The Secrets We Held

by Blair, E. K.

  As I get ready to catch another ride, Trent shouts excitedly from a distance. I laugh, and when he catches my eye, he shoots me a shaka. Dipping the nose of my board beneath a break, I paddle out a little farther. With salt in my long brown hair and the warm breath of the morning sun on my face, I’m at peace. There was a time when I wanted to run away from the water and never come back, but I eventually came back. The ocean has always been my home through the good and bad.

  This is the beach my father used to bring me to, and the one I continued to come to as I grew up and no longer needed him in the water with me. Although Miami is only a short hour and a half from my home, at times it feels like a world away.

  As the sky grows brighter, the three of us continue to surf and enjoy the near-empty water. There are a few other people out here taking advantage of the swells, but there aren’t so many that I have to worry about kooks dropping in on me.

  Sitting on my board, I bob on the water like a buoy. As I stare down a ways and watch Brody, I find myself blinking against a few dark floaters in my vision. I shake my head and pinch my eyes shut, but when I open them, there are still dark spots.

  “Not again,” I whisper to myself as I close my eyes and press my palms against them, already feeling a dull band of throbbing across my forehead.

  We’ve been out in the water for almost two hours, but I’m not ready to call it a day yet. So, I ignore the growing tension around my temples and set myself up to catch the next wave, and when I pop up, I ride it perfectly, pulling a couple of kickbacks as I do. It’s when I hit the pocket that my vision darkens and blurs. The moment I whip my head, my foot slips and I lose my balance, falling off and clipping my head on the board before the wave crashes down and pulls me under. A spark of light flashes from behind my lids, taking me right back to the accident, and I panic as I try to find the surface.

  My leash tangles around my other leg as I swim toward the surface, and when I finally break through, I find Brody behind the dense shadows that cloud my sight paddling my way.

  “Kate,” he hollers. “You okay?”

  My heart pounds against my ribs while I attempt to pull myself onto my board. Another stabbing pain slices through my head, and I know I need to get out of the water and lie down.

  Brody’s hand clasps around my wrist, and he pulls me onto my board. “Is it your head again?”

  “Yeah.” I pant as I catch my breath.

  “Here,” he says, unfastening his leash and tossing it my way. “Hold on.”

  I grab the chord, and he starts paddling us back in as I tow from behind.

  When we hit the shore, the two of us walk over to our bags, and I flop down onto the sand. Brody tosses me a water, and I guzzle it before pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on them.

  “What’s going on?” Trent calls out, and when I look up, he’s jogging our way with his board tucked under his arm.

  My cheeks scorch with embarrassment, but the pain in my head forces me to close my eyes again.

  “What happened?”

  Before Brody can answer with the truth, I tell an easy lie. “Nothing. I just slipped and hit my head.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  “Kate,” Brody says with concern in his eyes.

  “I’m fine. No big deal,” I stress right before another flame of agony spears its way through my head. My jaw clenches as I hiss through the pain, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “We should get you home,” Brody suggests before pulling his phone from his bag. “Fuck. It’s already ten.” He then looks to Trent and asks, “Would you mind taking her back?”

  “What?” I question at the same time Trent agrees. “No,” I say. “I don’t want to leave my car here. It’s too far.”

  “I’m going to be late for class, and this professor is a jackass who actually takes attendance. I can’t be late.”

  “It’s cool,” Trent tells him. “Go ahead and get out of here.”

  “You sure, man?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, thanks,” he tells Trent and then looks at me. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  I give him a small smile, and he’s out.

  “Why don’t you just take me to my parents’ house? It’s only twenty minutes from here. I’ll pick up my car later when my dad gets off work.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  He offers me a hand up, and I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. The sudden shift is enough to blur my vision again. Hunching over, I grip my knees until the fog clears.

  “Dude, how hard did you hit your head?”

  “Let’s just go.”

  He takes my board with his, and I sling my backpack over my shoulders as we walk to his SUV. The pain amplifies as he drives me to the house I grew up in, and by the time he pulls into the drive, I have a full-blown migraine.

  “You okay walking in?”

  “Yeah, thanks for the ride,” I tell him as he watches me get out of the car. I can tell he’s worried, but I brush it off because it’s embarrassing to have people fuss over me.

  Grabbing my board from the back of his SUV, I thank him again and then head up to the garage to punch in the code, but between the throbbing in my head and my speckled vision, I become dizzy and stumble in my step.

  My board drops from under my arm, and in the next moment, Trent is out of the SUV with his hands around my arms, holding me up.

  “What’s the code?”

  “Nine two one two,” I tell him, wanting nothing more than to rinse the salt from my skin and lie down already.

  The garage opens, and Trent gets me inside. As soon as I hit the foot of the stairs, I peel off my wetsuit, which was already shoved down to my waist, and kick it aside on the tile floor, leaving me in my bikini.

  “Damn,” Trent remarks, stretching out the word, and I’m quick to smack him.

