Recklessly

by A. J. Sand

  “No, psycho-stalker. I haven’t talked to Lana since Tahiti. You haven’t either?” All the eyes in the room suddenly plowed into Wes, who opted not to do anything but stare at everyone back. Secret’s out.

  “So, who wants to pre-party?!” Dylan asked in a shout much too big for a silent room, slamming a bottle of vodka on the kitchen island.

  And with food and alcohol available, the atmosphere in the house became celebratory. They ate Dylan’s meal and played a brief game of Never Have I Ever with Wes and Abel, of course, downing more shots than Dylan and Charlotte. It was worth being the most scandalous of the bunch since the alcohol put Wes in an easy mood, and he hoped it would remain through the evening. The guys eventually shooed the women upstairs to get ready for the show due to their concerns about traffic.

  Wes took a quick shower and slipped into a black polo shirt and nearly black jeans, and he was lacing up his boots when Abel knocked on his door.

  “Hey, baby bro. You almost ready? I’m about to call a cab. I just told the girls I did it already to make them hurry up.” Abel leaned against the doorframe, and Wes could feel his brother’s gaze on him as he shuffled around the room and gathered his necessities.

  He shot a smile at Abel. “Go ahead; ask about her and get it out of your system.” Even though I don’t feel like talking about it. Fuckin’ buzz kill.

  Abel exhaled like his very existence depended on asking the question he spoke. “You and Lana dunzo with the fuck-buddy thing?”

  Wes shrugged. “Looks that way.” You didn’t give the cold shoulder to someone like this unless you were looking to invite distance into your relationship.

  “Sucks. I liked her. Cool chick.”

  “Yeah...well…” Wes shrugged again. “I’m over it.”

  “You’re rolling with the best wingman and wingwomen tonight, so expect us to have a line of replacements coming your way.”

  “Haha. Thanks, man.” He wasn’t the “get under someone to get over someone else” guy, though, and Abel knew that, so Wes knew he was just trying to cheer him up. Fuck, I’m really “getting over” someone? His stomach clenched violently to confirm, and Wes sighed quietly. I guess I am.

  “So, Ian said you’ve been pushing yourself really hard out in the water. I can’t wait to get back out there with you.”

  “Uh, from what I heard, you’ve been getting back out there on your own. Doc cleared you?”

  “Not quite, but if I don’t get back out there like before, I’m gonna go crazy, dude. Look, we should go to Rio in the next few weeks. We haven’t been in a while. Lava would kill for some Brazilian surf footage. I’d kill to see some Brazilian waxes and asses.”

  Wes laughed. “Sounds like a plan, man. We’ll have Mickey book it and run it by Lava. I’m in either way, though.”

  “All right…see you downstairs in a bit.” Before he left, Abel cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the hallway. “Cab just sent a text saying they’re ten minutes away.” Wes laughed when Dylan and Charlotte screamed in a panic, and he heard things tumbling to the floor from behind Charlotte’s closed door. Abel turned back to Wes. “That is never going to get old.” Abel got serious as he walked over to place a consoling hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s her loss, Wesley,” he said before departing the room.

  “It doesn’t feel that way, but thanks, bro. Thanks for—”

  “Yeah, yeah…none of that Dr. Phil shit,” Abel said, waving dismissively at him, leaving Wes laughing by himself.

  *

  XS Nightclub was pulsating, from the pounding music inside, from the virulent energy of the crowd outside, from the allure of L.A. nightlife. It was an archetypal elite L.A. club: massive, exquisite décor, stunning lighting and immersive sound system. Dylan had booked table service in advance, which would allow them to avoid the moshing on the dance floor once the show started. Wes was a hardcore hip-hop and rock enthusiast, but he liked Pitbull’s infusion of hip-hop, Latin music and electronic dance too, so he and Dylan agreed to brush up on their Latin dance moves before the show started. He stopped dancing when his phone buzzed in his hand. Dad. He sent it to voicemail and pressed out a text saying he’d call him later. He suspected it was more toxic parental nonsense that he didn’t want to deal with it, and he was shoving his cell into his pocket just as the server brought the first of their liquor orders for the evening.

  “We’re not going to do that obnoxious toast you guys love so much, are we?” Charlotte asked the twins as Abel poured tequila into their shot glasses. “Please tell me we’re not.”

