Stronger

by Blue Ashcroft

  And then I realize I have to work tomorrow, and can’t believe how long we’ve been outside. The brownie is gone, and it was definitely better than the kiss. But not as good as his friendship, now that he’s back to being the guy I remember, and not trying to be something he’s not.

  We say goodnight, and as he turns to go back to his car, he stops and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything, okay? Like if Mike shows up.”

  “You sound like Geoff,” I say.

  “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily trust that guy. He could be using it as an excuse to get close to you, while saying he’s just protecting you.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk about Geoff like that. I mean, it implies you think I’m stupid, if he could really be like that and be my friend.”

  “I’m sorry. Jealous again.” He runs his hand through his hair, straightening it back into place. “You have a good night, Amy. I’ll see you soon.”

  “See you,” I say, waving. When he pulls away, I go inside and flop on the couch.

  What a night.

  Geoff

  When Brent drops me off, I make sure to grab the year book from the back seat. Finally time to look through, page by page, for what Amy wanted me to see.

  She wanted me to see it badly enough that she came to a skeezy bar alone at night, so it’s probably somewhat urgent, even if she didn’t seem to care about it anymore after lover boy showed up.

  Logan heads into his bedroom to get some rest before work tomorrow, and I take the book back to my room where I flop on the bed on my back and start going through page by page.

  I could text Amy and ask which page it was, but she’s busy with lover boy and didn’t even say anything to my last text a while ago. They’re probably making out or something, and talking about his next Grey Poupon commercial.

  I laugh, because I hate that guy. Everything about his face makes me want to punch it. Maybe he’s Amy’s type, and maybe he’s good for her right now, the right pick, but I don’t gotta like him. He’s everything I hate about my step-dad’s world. Snobby, pretentious, passive aggressively rude.

  And there’s just something about him I don’t like. Something that turns my hands into tight fists when he’s around.

  But then again if Amy falls for him then she deserves what she gets. I just hope she doesn’t think that pansy would give her any protection from Mike. No doubt he’d volunteer, and then run away so fast he trips and breaks his pretty ass nose the second trouble shows up.

  I crack my knuckles, surprised at the strength of my urge to beat his ass. I need to calm down.

  But then I keep imagining them making out, his smirky face watching me as Amy holds onto him, moans, claws his back. Why the hell is that in my mind? I rub my eyes, like I can wipe the image away. Gross.

  I grab the yearbook, unpleasant as the task is, it’s better than thinking about what Amy is doing with Josh. I flip through it angrily, trying to remember where I saw the page with the person highlighted in Sharpie. I grab my phone and check it again, making sure the sound is on, in case Amy calls or texts. Maybe if she decides she doesn’t want him around after all, she’ll call me to come beat his ass.

  I can dream.

  I can’t believe Logan told him about UCLA and Stanford. I knew my friends were bummed when I took a year off instead of taking the scholarships I’d applied for, but it just didn’t feel right. I got unfinished business. Taking a year off isn’t a big deal. I’m already a year behind other’s my age, because I graduated high school a semester late. Transferring screwed up my credits.

  And I’m a little uncomfortable about going to any of the schools I applied to anyway, because I think it might be at least a little bit because my step dad is rich and my sister is dead. That kind of shows up in admissions essays.

  It was nice to write about Camille. I didn’t do it to get ahead, it was just nice to reflect on her and write about her. I feel around to my back, as if the thorns tattooed there can somehow be felt through the skin. They can’t. I bet she’d like the tat. I like to think it’s the one she would have had us get if we went together.

  I should have asked her sooner.

  I should have asked her a lot of things. I should have forced her into therapy. I guess I never thought she’d really do it, that the fact that we’d caught her so many times meant that she wanted to be caught, or that we’d always be able to catch her.

  Thorns. Thorns thorns thorns.

  I want my rose back.

  I flip forward, and hear paper tear. I curse, because I didn’t mean to damage Amy’s book. I toss the yearbook aside as grief sweeps over me. It hasn’t come like this in a while. I put both arms over my eyes, plugging them, assuring that no tears come out. I’m a man. I need to cope.

  It’s been years, so why does it sometimes hurt like it was yesterday?

  Maybe it will only stop hurting when I catch him. Maybe then I can add a rose to my thorn tattoo. Maybe then I can feel like Camille is really with me again. Maybe then I can believe she doesn’t hate me.

  I know it in my head, I can say it out loud, and reassure people like Knight, but I can’t believe it, can’t feel it.

  Stupid ass Josh doesn’t know anything about pain. He can laugh at me because he can’t believe someone like me would actually be going somewhere, but he wouldn’t know that I’m just as disbelieving as he is.

  I’m a nobody, a big liar, and a poser.

  Camille would laugh if she could see me, trying to be the big man, trying to go to Stanford or UCLA. Me, the one she used to root through dumpsters with.

  I’m glad that something came for mom from Camille’s passing. I’m glad it spurred her to leave the man that none of us loved. Camille’s dad, and my step-dad. Camille may have been my step-sister but she was the only sister I knew, and I loved her since I was two.

  So I can’t take anything nice for myself.

  Not ever again.

