by Rose, Emery
I laughed. I didn’t know why but it struck me as funny. She smacked my shoulder.
“It’s not funny.” She growled in frustration and punched the water. It made her look like a toddler throwing a tantrum. That made me laugh even harder.
She glared at me and I pretended to cower. Thinking she’d catch me off-guard, she tried to shove me off my board. When that failed, she took off, paddling hard for a wave. I was still laughing loudly enough for her to hear it. Which pissed her off even more. She popped-up on her board and flipped me two middle fingers which would have looked badass if she’d managed to keep her balance. I shook my head and clucked my tongue as she pitched over the nose and tumbled into the water. She came up spluttering, her hair plastered to her head, her middle finger in the air.
It was fucking fantastic.
I caught the next wave and did my arrogant little hair flip move for her entertainment. “I hope you faceplant,” she shouted as I zipped past her, riding that sweet spot. Why she was still hanging out in the impact zone getting slammed by waves was anyone’s guess.
God, I loved her.
We paddled back out, side by side. Her arms might be thin, but they were toned, and she had fierceness and determination on her side. We were nose and nose when we returned to the lineup. She gave me a triumphant smile. “Spaghetti arms, my ass.”
I chuckled and straddled my board, admiring the view. Remy’s back straight, head held high, the last rays of evening sun setting her skin aglow. She’d always been a warrior. Strong and brave and true. She’d never given up on me even when there had been times I’d given up on myself.
“I’m tired of being sad,” Remy said, stretching her arms over her head, her face tipped up to the sun, her lips curved into a smile. Midnight black hair brushed the top of her bikini bottom and her long, graceful neck was arched. So delectable, I was tempted to take a bite out of it.
“I’m tired of being bitter.”
“And angry?” She arched her brows at me.
“And angry.”
She sighed. “I’m hungry.”
“Let’s surf for an hour and then I’ll take you for tacos. Afterward, I’ll feed you a mango.”
“I’ll suck the juice off your fingers.” Her tongue swept out to wet her lips.
“Fuck surfing. Let’s go for mangoes.”
We got the tacos to go and ate the mangoes first.
We banished sad and bitter, and life started to be good again. Little by little, I recovered pieces of myself that I thought I’d lost somewhere along the way. Slowly but surely, Remy and I started to find our way back to each other and our days fell into a rhythm. Mornings, Remy and I surfed together. She spent her days taking photos of all the beautiful and ugly and interesting things and was teaching herself graphic design.
“Why graphic design?” I asked one evening over dinner when she’d brought her laptop over.
“I’m designing a logo for your new business venture.” She winked at me. “Branding, baby. I’m going to help you make it a success.”
“Really. And what business venture is this?”
“Firefly Surfboards.” She grinned, and my dad rubbed his hands together, “Now we’re talking.”
By day, I worked at an ugly job that I’d grown to appreciate in a weird way. Demolition work wasn’t my lifelong ambition and certainly not my dream, but I took some measure of satisfaction from doing an honest day’s work for honest pay. I told Miguel that surfing was my religion, and I worshiped at the altar of Remy St. Clair. He wasn’t sure how to take that. Nobody at the demolition site knew what to make of my attitude adjustment. I’d been out of prison for just over a year now and while it wasn’t yet a distant memory, the bad memories were starting to fade. They didn’t have their claws sunk in so deep anymore. I was beginning to remember how it felt to be an optimist and how it felt to live rather than just survive.
I’d once heard that if you wanted to learn how to live, you had to learn how to die. My dad was still living his life to the fullest. He tired easily and had short-term memory lapses, and headaches he denied having, but he was still here. Larger than life. Living in the moment. In the evenings, we had dinner together and we talked about life and surfing. For us, they were one and the same.
Whenever I had free time, I shaped boards in the garage. Sometimes Remy hung out with me and sometimes my dad did. Dylan popped in occasionally, and every now and then he even talked. A few times Travis stopped by and wanted to get in on the action.