  “Just be glad you’re even drinking, minor,” Abel warned her.

  “No, we’re just toasting to a good night,” Wes assured her, but his shot glass never made it to his lips. He set it back down on the table so hard the alcohol splashed up. A squeezing sensation consumed his chest, because across the room, his gaze had landed on Lana standing at the bar with a group of friends, men and women. Wes immediately felt obligated to figure out who was with whom, and he got his answer shortly when Lana took one of the guy’s hands and they burrowed into the crowd.

  She’s here with a guy. She’s fucking here with a guy. Bitter, stinging bile pooled at the back of his throat, and the addition of alcohol seemed to make the stomach acid burn worse. He jumped to his feet, trying to keep his eyes on their location, but with the low lighting, shadows and gyrating bodies, it was impossible.

  “Wes, don’t…” Dylan whispered as she eased up to a standing position next to him. “Not even worth it.”

  Wes reached for the shot he hadn’t drunk yet and poured it down his throat. He refilled another and took that, too. “I’m not. I know.” Lies.

  Dylan clutched his wrist preempting the step he’d planned to take over the VIP ropes. “Hey! Are these new tattoos?” she said quickly.

  “Nope.” He shot his gaze around the room, impatient, searching out Lana. If she was going to diss him, she was going to have to do it to his face. And she will, too, because she’s here with another guy. Fuck.

  Dylan jerked his arm until he turned his attention to her. “No. Swear to me you’re not about to do anything crazy.” She held out her pinkie with an expectant expression. “Swear, Elliott. Right. Now.” Wes sighed and curled his pinkie around hers. “You know this is as good as blood, right?” she reminded him. “There is no crossing your fingers behind your back exception.”

  He winced as she constricted his finger, twisting it to a painful angle. “Ow! Fuck, Dylan. You’re a psychotic little thing.”

  She squeezed even harder. “I swear to God if I see one Dylan Carroll, girlfriend of singer Kai White, Drags Drunk Surfer Wes Elliott Out of Nightclub headline tomorrow, tonight will be the last night you ever live through.”

  Wes burst out laughing. “As good as blood, baby. We’re on the same page, Dylie. I’m just heading to the restroom. I’m fine. I’d like to remain a person with five digits on this hand though, so can you please let go?”

  “Say you swear.”

  “I swear.”

  “You’ll come right back and we’ll dance?” A look of worry crossed her face.

  “Right back, babe.” Wes slung back another shot and really felt it that time as he struggled to step over the ropes. He hadn’t lied to Dylan, he actually went to the bathroom, but the pinching feeling in his stomach was worsening with every step. He threw open the door to the men’s room, whispering an apology to the guys he had nearly run into trying to get in. After everything, she’s here with someone else. Wes slammed his back against the wall inside, his breaths rushing out of him erratically. His heart was swelling, almost suffocating, as it floated up into the base of his throat. His mouth dried out, and he shut his eyes, dropping his hands to his knees. He didn’t want it to matter, but his hurt feelings were scraping his insides and knotting everything up.

  “Are you all right, man?” a guy asked.

  Wes lifted his head after taking several breaths. “Yeah, dude. Thanks. Blame it on too many drink
s too fast.” He left the bathroom and went straight for the bar to order up the second bottle for their table. Though, he couldn’t help combing the crowd with his stare for Lana. It was the car accident scenario; you shouldn’t look but you can’t not look. He chatted with the female server as they walked to the table together, and he smirked when Dylan exhaled in relief, looking way too content about his return.

  “Who wants to do more shots?” Wes asked, making Dylan’s relief very short-lived. Heightened worry quickly supplanted it, but she kept quiet thankfully as he rained tequila over their shot glasses, and he ended up drinking his and hers. Wes was a big guy and he could handle his alcohol but even he knew he had limits. Well, he knew of them. But he knew a lot of other things too, so he took another shot.

  When Pitbull finally got on stage, Wes was in a blissful state, mind and body. As the last live song before the break ended, and the woman Wes was dancing with moved away, he staggered out of VIP and headed toward the exit, needing a break from the sweaty crush and stifling air. He stumbled into a woman whose wild dancing pitched her into his path.

