Caught in the Surf

by Jasinda Wilder

  Lani frowned. “Shouldn’t we wake her up?”

  Casey shook his head. “I made the mistake of waking her up by accident once. It wasn’t pretty. I don’t care to repeat it. There’s only one room open right now, anyway.”

  He held Lani’s backpack slung from one shoulder, so she was forced to go along with him down the hallway. He wiggled the key into a yellow-painted door and pushed it open, flicking on a light as he entered. The room was tiny, a queen bed taking up most of the space, with a sliding glass door along one side, and a makeshift galley kitchen along the other. A bathroom and a closet formed one corner, and a bureau of drawers opposite the foot of the bed with a twenty-year-old TV set on top of it made the rest of the room. The bed had a quilt that looked suspiciously homemade…and warm.

  Suddenly, Lani was exhausted. Passed-out drunk sleep just wasn’t very refreshing.

  “You look like you’re about to fall over where you stand, darlin’.” Casey set her backpack on the bed and stood facing her.

  “I am,” she admitted. “I’m coming from Maine. I took a train from Portland to New York, and a bus from New York to St. Louis, and then a flight from there to the airport where you met me. I’ve been traveling nonstop, without sleep, for over seventy-two hours.”

  “Except for that part where you passed out,” Casey said.

  She tilted her head from side to side. “That doesn’t count as sleep. Ever passed out like that? It’s not at all like a good night’s sleep. Or even a nap.”

  Casey laughed. “I have, all too frequently. And you’re right.” He moved past her to crack open the sliding glass door, sliding the screen door in place.

  A light, salty breeze and the shushing of the ocean washed over Lani. For the first time in the six months since she’d left Hawaii, she didn’t feel quite as homesick. Casey’s presence behind her was both nerve-wracking and comforting.

  She turned in place and found herself staring up, up, and up into his pale blue eyes. “Thanks for…you know…getting me out of that airport.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said, then, absurdly, reached down with a forefinger to brush a wayward strand of her black hair out of her mouth. “Mrs. Adams serves breakfast until ten or so, usually. If you’re still asleep after that, there’s places in town to get a good breakfast.”

  Lani was frozen solid by his finger’s touch on her cheek, and it wasn’t until his broad frame was filling the doorway three feet away that she remembered to breathe. He was gone, and she felt the strength flood out of her. After he was gone, she noticed he’d set her $100 bill on the bed next to her backpack.

  She barely made it onto the bed before sleep overtook her.

  * * *

  She woke with sunlight bathing her, warming her. She was still in the same clothes she’d been wearing when she left Portland, and she was lying diagonally across the bed. She rolled off the bed and stood up, stretching as she stared out the patio door. The ocean glinted blue-white not far away, and the familiar scents and sounds of the Pacific Ocean made her feel as if things might, somehow, someday, be okay.

  She’d spent the last six months refusing to think about Rafael or his betrayal. She’d gone through the stages of a breakup, of course, getting mad and then sad, crying and drinking herself stupid with friends across the country. Now, while she wasn’t exactly home, she was somewhere like it, and reality was crashing back down around her.

  She had nothing. The car she drove on Oahu and the house they’d lived in together were both in Rafe’s name. Her clothes, her trophies, her favorite surfboard—which she’d carved herself out of koa—everything she owned was back on Oahu. And she just couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing Rafe again, seeing him with that stupid slut Allison, not even to retrieve her belongings.

  Lani put those thoughts aside once more and took a long, hot shower, washing the grime of travel away. She stepped out of the narrow shower stall and was drying off when a short, heavy knock resounded on her door.

  She knew who it had to be. Only two people even knew she was here, possibly three if Casey had spoken to the innkeeper, Mrs. Adams. Lani debated. She was soaking wet, and this towel was barely big enough to fit around her torso. She could ignore Casey’s knock until she was dressed. She should. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

  It was…dangerous.

  But there he was, pounding on the door as if he’d like to break it down. “It’s past noon, Lani. I heard the water running, so I know you’re up.”

