Watch Over Me

by Mila Gray

  It’s only then that I admit the dreams I’ve been dreaming and the thoughts I’ve been allowing to percolate in the back of my mind. They are idle thoughts, whispers really, of what could be: taking Zoey out on a boat and getting down on one knee, turning around at an altar and seeing her walk toward me in a white dress, her holding our baby in her arms, smiling up at me. I’ve allowed myself to think these things, imagine them in more detail than I’d care to admit to anyone. Was it stupid? Was I jumping the gun? She’s so young. We’re both so young. I know it’s senseless to imagine marriage and kids at my age, unrealistic even, but I did. And I never laughed at those imaginings because they seemed so natural, so obvious. Of course I’d marry her one day. I knew it almost from the very first time I kissed her. I don’t do things by halves. When I commit, I commit, and I committed to Zoey with all my heart and all my soul. I don’t know how to undo that. In fact, I know I can’t. And more than that, I know I don’t want to.

  I stare at the sea so long I feel like I’m in a trance. I can’t leave her. How can I leave her after I promised Will I’d keep her safe? After I promised myself all those years ago? And it’s not just the promise I made to him. It’s the promise I made to her: that I wouldn’t ever let her dad hurt her. If I go away, I can’t keep that promise.

  There’ll be other opportunities, I tell myself, other shots at becoming a pilot, even though I know I’m kissing this one good-bye for good. But really, it’s nothing compared to knowing Zoey is safe. If I left, even if we agreed to try the long-distance thing, I wouldn’t ever be able to relax. I’d constantly be thinking about her and worrying. I’d be worrying even if we weren’t together. So there’s really only one option; there’s only ever been one option, and that’s to stay.

  “Tristan,” Walker says, “did you bait your line?”

  “Huh?” I ask, blinking at him, dazed.

  “You’re not getting bites because you didn’t bait your line.”

  I stare at him for a few seconds before I figure out what he’s talking about. “Oh,” I say.

  “You okay?” Walker asks.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He squints at me. Walker’s got a nose for things, an alert to nuance and tone that others don’t see, and can always tell when someone’s not being truthful. He has a wisdom beyond his years that I appreciate as much as I do Kit’s humor and devotion to the people he loves and Will’s quiet resoluteness. I’m lucky to have such friends. I decide to be honest. “Zoey broke up with me,” I tell him, “because she found out I got into pilot school in Florida.”

  “What?” Kit asks, lurching around to face me and almost upending the cooler of beer beside him.

  “You’re moving to Florida?” Walker asks, surprised.

  “No, I’m not going,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t. I can’t leave her here. And she can’t leave her family. So … I have to make a choice.”

  They both take that in, sharing a glance. They know how much I’ve wanted this, how long I’ve been waiting on a spot to open up at pilot school. I shrug. It’s easy enough to give it up when I weigh it against losing Zoey.

  Kit digs around in the melting ice and pulls out a beer. He pops the cap and hands it to me. “Stupidest thing I ever did was walking away from Jessa,” he says. “Straight-up almost lost her because of it.”

  “Same with me and Didi,” Walker adds, kicking his feet up onto the railing and adjusting his cap. They get it. And their understanding does something to ease the ache of giving up a dream I’ve nurtured and held on to since boyhood.

  Life’s a series of choices, I guess. We set goals, dream dreams, make plans, but sometimes something comes along unexpected and knocks us off one path and onto a different one. The new path might be good, but it doesn’t mean you can’t regret the view you’ll miss seeing from the other path. Staying here in Oceanside doesn’t mean giving anything up, not really. I can live with not becoming a pilot. I can’t live without Zoey.

  ZOEY

  I can’t wait to tell Tristan I’m coming with him. Now that I’ve made the decision, it’s all I can think about. It’s not forever, and all the fears I had about losing friends and not being there for my family are things I can deal with. I can deal with anything so long as I’m with Tristan. Also, If I’m in Florida, I’ll be even farther away from my dad, and as I’m the one he’s angry at, I’ll make it safer for my mom and the others by moving. I tell myself this, but I might just be fooling myself.

