Go Away, Darling

by Alexis Anne

  Like a bolt of lightning.

  When I was five years old, right here on Calusa Key, all my friends and I were struck by a bolt of lightning. And the girl I had been standing beside was now sitting in front of me.

  It was like getting struck a second time. “Olivia?”

  I hadn’t quite allowed myself to wonder what happened to my friends after we moved away from the island. I was too preoccupied with winning games to really let my mind wander down that path yet, but it was the first thing on my post-season to do list.

  But now I didn’t have to wonder at all.

  “Olivia?” I took a step back for some reason. Maybe I was surprised. Maybe I really was slammed by a ton of bricks. Maybe I needed a better vantage point to take all of her in. Regardless, it was a bad choice because once I started moving I couldn’t stop. I had no motor control. Between the weird things I was feeling, the lack of breathing and swallowing, and the beer, I teetered, tottered, and then went right over the side of my damn boat. Ass over head, no less.

  Splash.

  Cold. Salty. Wet.

  Embarrassing.

  “Son of a bitch!” I yelled at myself as I pushed up from the muddy floor and stood. We were only in five feet of water and the mud sucked my feet right in.

  “Are you okay?” I heard her yell. And giggle. I must have been a sight. Dumb mainlander in his fancy boat falling overboard. She probably thought I was a frat-bro who didn’t know starboard from stern.

  “Yep. Just . . . yes. I’m fine.” Holy son of all that is good and right in the world. Olivia Saldana. The Olivia Saldana. We only lived on the island for a year and half when I was five, but my brothers and I loved this island and all the friends we made when we lived here.

  For me the most important of all those people was Olivia. I loved her. Well, as much as a five-year-old flirt can love his big brother’s friend. I thought I was tough shit. That if I smiled just right and dropped a line or two she’d swoon for me. I was an idiot. I could see that now. But back then? I couldn’t think clearly.

  And obviously nothing had changed because as a grown man I had the same urges. Maybe if I smile just right and say something clever she’ll throw herself at me.

  Asshole, she probably doesn’t even remember your stupid ass.

  I took a deep breath, slogged my way around to the stern of my boat, and hauled myself back up and in with a wave of water that spilled over the engine well, shedding my sopping wet shirt and sunglasses in the process. I couldn’t look at her. I was too excited and embarrassed—a really unfortunate combination, all things considered—so I searched for a towel and attempted to dry off before facing her. I expected a laugh for my ineptitude. Or maybe boredom.

  Instead I found her staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

  Like, jaw unhinged hanging open as she stared at me. “Chris?” She half-whispered.

  My heart stopped. She remembers.

  I ran the towel over my hair. “It is you, isn’t it? Olivia?”

  She nodded slowly, pulled her sunglasses down and let them lay against her chest so I could see her gorgeous brown eyes and the light smattering of dark freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks.

  “Chris?” She asked again, putting her hands up to emphasize her shock, or maybe it was excitement. Then as if she were suddenly jarred into action she grabbed a bowline and looped it around one of the cleats on my boat, binding our two vessels together, then climbed over into my boat.

  “I can’t believe it!” she whispered. “You’re not on TV.” She made a square with her hands.

  TV? Moron...she watches you play ball.

  I looked down at my bare chest, wet trunks, feet, and the water dripping all over the deck. “Nope. I’m right here. How the hell are you?” I wanted to hug her but was that the right thing to do? Or was that too forward? She climbed into my boat, so maybe?

  I took a step and wrapped my arms around her. I just meant it to be a quick, friendly squeeze, but then she hugged her arms around my waist, her hands going flat against my skin and I froze. The contact of her hand on my bare back wasn’t sexual or inappropriate in any way, and yet...I felt that touch everywhere. My chest ached and my first instinct was to pull her tighter against me until the ache stopped.

  We stood like that—frozen together—for what I estimated to be longer than appropriate. But hell if I’d apologize. Instead I took a breath and laughed. “I’m taller than you now.”

  Her shoulders moved as she laughed too, looking up at me but not letting me go. Interesting. “You are much taller than me now.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at how beautiful she’d become. I mean, I knew I had a wild crush on her when I was a kid, but this was something else altogether. I let my eyes drift over each of her features individually. Nose, lips, delicate chin and ears, manicured brows, freckles, eyes. God, her eyes.

  Mesmerizing.

  And the warmth of her body against mine felt too good. I stepped back before things could get weird and tapped her Mantas hat. “I like this.”

  She looked up and blushed. “I’m a fan.” She shrugged, crossed her arms over her chest.

  I did not stare at the way it pushed her breasts up in her pink bikini, but I did note them in my peripheral vision. I had excellent peripheral vision, which was part of what made me a good pitcher. You had to have a death wish to steal when I was on the mound.

  But we were talking (and not about her breasts or my excellent peripheral vision.) “Really?”

  She shrugged again, the blush turning her cheeks even pinker. “The Mantas are our local team and they’re having an amazing season, thanks in part to you.”

  It was my turn to blush. I loved what I did but I had never gotten very comfortable with compliments. I’d rather just work hard and see the results for myself. Hearing a beautiful woman sing my praises was a lot to handle. “Ummm…it’s a team effort. Obviously. Cuz we’re a team.”

