by Rose, Emery
“I’m so proud of you, Dylan.” My voice was soft and choked with emotion. Because I was there for all of it. All the years when we had nothing. And the years when we both lost our way.
“Proud of you too.”
“So, tell me everything. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Nobody special.”
I translated that as: I hook up and kick their asses out the door because God forbid, anyone gets too close. He and Sienna were an on-again, off-again couple, and I’d lost track of how many times they’d tried to get it right over the years.
“Do you talk to any of these nobody specials? Or just your usual caveman grunts?”
“Talking isn’t top of the list. They’re too busy moaning and screaming my name to talk.”
I rolled my eyes. “Too much information.”
“You don’t wanna know, you shouldn’t ask, Rem-Rem,” he teased. He was loosening up, the tension lifting. Over the years, whenever we’d see each other, it took a while until we got comfortable with each other again.
“Are you happy, Dylan?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I care. Because you have this whole life I know nothing about.”
“I can say the same for you.”
“I know but…” I looked around at the pool. This used to be the stuff of our dreams and now he was living it, but I wouldn’t say he looked gleeful. “Why did you buy a house and that fancy new car?”
I knew the answer, but I was looking for confirmation.
He was silent for a few moments. “Because I can. I don’t have to wear shoes with holes in them anymore. I don’t have to sleep on a shitty couch in a shitty apartment with no food in the cupboards.”
“Do you like your job?”
“Fucking love it.”
Then why didn’t he look happy?
“I’m good, Rem. This is the life I want. The life I always wanted.”
It was true. All he’d ever wanted was to make a lot of money and now it appeared that he was doing just that. “Do you ever get lonely?”
He exhaled smoke and leaned back in his seat. “I’m not like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You wanted to be loved. You wanted to belong to someone.”
Not just someone. Shane. I had wanted to belong to him, be loved by him. To never have to say goodbye. My therapist, Fran Metzger, had helped me understand myself so much better. The way I’d craved affection. My abandonment issues. And the reasons why I’d never believed I was good enough. Dylan was my twin, we’d been raised by the same mother, had experienced so many of the same things, and I truly believed he had all the same needs and wants as I did but was filling the hole inside, patching up the cracks with money and material goods.
“Everyone wants to be loved, Dyl. Even you.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“By the way, Bastian sends his love.”
Dylan scrubbed his hand over his face and groaned. “That was fucked up.”
“He’s still pining over you.” I sighed loudly, and dramatically. “You’re the one who got away.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dylan said, a laugh bursting out of him. He tossed a cushion at my head and I caught it, tossing it back at him.
Then I asked the question that had been on my mind ever since I decided to return to Costa del Rey. “Do you know where Shane is? Do you know what he’s doing?”
“Last I heard he was working a construction job. I don’t know where though.”
I turned that information over in my head. It gave me hope that he was able to get a construction job. But it made me sad too. He shouldn’t be working a construction job. He should be shredding waves. He should be on the Dream Tour.
“He could have been the world champion,” I said. “He was that good.”
“We could have all done a lot of things. There’s no room in this life to think of all the things you could have done. You just have to live with what is.”
With those final words of wisdom, Dylan disappeared inside the house and turned on his big-ass TV, leaving me alone on the patio. Some things might have changed but his social skills were still lacking.
Did Shane still surf at sunrise? Or did he wait until after work?
It took me three days to gather the courage to find out.
26
Shane
There were a lot of things I’d missed while I was in prison, but surfing topped the list. Thank God the ocean hadn’t deserted me. I was alone out here this morning. And these days, that was how I liked it.
I felt her watching me. I didn’t know how I knew she was there. I was straddling my board, watching the horizon, my back to the beach. But I just knew. It was that heightened sense of awareness I used to feel whenever she was near me. I glanced over my shoulder and there she was, sitting on the beach like a mirage, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees. For seven years I had tried to forget her. For seven years I had failed.
It felt like I’d been sucker-punched in the stomach. That was how it always had been, right from the first time I saw her. I dragged my eyes away from the lone figure on the beach and scrubbed my hands over my face as if that would help me clear the memories. I wasn’t ready to see her. Not ready for her to see the mess of a man I’d become. So, I floated on my board until it was time to go, hoping she’d disappear. I didn’t look at the beach to see if she was still there, watching me.
When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I paddled in. She stood up, her eyes meeting mine for a split second before she turned and walked away. As I undid my leg leash, I watched her leaving. She walked differently now, more graceful, more practiced, her posture perfect, like she was used to being on a catwalk or being watched. When she reached the top of the staircase, she didn’t even turn to look at me. Just kept going, disappearing behind the line of trees and scrubby bushes, and for a moment I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. When I reached the parking lot, there was no sign of her.