  I sneak away from the girls when everyone is getting massages and try to call him, but of course his phone is off. He’s sailing and out of cell phone range. I almost leave him a message, but I don’t because what I want to say needs to be done in person, face-to-face. After I hang up, though, I call my mom and explain to her that Tristan has been accepted to pilot school in Florida. “Do you love him?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, feeling the truth of it all the way to my bones.

  “Did he ask you to go with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should go,” my mom says.

  “But—”

  “No buts!” She cuts me off. “I mean it, Zoey. I know you’re young, but you need to follow your heart.” It’s not what I expected to hear. I thought when I told her my decision she’d caution me to not rush in, advise me to follow my head and not my heart, to not make the same mistake she did: following a man offering her escape. But she doesn’t. “He makes you happy, and you deserve happiness,” she says.

  “But what about you?” I ask.

  She laughs gently. “Stop worrying about me, Zoey. I’m fine. And we’ll manage. We’ll miss you, of course, but we’ll be fine.”

  Will they? Is she just saying that to make it easier on me? I don’t know what to believe.

  “I’ll be fine,” she says again, as though hearing my silent concerns.

  “What about Dad?” I whisper, giving voice to my greatest fear, the thing we try never to talk about.

  There’s silence on the other end of the phone. “Let’s not talk about him, okay? We can’t let him dictate our lives anymore. I want you to go. And I want you to live your life and have adventures and no regrets.”

  “I can start college there,” I say wistfully. “I’ll need to find another job.”

  “You will,” my mom says. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can always come home.”

  “Mom,” I say, my voice thickening with emotion. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she says, and I hear the tears in her voice.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I say.

  I hang up and wipe away a tear. It’s going to be so hard to leave them, but my mom is right. I can’t let my dad dictate my life anymore. I need to set myself free. And I do want to follow my heart. And my heart belongs to Tristan.

  TRISTAN

  A half mile from shore, I get reception and check my voice mail. There’s nothing from Zoey, and disappointment sinks its claws into me. I’d hoped she might have left a message, and her silence hurts. My shoulders sag for a moment before the phone buzzes in my hand.

  But it isn’t Zoey. It’s a security camera sending me a text alert. It does it every time it detects motion outside Zoey’s front door. It happens at least a dozen times a day. Usually, it’s Zoey’s mom or Zoey entering or leaving the house, but this time when I hit play I see a shadowy male figure move in front of the camera. My pulse leaps. Is it Robert? No. He’s too tall, too broad to be Robert. The video is grainy, and I can’t see the guy’s face because he’s wearing a trucker hat, pulled low. Maybe it’s a deliveryman, but he’s not wearing a uniform. Or maybe it’s her dad.

  With a shaking hand, I open the app and hit the button on the camera, pulling up the live feed. It takes a while to load, though, and when it does, the man is nowhere in sight. I rotate the camera and catch a glimpse of an arm in the corner of the frame. What’s he doing? I check the time. Almost seven. Is Zoey home already? Is her mom?

  I switch to anothe
r camera—one I installed on the lamppost right beside where I park my bike. I put it there after I got my bike fixed at exorbitant expense thanks to the concrete mix he poured in the gas tank. This camera gives me an angle on the bottom of the stairs leading to Zoey’s apartment and a stretch of the parking lot. There’s no delivery van in sight.

  I catch movement in the corner of the frame. It’s a car—Zoey’s car. I watch the silver RAV4 pull into the spot beside my bike, and a few seconds later I watch her and Kate get out. Shit, I think to myself. What do I do? Where’s the man disappeared to?

  I hit the button on my phone to switch camera views back to the one by the door and get a full-face view of him. He’s standing right in front of the camera, which is hidden in a hanging basket of flowers Zoey’s mom planted.

