by Rose, Emery
“Nice one,” he murmured, and I was certain Travis would be out there tomorrow morning walking the ocean bottom. He was my best friend, but he was also my competitor. Sometimes it was a strange dynamic.
“Hey, I’ll catch you later.” I cut the call and pocketed my phone.
A lit cigarette dangled from the woman’s hand, her feet unsteady in fuck-me stilettos, her skirt so short it barely covered her ass. The man walking up the stairs behind her slapped her on the ass, eliciting another laugh from the woman. “You’re a naughty boy.”
He growled. “You’re about to see just how naughty. You like it dirty, Rae?”
“The dirtier the better, baby.” She tossed her lit cigarette over the railing, unconcerned about the potential fire hazard.
The apartment door swung open, and Remy stood in the doorway.
This is none of your damn business. Just walk away. But I didn’t. I stayed, and I watched from across the street, in case she needed my help.
“You need to leave,” Remy said firmly, standing her ground, her arms crossed over her chest.
“And who are you, doll face? You gonna join the fun?”
“Party’s over. Like I said, you need to go.”
“I don’t need my own daughter telling me what I can and cannot do.” I detected the hint of a Southern accent in her mother’s voice.
“You got a kid, Rae? You never said nothing about no kid. How old are you?”
“Sixteen. Now hit the road.” Remy was tough, but her voice quavered, giving her away. I saw her vulnerability in the way she covered her chest with her crossed arms. And I thought about her Russell story. She wouldn’t have made that up. It made me nauseous to think that some asshole had messed with her.
“Like he wants a scrawny kid, Remy. Get over yourself. He wants me. Don’t ya, baby? You know I can make you feel good.”
“I’m out of here. You never said nothing about a kid.” He turned tail and left, pushing Remy’s mom away when she tried to grab hold of him.
“Remy… you’re just an old spoilsport.” Her mom pouted, her voice whiny like a little kid’s. “Why are you ruining my fun?”
“Mom, just come inside. Get some sleep.” She grabbed her mom’s arm and tried to drag her into their apartment, but her mom pushed her away, darting out of her reach and stumbling back against the railing.
I watched the man leaving, keeping my eyes on him until he got into his car and pulled out of the lot. And that should have been the end of it. He was gone, and she didn’t have to worry about him anymore. I turned to go.
From across the street, I heard the sound of a scuffle, her mother’s voice loud and shrill.
“Shh, Mom. You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“I don’t fucking care,” she shouted. “All I wanted was a night of fun. Is that too much to ask? And now you went and ruined it… you had no right…”
“Mom, get inside. Please,” Remy pleaded.
Clearly, she needed help. I crossed the street and climbed the stairs two at a time, assessing the situation as I neared their front door.
“You okay, Remy?” My gaze moved from her face to the nail marks on her arm.
“We’re fine.” She tried to grab her mother’s arm and get her inside again, but her mom shook her off and turned around to look at me, her eyes raking over me from head to toe. “Well, my, my, my… what do we have here?” she asked, closing the distance between us. She ran her hand down my chest like I was her toy boy. “And who are you?”
Her hand ventured lower, close to my crotch and I moved it away, keeping a strong grip on her wrist and capturing the other one as she reached out to touch me. She smelled like cigarettes, gin, and cheap perfume.
“A neighbor. Just checking up to make sure Remy is okay.”
“How… sweet of you. Are you going to tie me down?” She winked. “I bet you like it rough, don’t ya, baby?”
Fuck me. I released her hands and took a few steps back, my eyes on Remy. She wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t meet my eyes. Embarrassed by her mother’s words. Her cheeks were flushed but her shoulders were squared and back straight, chin held high. She was too proud to let me see how much this affected her. Remy’s mom lit another cigarette and took a deep drag. She blew the smoke into my face and laughed. Her red lipstick was smeared, the thick kohl eyeliner smudged, and one of her false eyelashes had come unglued. She looked like a broken doll.
“How about you get inside and sleep this off?” I said.
“How about you tuck me in, sugar?” She pushed out her tits, running her hands over her body as if it was an invitation for me to do the same. No doubt about it. Remy was her daughter. She had the same high cheekbones and skin tone and I could see that, at one time, her mother had been beautiful. But she had been around the block more than a few times and her beauty had been ravaged by hard living.
“This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to help you into the apartment and make sure you get into bed. Your daughter doesn’t need this kind of shit in her life. So, you’re going to do as you’re told. Get inside.” My voice was firm, brooking no room for argument.
She rolled her eyes and staggered to the door that Remy held wide open for her. I followed, uninvited. Remy tried to shut the door, blocking me out, but I shouldered my way inside. No way was I leaving her to deal with this on her own.
“I’ve got this, Shane,” Remy said through gritted teeth.
I ignored her. Her mother kicked off her shoes as she crossed the living room floor and took another drag of her cigarette, the smoke hanging over her head in the stuffy room. Their apartment was depressing as fuck, the only furniture a threadbare sofa and a battered coffee table littered with pizza boxes, PBR cans, and overflowing ashtrays.