  She wasn’t aware of having made the decision, but the towel was wrapped beneath her armpits and she was swinging the door open. Her mouth went dry. Casey was wearing a pair of navy blue board shorts and nothing else. His body…holy hell. Mile after mile of muscle. Not cut muscle, not toned bodybuilder muscle, but the bulky slabs of a naturally powerful man used to hard labor. She’d stepped back when she opened the door, and he’d followed her in. He was mere inches from her, and suddenly, she felt tinier than ever. She was used to being the shortest girl in any room, used to looking up at people, reaching up to cabinets. She’d always made up for it with a dominant personality, fiery and fierce and funny. But Casey, he was…huge. His chest and stomach were coated in fine, curly reddish hairs, his forearms, too. He had the Army Ranger insignia tattooed on his left pectoral.

  She barely came to his breastbone, and his eyes were blazing on hers, taking in the rivulets of water streaking down her face and neck. His gaze followed a bead of water as it slid down between her breasts underneath the towel.

  She had to crane her neck and stare nearly vertical to meet his eyes. “You’re too fucking tall.”

  He grinned. “And you’re too fucking short.” His smile took the insult out of his words. Her breath stuck in her throat then, because his thumb was brushing across her clavicle, wiping beads of water away. “And wet.”

  “I just—just took a shower.” She hated how that came out, nervous, breathy. She hated that she didn’t like it when his hand dropped back to his side.

  “Get dressed, pixie. There’s some nice swells out there. But you need breakfast first.” He turned away and let himself out. “Meet me out front.”

  Some nice swells. Lani hadn’t surfed in six months, the longest she’d ever stayed off a board in her whole life. Surfing reminded her of Rafe, of course. She’d met him at a contest in Australia. They’d surfed together every day for five years.

  She dug a yellow bikini out of her backpack, wrapped a purple flower-print sarong around her waist, brushed her hair, and left it loose to dry. Black Nike sports sandals and her purse. No, scratch the purse. She dug her wallet from the purse and slipped the loop over her wrist, and stuck her sunglasses on her face. No makeup, because Casey could take her or leave her as she was.

  Casey was waiting in the driver’s seat of the same red Jeep Carl had been driving the night before. He didn’t say anything as she climbed into the passenger seat, but his gaze was appreciative. He jammed the gearshift into first, and the Jeep darted away. He took her to a little café just off the beach, drinking coffee while she ate an omelette.

  He didn’t talk, didn’t ply her with questions, didn’t check a cell phone. He just stared out at the water, sipping occasionally from the chipped white mug. Lani, after the first few minutes of silence, found it peaceful.

  Rafe had always needed to fill the silence with his own voice.

  When she was done, Casey tossed a twenty on the table and took Lani’s hand in his rough paw. “Come on,” he said, pulling her toward the water. “Surf’s up.”

  Lani tugged free and stopped beneath a palm swaying in a stiff ocean breeze. “I don’t know.”

  Casey frowned at her, then sank down to sit cross-legged just inside the shade from the palm tree. “I thought you were a surfer.”

  “I was…I am.” She sat beside him, facing the water.

  “Then what’s the problem? Have an accident?”

  She shook her head. “I met Rafe during a competition. Surfing was our th
ing. We’d surf together at dawn, every single day. I haven’t surfed since he—since I left him.”

  Casey just stared at her for a long moment. “So?”

  “So? What do you mean, so? It reminds me of him. It’s hard.”

  “You still in love with him?”

  “No. I mean, it still hurts that he betrayed me, but I’m as over him as I’m gonna get.”

  “You surfed before him, you’ll surf after him. Don’t let him take away the thing you love, just ’cause he’s a dumbass who don’t know what a prize he had.” Casey spoke the stunning words to the ocean, not looking at her as he said them.

  Lani turned on the sand to face him. “I’m no prize.” She was facing him, but couldn’t look at him. She watched a tiny white spider crawl across the sand.

  “That what he said?” His voice was quiet, but his gaze was sharp.

  “He didn’t have to. He was better than me. He was a better surfer. Came from a better life, had a great family. Better grades at U-H. So good-looking it was stupid. People wanted him for movies, commercials, endorsements. I never knew why he was with me. Why he married me.”

