by Grey, R. S.
Once we gave our names, the officer’s tone changed. He reared back in shock.
I should have lied and said the first thing that came to mind. Oh, my name? Sand. Sandy Palmtree. We could have laughed. Yes, ha ha. My parents are big hippies.
Instead, he looked at me with new, fresh concern.
“Hart?” he asked. “As in the chief’s daughter?”
I nodded as I tugged Ben’s jacket tighter around my front.
Then he nodded and stepped away, his hand hitting the radio on his shoulder.
My stomach dropped.
“Wait! Do you have to, y’know, call this in?” I asked with an air of hope. “Can’t we just keep this between us?”
Ben’s hand hit my arm—a warning to stay quiet—but I couldn’t just let this happen. In any other city, a cop would find the humor in the situation, tell us to get our clothes on, and move along.
In Clifton Cove, apparently every police officer is given strict orders to contact my father if I ever have a run-in with the law. It’s his way of protecting me, I suppose. As I watched his cruiser pull up to the beach, it didn’t exactly feel that way.
This whole thing is ridiculous.
I’m not going to accept the charges, and I tell that to Ben.
He has the audacity to smirk and rub his jaw. “Yeah, that’s not really how it works.”
I turn back to watch my dad walking toward us. I can feel his angry energy from a mile away. Every sea creature in the ocean behind us is probably swimming for its life in the exact opposite direction.
When he gets within earshot, I step forward.
“Dad, hi,” I say, trying for a genial tone just to see how far it will get me.
His eyes slice me in two. Okay. Right. He’s going for bad cop.
“James, thank you for the help. I can handle it from here.”
The other officer nods and heads for his car, leaving me alone with my dad and Ben. I guess his work here is done. Fine. Go! Get. Good riddance. I want to kick his tires.
“Dad…I think this has all been a misunderstanding.”
He ignores me and impales Ben with a searing glare. When he speaks, his finger is pointed at Ben like it’s a loaded gun.
“I told you to stay away from my daughter. In fact, I recall shouting those exact words at you a few months ago when you were on my front lawn.”
Ben stands quiet. Stoic. Pissed. In his black t-shirt and jeans, he has a few inches on my dad. His eyes are fierce. His chin is lifted.
When it’s clear he’s not going to reply, my dad shakes his head with disdain. “I should throw your ass in jail.”
Ben’s eyes narrow imperceptibly and I take the opportunity to jump between them. My hands hit my dad’s chest and I try in vain to push him back a few inches.
“Truly, this isn’t so bad.”
His eyes slide to me. “You reek of whiskey.”
“First of all, thank you. Second of all, you have to stop. This is not what it looks like.”
His eyes widen. “Not what it looks like? Madison, I just got a call in the middle of the night from an officer telling me my daughter was stumbling drunk on the beach, completely nude. You tell me how that sounds.”
I cringe. “Okay, yes, that’s…not ideal, but—”
He shakes his head and reaches out for my arm, yanking me toward him. “C’mon, we’re going home.”
I try and fail to pull myself out of his grasp. He can’t do this. He can’t turn the best night of my life into the absolute worst.
“Dad, let go,” I hiss, trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice.
Ben steps forward then. “You heard her.”
No. No. Shit.
My dad’s nostrils flare and I know we’re seconds away from going down a road there’s no coming back from. If Ben touches my dad, my dad will press charges. Ben will be in jail and maybe one misdemeanor didn’t matter, but I’m pretty sure assaulting a police officer—even one who’s off duty—won’t be brushed aside so easily.
Even still, I can’t blame Ben for thinking I need his protection. My dad is trying to physically drag me off the beach, and I’m resisting. It doesn’t look good, but my dad isn’t a bad guy, and neither is Ben. Everything just looks…bad.
“Shit!” I shout suddenly, finally finding enough strength to break free. My arms flail as I speak. “Both of you stand down. Jesus. I don’t need either of you getting into a fight over me. This is ridiculous.” I turn to my dad, my finger poking his chest with every word I speak. “Ben isn’t a bad guy. You think he’s an entitled rich asshole, but he might be the kindest man I’ve ever met outside of my own family. Pull your head out of your ass and stop with all this ‘stay away from him’ bullshit! And you,” I say, whirling around to face Ben. “Just…”
Please don’t give up on us.
Please don’t let this ruin what we have.
Please answer the phone when I call you in the morning.
Those are all the things I want to say, but instead, I settle on, “Please don’t punch my dad. He means well.”
His eyes soften a smidge, but not nearly as much as I would like.
They’re still acting like two dogs circling around each other, hackles raised. Neither one of them is going to back down. My dad’s not going to toss up his hands and say, You know what? You’re right. Ben, you have my blessing to date my daughter. And Ben isn’t going to beg my father to see reason and give him a chance. He has too much pride.
Ben’s eyes turn to me, and I see his anger boiling there. I feel so bad for dragging him into this situation. I don’t want to be the reason he suffers. My dad has it wrong. Ben is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at like this.
“I want you to leave my daughter alone.”
