The Lifeguard

by Kade, Teagan

She slowly backs away under the covers, swinging her legs over the bed and standing.

  Running on autopilot, my eyes drop downwards. She follows them and sees, like me, the t-shirt I gave her barely reaches her belly. She tugs it down, which only makes her breasts stand out more, nipples pressed against the fabric like small acorns. “I should, ah…”

  “Yeah,” I kind of wave, “get back to bed, grab some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

  “Is it?” she asks.

  “It’s always big with me,” I reply, mentally slapping myself for how overtly sexual it sounds.

  “O-kay,” she says, backing up to the door. “Goodnight then?”

  And fuck knows why, but I salute. I actually salute her goodnight. “Goodnight, Winter.”

  “Goodnight, Archer,” comes the equally awkward reply.

  She turns, the top of the t-shirt caught in the waistband of her boxers, two perfect, peachy orbs of ass staring right back at me. They’re basically begging me to get up and go get her, but I keep myself on leash knowing this is not the time, and definitely not the moment.

  *

  The awkwardness runs right through the following morning. Winter gets up—dressed this time—making her way into the kitchen with the stealth of an alley cat.

  “Morning,” she says behind me, taking me by such surprise I almost flip the pancake I’m tossing right to the roof.

  I turn, bringing my attention away from the pan. “Good morning. I hope you like pancakes.”

  “So that’s what the whipped cream is for?”

  Among other things, I think.

  “I went out earlier and got some fresh strawberries, bananas… It’s basically a fruit salad in the fridge.”

  She looks at me incredulously. “Earlier,” eyes wandering up to the clock on the wall. “It’s seven AM.”

  “And my shift starts at eight, but I didn’t want you to go hungry, considering your kick-ass cooking skills.”

  She tilts her head to the side, lips tightly together. “That’s not going to win you any brownie points, you know.”

  “I did save your life,” I tell her, waving the spatula around like it’s a magic wand.

  She takes a step closer. “You did, and I’m in your debt, but insult a woman’s cooking and…”

  I laugh, crossing my arms. “Whatever that was the other night, it wasn’t cooking. I mean, we could have scraped it out, sold it off as charcoal perhaps…”

  She slaps me on the arm, the first real sign of physical contact between us that hasn’t been life-or-death, or via sleepwalking. I don’t think it goes unnoticed.

  Winter clears her throat and takes a step back. “So, you’ve got a shift today.”

  “All day, sorry. Do you want some money for the shops? Or you could stroll the beach—lots to see.”

  “I think I’ll stay put,” she says.

  “Your call.”

  She looks past me. “By the way, Gordon Ramsey, looks like your pancakes are burning.”

  “Shit!” I stammer, spinning around and flipping the pancake in the pan only to be met with a lovely shade of emo black. “Fuck.”

  Winter’s loving it, of course, bent over herself in hysterics. “What’s that saying about throwing rocks from glass houses? Is that how it goes?”

  The pancake in question goes straight into the trash. I point the spatula at her. “You better watch that tone, young lady”

  “Why? What are you going to do? Spank me?”

  If blood wasn’t rushing to my cock before, it basically floods there now at the thought of her bare ass in front of me, bent over my knee.

  She realizes what she’s said, her cheeks turning a wonderful shade of I-fucked-up red.

  I let her simmer in it for a bit, pouring the next pancake. “Ask and maybe, just maybe,” I speak down to the pan, “you shall receive.”

  *

  It’s flat as a tack out there today, which naturally means all the trouble migrates to the beach. By the end of the shift I’m completely exhausted, my throat dry from shouting at idiot after idiot.

  After our shift, I head with Robbie to Bar None, but a rather full-breasted redhead steals him away to fuck knows where. I’m left alone at the bar with a semi-warm Corona. My thoughts turn to Winter. In-between the idiot convention, she’s all I’ve been thinking about.

  It’s then I spot a familiar face sitting on the other side of the bar.

  We see each other at the same time.

  Liam points to himself, back to me. I indicate the spare stool beside myself. Ten seconds later he’s sitting next to me, sliding his half-empty beer onto the bar.

  He shakes his head for a moment. “Archer. Fuck me. It’s been a while.”

  I notice he’s still in uniform, the blue and black get-up of the Miami Beach Police. “It has. How’s the Force treating you?”

  He shrugs. “Shitty pay, a fuck-load of jerk-offs out there, but hey, at least we’re not buried up to our necks in sand and extremists, right?”

  He’s referring to our Afghanistan tour. The sand got everywhere—nostrils, bed, clothes, right up in your asshole where the sun don’t shine. “Feels like forever ago.”

  He takes up his beer. “Fucking hey. And you?” he says, glancing at my uniform. “Still pulling idiots out of the water and fighting the hordes?”

  “Something like that,” I nod, staring down into the pale yellow of my Corona.

  I think of Winter and realize this is my chance. She said she didn’t want to go to the cops, but there’d be no harm asking Liam his professional opinion, get his take on things.

  I decide to keep it casual. “Speaking of things being pulled out of the water, I rescued a girl just the other night.”

  “Fuck me. They’ve got you doing night shifts now?”