  He looked up sharply at her. “You were married?”

  “Are married. At least till he signs. He might’ve already. I haven’t had an address since I left, and I had my mail delivered to a post office box back home. I mailed the papers to him. So until I go back to Oahu, I won’t know if he signed off.”

  “Would he draw it out?”

  Lani shrugged. “I don’t think so. I agreed to everything, just to be done.”

  “He fuck you over?” Casey was drawing marks in the sand with a finger.

  Lani shook her head. “No. I left, so he got the house and the car, but he gave me a good chunk of change as a settlement. And considering all the endorsement deals he had, it’ll be enough to set me up, I guess. I’ll have to appear in court for it to be final, of course, but, for the most part, it’s over.”

  “Relieved?”

  Lani didn’t answer for a long time, and Casey didn’t try to fill the silence. “I don’t think ‘relieved’ is the word. I thought things were great. I loved him. He…he was all I had. I never even suspected he was cheating on me. I mean…it was just such a shock. He wasn’t gone a lot, wasn’t texting all the time or doing anything suspicious. Things between us seemed fine and normal and whatever. I mean, it wasn’t like he suddenly stopped wanting me.” She paused and looked at Casey, gauging his reaction. His gaze was hard, angry. “Then I came home early one day from a photo shoot for a surfing rag, and he was in our bed with Allison Hoffman. I left, filed the divorce papers from the Big Island, and never went back. So no, I’m not relieved. I don’t know what to do, where to go. Sometimes I—sometimes I feel like I don’t even know who I am without Rafe. I met him when I was eighteen. His family was my family. Now I’m just…lost.”

  She wasn’t sure why she was telling him all this, except his alert silence seemed to pull it out of her. He was focused on her, listening.

  “You’re not lost, Lani.” His voice was confident, calm. “You’re here. On Seeker’s Island. You’re you. You love to surf, you have options. You can do anything, be anyone, be with anyone you want. It’s not an end, it’s a beginning.”

  Lani felt something hot on her face. Stupid tears. “I wish it was that easy, Casey.”

  “It is. I mean, I’m not saying it’s that easy, but it’s that simple.” He stood up. “The first step is to go surfing with me.”

  His hand appeared in front of her face. She could see the calluses, the grease embedded in the lines of his hand and under his fingernails, so deeply ingrained in the skin of his hand that she knew it would never come completely clean, however much he scrubbed.

  She took his hand and let him lift her to her feet. He smiled at her, then pulled her by the hand across the sand, around a clump of trees to a surf shop. An old man with smooth, swarthy skin and long, thick black hair sat watching a reality show.

  He waved lazily to Casey. “’Sup, Case?”

  “Hey, Billy. Can we borrow some boards?” Casey slapped palms with the man, who Lani thought might have been stoned.

  “Sure thing, man.” He seemed to notice Lani for the first time. “Oh, hey. You’re new.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. Just got here last night.”

  Billy stared at Lani as if trying to remember something, his eyes squinting almost shut. “I know you.”

  Lani shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never been here before.”

  “No, I know that. I mean, I know who you are. But I just can’t remember why, man.” He turned away, searching the surf shop as if trying to find a clue among the brightly colored boards and Billabong tees.

  His gaze settled on a magazine, the surfing magazine Lani had been shooting the cover for when she discovered Rafe had betrayed her. There she was, wearing a pale pink bikini, lying in the sand on top of her hand-carved board, late afternoon sunlight bathing her dark skin, wearing the very same pair of Ray-Bans that were on her head right then. Her gaze in the photo was wistful, almost longing. You could just barely make out the white crest of a crashing wave in the background.

  “You’re Kailani Kekoa,” Billy said. “I know you, man. I told you I did. I watched you kick everyone’s ass at the Quicksilver Pro.”

  Lani laughed incredulously. “You must be the one single person in the whole world who could recognize me on sight. You’re funny.”

  Billy frowned. “No way, man, I know that’s not true. I used to write for Surfer. I’ve followed your career forever.”

