When he opens his eyes again a second later, he gasps out loud. He sees James Campbell before him, hanging five and smirking like the smug juicers back in high school, outlined by the stunning Laguna beach mountains and a clear, open sky. For the first time in his life since he ever picked up a magazine advertisement in his small hands, he sees something in the waves besides muscle and adrenaline and physics.
He opens his eyes wide, and he squints against the gushing wind on his face, and he sees a vast, incomprehensible beauty, laid bare for the two of them alone.
~
They surf for another hour, trading off dropping in double on waves and showing off with trick jumps and over-cocky flips.
It’s the least amount of real, competition-approved technique Sydney’s ever used during a surfing session, and simultaneously the most fun he can ever remember having. James Campbell moves and breathes like an entirely new person, utterly unrecognizable from the small, haunted man on the moonlit sand, or down at the dockyard, or panting after a three-hour-long training session, exasperated and sore. The blue of his eyes now indistinguishable from the blue of the sea.
James gestures to the shore for a break after a particularly punishing wipeout and Sydney follows, legs and arms pleasantly aching along his bones. He can’t quite keep the stupid grin off his face. It feels out of place and entirely natural all at the same time. He rubs a hand over his salty lips to hide it.
James rummages in his bag for a towel once they reach the sand and quickly dries himself off before pulling on his tank top. He throws back his head to take long, slow gulps of water. Sydney stares for a moment at the saltwater trickling down over James’ Adam’s apple, mouth open and dry, then does a double take at the metal bottle in his hand.
“I’m pretty sure you were supposed to give that back,” he says with a pointed look.
James glances down at the Navy-issue canteen and shrugs. “Turns out if you get metal blasted through your body you get to keep it as a souvenir. Or at least they never ask for it back.” His eye twinkles with a near-wink.
Sydney wants to cup James’ face in his hands and yell at him that it’s the most remarkable thing that’s ever happened on earth that James Campbell is suddenly laughing, making a joke, about his time in Vietnam. And that he’s choosing to share it with Sydney of all the goddamn billions of people.
Sydney takes a step closer so that they’re standing chest to chest and opens his mouth to reply when someone beats him to it.
“Jimmy fucking Campbell!”
They both jump apart and turn towards the sound of the voice, and Sydney’s stomach drops like lead down to his toes. It’s the cop.
He looks back to James hoping to see a similarly disappointed face—that their glorious time alone has been interrupted by an intruder—but James’ face has broken out into a dazzling smile, giddy and sizzling with warmth. The perfect picture of pleasant surprise. Sydney wants to vomit.
Rob jogs towards James and throws an arm around his neck before rubbing his fist into his hair like a schoolkid. “Thought that was your car up there, old man,” he says. “You’ve been ditching me for ages!”
James places a firm hand on Rob’s shoulder, keeping it there for a beat longer than Sydney feels is necessary. Sydney can’t see anything but the tips of James’ fingers caressing the skin just above the neckline of Rob’s t-shirt.
“Come on, be decent,” he laughs. “I’ve been busy learning the ways of the professionals from this lunatic.” He shoots a smirk and a quick glance towards Sydney.
Rob looks over at him, too and freezes, as if he hadn’t even realized he was standing there before. He rocks back on his heels and lets out a long whistle.
“Well fuck, Jimmy, you weren’t yanking my chain after all.”
Rob stares slightly open mouthed at Sydney as he sticks out a hand. “I’m Rob. Rob Depaul. Jimmy’s friend,” he adds.
It’s only been a day and already the name “Jimmy” sounds foreign to his ears. Sydney reluctantly takes Rob’s hand and gives a single shake. “I know.”
He doesn’t offer anything more.
He’s realizing with each unbearably awkward second that passes that he’s grown far too accustomed to being alone in James Campbell’s company over the last few days. Undeniable facts quickly slot into place in his head: that he’s leaving tomorrow morning, that he just finished his last-ever surf with James, that now James’ ‘real life’ has come calling to take him back, that James is shooting the same private smile at Rob now that Sydney thought was meant only for him just yesterday. Like a naive idiot.
