by A. J. Sand
“I don’t know if I should’ve come. Brings back a lot of old stuff. Way too much.”
“You did what you came to do. Mrs. Cartwright knows it was hard for you; she seemed grateful you were here.”
Wes nodded. “You ready?” They started for the parking lot.
“Wes…” The voice behind him was so meek, the light wind nearly overwhelmed it, but he still recognized the speaker immediately. Marcus. Abel slowed his pace, retreating from Wes’ line of sight, and Wes’ stride became a purposeful act of escape. His heart was cramming its way into his throat like a sledgehammer was forcing it up from below. Everyone knew Wes as the laidback, diplomatic one, but all he ever saw when he looked at Marcus was a replay of every memorable moment between him and Erin, and he read it as foreplay, which made him angry still. Every single arm thrown around her shoulder. Every joke made between them. And as with the Brody situation, Wes was well aware that he could hold a hell of a grudge.
So, he would punch Marcus today if he got the chance.
He hoped Marcus would and wouldn’t give him the chance.
“Not the time, dude…” he heard Abel say. “He’ll talk to you when he’s ready or maybe never.”
Marcus shouted, “I just have one thing to say to him!” Behind him, the scraping of shoes hinted at a brief shuffle that must’ve caught Abel off guard because Marcus was suddenly at Wes’ side, eyes blazing.
“What? What the hell do you want from me? You didn’t get enough last time?”
“I know you’ve convinced yourself that we were just fucking to screw with you or that we didn’t give a shit about your feelings, but I loved her, too, Wes! For real. I was in love with her!”
“Yeah? Well, you love another man’s girl from afar. That was always the only option.” Under a shade of rage, he thought to lunge for him, wanting so badly to toss Marcus to the pavement. But instead he said, “So, fuck you.”
“I loved her and she chose you, you know! We were arguing about her wanting to be with you. Just you. She was ending it with me. She wanted to be with you, dude. You won. You can let it go. You won.”
*
He was calling Lana before his brain caught up to what his fingers were doing. He didn’t want to have sex; he really just wanted to talk. Not to Abel. Not even Dylan, who knew what it was like to lose someone close. Just to Lana. And he really wanted to talk about something pleasant, like books. And to see her eyes spark because he always managed to pick something she loved, and he loved the feeling he got because her eyes sparked.
He needed to see something beautiful today. Something pure and simple and beautiful. Like her big, brown eyes. He remembered how slowly they had moved across the page that night they read Lord of the Flies together. She had probably read it a million times—the pages were worn, passages underlined in various highlighter shades, and the corners floppy—but her gaze still glided over every word. At one point, she had tapped her finger to the page so he wouldn’t turn it. The character Piggy had just been murdered in the book, and without asking, she’d read the scene again. Then she had insisted they discuss it, put-the-book-down-because-I-can’t-go-any-further discuss it. He remembered thinking how cute she looked after she snapped the book shut and sat up, urging him to do the same, with her brow all puckered, hands wringing, voice agitated. He had kissed her to shut her up. She smiled. It worked.
When his friends had asked where he’d been that night when they finally made it back downstairs, he had made vague insinuations about their romp at the house, but the most amazing part of the night, he discovered as the days passed, had been up in the room, listening to her breathing when she fell asleep briefly curled up with her head on his stomach.
He missed that. He missed her.
Even though he had seen her most of the week in Orange County, her phone had been off since the U.S. Open ended, and an entire week had gone by where he hadn’t heard from her. Wes wasn’t the type to phone stalk, but she hadn’t returned his text or phone call. And Lana was who he wanted to have a conversation with, and feeling that way brought on more uncomfortable emotions. Like he was needy. But there was so much stuff crowding his head.
Stuff like finding out all this time Erin wanted to be with him. How was he supposed to reconcile that with hating her for so long? She loved me. She wanted to be with me. Repeating Marcus’ words to himself only served to wash him in confusion and stagnant moodiness. He’d been holding resentment all this time when she was planning to make it right? He would’ve doubted Marcus, accused him of just trying to find a way for Wes to forgive him, but Marcus had stuffed a crumpled letter in Abel’s hands before turning to go.