  “Shut up.” When I start walking up the stairs toward my old bedroom, Trent picks up my wetsuit and follows me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Making sure your ass doesn’t fall down the stairs because you’re walking around like a sloptart.”

  “A sloptart? Really?”

  He laughs, and when I turn around to climb the rest of the stairs, I mumble, “You’re such a dick,” loud enough for him to hear.

  “You mind if I change? I don’t want to drive home like this.”

  When I hit the door to my room, I turn to look at him standing in his wetsuit, which is tugged down to his waist, and if I didn’t feel so shitty, I might actually notice butterflies.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m going to hop in the shower and rinse off. You can change in there,” I say, pointing to the guest restroom.

  “Sounds good. I’ll just show myself out when I’m done.” He walks down the hall with his backpack that has his dry clothes in it.

  “Okay. Thanks for the ride,” I tell him as I head into my room. I grab a T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts from my dresser before I close the door to my en-suite bathroom.

  Once I’m alone, I give in to the sharp pain. My eyes well with tears as I sit on the edge of the bathtub. With my head in my palms, I clench my teeth through the tremendous pounding in my head. It’s been a few months since I’ve had one of these episodes, and I don’t have my medicine on me. My pills are back at my condo, but I might have some in one of the drawers by the sink.

  After riffling through them and coming up empty, I slip off my bikini, turn the bathroom lights off, and hop into the shower. I brace my hands against the wall and let the hot water pelt against my skin, doing what I can to focus on the sensation of the spray in an attempt to distract myself from the gnawing pain of my migraine.

  Time fades, but I know enough of it has passed when the water turns cold and my fingertips have pruned. It’s only then that I step out of the shower and slowly dry off and change. My movements aren’t slow enough though, and the floaters return, obscurin
g my vision. As I lean over the sink, I stare into the mirror at the faint scar that runs just under my right brow where I had thirteen stitches.

  The memory of that terrifying day causes another tear to slip down my already splotchy face. Backing away, I open the door and find Trent sitting on my bed.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  He scans my face and stands. “I heard you crying.”

  Heat creeps up my neck.

  “I thought you might have a concussion or something, but when I went down to the garage to check out your board, I didn’t see anything, not even a ding, so I know you couldn’t have hit it that hard.”

  “I’m fine, I . . . I have a migraine.”

  “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay before I left.”

  His usual jokester mood has been exchanged for one that seems . . . sincere, which, for him, is completely foreign.

  “All my medicine is back in Miami.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts into a subtle grin, and he walks over to his bag on the floor next to my dresser and pulls out a small vial.

  “What’s that?”

  “Cannabis,” he says. “It’s just tinctured.”

  “I don’t need to be getting blasted.”

  “Relax,” he says as he steps over to me. “I’m not going to give you enough to get blasted.” He unscrews the dropper. “Open your mouth and lift your tongue.”

  I do, and he squeezes out a few drops before dropping some in his mouth as well.

  “I’ve only ever vaped or done edibles,” I tell him as I walk over to the bed and sit.

  “This is longer-lasting. You should like it.”

  “I need to lay my head down,” I tell him. “Would you mind closing the blinds? The light is killing me.”

  I slip down on top of the covers as he moves around my room, putting the vial away and then turning my blinds closed.

  He stops to look at a photo on my dresser and cracks a chuckle, teasing, “You look hot in braces.”

  “Why do you have to be an ass?” I mumble.

  He laughs as he walks over to the bed and sits beside me. “No worries. I had them too.”

  My nerves kick up, but they don’t feel like they should as the onset of my high starts to settle in. I close my eyes, sink into the dullness, and finally, I mellow out enough not to be in so much pain. When my equilibrium gets thrown off as if I’m on a slow-moving rollercoaster, I open my eyes.

  “Feels good, right?”

  I nod as all my muscles slacken.

  We settle into a comfortable silence as both our highs take effect, and after a while, Trent lays his head on the pillow next to where I’m lying.

  He lets go of a heavy sigh and then turns to look at me. “You feeling better?”

  “A little.”

  “You always fake migraines to get guys into bed with you?”

  A soft, airy laugh slips out of me. “My dad would have his gun on you if he saw you in my bed.”

  Trent quirks a nervous brow.

  “He’s a cop.”

  He pushes up on his elbows and looks down at me. “Your dad’s a fucking cop?”

  “Chill.” I giggle. “It isn’t like he would actually shoot you . . . at least not with the intention to kill.”

  “What?”

  “I’m kidding,” I say, and he lowers himself back down.

  “So, he isn’t a cop?”

  “No, he is. That part is true. But I doubt he’d waste a bullet on you. You’re harmless.”

  “You calling me a softy?”

  Rolling my head to the side, I ask, “Are you?”

  His only response is a smirk followed by a wink, to which I shake my head, but the slight movement makes the dark speckles reappear, forcing my eyes to pinch shut.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh-uh,” I respond while keeping my lids closed.

  “Is it your head?”

  “My eyes.”

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

  Lifting my hundred pound hands, I give my lids a rub before opening them again, but the spots are still present.