“You know how I surf. You know what I need,” Travis said, sanding down the rail opposite the one I was sanding. “Make me a board.”
Why the hell not. I agreed to take a stab at making a board for a world champion. He agreed to stop giving me shit about Remy.
August was a good month. Remy and I were happy. As happy as two people with a lot of excess baggage could be.
38
Remy
“Ready?” Shane asked with a grin.
I returned the grin. “I’m up for anything.” Except for walking in these swimming fins. They slapped against the boat deck as I made my ungraceful journey to the platform on the back of the boat. “These things are hard to walk in.”
He laughed. “They’re not made for walking.”
“Tell that to a duck.”
Shane laughed harder and pulled the mask over my face, reaching around to tighten the rubber straps to make sure no water could get in. “How’s that?”
I gave him a thumbs up and he pulled down his own mask. “No matter how tempting it is, don’t touch anything,” Shane cautioned.
I nodded, and he squeezed my hand. “I want to keep you safe, trouble.”
“Thank you, lover. I appreciate that.”
“Hold on to your mask and snorkel when we jump in.”
“Got it.” Without a second thought, I held my breath and jumped off the back of the boat, with Shane following closely behind me. Sam’s boat was anchored near a cove and I’d been promised wild and wondrous things, so I was eager to explore. It was just us today—me, Shane, Jimmy, and Sam. They’d gone diving ahead of us and if Shane was worried about his dad, he hid it well. He looked happy, like he was loving life, and looking forward to the next adventure.
Breathing through the tubes, masks face-down in the water, we floated along, only moving our feet to propel us forward. My hands were safely tucked against my body to resist the temptation of touching anything. The water in the cove was warmer and so much bluer and clearer than the break where we surfed. You could see straight down to the ocean bottom.
At first, all I saw was plant life and small coral reefs but the further we went, the more sea life we encountered. Schools of fish swam right past us, not bothered by our intrusion, and sea stars floated by. Shane grabbed my hand and pointed to an octopus. I got so excited about the octopus and the stingray I spotted on the ocean’s bottom that I dove down, wanting a closer look. I’d forgotten what Shane had told me about breathing through a snorkel when diving. My lungs compressed, squeezing my chest and suffocating me. I couldn’t breathe. Lightheaded and dizzy, I panicked, and I flailed. I was going to die in the blue waters of a cove off the coast of Laguna Beach.
Arms wrapped around me and Shane pulled me to the surface, my head emerging from the water. He was behind me, or under me, like a life raft. He reached around and removed my mask and snorkel. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby.”
I breathed. In. Out. In. Out. Until I calmed down.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked, his voice tinged with concern.
I nodded against his chest and took another fortifying breath. “I’m good. I just got excited about the octopus and then I panicked.”
He held onto me a while longer, floating on his back with his arms wrapped around me. It was still and peaceful, the afternoon sun red under my closed lids and for a while, I was just happy to breathe and hang out like this, the threat of my imminent death well and truly behind me. Snorkeling was fun but
after experiencing that pressure on my chest and the feeling of suffocating, I had no interest in learning to deep-sea dive.
“Do you want to go back to the boat?” he asked, his brow furrowed. We were face to face now and he’d taken off his mask and snorkel. There was an imprint on his forehead from the mask and my finger traced it, chasing a bead of water.
“No,” I said quickly. “I want to see everything.”
He smiled, that chilled out beautiful smile I remembered so well. His eyes were green today. Jade green.
My panicky moment a distant memory, I smiled at him. I was smiling so hard my cheekbones ached.
“What’s that smile for?” He pushed a strand of wet hair off my face and tucked it behind my ear, the backs of his fingers brushing my jawline.
“That smile is for you. Thank you for bringing me out here today.”
“Thank you for reminding me how it feels to make you smile.”
“How does it feel?” I asked, my eyes flitting over his face.
“It makes me feel like a god.”