There was unanticipated relief accompanying the news, and perhaps a new lens through which to remember her. It was as though the shroud of spite he’d put over their time together was torn away, replaced with something strange, almost peaceful. Her touches, laughs and kisses for him didn’t feel like taunts anymore, but what were they? Secret appeals for understanding? An omen for the forgiveness she’d planned to eventually—but never get the chance to—ask for? And what the fuck was he supposed to do with all of it after all this time?
He mulled it over at home for a while, holding her unopened letter—his faded name etched in her rushed, slanted, purple handwriting on the front—after turning down Abel’s suggestion that they hit the surf for a few hours. What he did instead was take a drive to Marina Del Rey with Hunter S. Thompson’s The Rum Diary in his front passenger seat.
“Who is it?” a voice called when Wes knocked on the door to Lana’s apartment.
“Grayson? Hey, it’s—”
“Oh, I know who it is,” Grayson lilted as he swung the door open. “And you’re in a suit. How’d I get this lucky?”
Wes laughed. “Uh, I’m actually…” He trailed off as Rick strolled by and walked into the kitchen, and Wes was way too irritable for any commentary from him right now. “Can I talk to you out here?”
Grayson nodded, stepped out into the hallway, and shut the door behind him. “What’s up?”
“Um…well…I haven’t heard from Lana since the U.S. Open—”
“Me neither,” Grayson said, in a rather striking aloof tone before he shrugged.
Disappointment spilled over Wes; he was already drowning in his miserable day. He raised his eyebrows. “Uh, is that normal?”
“Yeah. She’ll probably call me tomorrow. We made a deal that she can’t go more than seven days without calling me or I won’t speak to her ever again and I’ll kick her out of the apartment.”
“So…she just disappears?”
“Pretty much,” Grayson said, leaning back against the door. “Last year, she rode all the way to Phoenix and stayed an entire month. Lost a job she had back then and everything, but she found one in Phoenix. Bartending at a dive.” Grayson laughed with an eye roll. “I had to call everyone she knows just to track her down. And when I called, she was talking to me like it was totally normal that she’d be in Arizona. For a month.” He sighed then pinned an inspective stare on Wes. “Is that for her?” he continued, motioning at The Rum Diary with his chin.
“Yeah…but I’ll give it to her myself.”
“You want me to tell her you’re looking for her when she calls?” Grayson said with a smile.
Wes’ jaw clenched. Yes. “No…it’s okay. We’ll just talk whenever she gets back.”
Grayson was quiet for a moment, doubt heavy in his gaze. “You sure, Wes?”
“Yup. Thanks, man.” He could feel Grayson’s eyes on his back as he descended the stairwell.
His house was alight with voices when he returned, and cars he recognized lined both sides of the street. Pausing on the stoop, Wes attempted to will the number one to appear on the text app on his cell phone, even if it was just to indicate a message of, “I’ll call you soon.” He was happy that his friends were at his house, but he was grouchy. He could blame it on Erin’s memorial if anyone inquired, but this was really about Lana not texting or
calling him back, that she was somewhere unknown, not wanting to talk to him as much as he wanted to talk to her. He was actually distraught and feeling a little rejected by her absence. Whatever. Just a fucked up day.
When Wes swung the front door open, his friends, all veteran day drinkers, greeted him with boisterous hellos and raises of their third round of drinks, if he divided the empty beer bottles equally. Thank goodness they’d rented a party bus tonight. It was his usual crew—Ribsy, Kai, Abel, Christian, Damon and Leko—and some other surfers he knew from around L.A. Within seconds, someone was shoving a bottle in his hand, and Wes was falling into a chair with a quarter of the beer gone before he hit the cushion. Liquid relief. Except his phone being in his back pocket was like dangling over a pit of crocodiles. He pulled it out and set it on the end table next to him, annoyance streaming through him when he met the blank screen. He took sporadic peeks over at it as they all drank, but he managed to insert strategic bursts of laughter to fake attention in response to Abel’s nonsensical story. Seriously? She can’t turn her phone on? Return one fucking phone call or a text? One? Who the fuck does that? Wait. Me. All the time.
