderful. What are you reading?” Aunt Melissa and I fall into easy chatter about the books I have waiting to read while we set up for dinner. I am engrossed in the task and the conversation, making it easier to push Ryan from my thoughts. By the time the food is ready, the fire in my cheeks has cooled to smoking ash.
    After dinner, Tommy grabs his guitar case and plops in sand by the fire. As he starts tuning the strings, I am unable to resist the pull of the notes and move to sit closer to him. He looks up at my approach, giving me a brilliant smile and begins strumming the chords to “Beth” by Kiss.
    I groan in mock misery and throw my hand up to my forehead, “Doesn’t that ever get old?” I whine.
    He