“You’ve always been godlike in my eyes.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Just a mere mortal.” He pushed his hand through his hair and looked over his shoulder at the entrance of the cave then back at me. “I wanted you to see it. I knew you’d love it.”
My eyes lowered to his mouth and he bit his bottom lip. I didn’t think he understood what that did to me, that sexy little move.
“We’re almost at the cave. The tide’s low enough to swim to the other side.”
“Huh?”
He chuckled. “Ready?”
“Yep. Let me just give this a spit and polish.” I spit into my mask which was kind of gross, but supposedly the best way to clear the fog and swished some water in the mask to rinse it before putting it back on my face. Then we were off, exploring the cave and the underwater landscape around the cove with its reef rock spires inhabited by sea snails. We ventured further into open water and spotted sea bass and some sharks, the harmless kind, according to the resident expert on Great Whites. I dove down a few times after that first time and started to get the hang of it, enough so I didn’t panic or feel like I was going to black out at least. For me, the highlight of the snorkeling trip was the dolphins. I loved those things.
By the time we returned to the boat, I was happy and relaxed and chilled out. Jimmy and Sam had already come back and were lounging on the cushioned bench seats in the late afternoon sun, in no hurry to get anywhere. I could understand why Jimmy loved getting out on a boat, diving and snorkeling. There was a whole other world down there. Shane and I chugged bottles of cool, sweet water and then he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him on the seat across from Jimmy’s while Sam steered us back to the marina. I captured Jimmy in a dozen photos and tried not to think of a time when I wouldn’t be able to see his smiles in real life.
Jimmy stood up and leaned forward, holding out his hand. Knowing what he wanted, I passed him the camera and leaned into Shane’s side again. I was wearing a turquoise bikini and he was bare-chested in surf shorts. My ocean-damp hair was wild and wavy, whipping around my face in the breeze. We smiled for the camera and Jimmy kept snapping photos. I looked at Shane and he looked at me and we smiled at each other. He lowered his head, his mouth close to the shell of my ear and whispered, “So fucking beautiful” and then he pressed his lips against the sensitive skin just below my ear and I melted.
Best. Day. Ever.
When we docked at the harbor, I wrangled my windblown hair into a topknot and threw on a cotton dress over my bikini. Stepping into my flip-flops, my sea legs carried me to the back of the boat. Shane hopped off the boat onto the dock and held out his hand to me. Even though I didn’t need his assistance, I took his hand and let him help me off the boat. He pulled me against his hard chest and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my lips. A soft, sweet kiss that tasted like the sea and like hope and possibility.
“I’m glad you came back,” he said, his voice low and rough. He kissed the corner of my mouth and my jaw and the side of my neck and I forgot all about how cruel and distant he had been. “My world was so cold and lonely without you too, Firefly.”
“Shane,” I breathed. My heart was so full I thought it might burst.
“Remy.” He smiled and wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we walked along the dock, the evening sun on our faces. My skin tingled from the sun and saltwater and I felt like I was glowing from the inside.
We were Shane and Remy again. But this time, we didn’t have to sneak around because of my age, and we had nothing to hide anymore.
The four of us went to a seafood restaurant at the marina and sat at a tall table on the outside deck, overlooking the harbor and the ocean beyond it.
I was drunk on mojitos and high on life. We ate a mountain of king crab legs, watched the sun set over the water, and kept the drinks coming long after we’d finished our dinner. Jimmy and Sam, who reminded me of Jeff Bridges in The Big Lebowski, regaled us with tales of their wild youth. I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
Alcohol blurred all the edges, and I was viewing the world through a hazy, rose-tinted filter.
39
Shane
I watched Remy laughing with Sam and my dad and filed it away in my good memories collection. My dad looking healthy and relaxed after a good day of diving, his eyes sparkling with humor. Remy in her pretty white dress, with her caramel sun-kissed skin and ocean eyes. Tendrils of hair escaped the messy topknot, the long, graceful column of her neck exposed. Who knew that necks could be so sexy?
