Shark Bite

by K L Montgomery

  “You have…uh…feelings for him?” I can tell that saying the F word took a lot out of the guy. Poor Meric. He’s an accountant. He’s not cut out to play armchair therapist.

  “I found out something recently…and it’s made me question everything.” It’s the gist of what I told his wife before she started snoozing, and I briefly reiterate it now: the photo from the newspaper, what my parents said, the photo album scene from earlier tonight. “Shark and I hooked up a couple of years ago—right after the cast party at your house, actually.”

  Meric rolls his eyes. “Don’t blame me for this!” He’s not mad; he’s laughing at himself, but you can tell he’s completely weirded out by this whole conversation.

  “It was a really great night,” I confess, “but afterwards he told me he wasn’t a relationship guy. So that was it, nothing more until we started working together on his rugby team…and then I found out we knew each other before, and when I told him, he kinda had a freak out on me.”

  “A freak out?” Meric repeats. “That doesn’t sound like Shark.”

  “Well, as freaked out as a guy like Shark could be. He got all quiet and distant—”

  “That sounds like normal Shark to me.” Meric crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Well, it was weird in context; you’re gonna have to trust me on this. Seeing those photos in my old albums seemed to be really triggering for him—”

  “Shark, triggered,” Meric says, like it sounds as crazy as claiming the sky is purple with green polka dots. Then his chest puffs out with a deep breath that he lets out slowly. He leans toward me, elbows on his knees. “Shark’s never been one to talk about his past…”

  I couldn’t imagine him being chatty about anything, but especially not his childhood.

  “…but I know when his parents got divorced, and he had to move to Pennsylvania, his family was ripped apart. His brother stayed with his dad. And Shark moved away with his mom. He’s still trying to repair his relationship with his family even after all this time. He’s never quite forgiven any of them for uprooting him.”

  He was uprooted from me, I think, a casual little wiggle worm of a thought squeezing its way inside my brain.

  “That makes a lot of sense.” I take the same kind of deep, cleansing breath Meric just enjoyed. “A lot of sense.” Might also explain why he thinks he’s not a relationship guy.

  “Thanks, glad to help.” He turns back to his computer. “Next time, I’d much prefer doing your taxes or something, okay?” He gives me a teasing smile, and I know it’s his way of making a joke. Even accountants make jokes from time to time.

  “Well, what do you want me to do about Lindy?”

  “I’ll take care of her. I think I’m going to head to bed myself.” He stands up, and it’s my signal to go.

  This has been a rather illuminating evening, if I do say so myself.

  On my way out, I give Lindy’s tummy one last pat goodbye.

  9

  Max and I have established a routine. I take him to soccer practice one night a week, and then afterwards we go get some ice cream. He seems happy. His mom seems happy. I know Matt is happy too. I’ve never been able to make so many people happy at the same time, so I’m chalking it up as a win. Or some kind of miracle.

  “Can we listen to that song again on the way back to my house?” Max takes his first bite of ice cream, not surprisingly, the part with sprinkles, then looks up at me with his brilliant blue eyes.

  We always blast 80s music when we’re in the car together. I’m giving him an education in the classics. “Oh, I’ve made you a Prince fan, have I?”

  “It’s pretty good music.” He flashes his adorable little lopsided, freckle-faced smile at me.

  “You just started school again, didn’t you?” I ask as his tongue darts out to lick the ice cream ring that’s formed around his mouth. “Fourth grade this year?”

  He gives a half-hearted, noncommittal shrug as he crunches into the cone and a big chocolate drip slides down his hand, which he also licks off.

  I forgot how messy kids are. “Well, did you or not? Be a man and speak up, son!” I feed him a line I remember my father saying to me, even though my old man is the last person I want to emulate when it comes to mentoring this kid.

  “I did,” is all Max will give up.

  “That bad, huh?” I observe how his nose wrinkles up at the idea of it. I wasn’t much for school either, so I can’t blame him there.