  She chuckled softly at my babbling. “Christopher Robin, you took my advice, didn’t you?”

  I froze again, but this time for a very different reason. Hearing my old nickname called up all kinds of old memories, but it also felt like Olivia was throwing up a wall, reminding me that I was a kid several years younger than her. A kid who belonged on the other side of the imaginary wall from her.

  It made me angry and I wished for an imaginary sledgehammer to destroy the imaginary wall.

  “What advice is that?”

  Her eyes drifted over my whole body like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “I told you to never change.”

  “I was ridiculous.”

  She laughed and sighed and I really liked the way her whole body moved like it was a part of the way she spoke. “You were never ridiculous. Overly full of yourself…”

  “I thought I could get anyone to do anything with a smile.” I was such a cocky kid.

  “And it worked most of the time.”

  I let my gaze drink her in. “Not on you.”

  She paused and I felt her withdraw. I hated it and I wished I could quickly rewind time and take back my words, even if I meant them. “Yes, well, that was a long time ago.” She hopped over the hulls, back into her boat.

  With every moment she moved further away from me and I felt a desperate, primal need to close the gap, as if allowing her to leave was somehow wrong. But of course I couldn’t stop her from leaving. We were strangers and she came on a different damn boat. “I don’t know anyone,” I blurted, looked at my feet, cleared my throat. “Uh, what I mean is, when baseball season is over, if you don’t mind, could you maybe introduce me to some people?”

  “Of course.” She released the bowline from my boat.

  My heart kept beating faster and faster as she moved behind her steering wheel and turned the key. Her engine roared back to life.

  My skin itched. I wanted this conversation to keep going even though there was no way to force it. Rationally I knew this was it, but my body wasn’t feeling rational at all. It wanted
to spend more time with Olivia Saldana. It wanted to touch her and introduce her to Chris Kaine, the man. “I’ll treat you to dinner as a thank you.”

  She blanched and then dumped a cold bucket of water on my head. “I’m not single, Chris. But I’ll happily show you around and give you an introduction. Now you sober up.”

  And with that very unwelcome news she pressed the lever forward and turned her boat away from mine. I watched her navigate to the channel and rev the engine up high, stuck on the words I’m not single. Something about them sat wrong. It was the same way she called me Christopher Robin. Words used as a wall to keep me on one side. She didn’t say I’m married or engaged or taken or in love.

  She used the negative instead of the positive.

  I’m not single.

  What if that simply meant not right now?

  2

  Just keep your focus

  Chris

  My brain didn’t work properly for a while after Olivia left. Between the alcohol, the heat, and her, the delicate organ inside my skull seemed to be overloaded with input. I set about doing menial tasks while drinking water and electrolytes. Normally I’d sit in my afternoon buzz. Take a nap. Enjoy the feeling of being completely free of stress and expectations.

  But today I wanted my wits back. I needed to process what happened. Hell, I needed to be sure it was even real. Maybe I dreamt the whole thing. Yeah that’s it. The sun and the beer got to me and I passed out. I dreamt a beautiful adult version of my childhood crush appeared like an angel.

  Yes, apparently my angels came in the form of fisher ladies.

  I flipped my shirt over on the seat. It was almost dry. And proof Olivia had been here.

  That’s when I heard an erratic buzzing noise. Since the engine was off and I didn’t have any electronics on—no depth finder or fish finder or any other kind of finder—it took me a minute to realize the buzzing wasn’t the boat. It was my infernal cell phone.

  I dug through the compartment and yanked out the dry bag where it was safely stored, but apparently not off. Normally I powered it down for my day off so I could truly be away from it all. My mistake.

  And not an all together terrible interruption since most of the notifications were from my brothers, Ben and Scott. I scrolled through seeing that it was mostly a back and forth over a meme Scott sent. I took a selfie and sent it.

  Scott immediately pinged me back. Island time? Jealous!

  Instead of messaging, Ben called me.

  “Big Ben!”

  “Little brother! How the hell are you? You down on Calusa Key?”

  I squinted at the horizon in the general direction of the island. “Yep. Just for the day. I’m on call for tomorrow’s game.”

  Ben whistled low. “Must be serious.”

  “Playoff positioning at stake.” A little of the stress crept back in and I pushed back on the urge to tense my shoulders.

  “But to use their best pitcher in relief? Come on. It can’t be that close.”

  It was a rare and unusual move, but not unheard of. Some starters had to start. They had to paint on a blank canvas. It was built into the rhythm of their game. Every pitcher has a cadence, a game plan. Mine just happened to be the kind that could be used in any situation. I was cool as a fucking cucumber on that mound. It didn’t bother me to come into someone else’s mess. For all the stress I was trying to offload on my boat, none of that went with me to the field. It made me dangerous because it made me useful.

  “Where we’re at in the rotation, using me tomorrow—if they need me—won’t impact my next start. So why not?” I shrugged even though no one could see me.

  “Just take care of that arm.” It was a rare and not unwelcome bit of big brothering.