Heads swiveled when she walked by, and I couldn’t blame people for wanting to take another look. The face that had graced so many glossy magazine covers was even more beautiful in the wild. Makeup-free. Messy hair. No airs or graces, she was stunning.
She caught me watching her and slid off her tall stool, leaning into my side. I wrapped my arm around her and buried my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.
“I love you,” she whispered in my ear. Instead of waiting for a response, she sipped her mojito and directed her smile across the table at my dad and Sam. They were re-telling a story I’d heard a million times, but I still loved it.
“… so we’re out there floating on our boards, talking smack, and we see this little blonde thing carrying a Malibu on her head. She was tiny with white-blonde hair all the way down her back and so damn pretty…”
“Beautiful,” my dad corrected him. “She was beautiful.”
“Yeah, she was,” Sam said. “So, of course we both got to watching, wondering if she’d be able to paddle out let alone ride the thing.”
My dad chuckled and shook his head. “Put us to shame.”
“She rode her first wave in and me and Jimmy are ogling her, drool dripping down our chins, like the fourteen-year-old idiots we were. By the time she paddled back out and joined us in the lineup we were both in love.” Sam took a pull of his beer, his eyes glazed over with memories. “We were caught in a bit of a triangle.”
My dad snorted. “She never loved you. There was no triangle.”
“Only because you followed her around like a lovesick puppy.” Sam puffed out his chest. “I was too cool for that.”
We all laughed at that one.
“I swept her off her feet with my charm and witty banter,” my dad bragged.
“They were glued to the hip from then on out,” Sam said.
“Yeah, we were. Me and my sweet, sweet hippie chick. Then Shane came along, and life was good. So fucking good.”
“Good times, good times.” Sam sighed. He and my dad still looked like surf bums—Sam with his long brown hair pulled back in an elastic, sporting one of his usual butt-ugly Hawaiian shirts and a muddy tan, and my dad in one of his faded-out T-shirts with that chilled-out expression on his face like he’d just had a good day of shredding. Old buddies who went way back and shared a long history.
* * *
Today had been so
perfect, so good, that neither of us wanted it to end. Except for the scare when Remy had panicked underwater, it had been one of the best days I could remember in a long, long time. Remy was brave and strong, and that scare hadn’t deterred her in the least. That was one of the things I loved most about her. Her resilience. The way she bounced back from things so quickly, with a new resolve to try it again and do better next time.
The long day had taken its toll on my dad and he and Sam left twenty minutes ago, insisting that we stay and enjoy ourselves, so Remy and I had ordered more drinks. Now I wished we had gone home with my dad and Sam.
I used to see Tristan’s face all the time. And now I saw it again, from our table at the marina. John Hart’s dark eyes bored into me and his jaw was locked. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. I used to be his poster boy, the face of his brand. I used to wear his logo on my jersey, the HartCore sticker on my surfboards. When I used to see him in town, he’d stop and shake my hand, clap me on the shoulder and tell me that I needed to keep on winning.
“Everyone loves a winner, Shane. Winners sell wetsuits and T-shirts and ballcaps. Losers rack up credit card debt. Nobody is going to sponsor a loser. No more repeats of Peniche.” He shot me a finger gun. A finger gun. What a douche move. It took all my restraint not to roll my eyes or laugh. “What can I expect from you in Australia?”
I humored him. I didn’t win for him. I did it for myself. Becoming the world champion had been my dream since I’d won my first surfing competition when I was ten. “A win.”
And I had won in Australia. I had done what I’d set out to do. He’d called to congratulate me after my win at Bells Beach. Neither of us had been aware of what was going on between Remy and his son. Now, seven years later, John Hart and I locked eyes across a restaurant and all I could see was Tristan’s face.
Sweat beaded on my forehead and my heart was beating too fast. I need to get out of here.