  He shrugs again as he takes another bite out of the cone. Then before he’s got it all swallowed down he says, “At least Alex Barnes isn’t in my class this year. I still have to see him at lunch and recess though.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who’s Alex Barnes?”

  His blue eyes narrow as he lifts them to me. “The biggest bully in the fourth grade.”

  “Oh, that’s not cool, bro. What does he do?”

  “He calls me Carrot Head and Ginger Kid and Freckle Boy,” Max points out.

  Well, none of those things are untrue. I rest my eyes on him, waiting to see if he will share more. I’ve learned with this kid that you have to give him plenty of space to talk. It can’t be too structured. He needs some silence to work the words out of him.

  “But he still took my lunch money on the first day of school,” he tells me after some time has passed, and he’s taken a few more bites of his cone.

  My nostrils flare with anger that I try in vain to tamp down. “Did you tell anyone?”

  The scrawny kid shakes his head, his eyes falling to the table. He stuffs the rest of his cone in his napkin like he’s lost his appetite.

  “So you just didn’t eat that day?” I can’t disguise the bit of growl in my voice.

  “Nope,” Max confirms.

  I suck in a breath. Bullies are the worst. I know this because I used to be bullied, which turned me into one myself. I want to hunt down this Alex Barnes and give him a piece of my mind.

  “You gotta stand up for yourself,” I tell Max. “Bullies never expect you to do that. Have you ever used bug spray to keep away mosquitos?”

  He nods and looks up at me with curiosity—what does that have to do with Alex Barnes? he’s wondering.

  “Standing up for yourself is like bully spray,” I tell him.

  We’re gonna have to work on that standing up for himself thing.

  Practice was excruciating. I took a hard hit from Vampire right in the nuts. Zac finally managed to go a whole practice without dropping a pass—now if he can do it during a game. The scrums were on point. The rucks are getting there, and even our lineouts show promise. I’m a sweaty mass of bruises and sore muscles. In other words, it was the perfect practice.

  Heading to my truck with the bag of balls hoisted over my shoulder, I hear Walt call out my name. By the time I turn around, he’s running to catch up with me.

  “Hey, man, great practice,” he says, patting me on the back. “Your balls okay, bro?”

  I throw the bag in the bed of my truck and shoot him a raised eyebrow. “They seem okay to me?” Then I realize he meant my balls, the ones between my legs. “Oh, yeah, they’re fine.” I laugh it off as his smile fades.

  There’s something more serious on his mind. I’ve known Walt for what, three, four years now—however long we’ve been building this team. We’ve seen quite a few guys come and go over the seasons, but the core group has remained the same. He and I are the heart of this team. I feel like I’m almost too old for this shit, but I’m afraid if I let go, the team will disintegrate. Walt feels the same way. We’re the glue holding this whole thing together.

  “What’s up?” I notice he’s distracted for a moment, like he’s running through what he wants to say to me in his mind.

  “How are things going for the carnival?”

  “I need to call Megan and get an update.” I haven’t talked to her since I left her house the other night, and it’s been almost a week. Now that we’ve set a date and our fall season is underway, we don’t have a moment to
spare. I also need to confirm details with Declan about the horse and carriage rides. I don’t want to talk to him either.

  “Oh, yes, Megan…” Walt’s voice has a…dreamy quality as he stares off toward the setting sun.

  “What about her?” I snap, some sort of protective instinct kicking in—one I have absolutely zero control over.

  “How would you feel if I asked her out on a date?” Walt crosses his arms over his chest and trains his gaze on me, his dark eyes shining in the deepening twilight.

  My face doesn’t move a muscle. I just stand there, staring at him. Not saying a word.

  “Did you go out with her before or something?” His voice takes on a bit of a nervous edge.

  “It’s complicated.” I don’t really feel like rehashing all the memory bullshit that’s been rumbling through my mind since I was at her house and we looked at those old photos. The freckle-faced boy. The little girl with flying pigtails. The tiny footprints polka-dotting the sand.

