by A. J. Sand
“Wes…I don’t know…” Paul was still ramming Abel’s chest down but his tone had lost the luster from before. “It’s not…”
Wes grabbed his own head and dropped hard to his knees in the sand. “No, no, no…” His whispers grew louder, until his screams were punching out of him. “NO! NO! NO! Abel! Get up! Wake him up!”
Paul looked weary and winded, and the motions of his palms against Abel’s chest were slowing down. “Wes, I tried…I really, really tried…” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m really sorry. I don’t think…”
Wes pointed weakly in the direction of his brother, falling against Jase in his desperation. “You fuckin’ know him. He’s your friend! Come on, Paul. Dude, it’s my brother. It’s my fuckin’ brother! My… You can’t… You can’t…” His legs went weak beneath him and Jase struggled to keep him upright. He would never, ever forgive himself for this. Never. “No…Please, no! Paul, please, no. ”
Christian pushed Paul aside. “You’re tired. Let me try. We don’t fucking quit on each other out here.” Christian brushed his arms across his eyes for a beat then began the forceful presses on Abel.
“Chris…” Wes pleaded in a whisper but he didn’t fight against Jase’s restraint. “It’s my brother, man. My…he’s all I have. Please.” Christian nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. Next to him, Paul was on all fours, head hanging, bawling without an ounce of control.
“I’m not going to let him die, bro...” Christian promised weakly.
Die. Died. Dead. He would have to start speaking about Abel in the past tense. My brother died. I had a brother. “I can’t… I can’t…” Wes staggered backwards as Jase released him. His chest squeezed and he choked on spittle, like his own lifeline had been cut. Like he had felt the exact moment of Abel’s demise. The world swung in one direction and then another as someone called his name. “I can’t… I can’t breathe.” He saw the sky. And then he saw black.
*
Abel was dead.
Wes awoke, gasping and thrashing, trying to orient himself through blurry eyes as he sat up. But even without clear vision at the moment, the steady beeping of the machine to his left immediately indicated that he was in a hospital.
“Wes?” Lana. He turned to her voice, an ache in his neck making him wince. But it was Charlotte sitting in a chair against the wall.
“Abel. Where’s my brother? Is he—”
“He’s fine. A little bruised up. A lot bruised up. Broken fingers. Broken other stuff. They revived him right after you passed out. He’s just tired. But he’s fine. Mostly. He woke up a few hours ago…” But Charlotte’s eyes glazed over with tears as she approached his bed, and she punched him on the shoulder when she reached him.
“Okay. Ow! Abel is really okay?”
“I swear. All your friends are here. I asked them if I could sit with you alone. You were kinda in and out. Someone called your parents.” Charlotte smacked him on the chest, her tears streaming down her face. “Are you stupid? Are you? Severe dehydration, Wes? Severe dehydration? What is wrong with you? What the hell have you been doing to yourself? Seriously, I could kill you.” There were lines of tubes shoved into his arm, pumping him with fluids that apparently weren’t Lava Energy Drinks.
Wes pulled her against him for a hug. She was squeezing harder than he was; he was so tired still. “I’m okay, Char. I guess I’ve just been overdoing it,” he said as he laid back. “And you look…you look good. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“Hi, Pot, I’m Kettle.”
Charlotte laughed a little as she pulled away from him, and Wes smiled at her. “I don’t even have the words for how sorry I am about everything. I have so much to tell you, but I only asked for a couple hours of emergency leave, which you slept through most of. I figured you could use some good news.”
“Emergency leave? From where?” Wes scooted over and patted the bed for her to join him.
“Rehab.”
“Rehab?” Wes shut his eyes for a moment, the lure of sleep tempting him. “I’m so proud of you, Char.”
“It was all Lana,” she said.
The sound of her name was enough to override his fatigue for the moment, and he opened his eyes. “Lana? She’s here?”
“No. She’s on the East Coast with her brother. She initially didn’t even want me to tell you she’s the one who got me in. I guess shortly after the last time she saw you, she tracked me down. Sloane helped her out by getting Brody to admit he knew where I was. To Brody’s credit, he wasn’t the one who introduced me to Keith or drugs—that was all Keith—and Brody really wasn’t hanging out anymore with the crowd I got mixed up in, but he knew I was. To think I did all of this just to be a little rebellious and spite you guys for being annoying. So stupid.
Anyway, apparently, all Sloane had to do was go on and on about how much she hated you after talking to him for a few minutes while having a few drinks, and he was happy to tell her how he got one over on you. Sloane felt terrible for the way she treated Lana at the trade show party, but I think she thought you looked happy with her Lana came to where I was, pleaded with me for days—she told me you guys were worried about me and you weren’t angry with me—and we went to the rehab place several times before I checked in. My parents didn’t even know right away.”
“They found out when you used your insurance?”
“Only because Lana could only afford the first week. She sold her bike, Wes. She actually sold it to help me. It covered about ten grand, and she stayed with me through the admissions process.”
“Wow,” he mumbled. “And she didn’t want you to tell me?”
“Not right away. She didn’t want you to think she did it to get you back. I know you guys are broken up and giving each other space, but she was doing just as terribly as you are. Anyway, I’ve been keeping in contact with Sloane now that I have phone privileges, but she actually came to the center and had them call my parents to verify the emergency so I could leave without penalty. I guess one of the guys called Sloane? She was supposed to give you this after you got back from Bali. It’s from Lana.” He reopened his eyes when she stroked his face and touched the softest breath of a kiss to his cheek. “Get better soon, okay?”