  “Sorry,” Wes mumbled to the woman, but he locked eyes with the person standing right behind her. “Hi, Lana…” Her eyes and mouth both stretched into identical O’s. She whispered something to her friends—including the woman Wes had bumped into—with her back to him, and they left her standing there, but she didn’t turn to face him immediately. Ignoring me to my face? Seriously? “Lana!” he said with impatience, and she finally spun.

  She was wearing the tightest pair of light blue jeans, high sandals, and a tank top revealing a little cleavage and sliver of stomach. It was hard to be near her and keep his hands to himself; all the places he liked to touch and lick were on display. It was the kind of outfit a woman wore when she wanted her ex to feel the “fuck you” really deeply. I’m not her ex and I feel that shit everywhere.

  “Hey.” She waved—a dying fish flop—at him.

  Wes growled, narrowing his eyes on her and mocking her wave. “Hey? Hey?”

  “Yeah, it’s a common greeting amongst friends,” she said in a flat tone. “It’s a lot like hello…but shorter.”

  “Oh? You know what else is common amongst friends? Returning their fucking phone calls. Also, not having your roommate lie to them when they come visit you.”

  Lana gulped down and her shoulders rounded downward, her gaze falling to the floor. Her movements were annoying him and making him jittery. “I needed space. I need space, Wes. Straight up. It’s too much. We’re crowding each other a lot for two people who are just banging, you know. It’s the amount of time we’re spending with each other. It’s weird. I’m uncomfortable.”

  Whether it was the alcohol, the noise or just the words she was saying, he was having difficulty processing them. Wes pressed his palms against his eyes for a moment. “Uncomfortable? What are you saying? I make you feel uncomfortable? Seriously? You don’t feel safe with me?”

  “Nothing about you is safe, Wes,” she muttered as she looked toward the empty stage.

  “What the fuck does that mean? I’m your friend. I’ve been nothing but your friend. I’ve treated you well, and you say you’re not safe with me?”

  “I gotta go. I’m here with someone.” But she didn’t actually step away instantly; in fact, she didn’t move at all.

  “Fuck that guy. No, don’t fuck that guy. But fuck him.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Who isn’t?” Wes leaned in close to her. “And I could drink until I’m blind and it wouldn’t make this any better.”

  “Wes…I have to go.”

  “Back to him? Lana, who the fuck is that? Who the fuck are you so anxious to get back to?”

  “You don’t get to ask me that, Wes.”

  “The hell I don’t! Is that who you were with when Grayson lied to my face about you not being home? I saw your goddamn keys, you know. I heard you laughing.”

  “What are ‘Questions Wes Elliott Doesn’t Get to Ask Me,’ Alex.”

  “Cute. Your snark won’t save you here, though. Can you just answer one question for me, please? None of it meant anything to you?”

  “Yeah, it meant that you and me were fucking. Just fucking, Wes. Like we have been for a while now. This amnesia of yours is troubling.”

  Teahupo’o had nothing on Lana. She’d gone straight for his skull. Straight for the severing. Off with his head, said the Queen of No Fucking Heart, Wes thought. “Just fucking, Lan? Just fucking?” he yelled, and several people turned to look at them, “‘Cause that’s bullshit. That’s where it started, but you can’t act like shit hasn’t changed between us! ‘Cause, baby girl, shit. Has. Changed.”

  He brought his face even closer and matched the rebellion in her stare when he took her face in his hands. “I saw the look on your face the last time we were just fucking, Lana. Maybe your memory is the one with the gaps. We were on the beach in Tahiti, you were naked, saying my name, and your nails…” Wes grabbed her hand and pressed it into his shirt past his collar. “These scratches? You did that. When we were just fucking. Not a single other woman has touched me in....God knows how long. You’re the one marking me up. You remember what you were saying when you were leaving them? ‘Cause I sure the fuck do! And I need you too, Lana. I want you, too!

  You know what else I remember? I saw how you were looking at me when you came underneath me, Lana. We woke up on the beach together and you were looking at me that way, too. Things were different. Things have been different. You can stand here and pretend they aren’t, but you’d completely be in denial. You know that.”