  “Complicated?” He punches me in the shoulder. “Come on, bro, it’s me. You’re not a complicated guy, Shark. Did you fuck her or what?”

  I cringe at his language, and though the answer is yes, I can no longer think of her that way. She’s Meggie. If I’d known she was Meggie two years ago, I doubt I ever would have done—that—with her. See? I can’t even bring myself to say the word. And that word is usually at the very top of my vocabulary list on any given day.

  And it’s not because I’m disgusted. It’s not because I think of her like a sister. It’s because that decades-old promise keeps echoing in my mind. That promise to love her forever.

  “Shark?” He’s more insistent now. And I’m not going to be able to leave without giving him an answer.

  “Yeah, I did, but it was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, okay.” He seems stumped for a moment, but then his face brightens, his lips curling up on the edges. “Wasn’t good?”

  I roll my eyes. Not something I want to discuss. “It was good,” is all I say.

  “So, yes, I can go out with her? Or, no, I can’t?” He sighs with exasperation. “I didn’t know this was going to be such a challenge. I thought I’d get your blessing, man. That you’d want to see her with a nice chap.”

  “I do,” I assure him. And no one could be nicer than Walt. He’s a freaking veterinarian, for crying out loud. I mean, what could be more appealing to a woman than that? He’s well-spoken, intelligent, articulate, has a British accent, and he cares for animals in a professional capacity. He’s the type of guy who makes ovaries explode with desire.

  “Then, we’re cool?”

  I have no reason to tell him no. Not to mention that doing so might put a rift between us right when we need to be completely unified and carry this team through the season. If our season goes well—in both the PR and the competition departments—we’ll be considered by the league for moving up a division. That means we’d play tougher teams and have even more clout and respect not only in the league, but hopefully in the community too.

  “Yeah, man, that’s fine.” I force a smile. “I’m sure you guys will make a great couple.”

  It isn’t up to me who Megan dates, anyway. Walt doesn’t need my blessing. It’s all up to Megan.

  Then why does my heart feel like it’s sinking into the pit of my stomach?

  Walt tells me goodbye and heads off toward his fancy car while I climb into my truck and start up the engine. This whole week has been a roller coaster, and I’m ready to get off now.

  I need to go home, throw on some music, and relax. Focus on the good things like the carnival coming up. Like the next time I’ll see Max. I want to take him out for pizza soon, and once the crowds die down, I’ll take him to the boardwalk to play some games at Fun Land. He’s a cute kid. His mom is kinda cute too, even though she’s a tad bit neurotic when it comes to him… Maybe I can think about her.

  Anything not to think about Megan.

  10

  Megan has called a meeting of our carnival planning committee at our buddy Drew’s concert venue and art gallery. She said it’s the only space big enough to hold everyone. I’m bracing myself because I’m not a big fan of crowds, but when I show up, I realize it’s really just all our friends plus Matt Cameron and Walt. She flicks me a little smile that’s trying to convey something, a little message solely for me, but I’m not sure what it is. I throw back a smirk meant to put her mind at ease—the last thing I want her to do is worry about me.

  “Oh, you’re still in uniform.” She pats my back as she makes her way around the table to place an agenda in front of everyone. They’re all printed out professionally and have the Riptide, Beach Buddies, and American Legion logos at the top.

  “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t get a chance to change,” I apologize, trying to keep my eyes on the agenda and not lock onto her stare.

  She leans down and whispers in my ear, “It’s okay, I like you in uniform.”

  A shockwave ripples down my spine when her voice rustles the tiny hairs on my ear. I want to forbid my body from reacting to her, but then I catch a whiff of her citrusy coconut perfume, and there’s no way to tamp down what’s happening inside me. I promised myself I wasn’t going to think of her that way, and that was easy enough to do during our week apart, but now, here in person, there’s no way to stop it. It’s completely beyond my control—and I don’t like feeling out of control. Not one bit.