He sets his mouth in a firm line and tries to simultaneously look intimidating and invisible. Rob takes his hand back, saying, “Ok, then,” under his breath, and James is shooting him a look that Sydney refuses to meet head on. He can’t bear to see what it is. What it means.
He tunes out the next part of the conversation, noting with a piercing ache that Rob and James are gradually taking small steps away from him in the sand, drawn into each other with quick words and even quicker laughs. He starts to plan his silent escape, flipping through options in his head of how to get back to his motel now that he knows he doesn’t have a ride back with James, when even more voices come bounding down from up on the bluff.
“Well look who’s still alive!”
“Jimmy, you narc, you made Rob cry like a fucking baby all week—left us to babysit him!”
Sydney swallows down the fresh wave of nausea in his gut as he turns to see a group of four more guys making their way towards them across the sand. They’re roughhousing with each other and cracking more jokes as they jog, startling a group of nearby seagulls into flight.
He notices James’ body language tense as they approach, and his stupid brain instantly supplies him with the reason why—now everyone knows, can see with their own eyes, that James just willingly spent time with Danny Moore. He’s probably afraid they’ll think he’s just a pushover, or an ass kissing fanboy, or a guy who thinks he’s too good for all of them now that he’s made pro. Probably afraid they’ll pity him for not having the guts to look at Danny Moore and say, “Thanks, but no.”
But it doesn’t matter what the reason is. The end result is the same: James looking quickly at Sydney with a flicker of fear in his eyes, masked by undeniable embarrassment in his cheeks.
Sydney’s startled from his thoughts when someone claps a hand hard on his shoulder.
“So it’s true, then. Our little Jimmy went and left us for the Danny Moore,” the guy says, barely hiding his snicker.
“Aw right on—and we even get to see you without the shades!” chimes in another.
Sydney’s heart sinks in his chest. He’s heard this all before. And it would feel just mildly irritating and dull if only James wasn’t still looking at him with that damn unreadable expression, eyes narrowed and wary while his body leans ever closer to Rob’s beside him.
Sydney stands up straighter. He can feel James’ eyes on him like a laser, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck and causing sweat to drip down his sides. He wishes desperately he had his sunglasses on his face instead of folded at his feet in the sand, or at least that he was wearing a shirt. As it is he feels completely laid bare, skin ripped back and showing his internal organs no matter how much more he tries to puff out his chest to hide his lungs.
“Yes, well, we’ve been training together. For the Billabong,” he says, voice flat and steady.
The uncomfortable silence that follows his statement settles like a block of ice right in the middle of the beach. Apparently that explanation was too vanilla to make fun of. Everyone shuffles their feet for a beat before Rob clears his throat and steps in.
“Come on, Jimmy, you owe us some hang time,” he says, wrapping an arm around James’ shoulders. Sydney wants to cough. Loudly.
“Yeah, man, we were just on our way down here to get breakfast at Norm’s when we saw your old station wagon along the side of the road,” adds a third guy, one who
’d been silent up until then.
“Come swimming with us, at least. These losers get cranky when they’re too hot,” Rob says with a jokingly icy glare at the group of other guys.
Sydney can sense the easy camaraderie among them all flying over his head and sailing past his sides, impossible for him to latch onto even if he wanted to try. He steps back and pulls on his shirt as the rest of the group starts to rip off shirts and strip down to boxers for their impromptu swim.
He doesn’t miss the wary glare directed at him from two among the group, daring him with a look to do something queer. As if he’ll jump on anything male that breathes if it has even an inch of bare skin showing. It would be humorously childish, something to make him roll his eyes over and scoff, if he didn’t see James Campbell notice those looks directed at him too and frown.