  Truth be told, I was starting to think maybe I was lonely. My teammates liked to tease me, call me a hermit because I preferred the quiet and often went off on my own when things got too crazy. As the season wound down and the reality of our playoff chances came up, I’d started isolating more and more.

  Maybe too much if this ache in my chest was any indication. One word from my big brother and I was mush? Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

  “I’ve got the best people in the world watching my arm. Don’t you worry.”

  He chuckled. “So the reason I’m calling...I’m actually going to be down there pretty soon.”

  “Down where?”

  “Sarasota. I’m consulting on a house. It won’t take more than a week or two, but I figured we could spend some time together and maybe I could watch some games?”

  “Hell yeah! Stay with me. I have plenty of room. You have your own room.”

  “You mentioned that a few times already.”

  I had this dream that the island would be our home. The Kaine family never had a home base. With musicians for parents our lives were one long road trip. The eighteen months we lived here while they were the band in residence at the resort was just about the longest I lived anywhere except college. So I bought this ridiculous house with too much space for a single man in the hopes it would be more than just my house.

  Bedrooms for everyone!

  “Send me your travel info and I’ll get everything set.”

  “Will do little brother. Looking forward to it.”

  I hit the No Wake Zone and slowed the boat to idle speed as I maneuvered toward my dock. My house stuck out like a sore thumb on this side of the island. Everything was low, older, surrounded by lush tropical vegetation. Except my house. It was big, shiny, and treeless. But I never had to wonder which dock was mine. Point the bow toward the white glistening house four down from the point and you’re there.

  Unlike the other end of the island where the older homes had been bulldozed and replaced with mansions not unlike my own, this side of the island remained very much unchanged. The families that had always lived on the island still lived there, and I bet none of them had any plans to sell out to people like me. I didn’t blame them. If I’d had my choice I would have rather moved into one of the older island houses instead of my gleaming new McMansion. But it was the only house for sale when I was ready to buy that was big enough for my ambitions.

  I felt like an interloper and sometimes—to make myself feel better—I pretended I was a spy with my fancy boat and my international mansion of mystery. It also helped me feel better about not knowing my neighbors. I simply hadn’t had the time to introduce myself. In a couple of months baseball season would be over and I’d be home for the winter. I’d bake cookies and make nice. Hopefully none of them hated me.

  Until then, I simply referred to my neighbor to the left as Senator (because she was a senator) and my neighbor to the right as Family With Kids because early in the morning and late at night I heard at least one kid yelling and having fun.

  I came alongside the dock and did a quick reverse to stop my forward momentum. The one friend I did have, Trent Maddox, began tying off the boat for me.

  “Whatcha bring home for us, boy?” The gravelly voice of my former coach made me smile. He had that classic old Florida islander drawl. It wasn’t a smooth southern drawl. This was different. It was more of a low growl, like he was always angry about something.

  Trent liked to stop by for dinner. And by always, I meant the four other times I’d been in town long enough to go fishing. He lived three docks down, so he could see when I was gone for the day and invited himself over, not that I was complaining. If there was anyone’s company I enjoyed it was his.

  He examined each catch as I laid them out on the table. “Mmmm, the snapper were biting today, huh? Those look mighty fine.”

  “Agreed. I even threw one back.”

  He shot me a glare. “You could have sent it home with me.”

  “You’re eating with me tonight and I know you’ll be here for lunch tomorrow, too.”

  He shrugged, sat on the upside down bucket beside the table. “You make a good point. How’s the arm?”

  I rolled my shoulder and picked up the kni
fe. “Good. It feels strong and healthy.”

  “You’re going to do fine, Chris. Just keep your focus.”

  For now I decided to focus on the fish in my hands.

  This was the man who looked at a five-year-old kid and saw potential. When I snuck out to the ball field to play with the older kids he didn’t send me away. When he found me behind the dugout teaching myself to pitch, he mentored me. In high school he came out to my playoff games at Rhodes Academy, where I’d convinced my parents to allow me to be a resident student. I wanted to play professional ball and moving every year wasn’t going to help me get there.

  Trent came out and talked to my coaches. He came to my playoff games. He helped me through the college recruiting process and landing my agent, Roman St. James. In some ways he was like a second father to me.

  “I ran into Olivia Saldana today.”

  Trent chuckled. “Did you now? How is she?”

  “Good. We didn’t recognize each other at first.” I still blamed the sun protection. Hats and sunglasses hid eyes. Eyes were the window to the soul.

  “You’re a little bit taller than you used to be, that’s for sure.”

  Everyone seemed to like commenting on my height change, as if five-year-olds weren’t inherently short. “I keep meaning to ask about everyone.”

  Trent stretched his long legs. “Well, your old teammates Lucas and Chaz are the coaches over at the high school on the mainland. Andy is an assistant coach with that Miami team.”

  “I see him sometimes.” Andy wasn’t a bad guy, just worked for the wrong team, was all.

  “And of course Everett and Isaac Anson.”

  I froze for a moment because I’d honestly forgotten about them. Isaac was seven years older than me, and Everett three. “Isaac played for the Mantas, didn’t he?”