  Panic pounds loudly through me. It’s Zoey’s dad. I’d recognize him anywhere, even though the years in prison have filled him out and hardened him. My heart stops in my chest. He looks down at the parking lot—he must have seen Zoey and Kate—and then he ducks out of sight. Where’s he going? There’s a long balcony running the length of the condo—has he run to the other end of it and down the far stairs, or is he waiting to jump them? I need to warn Zoey. Frantic, I turn to Kit. “Give me your phone,” I shout.

  He turns, startled, but pulls out his phone without a word. He’s an ex-soldier. He knows from my tone I’m not messing around, and his reactions are fast and unquestioning. “Call Zoey!” I yell at him. “Get her on the phone.”

  “What’s going on?” Jessa’s dad whispers as Kit and Walker press in around me to see.

  “I saw her dad,” I say, staring at the feed on my phone, willing him to appear. “Is it ringing?” I ask Kit.

  He shakes his head, then hands it to me. I press it to my ear using my free hand. “Come on,” I say as it rings and rings. “Why isn’t she picking up? Where is she?”

  I flip to the other camera feed on my phone, still holding Kit’s phone to my ear. She and Kate are nowhere in sight. Where did they go? “They were right there,” I say, confused.

  “Shall I call the police?” Walker asks.

  “Yes. Give them the address. Tell them they’re in danger. A domestic violence situation. Tell them the suspect is likely armed.”

  “Is he?” Kit’s dad asks.

  “It’ll make them take it seriously,” I answer, my nerves stretched taut. Who knows if he actually is armed?

  Suddenly, Zoey and Kate appear in the line of sight of the camera, walking past my bike. They must have gone to my place first, I realize. Why isn’t Zoey answering her phone? Can’t she hear it ringing? “Pick up!” I hiss.

  I watch as Zoey and Kate start walking up the stairs to their condo. I want to reach out and grab them both, stop them from climbing the stairs, where their dad is waiting for them, but all I can do is watch helplessly, frustrated, listening to Walker behind me speaking to a police dispatcher. He’s struggling to make himself understood, and time is running out. It’s like watching a horror movie in slow motion.

  I need to do something, but when I stare around me, all I see is ocean. We’re a half mile from shore. Goddamn it. My eyes fly back to the screen.

  Zoey and Kate have disappeared from sight.

  ZOEY

  I can’t believe how cool Emma is. She said I can come over anytime, and she even gave me her number!” Kate shoves her phone under my nose to prove it.

  “I know,” I say, laughing, “you already told me this fifty times.”

  “When people at school see this photo of me and Emma, they’re not going to believe it,” Kate says, showing me the photo of her and Emma in matching pink robes, which she’s now made her lock screen image.

  We reach the door, and Kate dramatically falls against it. “That was the best day of my life.” Her phone suddenly rings. She answers it as I fish the keys out of my bag. My mom and Cole are out—she’s taken him for pizza. I glance up at the camera, hidden in the flower basket, its dark eye peering out at us, and wonder if Tristan is watching me, having been alerted by text message.

  “Yes, she’s with me,” Kate says. “Do you want to talk to her?” She turns to me, offering the phone. “It’s Tristan,” she says. “I think he wants to talk to you, but I can’t hear him. He’s breaking up.”

  I take the phone, confused. Why’s he calling Kate? Then I remember my phone is in the car, where I forgot it. “Hello?” I say as Kate starts to open the door.

  “Get out of there!”

  “What?”

  “Your dad’s there. I saw him on the camera. Get out of there! Now!”

  I grab Kate’s hand just as she’s opening the door and yank her away. She lets out a gasp of surprise and a yelp as I drag her to the stairs. “What’s happening?” she says, her voice halfway between fear and laughter.

  “Move!” I say, pushing her down the stairs, tripping over myself in my hurry to get away.

  “What is it?” Kate cries as I keep my hands on her back and force her to move faster.

  “Dad,” I say, breathless. Kate pauses for a fraction of a second, then takes the stairs three at a time. I’m right behind her, not even daring to glance back. He was here. He’s still here. We run to the car. I fumble for my keys. Kate pulls on the door handle to the car, trying anxiously to get it open.

  “Hurry!” she says.

  I can’t find the keys.