I cringe at the request, hating how mean my dad sounds, how fiercely protective he’s being. Any other man would do exactly as he says and walk—no, run from the beach, but Ben stands immobile, his amber eyes on me. Steam rolls off his broad shoulders. He won’t leave me here, and my heart is breaking for him.
There’s no good option. I could leave with Ben—my heart is screaming at me to leave with Ben—but I can’t do that to my dad. My dad, the man who sacrificed so much to raise me, who’s stood by my side my whole life.
No matter what I decide, I’m going to hurt one of them, so I do the only thing I can do. I throw up my hands and turn to walk away by myself.
Now no one needs to be my protector. No one needs to drag me away.
I’ll go all by myself.
Ben shouts at me to slow down. My dad does too, but I don’t listen to either one of them. I walk and I continue walking until I hit the sidewalk. I cross the street, lock my arms over my chest, and head in the direction of my dad’s house. Sure, Ben’s jacket and my nightgown are both soaked, but the anger burning in my belly makes it so I can barely feel the cold night air.
God, I’m sick of this town. I’m sick of being the police chief’s daughter and Colten’s little sister. I’m sick of being treated like a teenager with a curfew. I’m a grown woman. It’s time to start acting like one.
I’m so mad I could keep walking straight to Canada, just Forrest Gump it all the way up the coast. Run, Madison, run.
A car follows behind me slowly. I know one of them is trailing me to make sure I make it home okay, but I can’t turn around to see who it is. If it’s my dad, I’ll be upset it’s not Ben. If it’s Ben, what would I tell him? Sorry you’ll never have a normal life if you date me? Sorry my dad is overbearing? Sorry I nearly got you arrested? Sorry I’m twenty-five years old and still don’t have the strength to stand on my own two feet?
Clarity sinks in during that trek to the house, and not just a little thought like, Hmm, I should eat my vegetables if I want to live to 100. This is a meteor-sized realization that drops down right on top of my head.
If I want to change my life, I’m going to have to initiate that change. I can’t use Ben as a crutch. I have to move my life along, a
nd not just in this superficial bullshit way where I get little rose tattoos and sneak around with Ben. Oh, yeah, wow—real exciting stuff there, Madison. How about I grow up? How about I muster the courage to move out of my childhood bedroom? How about I finally stand up to my dad and Colten and tell them life is going to change? No more nice Madison. No more pleasing everyone and pushing my wants and desires aside. I wanted real change when I blew out that birthday candle and now, finally, I’ve found the strength to make it happen. I don’t need Ben to make me bad.
I can be bad all on my own.
If this were a movie, a sick beat would drop at this exact moment.
* * *
When I get home, I head straight up to my room to start packing a bag. I’m not going anywhere tonight. It’s late. I don’t own a car, and I’m not asking my dad to drive me. The notion is laughable. Hi, Dad. Yes, I’m leaving. Could you perchance give me a lift? Not to mention the fact that there’s still a little whiskey working its way through my system. I should probably stay put until morning.
I want to call Ben and talk about what just happened. I can’t believe I just left him on the beach. I feel terrible. What if he thinks I didn’t like what we were doing?! No. Not possible. Before the police officer reached us, while we were yanking our clothes on and kicking up sand, our gazes locked and I knew—whatever had just happened in that ocean wasn’t just because of the dare. He meant those words. He wanted me.
I reach for my phone and dial, but he doesn’t answer.
Shit.
I try again, pacing my room, and this time, I leave a message. “Hey Ben, it’s me…Madison. If you could give me a call back, that would be great. Okay. Um, also, thank you for…that, for…whatever just happened. Okay, bye! Also, oh! Sorry about my dad!”
I cringe and toss my phone onto my bed then turn for my closet so I can start grabbing clothes. First thing in the morning, I’m going to move out. I’m going to hunt for an apartment until I find something that works for me. Hopefully I can find some place to lease in one day. If not, I’ll stay at a hotel. I will not spend another night in this house.
I can’t.
My poor dad is just going to have to deal with it. I cringe. No doubt there’ll be a guilt trip. I’m sure he’ll try to persuade me to stay here with promises of change and more freedom, but the fact is, it’s time.
I have to spread my wings and fly.
Sorry. I’m sorry. I had to say it.
Anyway, I barely sleep. I stay up all night, scrolling websites for places to rent and not so subtly checking my phone to see if Ben is ever going to call me back. I’ve never actually looked at real estate in Clifton Cove before. There aren’t many apartments nearby and absolutely none in my price range. The city council has strict zoning laws, making it nearly impossible for large apartment complexes to be built in the desirable parts of town. Mostly, they’re relegated to the outskirts, near the insane asylums and hazardous waste dump sites and outlet malls. My commute to the library would be quadruple what it is now. I’d rather stay within walking distance. I just need to figure out how.
Eventually, I do sleep. I’m not sure when it happens, but I wake up the next morning with my iPad covering my face and a thin layer of drool coating the screen.
I jerk up and see the bag at the foot of the bed with clothes spilling out. A ball of anxiety forms in the pit of my stomach.
Can I really do this?