I showered off the saltwater in the outdoor shower and changed into a T-shirt, cargo shorts, and dusty work boots. Securing my board to the roof rack, I climbed into the driver’s seat as a black G-Wagen pulled in next to me. Dylan hopped out and circled his car, coming to stand by my window. Grudgingly, I rolled it down, not in the mood for chitchat. But then, Dylan had never been much of a conversationalist.
In the months since I’d been back in Costa del Rey, I’d seen him a handful of times, but we’d never spoken.
“You see my sister?”
“From afar.”
He nodded and patted the roof of my Jeep twice before he backed away. Nice chat. I reversed out of the spot, my eye catching on the Firewire board he took off his roof rack. Fuck me. A Mercedes and a Firewire. All I could do was laugh at the way life had flipped the tables.
* * *
“Are you a surfer too?” a blonde girl asked me, her eyes raking over me from head to toe, a flirty smile on her face, as if she liked what she saw.
I gave her an easy smile. “Nah. I’m an ex-con.”
She laughed as if I’d just told her a good joke. Travis shot me a look and shook his head, letting out a sigh.
“He’s a surfer,” Travis told the blonde. “One of the best.”
I took another pull of beer while he talked shit. The party was low-key like he’d promised, a few people in the pool and others milling around, laughing and talking, music piping from the surround sound system. His house sat on a bluff, with views of the Pacific Ocean from the infinity pool. Travis Jones was a two-time world champion with endorsements and sponsorships that paid for his luxury lifestyle. He still worked hard. He was still driven and competitive. He was at the top of his game.
I didn’t want to be here tonight. I’d been making excuses for months, claiming I was too busy to hang out with him whenever he was home, but he had threatened to disown me if I didn’t make an appearance tonight. So here I was for old t
ime sake, listening to him trip down memory lane and reel off the highlights of my career to some chick I didn’t know. Daisy? Dahlia? It was a flower name. I think.
This was why I had been avoiding him. I didn’t want to hear about what had been or what could have been.
“It’s not too late,” Travis said. “You can still—”
“Stop. Don’t go there.”
Travis knew why I couldn’t even entertain that fantasy. That life was over for me. As further demonstrated when Cody Shaw joined us with a leggy brunette in tow.
“He lives.” Cody gave me a one-armed hug and a few thumps on the back. Cody had never risen as high in the rankings as Travis, but he was still on the World Tour, still a pro-surfer. “Dude, you doing okay?”
“It’s all good.”
“That was some shit luck, man.” He raked a hand through his spiky brown hair and blew air out his cheeks. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Say nothing. Not a fucking thing.
“When I heard about it, I was like… No way. Not Shane Wilder. Dude’s chill. No way could he do that.”
“What did he do?” the blonde girl asked, looking from Cody to me.
“Hey man, not cool,” Trav said, his voice low, warning Cody to keep his mouth shut. But it was too late. It was out there now.
“Sorry, man. It was just the shock, you know.” He looked at the brunette by his side and then the blonde who had scooted closer to Travis. “He’s a good guy.”
“I’m not a good guy,” I assured the girls. “Not even close. I killed someone.”
That was one way to kill the mood. The blonde’s eyes widened, and we all stood around in awkward silence that I did nothing to fix.
“Jesus Christ,” Trav muttered, dragging me away from the cozy little group to a quiet corner of the patio. “Did you really need to say that?”
“Just speaking the truth.”
He scowled. Our friendship used to be easy. Now, like so many other things, we didn’t know how to navigate the changes.
“You were always a better surfer than me. Everyone knew that. It’s not too late. You can still—”
“Don’t. Just don’t fucking go there.”
“You’re still a stubborn ass.”
I laughed, but the sound wasn’t happy. He knew why I couldn’t even entertain the idea. Every single odd was stacked against me. And yet he was acting like it was me digging in my heels. Why hold out false hope for something that could never be again?
He exhaled loudly. “I love you, man. I want you to be okay. If there’s anything I can do, just say the word.” His concern was genuine, and I knew he cared but it wasn’t his problem. Travis ran his hand over his hair—he still wore it in a buzz-cut and looked much the same as he had seven years ago. “I miss you. I feel like I can’t even talk to you anymore.”
I took another pull of my beer, not commenting. He missed the Shane he used to know. Newsflash: that dude was gone. Travis was mourning our lost friendship. I was mourning every single fucking thing I’d lost. Pretty soon, that would be everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. So, excuse me for not being able to sympathize.
“Remy’s back.” Boom. How’s that for conversation?
That shut him up for all of two seconds. I didn’t have to look at his face to know he wasn’t happy about it.
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Nope.” For the past three days, she had come down to the beach and sat in her spot. This morning she had brought a camera. She had always wanted to be on the other side of the lens. Funny how life didn’t always go to plan.
“Keep it that way. You don’t need any more shit in your life to deal with. I won’t sit back and watch her fuck you over. Not again.”
“It wasn’t her fault.” By now, I sounded like a broken record. He had never believed that it wasn’t her fault.