  “Come on!” Kate yells. Then her voice drops to a whisper. “Oh my God,” she sobs.

  I feel a chill up my spine. A voice in my head tells me not to turn around. My hand keeps scouring my bag, frantically looking for the keys. Panic makes me shake from head to toe. A sob is rising up my throat.

  Run, I think to myself. Get Kate and run. I turn, but before I can take a step, a shadow falls over me. My way is blocked. I look up.

  “Hello, Zoey,” my dad says.

  All the air inside me leaves in one massive exhalation that turns my legs to Jell-O. “What do you want?” I ask, feeling Kate grip my hand.

  My dad smiles at me. He looks old, like someone has etched lines in his skin with a scalpel. His hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it and showing strands of gray. He’s still a good-looking man, imposing, and bigger than I remember him. He was intimidating before, but now he’s even more so. Prison hasn’t whittled him; it’s sharpened him.

  “How did you find us?” I ask.

  He smiles, and I notice his front tooth is chipped and that he has a scar down the side of one cheek that I’d mistaken for a crease. “Never you mind,” he says, his eye glinting with amusement.

  He nods at the house. “Nice place.”

  Kate whimpers behind me.

  “Hey, Katie,” my dad says. “Look at you, all grown-up. No hi for your dad?”

  I hear Kate make a sound—something between a grunt and a whimper. Her hand squeezes mine so hard, I feel the bones crunch.

  “You wearing makeup now?” he asks Katie, seeming amused, though his eyes harden.

  She doesn’t answer, and I tense, aware I’m using my body to block his view of her, trying even now, after all these years, to protect her, just like I did when she was little.

  How can I keep him calm? His eyes have a wild intenseness to them, and so similar in color to Cole’s. It’s disconcerting.

  “Should you be here?” I ask, phrasing it as a question, trying to keep my tone light and nonaccusatory so as not to spark him into a rage.

  “Your mom home?” he asks, his gaze turning to the house.

  I shake my head, praying she doesn’t choose now to arrive home with Cole.

  “Is she out on a date with that man?” my dad asks, practically spitting the word.

  “Mom’s not home,” I say to him quietly, wondering if he means Robert. “And you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Not supposed to be here,” he repeats, smirking. “I’ll be wherever the hell I like,” he hisses.

  I flinch backward, bumping into Kate, who whimpers.

  “You’
re breaking the law being here,” I tell him, keeping my voice as even as I can. “You could get arrested.” I try to act like I’m concerned for his welfare. Whatever I do, I can’t show fear. Fear is what he feeds on. I remember how Mom’s terror excited him, made him even crueler. All I need to do is keep him here long enough for the cops to arrive. Tristan must have called them. They must be on their way. They’ll arrest him. He’ll go back to prison for at least the remainder of his sentence, possibly longer.

  “Who’s going to tell?” he says, eyeing me with so much menace that my whole body starts to shake. “You?”

  I swallow dryly, trying not to glance at the street. How long would it take for the cops to respond? The time he beat my mom so bad he almost killed her, it took forever, the seconds stretching into lifetimes.

  “They won’t believe you,” he goes on, starting to smile, though the smile never reaches his eyes. “I’ve got a friend who’ll vouch for me, say I was with him all day. It’ll be my word against yours.”

  “They believed me last time,” I say.

  I’m not sure why I spoke the words out loud. One moment they were in my head, and then I heard myself speaking them. Am I a total idiot, antagonizing him like that? Maybe I want him to react because if I can get him to react, get him to hit me, they’ll charge him with assault. It would be worth it to have him hurt me if it meant it would keep him away from us for longer.

  “They will believe me,” I say, defiantly lifting my chin. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not allowed to come anywhere near us. We don’t want you anywhere near us. We hate you.”

  My dad raises his arm so fast it’s a blur. I bring one arm up instinctively to block the blow, the muscle memory from all the sessions with Tristan kicking in, but his fist doesn’t make contact. It remains level with my face for a few seconds before he drops it. I’m breathing hard, aware that Kate is crying behind me, and he smiles, happy to have frightened me.