  “No, no. I left something at the tower and spotted her out there halfway to death, pulled her in.”

  “She’s hot, isn’t she? Did she grow legs and run off, tell you her daddy is Titan, king of the ocean?”

  I shove him with my shoulder. “Fuck you, and yeah, she’s attractive.”

  “What was she doing out there after dark?”

  I wish I knew, I think. “I’m not sure. She was pretty quiet about the whole thing, wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  I don’t want to mention the girl in question is staying with me just yet, that I didn’t even log the rescue.

  “You think she was in some kind of trouble?” asks Liam, clueing in.

  “Trouble? For sure, but what kind I have no fucking idea.”

  “You patched her up and sent her on her way, or is she back at your place tied to the bed?”

  I know he’s joking, but it still takes me off guard. “I’m a gentleman. You know that.”

  He slaps his hand into the bar. “Fuck the fuck off. If you’re a gentleman, I’m the King of England. Seriously, what happened?”

  I’m almost tempted to spill everything and bring him in, but I don’t know enough yet, and I don’t want to go against Winter’s wishes to not get the authorities involved. Selfishly perhaps, maybe I want to keep her around a little longer. I shrug. “The usual. Protocol, you know.”

  “As long as you’ve got her number. Never know when she might be up for a bit more mouth-to-mouth, right… or is it mouth-to-cock?”

  I do my best to smile. “Right.”

  But Liam and I have known each other too long. When you serve together you develop a rapport with the people around you that’s unmatched in the civilian world, a bond that’s almost like a sixth sense.

  He takes my shoulder. “If you need something, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I can help.”

  “I know,” I reply, doing my best not to reveal my tells.

  “If it’s to do with your mermaid, fucking let me know. I’ll put Miami’s finest to work, get you some answers. After all,” he taps his head, “knowledge is power.”

  His phone buzzes between us. He reaches down to take it out, cursing when he sees the number. “My ex. She’s
bleeding me fucking dry. Between the repayments for the new place, the alimony… I need a major cash injection, my brother, right fucking now.”

  I raise my hands. “Don’t go looking at me. They’re paying us the same peanuts as you.”

  He stands, drinking what’s left of his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good to see you again, man. You let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  I take his hand. “Will do. Stay safe.”

  “Likewise,” he replies, smiling before turning to weave his way through the bar crowd.

  I continue to stare down into my Corona wondering if I should have said more, wondering if I said too much.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WINTER

  I can’t cook, but I can clean. God knows I’ve done my share of that. I start in the kitchen, which still smells like a cigar room, and work my way out into the lounge and bedrooms.

  As I do, I take in the small things that make up Archer’s apartment. Yes, it’s clear there’s a single man living here, but there is a running order to the chaos. As far as bachelor pads go, it’s definitely on the neater side. And the board games. They run completely against the bad boy exterior.

  I consider what to do next, my hands moving autonomously. I think of dinner, dancing, opening my eyes on the beach to find him staring back at me, my savior.

  Careful. It sounds like you’re getting attached, I warn myself.

  Immediately, my mind turns to darker things, of how I came to be in this predicament in the first place.

  But it could have been far worse, couldn’t it?

  I think of the alternative and shudder, bringing myself back to the task at hand.

  I’m cleaning down the side of his drawers when I notice something stuck behind them and the wall. I reach in and pull it out, blowing dust off the front of it. It’s a certificate for an ‘Award of Outstanding Service’ dated two years ago.

  There’s a newspaper clipping attached to it. The headline reads, ‘Local Lifeguard Saves School Children.’ I skim the article quickly expecting Archer to arrive home at any moment, almost feeling taboo doing so.

  The article says a group of school children were swimming off Miami Beach when a strong current began to pull them away from shore. It appears Archer was first in the water, saving four children, two girls and two boys, but a fifth was lost when Archer was unable to revive her before the ambulance arrived.

  I place the certificate and article back behind the drawer with a new perspective. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose someone, to rescue them only to have them slip away back on shore against your better efforts. I know now why Archer looked so distant when we were discussing his job that day in town.

  A knock on the door causes me to jump. I bring a hand up to my chest breathing harder than normal and get up, running to the front door to greet him home. I unlatch the door and swing it wide smiling, keen to see him, but the person standing there isn’t Archer.

  Immediately, I shrink back into the apartment.

  “Ah, hi,” the stranger says, looking confused, “is Archer home?”

  The man’s in a police uniform, about the same age as Archer. He looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him. All I’m thinking about is why he’s here.

  I shake my head slowly, going to close the door, but he holds it open with one hand.

  Paranoia sweeps through me, every instinct telling me this isn’t right, that I should run. Police can’t be trusted where I’m from. They’re as dirty as the criminals—more so because they sit in a position of power.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, smiling with his free hand out in a sign of submission, “I’m Liam, one of Archer’s Army buddies from way back.”

  I flinch as he goes to take something from his pocket, thinking he’s reaching for his weapon. “It’s okay,” he says, holding his free hand higher and drawing out what looks like a cell phone with the other, holding it up to me. “Archer left this at the bar. That’s all. I thought I’d drop it back. Here,” he passes it to me.