“Mom, you need to put out the cigarette,” Remy said as her mom flicked ash on the floor. She wrestled the cigarette out of her mom’s hand and put it out in an ashtray filled with lipstick-stained butts.
Her mom spun around and slapped Remy’s face, the sound ringing out in the quiet apartment. “I’m the mother, you little brat.”
I grabbed her arms and held them behind her back. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on her again,” I gritted out.
Her shoulders sagged, defenses down, and she started crying. Like everything she did, her sobs were loud and melodramatic. She deserved an Oscar for this performance. I released my hold and she lurched forward, cradling Remy’s face in her hands. The woman had the art of manipulation down to a science. “I’m sorry, baby.” She sniffled. “You know I didn’t mean it. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.” Remy pulled her mom into a hug and stroked her hair, trying to calm her down.
“You need to go,” Remy said, her gaze meeting mine over her mother’s shoulder.
“I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone.”
“She’s my mother.” Her words were quiet but powerful. Despite everything, Remy loved this woman. She felt the need to protect her, rather than the other way around. Remy’s eyes pleaded for me to go. To accept that I wasn’t wanted or needed here.
“You’ll be okay?” Stupid question. This was so far from okay I didn’t have a word for it.
“We’ll be fine.”
I ran a hand through my hair, debating. Not wanting to leave her to deal with this on her own but knowing that she didn’t want me to witness her mother’s behavior.
“Go,” Remy said, her voice strong and clear.
Reluctantly, I walked out of her apartment and closed the door behind me, leaving her to deal with her mother on her own. What the fuck had just happened? I waited on the other side of the apartment door, listening, but it was quiet inside. Remy hadn’t looked scared. Which made me think it wasn’t the first time she’s had to deal with something like this.
If she needed my help, she had my number. She could text or call if things got out of hand with her mother. Although I doubted she would ask for my help.
I lurked outside her door for anot
her five minutes before I turned to go and ran into a guy who vaguely resembled Remy. “Why are you standing outside our door?” he asked, immediately on the defensive.
“Just trying to help.”
His eyes narrowed with distrust. “Trying to help,” he repeated, looking from me to the closed door then back at me. “We don’t need your help.”
With that, he shoved past me, went into the apartment and slammed the door shut.
* * *
It had been an hour since I’d seen Remy and I was still thinking about her. Worrying about her. Hoping she was okay. I was out on the back deck, lying in my hammock, looking at the stars and thinking about her.
Sliding my cell out of my pocket, I typed out a text and deleted it. Typed and deleted. Until finally, I hit send.
Shane: If you want to learn how to surf, I’ll teach you. I’ve got a board you can use.
A few minutes later, I followed it up with another text.
Shane: Meet me outside tomorrow morning at 7.
Firefly: Why are you offering to do this?
Shane: Do you want to learn how to surf?
Firefly: I can figure it out on my own.
Shane: Meet me at 7.
* * *
At seven-thirty in the morning, there was still no sign of Remy. I texted her and got no response. So, I went surfing without her. And I should have left it at that. But later that afternoon, under the guise of visiting my old man, I drove to the surf shop with two boards on my roof rack. Just in case.
My dad was standing outside the shop, talking to the guy I’d seen outside Remy’s apartment last night. Her brother if I had to guess. The first thought that popped into my head was that something had happened to Remy. The guy strode away, and I watched him leaving before approaching my dad.
“Is Remy okay?”
His brows raised. “Is that why you stopped by? To check on Remy?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Nah. I came to see you.”
“Uh huh. So, you don’t care where she is or what she’s doing.”
“Nope.”
He chuckled. “Okay.”
With that, he went back inside the shop. I exhaled loudly and followed him inside. “Where is she?”
“Surfing.”
“She doesn’t know how to surf.”
“She and her brother rented boards. Said they’d give it a try. She watched some videos on YouTube.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Videos,” I scoffed, following him inside the shop. “She can’t learn how to surf by watching videos. And you just let her go out there with no lessons? Nothing? Is she alone out there?”
“There are lifeguards on the beach.”
I speared my hand through my hair. “I offered to teach her.”
“She mentioned that.”
“And did she say why she stood me up this morning?”
This was an all-time low. I was pumping my dad for information about a sixteen-year-old girl who had become an obsession. When it came to girls, I never had to chase them. On tour, bikini-clad girls trailed after the surfers. They were mine for the choosing. Yet here I was, hung up on a high school girl. This couldn’t be good.
My dad studied my face. I looked so much like the younger version of him it was ridiculous. “Nope, she didn’t say,” he said, his mouth twitching with amusement.
I had no idea what he found so funny and I didn’t hang around long enough to find out. Five minutes later, I was down at the beach, my board under my arm. When I was a grom, I used to surf at this break, but not anymore. It got too crowded and rarely got any hollows.
Today, there were some decent, gentle-breaking waves, perfect for a beginner. I spotted her out there, surrounded by groms. She was alone, isolated from the pack. I watched her from the shore for a while without her knowing it. She was straddling her board, all that caramel skin on display.
As if sensing she was being watched, she turned her head and her eyes met mine. There was no way to pretend I had just happened to be here, so I paddled out to where she was. I could see her pebbled nipples through the thin fabric of her bikini top and my dick stirred to life in my surf shorts.