  So stupid Josh can take Amy, because he’s probably more deserving, because he didn’t let his sister and best friend die. But he better treat her well or I’ll beat his ass. I’ll beat him to a pulp.

  The thought is empowering and I reach for the year book again. For vengeance. I open straight to the page that I was looking for and see a face circled in black. I stare at it again. Who is it? I look down and see Amy’s writing at the bottom of the page.

  “Mike, Freshman year. Dark hair. What?”

  I stare for a moment, paralyzed, and then slam the book shut. My heart pounds, my blood rushes. So this is it, maybe we’re one step closer.

  Now I just have to figure out the snake, how that plays in. Our school mascot is the viper, so it could be anyone, but maybe there was something more. Camille saw a snake the night she was raped.

  I’m closer than I had planned to get, and now I’m not sure what to do. I want to call Amy, but instead I strip and change for bed.

  It can wait till tomorrow. Let her have tonight with lover-boy.

  I don’t need anyone that badly.

  Chapter 12

  Geoff meets me at the back door after our shift, even though it’s only mid-afternoon and I’m not really in any danger going out to the car on my own.

  “Got a minute to talk?” He says. His hair is pushed back and mussed from work, and he’s wearing a worn black tee that exposes his muscled arms and pulls tight across that magnificent chest. He folds his arms to enhance the effect and I look away as I catch up to him.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Not rushing off to any plans with Josh or whatever?” he asks, a weird tone in his voice.

  “No, not that I know of. Why?”

  He shrugs and motions me over to his bike, where he sets down his backpack and pulls out the yearbook. He hands it to me.

  “Did you see what I marked?” I ask, taking it from him. It’s bright outside, so I don’t open it.

  “Yeah. Dark hair. Mike dyed it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So,
what?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I just know you marked him off the list because of his hair, but now it’s not really a reason to.”

  Geoff strides leisurely towards the grass and pats the spot next to him for me to sit down. The grass is soft and warm from the sun. It’s a beautiful day.

  “Would be a great day to go to the beach,” I say. It’s been a while since I’ve gone. I’ve had too much to do. I haven’t had anyone to go with that made it feel safe. I guess I’ve been surrounded by crowds lately but still very alone.

  “Why don’t we go then?” he asks, rolling his sleeves up over his shoulders, exposing more tan muscles. Looking him over, I know I should be more attracted to Josh. He fits my more androgynous aesthetic, and his features are technically more perfect, more refined. But my eyes are drawn to Geoff, his thick eyebrows, intense, deep-set eyes, and strong nose and jaw.

  His thick hair that always looks like a woman’s had her hands in it, that just begs you to put your own hands in. I wonder how he is shirtless? I haven’t really paid attention at trainings. He doesn’t look like the type that has an eight pack. He looks like the type the drinks beer and doesn’t care if he’s cut or not, as long as he’s big.

  After seeing him fight at the bar, I can see why. Raw, brute strength has probably served him well most of his life. That’s probably why he thinks this Camille thing could be solved that way, by finding his guy and using all of his strength to end him. I have to stop that at any cost.

  “Sure, let’s go then,” I say.

  “You need to stop and pick anything up?”

  “Not unless you want me to wear a non guarding swimsuit,” I say.

  His dark eyes light up and he grins. “ I think we better go by your place.”

  “Wait, I think I actually have one in my car, wait here.” I run and grab my bag from the back. Sure enough, a bikini inside, plus a spare towel. You never know when you might get a beach trip when you work with lifeguards.

  I don’t know why I offered to wear a different swimsuit for him. Maybe I’d like him to want a taste of the Amy burger. Maybe I wish he was more jealous of Josh. Maybe I wish I had known he was hell bent on revenge and not interested in commitment before he involved himself in my life and on top of it turned out to have such a sweet heart under all of that hard muscle.

  He hands me his helmet and a spare jacket and gets on the bike. It revs to life and vibrates beneath me, and I step on carefully, avoiding the hot spots he warned me about before.

  Once on, I search for a good grip on the bike, since this will be a longer trip than the one we took before. He pulls out and I fall back a little, unable to find a good handle. He reaches back and pulls my hand around him, and my other one follows it. He pushes it down tighter, forcing me to hug him tight. He stops at the light that lets us out onto the main street and gives me a rakish grin, flashing white teeth.

  I try to remember to never take my feet off the passenger pegs, but it’s hard when we stop and the only thing keeping us balanced is his legs. When we hit turns, and lay out on the side, I hold even tighter, and close my eyes. I can’t believe how much faster everything feels on a motorcycle.

  He’s relaxed and in control, and once we hit the freeway that will take us to the beach, I start to relax and feel the wind flying by, the freedom of not having the walls of a car around us, the feel of his body, warm and hard and solid in front of me, taking care of everything.

  It’s a wonderful mix of freedom and safety, and I make the mistake of laying my head down against his back. I pull back almost instantly, wondering what I was thinking.

  He’s already told me that it’s not going to go that way for us. I need to not mistake anything for more than it is. I’m helping him with Camille and he’s helping me with Mike, and then we’ll be done, and I’ll probably be dating Josh and applying to Berkeley. I wonder if I should apologize to him for Josh making fun of him about college last night. But I rest my cheek on his back and decide not to bring it up, because there’s no need.