  I take, or snatch it rather, pulling back inside and placing it on the shelf next to the door.

  This Liam scratches his head. “Not one for talking, hey?” He tries to look past me. “Are you guys… together?”

  I want to close the door. I want this person to go, but I can’t seem to speak or act, frozen on the spot.

  He’s looking at my shoulder, pointing. “What’s that there? Some kind of tattoo?”

  I pull my shirt back into place, finally finding my voice. “It’s nothing.” I smile.

  Liam clicks his fingers. “Say, you’re not the girl Archer rescued the other night, are you?”

  A cold chill runs down my back. He told him. Archer told him, the ‘police friend’ he was talking about. It’s all making sense now.

  Damn it. I told him not to say anything, not to go to the police, and here he is, right in front of me. I can’t stop the feeling of betrayal that washes over me.

  Liam goes to step forward. “Hey, you okay?”

  I take a step back, still holding the door.

  Both of Liam’s hands go out. “It’s alright. It’s okay. I’m a cop. If you’re in trouble, I can help. Here,” he says, fishing in his back pocket and returning with a business card. “Take it,” he says. “My number’s right there.”

  I take it and place it next to Archer’s cell.

  My mind’s racing ahead of me. The lost phone is a ploy, a way to get this friend here, trying to earn my trust, tell him what I couldn’t tell Archer.

  You’ve been played.

  I look at the gun holstered by Liam’s side shiny and black, look back to his eyes that don’t seem convinced I should be here, eyes that seem to see right through me.

  “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry,” I tell him, and slam the door closed, harder than I intend to.

  I press my ear against it, listening, expecting the officer to knock again or call out, but instead I hear his footsteps echoing down the hall.

  I slump to the ground with my hands on my head, rocking there.

  How could he? I wonder.

  Archer went behind my back. He damn well betrayed me.

  I don’t know why I trusted him in the first place.

  Because he saved your life. Because he took you in, my head retorts. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.

  Now, with the police involved, I’ll be dead because of him.

  It’s all gone to hell and there’s nothing I can do.

  There is, a voice whispers.

  I suddenly realize what my next move must be. It’s a hard decision, but it has to be made. The police know I’m here. How long before they do?

  I snap into action, running to Archer’s bedroom and finding an old leather duffle bag in the top of the wardrobe. I fill it quickly with whatever clothes I can find, take the money he left me on the table and food from the cupboard. I don’t know how long it will be before I can stop. All I know is I have to get as far away from here as possible.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ARCHER

  I arrive back at the apartment, arms loaded full of groceries. I manage to lever myself against the wall and fish for my keys in my pocket, something of a contortionist act to get the damn door open.

  “Winter?” I call out, trying to shuffle inside as best I can.

  “Winter?” I try again, dumping the groceries on the kitchen counter, taking a moment to catch my breath. Place still smells like smoke, but I smile at the thought; thinking of her, how much life she’s brought into this apartment these few last days.

  I go to call again when I realize she hasn’t responded. Surely she heard me.

  Concern starts to eat away at me as I move through the apartment, but it’s not the Taj Mahal. I get through the whole place in two minutes, ending up in my bedroom. That’s when I notice the closet door is open. My eyes look up and see where the bags on the top shelf have been moved around, my old leather duffle from my Army days missi
ng.

  Shit, I think, moving quickly back through the apartment for anything I might have missed. I start piecing it all together fast after that.

  The money I left on the table is gone, as are all the clothes I left out for her, but the most obvious clue is my cell, sitting on the shelf beside the door.

  I check my pockets, realizing I left it back at Bar None.

  But it’s the business card sitting next to it that seals my suspicions. It’s Liam’s, which means he came here while I was getting the groceries.

  I pace around the lounge room holding the business card and trying to work out what happened.

  He came here with my cell, to give it back.

  But how did he know where you were living? I consider.

  He’s a fucking cop. Of course he could find out.

  I flick the card in my hand.

  So, he comes here, and Winter opens the door thinking it’s me, but it’s a cop, the police, so she freaks out.

  Realization dawns.

  “She thought I went behind her back,” I say to myself. “She thinks I fucked her over.”

  And now she’s gone.

  I kick the closest thing I can find, which just so happens to be the floor lamp. It wavers but doesn’t fall. “Fuck!” I yell.

  Think, I tell myself, and think fucking fast. Where would she go?

  I’ve got no idea. Between the bar and groceries couldn’t be any more than half an hour, but she could be anywhere by now. Still, she’d most likely be travelling by foot, which does narrow down the search radius.

  I consider calling Liam, but what would she think then? If she feels betrayed now, how’s she going to feel when the Boys in Blue show up, at my bequest?

  It’s all fucked.

  I kick the lamp again, but it does little to dampen my frustration.

  I tap my head with two fists. “Think, motherfucker, think. Focus.”

  I concentrate on my breathing as we were taught in the Force, let it flow in and out of my lungs until my heart rate slows and my head begins to clear. It’s then, and only then, I know what to do.

  *

  It’s a short walk from my apartment to the bus station. It’s the same one we were at when we went across the bay to see the Wynwood Walls, but I sprint the whole way there with a sole, singular focus.