Down. Stay down.
“Checking up on me?”
“How’s it going? Have you caught any waves?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It hasn’t been pretty. I ate a ton of sand and drank half the sea.”
I laughed. “Getting ragdolled is all part of surfing. It’s half the fun. Are you having fun?”
She grinned. “I love it. Your dad’s a good teacher.”
That lying sack of shit. I chuckled and scrubbed my hand over my face. “He taught you, huh?”
“The basics.” She laughed. “I felt like an idiot.”
“Did he make you paddle and do pop-ups on the sand?”
“Yup. I didn’t ask him to teach me,” she hastened to add. “Dylan—my brother—and I rented boards after I finished my shift. Your dad said his conscience wouldn’t rest until he made sure we’d be okay out here.” She side-eyed me. “I guess you both have a conscience.”
“Guess so. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“Better than not having one at all. Some people don’t.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Yeah, I guess you would.” She chewed on her bottom lip and stared off into the distance, giving me her profile. “Look, I appreciate you trying to help last night but next time just stay out of it.”
I snagged on to the words ‘next time.’ “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?”
“No,” she said firmly without meeting my eye.
She was lying. When her mom had slapped her last night, Remy hadn’t been shocked. There were no tears. No hurt look or accusation in her eyes that begged the question of why her mother had done that. She was used to her mother’s outbursts and physical abuse.
“I couldn’t just stand back and let her hurt you.”
“She didn’t hurt me. Afterward, she felt bad.” She shrugged one shoulder. “She just had too much to drink. No big deal.”
No big deal.
That had abuse written all over it, yet Remy was defending her mother’s behavior. Justifying it and chalking it up to drinking too much.
I took a deep breath of sea air. The ocean was my home. Surfing was my religion. I felt it deep in my soul. I had wanted to give this to Remy. Offer it up like a gift, as if it was mine to give. That was why I had offered to teach her to surf.
“The next wave has your name on it,” I said.
She grinned. “I thought it said Shane.”
“You thought wrong. Let’s see if those spaghetti arms can paddle for this wave.”
“Pfft. I’m stronger than I look.” She made a muscle. I laughed. She rolled her eyes. “You probably wouldn’t even be able to keep up.” That made me laugh harder. She was already gone, paddling hard for the wave. I sat up on my board and watched her.
She caught it a bit late but managed to get to her feet. She was up for all of five seconds, teetering until she lost her balance and came off the board in the white water. But as she paddled back out to me, she had a big smile on her face.
“Did you see that?” Her smile was radiant, her voice jubilant. Well, at least I knew one thing that made her happy.
“I saw it. You’ll be catching air in no time. How did it feel?”
“Amazing. Surfing is such a rush.”
“Careful. It’s highly addictive.”
She caught a few more waves, chosen by me, and I tried to explain what to look for when choosing the perfect wave. Remy was a fast learner, and listened to everything I told her, taking it all on board.
Now, she was lying on her stomach on the surfboard, trailing her hand through the water, her chin propped on her other hand. She turned her head, so her cheek was resting on her hand, her gaze on me. The sunlight made her skin glow, her eyes almost translucent. Lulled by the gentle rhythm of the ocean, our boards floating close enough that we could reach ou
t and touch each other, it felt intimate. Even though there were other surfers out here, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
“I love this,” she said softly.
“Surfing?” I dragged my gaze away from her face and sat up on my board, my eyes on the horizon.
“And the ocean. It makes me feel… at peace, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know.” There was nowhere else I’d rather be than in the ocean. “I always feel better after I surf, no matter what’s going on in my life. Every single time, it works like a charm.”
I hoped that would be the case for her. I wasn’t sure what was going in her life, except for what I had seen last night and a few things I’d picked up from our conversation the night we hung out together. She’d moved around a lot. Nothing in her life felt permanent. Or reliable. And her mother… I didn’t know what to think of that woman.
“I can’t wait until it storms.”
She let out a contented sigh. Funny girl. But I had always loved the storms too.
5
Remy
My eyes snagged on a poster of Shane in the window of Jimmy’s Surf Shack as I locked up my bike. A few days ago, I’d found the bike at a garage sale for twenty bucks. It was the old-fashioned kind—sky-blue with a saddle seat and no gears. I rode it everywhere, exploring Costa del Rey and getting lost along the way. I rode to the pier, the marina, explored the beaches and parks, the neighborhoods in the canyon with mountain and sea views.
As I passed a mirror above the sunglass display, I did a double-take. My skin was tanned to a nut brown from my morning surf sessions and swimming in the sea every day. But what really caught my attention was that I looked… happy.
Every morning for the past month, I woke up at sunrise and crept out of the apartment before anyone else was awake for a morning surf session with Shane. Mom had gotten a bartending job and didn’t get home until two or three in the morning. Knowing her, she’d managed to find the roughest neighborhood and the diviest bar, but she had a job and that was all that mattered. Dylan had gotten a kitchen job as a dishwasher at a seafood restaurant at the marina. Say what you will about the St. Clair’s, we were resourceful, our survival instincts strong. At least we weren’t dumpster diving for our food in Costa del Rey.