  She shook her head. “This is my fault. This is entirely my fault. I let myself get vulnerable and emotional around you, shed some tears about Sadie, and now you think a few weeks of us playing couple changes things. We’re smarter than this, Wes. The reason this was working was because we were smarter than this. Now you’re convinced of some kind of happy ending? Us exchanging tearful speeches with things like, ‘My life is nothing without you. You are my everything. My life didn’t exist before you. I don’t know how I was living without you!’ Then some kind of stroll off into the sunset holding hands? You know where happy endings happen, Deuce? In skeevy, back alley massage parlors on the side of town your parents tell you to stay out of.”

  “You should know me better than that. I don’t give a shit about the goddamn happy ending. I know it’s not that simple,” Wes countered. He brought his lips to her ear and clamped his hand on her side, letting his fingers dig in a little. In a whisper, he said, “But you know what? Let that guy blow your back out tonight, Lan; let him eat you out until you can’t walk straight, but don’t think for a second I’m not the one who’ll be in your head the entire time.”

  She shuddered quietly for a moment, and he felt the trembles snake through her, but then she wrenched herself from his grip. “Close your eyes, keep ‘em open, say his name even. Dig your nails in, Lana. It’s me you’ll want it to be. It’s me,” he continued as she walked away. “‘CAUSE I’D WANT IT TO BE YOU!” His entire chest cavity was vised in his overwhelming emotions as he watched her go, and she looked back only once before she sank into the dark, oscillating crush.

  Someone small wrapped their arms around him, someone who couldn’t actually stop him from going after her, but he didn’t fight against it. Dylan stepped in front of him. “Wes, let her go. Just let her go.”

  “I didn’t plan on following her.” But we don’t plan, and God laughs.

  “Do you need to go home now?”

  “Yup.”

  “If we go outside, and she’s there are you going to act crazy?”

  “Yup.”

  “You swore.” She wasn’t angry; instead, Dylan’s smile was way too understanding, which made him feel worse. “I’m telling Abel to call—”

  “No, you guys stay for the second half, baby, I can get home okay. This isn’t what you came for, my drama. Stay.”

  “You sure?” She looked doubtful, as she p
ulled him into a hug.

  “Of course…” He hugged her back before he dipped into the crowd, looking for a cab on an app on his cell phone. He passed a woman standing at the bar whose eyes widened when their gazes collided, and he thought for a second it was because she recognized him as Wes Elliott, surfer, but the way she paled over, he realized she’d recognized him as Wes Elliott, guy who had been arguing with Lana.

  “Where’d she go?” he asked her.

  “They’re leaving,” she said flatly.

  Wes took a quick stride for the exit, and Lana was easy to spot because most people were coming back inside for the second half of the show instead of lingering outside.

  “Lana!” he called out. She and the guy were walking arm in arm away from the club, and Wes beat back his infuriation. The man spun around first, and Wes’ competitive instinct kicked in as he sized him up. No matter how audacious and unreasonable the alcohol tried to make him, Wes was determined not to brawl in the streets of L.A tonight.

  “Lana, come here…please…” She stopped walking and whispered something to the guy, but she did walk back to where Wes was. She came back to him, and that gave him hope, even though the look in her eyes read as uncertainty. What the fuck had changed? Oh, just everything. I just have to get her to see that it’s a good thing. “He’s as fun as me?” he asked, ticking his chin in the guy’s direction.

  She rolled her eyes and tried not to smile. “He and I aren’t doing that…and he’s not…bringing up things that complicate…things, but I said everything I wanted to say tonight, Wes,” she said, but her voice wavered.

  “Good, because I have a lot more to say,” Wes said. “You’re worried that I’m not safe, Lan? Since when do you even want safety? We don’t like safe. Me and you, we don’t like safe. I chose a job that can kill me, knowing it could. It can kill me every time I do it. I take a piece of fiberglass and throw myself into ten-foot waves that could easily overpower me, no matter how good I am. Reef cuts me up all the time, and I’ve hit my head on rocks. I got a job that I have no real future in. I can probably only surf well and be profitable for another eight or nine years. If I’m lucky. I got tattoos so I wouldn’t ever have to get a real job; clearly, I can’t ever. I say what I want. I curse too much. I drink too much. I fuck way too much. I party too much. And…I. Love. Every. Single. Fucking. Moment. Of my life. I chase the thrills and I love the highs. You know why? Because I’m reckless, Lana. I’m reckless…and so are you.