  “I had a bad head injury a few years back,” I tell him without hesitation. I blame the pot.

  “What happened?”

  “My dad and I were surfing Backyards in Oahu while on a family vacation. He decided to call it, but I stayed out a while longer. It went from a playful head-high to a widow-making, triple-overhead in thirty minutes.”

  “Shit.”

  “I was trying to paddle out and around the entire point to get in when a steep wave with a thick lip came barreling down on me. The reefs are shallow in that area, and the force slammed me headfirst into the coral.” My pulse kicks up from the memory. “I don’t know how long I was unconscious or underwater, but my dad said it was a while before he could get out to me.”

  “That’s crazy. So, what happened?”

  “An ambulance rushed me to the hospital. I had a concussion and a skull fracture. I also had a lot of water in my lungs. I’m really lucky it wasn’t worse, but ever since, I get these migraine spells and my vision gets really spotty.”

  “Is that what happened in the water today?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I popped up on the board, and the spots became so bad I couldn’t see anything.”

  “I had no idea,” he says as he shifts to his side. “Does it happen a lot?”

  “Last time was a few months ago when I was out with Brody.”

  Trent doesn’t say anything, and the silence would be wracking my nerves if I weren’t stoned, but then he sees the scar.

  “Is that where you hit the reef?” he asks right before tracing the faint line with his thumb.

  “Yeah. I was supposed to compete in my first competition a couple of months after the accident, but I bailed. A part of me wanted to take the sport on professionally.”

  “So, what’s stopping you?”

  “You sound like my dad.”

  “He wants you to compete?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But that would require me to surf in the reefs sometimes. It’s one thing to surf around here where it’s nothing but sand. There is just no way I would ever be comfortable on a reef again.”

  He moves to lie on his back and tucks his arm behind his head. While he stares at the ceiling fan, I allow my eyes to fall shut. Everything begins to dissolve around me, and I surrender myself to the euphoria, finding it hard to hang on.

  “You were right,” I mumble so softly I’m surprised he hears me.

  “About?”

  Sinking deeper into the bed, I drift slightly before answering, “This is a much better high.”

  “You zoning out?”

  “Yeah.”

  And right before I fade completely, I hear him murmur, “Me too.”

  KATE

  “How have your midterms gone so far?” Ady asks.

  “Ehh, fine, I guess.” I dig my toes into the sand and tilt my face toward the sun.

  “Are you ready to get algebra over with?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trent,” she clarifies. “How bad has he been cheating off you?”

  When she mentions his name, I scan the shore and find him down a ways talking to some girl.

  “Surprisingly, he hasn’t asked me for help at all. He actually has a better grade than I do.”

  Ady’s brows raise. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.” I chuckle. “Honestly, I should be cheating off him.”

  “Maybe I should ask him for some help because I’m barely pulling a C in my Algebra class.”

  “So,” I start, my curiosity elongating the word as I do, “why were you and Micah late getting here today?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You never stop, do you?”

  I laugh. “I just don’t know what’s keeping you from dating him.”

  “He isn’t interested in me like that. Like I’ve been telling you, we’re just really good friends.”

  “Uh-huh, right,”
I mutter, and she rocks into me, bumping my shoulder with hers. “How is it that you’re so blind?”

  “Me?” she stresses. “Oh, please. You’re calling me blind?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I see you sneaking glances at Trent. You still can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “That doesn’t make me blind. I see him for exactly what he is,” I say, motioning in his direction as he types his number into the bunny’s cell phone, “which is exactly why I’ve never hooked up with him.”

  “But you want to,” she states matter-of-factly.

  “Not anymore,” I lie. “He spreads himself around too much. It’s disgusting.” That part is the truth, though. I hate that he’s been with so many girls, even girls I know like Jenna. Unfortunately, because of him, she doesn’t talk to me anymore—not that we were ever close, but it’s still annoying.

  “You getting back in?” Brody hollers as he walks out of the water and up to me and Ady.

  “Yeah, in a little while.”

  When he drops his board, he looks past the two of us, saying, “Yo, Van, what’s up?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see who he’s talking to and spot two guys I don’t know walking our way with boards under their arms. He claps hands with the one, who I presume is Van, and asks, “Where the hell have you been, man?”

  “Just been working at the shop.”

  Brody turns to me. “Kate, this is an old buddy of mine, Van. He owns a surf shop right outside of South Beach.”

  He holds his hand out, and I shake it, telling him, “That’s cool. It’s nice to meet you.”

  He returns the sentiment before glancing at the guy to his side. “My bad. This is Caleb. He came into the shop last week asking for lessons.”

  My eyes go straight to Caleb’s deep-cut abs.

  “A newb?” Brody asks.

  “Hopefully, not for long.”

  Caleb looks at me, and beneath this ungodly heat, a shiver crawls up my spine when he gives me a smile. I reach out my hand. “Hi. I’m Kate,” I introduce, and when Ady clears her throat, I add, “Oh, and this is Ady.”