He reaches back down and grabs his sunglasses and t-shirt to avoid their eyes, slowly continuing to back away as they all jog off down to the water. He’s formed an alright plan over the last thirty seconds—just fake going for a walk down the beach and then come back to grab the rest of his stuff and leave when they’re all busy swimming. Somehow it feels too pathetic to simply grab his board and leave now.
He’s startled for the second time that day by a hand on his arm. This one is gentle and soft.
“You’re not coming?” James asks. Sydney notices he’s still wearing his own tank top.
Sydney huffs out a laugh, short and harsh, as he yanks on his shirt and flicks his aviators over his eyes. “Obviously not.”
James opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then shuts it after a beat. Something passes quickly across his face, too fast for Sydney to fully catch. More embarrassment? Fresh irritation?
Hurt?
He fights with himself not to lean forward as James takes a step back. The air in front of him is too empty and cold in his absence.
“I’m gonna join them for a bit,” James finally says in a flat voice. “Rob’s right, I haven’t really seen him all week.”
Sydney nods as James starts walking away, wishing his board shorts had pockets for him to shove his hands into.
James pauses and speaks over his shoulder. “You know I’ll still drive you back, yeah?”
It’s even worse than if James had simply left him to fend for himself. This feels too kind, too overly accommodating, like Sydney’s a kid whose parent forgot to pick him up from the middle school dance, and someone else’s dad is offering him a pity ride back home.
He knows it wouldn’t work to argue with James about that now, though, so he quickly nods his head and turns away before James can continue, striding off in the opposite direction as fast as possible without thinking too hard about it.
He knows, as he reaches up to wipe some stray sand off the lenses over his eyes, that he’ll never see James Campbell like this again. That it’s ended.
~
Sydney wanders aimlessly a quarter mile down the beach until the soft, sandy shore opens out onto a bed of rocky tidepools, washed over gently by the incoming waves and brimming with coral and starfish.
It’s surprisingly empty for this time of day—no little kids with buckets and shovels running through to catch sand crabs, no frantic parents chasing after them, terrified they’ll fall.
He perches himself on a flat stretch of rock and hunkers down to bide his time. He’ll wait until the group he can just barely still see down the shore is distracted enough that he could sneak in and grab his board and bag without being seen. Without being accosted or pitied.
Exhaustion from the day settles like mud over his body. The conversation with James which already feels like years ago in the car, the unexpected memories of his own momma’s voice, the revelatory comfort of dropping in with James on the waves—it’s all left him feeling completely wrung out and dry. Hell, the last four days have done nothing but wring him out, over and over and over again until he’s been wiped completely clean beneath James Campbell’s steady blue gaze.
But that steady blue gaze won’t be on him anymore, not after today. Not with Sydney’s flight back home looming over his shoulder, and not with the way James let his fingertips touch the policeman’s bare skin beneath the collar of his shirt. So Sydney wills his mind to go blissfully blank as he waits, staring out to sea and listening to the soft whirls and crackles of the foam as it hisses into the crevices of the tidepools and retreats.
It’s a mistake. After what feels like only two minutes have passed, he hears footsteps clomping their way towards him in the sand. He reluctantly turns his head, expecting to see an eager, noisy kid with a mom trailing behind them, and instead sees James taking careful steps across the rocks. He moves cautiously, as if Sydney will up and run away if he approaches too fast.
Sydney nearly groans out loud at his stupidity. He should have just booked it out of there when he had the chance, not waited around like a sitting duck so that James could tell him to his face what Sydney already knows in every cell of his body—that he’s appreciated the help, and it’s all been good fun, but he really has to get back to his real life now. That’s it’s awfully awkward trying to hang with his friends with Danny Moore waiting around for a ride home from the beach.
He turns back to the sea and closes his eyes, already imagining the way James’ lips will form the words.
“Thought you’d gone,” James actually says.
Sydney flicks his hand in a gesture towards himself that says “still here.” “Also, do you really think I’d leave my board?”
He hears James sigh. “Yeah, guess not.”