Did I hate her for what she did? I don’t know. Maybe.
Did I blame her? No. It was all on me.
Did I still love her? Yes. Maybe. I didn’t know anymore.
When it came to Remy, my heart and mind had always been at war.
She’d gotten under my skin, in my veins, in my fucking heart and soul and it didn’t matter what she did or how many years went by, I still couldn’t shake off the memory of her.
“I’m out of here.” I finished off my beer and set it on a side table on my way out. “Happy Fourth of July.”
“Shane, hang on.”
“I need to get going. Sorry I said that shit at your party. It was a dick move.”
“Forget about it.” Travis was a good friend and I knew that all he wanted was for me to be happy, but I didn’t know how to do that anymore, and I didn’t want to drag down the mood of his party any more than I already had. “You wanna surf tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
The fireworks started as soon as I reached my Jeep. Instead of driving away, I sat on the hood, my back against the windshield, and watched them. Independence Day had taken on a whole new meaning.
27
Remy
I slowed to a jog when I got to the parking lot. I was late today, but it was a Sunday, so I figured Shane wouldn’t be working and would spend his day surfing.
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” a girl squealed. “It’s Remy St. Clair.”
Three teen girls who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen piled out of a minivan.
“Can we get a picture with you?”
I smiled. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind that I’m all sweaty.” I probably looked like crap, my hair plastered to my head and my face pink from the exertion of running. I’d started running seven years ago. I never used to run. That had been Dylan’s thing. Now I ran a lot.
“We don’t mind,” a lanky brunette said.
I posed with them, smiling for the group selfies. The woman driving the minivan thanked me and apologized for the fangirling as one of the girls waved her off and said she’d text when they were ready to be picked up.
“Are you here to surf?” a petite blonde girl asked.
“I just came to watch.”
“I would love to be a model,” the lanky brunette said. “How did you get into it?”
They walked with me along the path to the beach, carrying their boards on their heads. Surfer girls were cool.
“I got scouted.”
“Just walking down the street?”
“I was working at a surf shop,” I told them as we walked down the stairs to the beach. “A woman came in and asked if I’d ever considered modeling.”
“Well, I can see why. You’re even prettier in person.”
“Thanks.”
We stopped at the bottom of the staircase and they looked at the ocean then back at me, taking their boards off their heads and exchanging looks. “Not to be rude, but why did you quit?”
“It’s too personal. That’s like asking her about her love life,” the petite blonde said, nudging her friend and giving her the eye.
“I quit because I started to wonder who I was beyond a pretty face. And I thought maybe it was time to find out.” There’s some honesty for you, girls. I hadn’t expected those words to come out but there they were.
They nodded as if they understood. Maybe they did. “I get it. I mean, we have friends who are so busy posing for selfies and trying to look perfect. Like that’s all they care about.”
“They’re not even into surfing or anything. It’s so lame.” She pulled a duck face and struck a classic selfie pose that made me laugh. “That’s how they look in every single photo. I kid you not.”
“Well… see you around,” the blonde said. “Thanks for the photos.”
“Bye. Nice meeting you,” I said. “Have fun surfing.”
“We will,” they shouted in unison as they jogged down to the water.
The beach was crowded, but I found a quieter spot further away from the staircase and lifeguard stand and laid out my towel on the sand. Stripping down to my bikini, I donned m
y ballcap and sunglasses and leaned back on my elbows, scanning the surfers in the lineup, easily spotting Shane. I wanted him to myself. Not happening today. Or maybe ever again. I didn’t know who he was anymore or what I meant to him or if he even cared that I watched him every day.
Today he was surfing with Travis. I’d followed his career. Not closely, but enough to know that his dreams had come true. Shane belonged up there. Right at the top. But I could see now that Travis had surpassed Shane. Technically, at least.
Shane was still more exciting to watch though. Even though he wasn’t competing, he still took risks. He still left it all out there. It was in his nature. I watched him fly across the wave, gaining speed, and launch off the lip, catching air. He kicked the board and grabbed the rail—Superman—reconnecting with the board before landing. God, I loved to watch him surf.
Shane paddled back out, and my gaze moved to Dylan. He surfed like he lived, attacking the waves like they had wronged him. I bet he was hard on his boards. His surfing had improved so much since I’d last seen him surf though. Seven years of living in SoCal with the ocean on your doorstep would do that. I was so focused on watching Dylan that I didn’t notice Travis until he was standing in front of me. He dropped his board on the sand and sat next to me.
“Look at you, all incognito. Barely recognized you in that disguise.”
I laughed a little. “How’s it going, Travis?”
“It’s all good. Living the life.” Travis had one of those chiseled faces and ice blue eyes that made him look cold and unyielding. He’d never had Shane’s warmth. His gaze flitted to me briefly before he gave me his hard profile again, his eyes on the ocean. Surfers were always watching the ocean.