When he glanced up from the screen, Kai’s curious gaze was fastened to him, his black brows raised. Why are you staring? Wes mouthed to him.
Kai mouthed back Olive juice, but he said it sensually, all tongue and pouty lips so that it looked like he was saying I love you. Their friendship had somehow never matured beyond how it had been when they were teens, and it honestly would’ve made Wes laugh under different circumstances, but his mind was too congested, his nerves too tattered. There was one repentant but dead girlfriend and an M.I.A. friend with benefits taking up enough brain space for him to feel like he was in the living room alone. Or with both of them. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad circumstance that Ribsy’s bachelor party was tonight; it would allow him to forget, because strip clubs were a great place to indulge when one was in a “fuck real life” kind of mood.
Erin stuff? Kai asked.
Sort of. He shrugged. “All right, boys! It’s sundown. Party bus is due here very soon. First up, barhopping on Sunset and then…” Wes fixed the assuring smile of a good party host.“…Dazzles.”
“The strippers are better than you, right?” Christian asked as Wes ripped off his white dress shirt when he moved toward the staircase.
“They wish,” he yelled back. At least he could be mopey alone upstairs for a few minutes, and then later he’d drink himself sedate. But if intoxication couldn’t cure this, he was in trouble because he certainly wouldn’t be able to just wish it away. Do I open the letter? Do I want to know exactly what she said? Wes thought as he pulled a black button-down from his closet.
“Elliott,” Kai said behind him, startling him just as he had jumped into his jeans, “Jesus, dude, what happened to your back? Reef? Are you fucking Wolverine?”
“Dammit, Kai, don’t you knock?” Wes shoved Erin’s letter into his pocket.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Kai joked.
Wes clenched his fists and let his expression freeze in faux shock. “You promised we’d never talk about that night, Kai. You said it was our secret. Have you told our friends? Have you told Dylan? I mean it was the best night of my life, and no one has ever made me feel the way you did. Your tender touches awaken—”
“Goddammit. You always take it further than it needs to go, Wes…” Kai chided with a contorted expression of distaste. “So, what’s going on, man? You all right?” That was Kai asking about Erin again without really asking. Being a thrill seeker meant that Wes did everything zero to sixty—once he was in, he was in and never looking back—which meant that he tended to fall hard, in love, out of love, hard. Tumble, roll, shatter. And if anyone besides Abel had seen Wes self-destruct in that hulking, dominating shadow of Erin’s death and betrayal it was Kai. He had endured Wes’ unkindness the way best friends do when they know you’ll survive what seems insurmountable, even before you do.
“Sorry, no source material for any of your future crybaby songs, rock star…” Wes said with a smirk. “You won’t make a dime off me, asshole.” He stepped into his black Converse Chucks.
Kai laughed as he moved to sit atop Wes’ desk. “You looked at that phone about ten times while you were down there…” His eyes shrank in suspicion as he studied his best friend.
“Yeah, so…?”
“Expecting a call? Is this Mena?”
“Lana.”
“Oh, You knew exactly who I was talking about. You’re into her…” Kai said. “Is she what happened to your back? And who is this other ticket to Tahiti for?” Kai lifted the printed confirmation off the desk. Shit. He’d forgotten he’d left that there.
Wes walked over and snatched it away. “Your girlfriend.”
Kai laughed, though he paused before smiling. “Have you ever considered that one of these days you’re going to say something about you and my girl, and I’ll finally make good on my threats?”
“Nope.”
“You’re going to ask Lana to go to Tahiti with you?”
“Yeah…” Wes shrugged, deciding that it was unnecessary to draw out his denial. Under impulse, he had selected two tickets for departure from LAX, and he had done it with Lana in mind. Just discussing it with Kai belted his heart with emotions. He was thrilled, but incredibly nervous…insides crushing nervous to ask her if she would come. This was a huge deal. Erin was the last woman who had ever gone on a surfing trip with him. “And why not? She likes surfing…”
“She can like it from the States live streaming on the Internet like all the other people who like surfing…I’m not buying it.” Kai crossed his arms over his chest.