  “Wait, you’re Billy Redhawk?”

  “Yeah, man. That’s me.” He grinned and shook her hand.

  Billy had done an article on her a few years back, before she’d gotten any kind of real media attention as a surfer. It was Billy’s article that had propelled her into the spotlight, or at least as much of a spotlight as pro surfing ever got.

  “That article you wrote…it pretty much made my career.” She leaned in to hug Billy, and could have sworn she heard Casey growl behind her.

  “Hey, man. I was just writing like I saw it. And I saw you surfing just for fun, you know, practicing. On Oahu. You were pulling some sick moves, just all alone out there on some crazy waves. I’d seen you compete a few times, and you were still great and whatever, but that summer, you were on fire, man.”

  Lani remembered. It was the year she’d met Rafe. She’d finally been emancipated, and had gotten the payouts from her previous comp wins, which she couldn’t touch on her own until she was legally an adult. She’d found a sense of freedom finally. Then she met Rafe in Sydney a few days before the Quicksilver Pro, and she’d found love. All this had translated into the best surfing of her life. She’d taken the circuit by storm, garnering win after win, and even when she didn’t win on points, the style in which she placed second or third had people talking.

  Billy lifted himself out of the chair and sidled into a back room, disappearing without a word of explanation. Lani glanced askance at Casey.

  “He’s an odd bird. Moved here a year or so ago, opened this shop, and spends his time watching TV and writing a book he won’t tell anyone anything about. Smokes a lot of pot, in case you couldn’t tell.”

  Lani laughed. “Yeah, I can tell.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smoke?”

  Casey stuck his tongue out in a grimace of disgust. “Hell no. You?”

  She felt an absurd sense of relief that he didn’t smoke anything besides cigarettes. “No way. Rafe smoked a lot, and it always bugged me. He’d surf high. Said it made him loose. I always thought it made him sloppy. He could have been so much better if he wasn’t high all the time.” She turned away and watched the curling waves crash. “He knew how much I hated him smoking. He never cared.”

  Casey nodded as if he knew what she meant. “Bad history with it, huh?”

  She glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He held up his hands in front
of him. “Just guessing. Based on your reaction, I mean.”

  Lani sighed. “Yeah. Not pot necessarily, just…drugs in general. My mom was a meth-head. She’d do anything she could get her hands on, but her drug of choice was meth. I can’t tell you how many times I cleaned her up after she’d passed out, drunk and high. I was fending for myself by the time I was nine. I was on the streets by thirteen.”

  Casey’s gaze was knowing. “No dad?”

  She shook her head. “Nah. He took off before I was born. I tried to find his ass dat wen I was a teenager, but no one even heard of him. Couldn’t find even a record he ever existed. Just nothin’.” She bit her lip in irritation at her slip into vernacular, and moved out of the shop into the sun. “Don’t matter anymore. I’m over him, and I’m over Mom. I’m over everything.”

  Casey let her walk away, then followed her, stood next to her silently for a long time. Billy seemed to have vanished permanently.

  “I grew up in the system,” Casey said. “Never had no mom or dad. Bounced from foster home to foster home around the Dallas area for my whole life. Soon as I graduated high school, I joined the Army. I was told my ma was a hooker. Nobody knew my dad. So…you know, I get it.”

  Lani heard him. Heard what he wasn’t saying. His voice said he wasn’t over it, but he was okay with it, and he knew what she’d been through. After a few minutes of companionable wave-watching, Billy reappeared, redder in the eye and stinking of pot. He had two boards, one under each arm. He handed one to Casey, a huge longboard. The other he held vertically in front of himself, proffering it to Lani.

  She whistled. It was a handmade board like her own, carved from koa, polished and waxed to perfection.

  “This is gorgeous, Billy. You make it?”

  Billy sputtered. “Me? Hell, no. I can’t even whittle a stick, man. I know a guy in Kaneohe who makes boards in the old way, you know, with shells and shit. Like in that movie with the penguins. He made this for me as a thank you for doing a piece on him.”