  It would have offended the crap out of me, but Geoff doesn’t seem to care much what people think. How liberating that would be.

  My butt’s starting to feel tired, and I do miss having music to listen too. I’m too aware of how long my hands have been on Geoff’s body. I bet Camille would be proud to see the man her brother has grown up to become. I consider myself a spiritual person, and I like to think that those that are gone aren’t as far away as we think they are. I think that sometimes they can come to us, or watch us.

  Maybe it just comforts me. Maybe I haven’t been close enough to grief to be tested on it, and maybe in Geoff’s position I wouldn’t be able to believe anything either. Maybe it would be too painful to hope.

  But I think for me personally it would be more painful not to hope.

  So I hope Camille is watching Geoff, and I hope that she approves of me being with him, and I make her a quiet promise that if she is there, I’ll make sure and keep Geoff out of trouble.

  As the road races by, and I look up to see the California coast, an idea comes to mind, something that helps me understand Camille, something I can maybe use to help Geoff.

  He needs to go on living. If I had a brother, I’d want him to be safe and happy. I’d want him to take care of himself, and I’d want someone else to take care of him for me, now that I’m gone.

  It seems like Geoff has people around him that want to take care of him, but it’s like he won’t let them for some reason.

  The coast gets closer and finally we reach the turn-off to the beach. Ironically it has gotten kind of cloudy, and as he pulls into the parking lot, we notice lots of other cars pulling out. Geoff gets off the bike first and then holds it while I dismount.

  He checks the sky and I do too, looking up at the dark storm clouds above us. “Maybe we should try again another time. Looks like it might rain.”

  I nod. It’s not very safe to be near water when there could be rain. All lifeguards get that. “We could just wait and see if we get any lightning,” I say.

  He nods and reaches for my bag. I hand it over and when we reach the dressing room, I take it and change. When I’m out, he grabs it again, carrying both of our bags easily.

  Watching him walk out in front of me, down the beach, staring at his long, strong body and wide shoulders, I can feel myself grow warm again, feel the oddest urge to just jump on his back and wrap my hands around his chest and kiss all over his neck…oh gosh, what’s wrong with me?

  He drops the bags and sits right down on the sand, and I follow him, tugging my tee shirt down over my bikini.

  “So the Mike thing,” he says. “Where does he hang out? I think I need to talk to him.”

  I wring the bottom of my tee shirt in my hands. “About that, Geoff, I was thinking, he hasn’t been around in a while…”

  “I think I’ll talk to him, see what I can get out of him, and then decide if I need to go back to square one or not. Do you remember if he was at any of your parties?”

  “Almost anyone at school could have been at one of my parties,” I say, burying my hands in the sand. The ocean has never been that appealing to me. Dirty, rough, unsafe and unpredictable. But sometimes, it’s also beautiful. Today the silvery grey clouds match the grey blue water perfectly, and the sea gulls flying over the ocean complete what could be an oil painting hanging in a museum somewhere.

  I look over to see Geoff staring out at the water but obviously not seeing it. He has that weird, intense look in his eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Sometimes I just feel lost. Like I’m never going to be able to find this dude. I think half the time I’m in total denial, sure that someday it’ll just happen, even though I have like zero information. I’m realizing that now. I mean, so Mike has dark hair, so what? He’s not just going to admit to something, and the likelihood that just because he’s a dirtbag he’s the same dirtbag is very low. I’m just starting to wonder if this whole thing has been pointless
. Which is a hard thing to wonder, because I don’t really know where to go without it. That mission has been my guiding light.”

  “I see.”

  He scoops up sand and throws it angrily out towards the water. It flies out and falls in a shower out ahead of us. “It’s ironic, right? That when I get closer to accomplishing my goals I only feel further away.”

  “Well, you know the old saying, the more we know, the less we know that we know.”

  “Socrates, I know,” he says, surprising me.

  “Oh,” I say. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply you didn’t.”

  “Your friend Josh did,” he says. He turns to me, leaning on one hand in the sand, and bites his lip. “Hey Amy, what would you say if I told you that what Logan said was the truth? That I was accepted to UCLA and Stanford?”

  “Well, I guess I would be surprised, because you’ve tried to cultivate an image that doesn’t seem like that type. But then again I wouldn’t be surprised, because it seems like there’s a lot you’re hiding. You have a lot of layers.”

  His eyes widen slightly. “So you wouldn’t be surprised? Like, you wouldn’t think I was a poser?”

  “I might think you’re posing as a badass, but that’s all.”

  “You wouldn’t think I was too stupid?”

  I shake my head. “No, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You know how to stop a bar fight, and you know how to stop a stalker, and you’re a good lifeguard, and you know how to tip a waitress without anyone seeing, and you know how to buy a brownie sundae that no one said they wanted, even though they desperately did.”

  “So it was good then?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye. His full lips turn up in a half smile, an action that makes my heart flip flop.

  “Yes. It was good,” I snap, turning away so he can’t see his affect on me. “But you didn’t have to. I’m trying to be healthier.”

  “Why?”