  I distract myself by looking around the table at all the smiling faces. Drew is here with his wife, Sonnet, who, if I’m not mistaken, is expecting. She has a tiny little round bump starting to show on her otherwise petite body. Lindy is looking round and glowing too. And I found out recently that Jason’s wife, Hannah, also has a bun in the oven. What the hell is going on with our friends? It’s like contagious or something. Drew, Meric, and Jason will all make great dads, though. Better them than me, that’s for sure.

  Megan rises from her seat and calls the meeting to order. “Thanks for joining me tonight for our first official carnival planning committee. I’m so lucky to have such great friends who are always ready and willing to help out, especially with great causes like this. So tonight I want to sketch out a map so we know where all the foods, rides, and vendors will be stationed, and I’m open to any and all ideas and feedback so we can make sure all our bases are covered too.”

  Everyone murmurs their agreement, and Megan starts to list the different attractions that will be featured. “We’re having a bunch of food trucks, first and foremost, so that’s easy, and I’m getting ready to sign those contracts this week. There’s a burger and hot dog one, a pizza one, a taco truck, and one with ice cream and other sweets.”

  “How many people are we expecting?” Claire pipes up from the other side of the round table.

  “I wish I could give you an estimate, but we really have no clue what to expect at this stage of the game.” Sounds like an honest answer on Megan’s part.

  “Do you have a social media strategy? Are you taking out ads in local papers and on television and radio?”

  “Whoa, haven’t gotten that far. Sorry, Claire…I know, I’m in PR, so I should have all of this covered, but I’m trying to get the logistics figured out first. It’s on my agenda for next week after all the contracts with the vendors are signed. We were waiting on our venue to give us the green light before placing any ads.”

  “Okay,” Claire says. She’s clearly used to being in charge of things; I can hear it in her voice. She’s a little older than us, too, probably in her mid-forties. But it’s good to have people like that on board. I hate to think Megan would have to do everything herself, especially since she insisted we not pay her anything. “Oh, I thought of another sponsor. Do you know Corazón del Mar? I’m friends with Mateo Flores, the owner, and I’m sure he’ll want to sponsor.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll call him tomorrow.” Megan goes on to list the different activities planned for kids: “There will be carriage rides and pony rides sponsored by Shark’s
family’s carriage company, a hot air balloon—it’s tethered, so it won’t go up that far, face-painting, a petting zoo that our resident veterinarian Dr. Byrd is going to help out with, and a dress-up photo station sponsored by Jason and Hannah’s bridal and formalwear store. We’ll also be renting the biggest bouncy house we can find. Then, let’s see, Drew and Sonnet are in charge of games. Lindy and Meric—feel free to volunteer for something—maybe ticketing? And I want to do one of those old-fashioned dunk tanks—Dunk a Rugby Player, what do you say, Walt and Shark?”

  “Bloody brilliant!” Walt interjects, and I just nod because what can I truly add to a statement like that? Nothing.

  “What else can we do? I’ve never planned a children’s carnival before, so I don’t know what the usual things are.”

  “What you have so far sounds good,” Claire says like she’s the authority on carnivals.

  “Oh, Brynn and Chris couldn’t be here tonight—they’re both working—but Brynn’s brother owns that outdoor adventure company, and he’s offered to sponsor some sort of activity. They’re trying to decide what. We thought archery might be too dangerous—” Megan cuts herself off, glancing around to see if anyone wants to contribute an idea.

  “I think you’ve done a great job with this,” Matt says. “Beach Buddies will help with volunteers and staffing the rides and games. And, of course, we have our own social media channels for getting the word out. We also have connections with area schools and can send home a flyer with students.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect!” Megan gushes. She’s beaming so brightly, her eyes are all crinkled, and I can’t see the copper centers, just little slivers of green.

  We spend the rest of the meeting discussing the layout on the Legion’s property. We’ve got several acres and the parking lot to work with, and everything has to be mapped out. It’s not exciting conversation, but it needs to be done. Megan charmed the pants off the Legion guys, and they pretty much gave her carte blanche for the whole weekend. I shouldn’t have ever doubted her.