I love this house. I love my dad. Sure, he kind of ruined the best moment of my life last night, but he’s a really nice dad and he did the best he could all on his own. He never forced me into Girl Scouts when all the neighborhood moms were pressuring him to. Also, he let me eat ice cream whenever I wanted, and he let me stay up extra late on the weekends to watch movies with him and Colten. These are important things. These are the reasons my heart is heavy as I pad downstairs.
He’s in his usual spot, crossword in hand, glasses perched on his nose.
He glances up at me and I can see the remorse in his eyes.
I should handle this gently. I should come up with a very strategic way of leading into the subject…
“Dad, I’m moving out.”
17
Ben
I acted like a fool last night. When I look at the situation from Madison’s dad’s perspective, I hate myself. Madison had a few shots and might not have been the best swimmer to begin with. I had ahold of her in the water, but what if something had happened? What if a wave had come that was a little too big? Too powerful? It’s not like I was looking. I was completely possessed by her. What if she’d fallen under and the tide had swept her out of my reach? It was too dark to see more than a few yards away. I wouldn’t have been able to find her. She wouldn’t have been able to tell which way was up or down.
Fuck.
Sharks—what if there was a shark?
Stingrays.
Jellyfish.
Whatever. I’m going into a tailspin. The point is, I’m an idiot for taking her there, for daring her to strip and pushing her when she didn’t really want to go in. I should have never let her drink that whiskey. I could have taken it from her. I should have fought harder for her when her dad showed up. I stayed silent, thinking it was more respectful to let him get his anger out than to speak up and contradict him, but by not defending myself, was it just as bad as admitting guilt?
Oh god, I am guilty. Of taking her there. Of putting her in that situation.
Maybe I’m as bad as her dad thinks I am.
I say all of this to Andy. I’m at his house the next morning, tearing my hair out, pacing, refusing food.
“You’re in a bit of a pickle, huh, bud?” he says, propping his feet up on his coffee table and sipping his coffee.
He’s wearing flannel pants and slippers. What man owns and proudly wears slippers?
“What do you think I should do?”
“Oh, you have quite a few options, right? You can give up all hope and move on, find some other willing female to warm your bed. That wouldn’t be too hard. My birthday is next month, and Arianna and I have already started planning a party—there’ll be plenty of women there for you to meet.”
I shoot him a deadly glare and he shrugs, unperturbed.
“Or you could fight for her? Go talk to her dad? See if you can’t change his mind about you?”
“And say what exactly? I didn’t mean to endanger her life last night? I didn’t mean to sneak her out of your house? It was all an accident? I just happened to be standing under the window, in your azaleas when she fell out?”
His eyes narrow as if he actually thinks that’s a possibility.
“Andy, no. Fuck. You’re right—I should move on. Why am I hung up on this one girl? There are a million others.”
“More, even.” Andy nods.
“She’s wrong for me in so many ways.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I mean, she’s so goddamn naive. She let me lure her into the ocean last night. She stripped when I barely taunted her!”
He hums. “Sounds terrible. Go on.”
“She’s twenty-five and still living at home. I don’t even think she has a driver’s license.”
“Ugh, horrible,” he mocks. I’m too busy conjuring up ticks against Madison to notice.
“And her family! Jesus, her brother probably wants to murder me right now.”
“I think you’ve already mentioned the family—”
“Worst of all,” I say, sitting on the edge of his couch and dropping my head into my hands. “I think I’m already half in love with her. No, more—three-quarters of the way in love with her.”
Andy’s hand hits my shoulder and he pats twice before pushing to his feet. “Well, sounds like you know exactly what to do.”
I jerk my gaze up to him. “What? What do you mean?”
“Oh you know, just follow your heart. Listen to your gut. Let the winds of fate guide you to your destiny.”
“What the fuck are you saying?”
Andy is absolutely no help.
I spend the remainder of my weekend stuck in a vortex of guilt and anger and indecision. I replay her voicemail and contemplate calling her back, but I can’t. She texts me Saturday night with two words: I’M SORRY. I feel so bad, I don’t reply. Why is she sorry? Why is she the one apologizing?
I don’t know what to say and Andy won’t come up with a reply for me, so I just don’t answer.
Sunday, she texts me again.
Madison: I really am. Y’know…sorry.
I want to shout at her to stop. The apologies are only making me feel guiltier. Her heart, the one so big it could fill a football stadium, is not something I deserve. Have I been playing with her feelings? Manipulating her for my own amusement? No. That’s what her dad thinks, but that’s not who I am. I have to keep repeating this to myself, especially after her brother visits me at work on Monday.
I’m in the middle of returning emails when one of my junior associates rushes in, eyes wide, lip quivering.
“There’s a police officer outside asking to speak to you. He says his name is Colten Hart. Are you under arrest or something? Will I have to find a new job?”
I wave away his concerns and push to stand, not at all surprised that Colten has come to talk to me.
Of course he’s wearing his police uniform, all black. Is he purposely fidgeting with the gun in his holster or am I imagining things?
The second I push open the door, he squares his shoulders, juts out his chin, eyes me like he wants to skewer me on a stick.