“What do you want from me? What cardinal sin have I committed against the Church of Kai?” Wes said with exasperation.
“Admit you like her more than this fuck-buddy thing…” Kai said, smiling. “I knew one day, it would catch up with you. It’s not a bad thing. I know it’s not what—”
“Okay. We’re not about to have a guy chat.” Wes shook his head. “Take my phone if you don’t believe me when I say there’s not anything more going on here. Hold onto it all night. Jesus, Dyl has got to stop making you watch so much Lifetime.”
Some people went to spas to relax, but Wes found his center—went all Zen—at strip clubs, and Dazzles was his and Abel’s favorite: four stages, tons of private rooms, the most beautiful and surgically enhanced women he had ever seen, and most importantly, they didn’t proposition or offer blowies to the patrons. And if Ribsy was really getting off the market, he was going with a pair of fake tits in his face.
Wes turned to his friends and rubbed his palms together in devious fashion once they were inside. “Okay, fellas, we’ve got the VIP lounge to ourselves all night. This wasn’t cheap, but I love you guys, so we’re making it count.”
“What’s the bar tab?” Leko asked.
“Two,” Wes said proudly, and Leko and Kai high-fived him but Ribsy went pale.
“Two G’s?? We have to drink two thousand dollars worth of liquor tonight?!” Ribsy asked, burying his face in his hand. “Jesus, Wes. Was this really necessary? I’m not going to prison or dying.”
“Dude, you do realize that you aren’t ever going to be able to do this again, right? Once you put that shackle on your finger, Odette’s body, while a fine ass body—”
“Don’t do it, Wes. Don’t,” Kai warned with an awkward laugh. “Just lead the way, buddy.” Kai turned him in the opposite direction abruptly and shoved him. “Just lead the way before Ribsy puts his fist through your pretty boy face.”
But once they were in the reserved room, with Kai and his goddamn phone on the other side of it, Wes and the word comfortable weren’t even in the same part of the world, even with the gorgeous redhead, Katja, gyrating in his lap, legs in a V in the air in front of his face. He only passed a superficial glance over her when she leaned backwards, put her palms on the floor and swung off his lap into a handstand. This wa
s actual melancholy swamping him, and it wasn’t rooted in the Erin revelation. This was all Lana. Could you be haunted by good memories? Like playing around fully clothed in some stranger’s pool? Or actually preferring to read in bed when there was a rager downstairs? A warm buzz—pure delight—pressed through his veins. She was all he could think about tonight, no matter how many different sets of breasts were mashed against his face.
Wes looked over at Kai. What if Lana was back from wherever and she was calling him? What if she’d been calling him for hours? Goddammit, knowing her, she probably hadn’t called. A biting ache of anxiety ballooned in his chest, and he held up his hand when Katja tried to straddle him again.
“You’re boring tonight, Wesley…” Katja teased, fiddling with the tassels wagging from her nipples. “You always like when I do the flip to a handstand thing.” Wes was indeed a fan of it. Just not tonight.
“Nothing to do with you, baby. You look great; you were great. Wanna do a shot?” He needed it. Katja splashed Patrón into two of the shot glasses in front of him and they polished them off. It made him antsier but had probably saved his strip club cred. She sauntered off right after, thankfully. He dragged his gaze to Kai again, who was chatting with one of the exotic dancers.
Pride wouldn’t allow him to go over to Kai and get his cell back just yet because then it would mean everything Kai thought was true. And Wes wasn’t ready to admit anything to anyone, even though he knew within himself that things were changing. Wes’ feelings for Lana were changing; they were different. Way different than when they first met. Different from even last week. And right now he needed to figure out what that meant for them. For him.
He downed another shot. Fuck it. I want to know. “Sweetheart, you mind?” he asked when the dancer Kai had been talking to walked away and another was at his side at the same time as Wes. She smiled then strode over to the long, golden pole in the middle of the room, much to the happiness of the other guys.