Heat blooms along his side as James approaches him, legs just inches from Sydney’s shoulder. When James doesn’t move to sit, Sydney sighs inwardly and stands, meeting him chest to chest. He has the sudden, blinding desire to see the true color of James’ eyes one last time, and he slowly removes his sunglasses and folds them over his shirt, pretending he doesn’t notice James’ raised eyebrows as he does so.
James licks his lips against the sun. “Rob’s been wanting to meet you.”
“Yes, well, now he has.”
Those same lips set in a firm line. “You know what I mean. He wanted to actually talk to you—to have a conversation.”
Sydney rolls his eyes. “No he didn’t. He just wanted to say he’d met me. A cool story to share at the next post-competition party at the bar. Get him laid.”
James opens his mouth and takes a step back. “I’m sorry, I missed the memo when we decided you could go back to being a dick again.”
“Did you? I believe that memo was sent out when you invited all of your friends to come gape at Danny Moore,” he sneers. “A rare sighting outside of a competition, from what I hear.”
“Oh lay off it. You heard what they said, it was a coincidence.”
“You believe in those?”
“Well, I’m a living breathing human, so yes.”
“I see. Was it also a coincidence that you lit up like a smitten schoolgirl when Rob walked towards you in the sand?”
He hadn’t meant to say that. He really hadn’t meant to. But now that it’s out and open, Sydney’s chest is practically roaring for a fight, gunning to let off some of the weight left behind by having to watch James’ fingers graze the naked skin at the base of Rob’s fucking perfect tan neck. By having to watch the rest of his friends take a wary step away from him while they changed in the sand.
James goes deadly still. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me correctly. It’s written all over your face.”
James clenches his fist at his side, eyes blazing. “What the fuck are you implying?”
Sydney tilts his head and narrows his eyes—a silent answer. He tells himself it’s satisfying when James reels back, as if he’s been punched.
“Swear to God, Moore, you watch yourself. Fucking watch yourself. You have no idea.”
Sydney wants to scream. “Don’t I? It isn’t that hard to figure out watching you tuck his hair behind his ear and wh
isper sweet nothings into his ear.”
James moves in abruptly like he’s going to shove him, then yanks himself back at the last second, breathing out harshly through his nose. Sydney wildly wishes he hadn’t backed away—that James’ strong hands had collided with his chest.
“Jesus,” James breathes, “that’s really fucking bold coming from the man who got caught with his tongue down a rent boy’s throat in a fucking bathroom.”
Sydney’s eyes blow wide with surprise, then he guffaws. “Seriously? That’s the story they’re telling these days?!”
A beat passes, and James’ expression almost imperceptibly softens, confusion seeping into his enraged glare. “You’re saying that’s not true?”
Sydney laughs again, quick and harsh, then flails his hands out at his sides. He can’t remember when exactly either of them started yelling.
“Of course it’s not true!” he cries. “Do you think I have a fucking death wish?”
“Could’ve fooled me! Certainly seems like you do the way you walk around on your fucking high horse all the time, sneering down your nose at everyone else—better than all of us kooks.”
“Oh great comeback. A real zinger, James. I can’t believe I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Fuck you! What the fuck do you know about me? About any of this?”
“I know you seemed pretty damn keen on spilling all your little secrets to your precious ‘friend’ the other night at the bar,” Sydney bites back, gritting his teeth so he doesn’t feel like a petulant high schooler.
James sucks in a breath and grabs a handful of his bangs. “Spilling all my—Jesus, Danny I was going to tell him about being shot at in fucking Vietnam. How much it meant to me that I won that day. That he had been there with me. You think I have a death wish?”
“So you don’t deny it, then,” Sydney immediately lobs back.
James goes still again, every inch of his skin almost steaming with heat. Sydney has the overwhelming sensation that James is towering over him, ready to punish him and push him down into the rocks and sand, and a terrifying thrill zips up his spine at the thought—one that almost drowns out the despair brewing in the pit of his gut. The air between them is sucked of oxygen as they stare each other down.
The Sea Ain't Mine Alone Page 12