When he awoke again (courtesy of some cruel nurse insisting that he eat even crueler hospital food), Charlotte was gone, and he thought for a moment he had dreamed the whole thing, but the letter was on the table. After a few days, when he was feeling better, he went to see Abel.
Abel was in bed, hooked up to a few machines himself, and he explained that his blood oxygen level was almost back to normal. Even though time had seemed to pass forever, Abel hadn’t been unconscious very long.
“Well, it looks like Bali’s out…” Abel said.
“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Wes said, after he hugged his brother.
Abel shook his head. “This twin shit is creepy sometimes, man. We both, like, died on the beach at the same time…”
“Well, I think only you died.”
“Oh, right, you only fainted. Once again, Abel Elliott outdoes the spare child.”
“Passed out, bitch…” Wes said with a smirk. “But seriously, man, I’m so sorry. I dragged you into my mess.”
“Yeah, I heard your mess saved our cousin.”
“Yeah and Charlotte gave me this before she left. It’s from Lana.” He showed his brother the large envelope and he was incredibly anxious to read it. “She’s on the East Coast with her brother.”
“She’s gone for good?”
“I don’t know, and maybe right now, it’s for the best, you know? Can’t wait for Mickey to spin this into a good reason for why I can’t compete in Bali…”
“Yeah. You gonna get over her, you think?”
“Doubt it. I miss her. Sometimes the bad is never bad enough to make you forget the good. I say that and it makes me think of mom and dad.”
“Oh, please, there’s no good th
ere.”
“Right. I know. But I think of them because they never do anything about the pain. The good with Lana gives me hope about what could happen with us someday. With mom and dad, sometimes you just can’t. But the point is you recognize the hurt and you do something about it, either way. You acknowledge it, you deal with it, and maybe you can move past it, if there’s good worth fighting for, you know? And you make sure not to repeat it. With Erin, her explanation shouldn’t have just let me excuse everything. She hurt me, regardless of what her letter might’ve said. I can let go of it, but it doesn’t make what she did something I just have to accept. And that’s what I was doing. But I figured it out with Lana. I need to really deal with my pain and go from there. The fact that I almost lost you today over suppressing my pain… We never learned how to really deal with it from mom and dad.”
“My brother, the sage. Better late than never that we figure this shit out.”
“Anyway, let me get back to my room before Nurse Torture thinks she needs to replenish my energy with more hospital food for this brief journey.” Wes hugged Abel again before he headed for the door. “Hey…thanks for everything this summer, bro. I’m glad you’re who the egg separated into. I…I, um, I—”
“Yeah, yeah…what is it with you and this Lifetime shit lately, bro? I, I, I…you, too.” Abel broke into a smile. “And the stuff this summer…you’re my little brother. I would literally die for you.”
“Um, great. Just don’t do it again, please,” Wes said as he walked out, and he didn’t wait until he reached his room before tearing open the envelope and pulling out Lana’s letter. She had also included a painting she’d done of the crude drawing he’d done of her on the beach in Tahiti—minus the breasts.
Dear Wes,
By the time you read this, I hope you’re still reveling in your win at Padang, and I hope it’s awesome. I hope you’ll forgive Charlotte for everything. She’s been really embarrassed and ashamed about the way she treated you before she left. I know a thing or two about that. She’s in rehab. You can’t contact her directly by phone, but the center’s name and address are on the pamphlet in the envelope. Your aunt and uncle know, and Charlotte asked them not to tell you until you got back from Bali. I sold my bike for the initial costs of her treatment. They’re paying for the rest of the weeks, and then I think they’re going to take her back to the East Coast.
I haven’t regretted parting ways with my bike for a moment. Because I did it for you. Wes Elliott, you were my first great love. I know my actions may not have shown it, but it’s true. Falling in love with you was by far one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. I told you on the day I hit you that someday I’d be glad I did, but it wasn’t that night in Death Valley. It was actually the day I hit you. That was the day I was glad.
I still haven’t figured out how to draw you, Wes, but I know exactly how to draw how I felt when I was with you. It was the way you drew me. I need you to know that I did jump with you…but I just didn’t trust that you would catch me. Now I know that you would. You did.
Love always,
Lana
Epilogue
Recklessly: (adverb) re-kles-ly marked by lack of proper caution: careless of consequences
1 Year Later
“Christian Lamont’s final wave is an eight point one five, with an overall score of nineteen point three six, which means wildcard Wesley Elliott wins the Ridley Pro with an overall nineteen point four,” came the voice over the loudspeaker, and Christian slung both arms around Wes, rattling him with enthusiasm.
Thank you, Wes Reverse Roll! Wes pumped his arms into the air as a crew of surfers rushed him, lifting him onto two guys’ shoulders, and they carried him up to the winner’s podium, as he waved his surfboard and an American flag someone had shoved in his hand. Then as with ritual—but which Wes found to be a terrible waste of alcohol—his friends sprayed him from all sides with champagne after the trophies were handed out, and the contest director made a speech for the ceremony’s closing as he had done with the opening. Microphones were shoved in Wes’ face, and he led the crowd in a “Deuce is wild” cheer while cameras flashed and fans were kissed and sponsors thanked.
It was good to be king again.
As the whirlwind finally began to settle, he walked toward where his friends were waiting in a designated area with cabanas specifically for surfers and their guests. A hand suddenly enclosed his wrist. “Do I still get to call you Deuce?” A familiar voice struck his ear, and tremors ripped down his back when he turned around. She was smiling at him like an entire year hadn’t gone by since they had seen and talked to each other. His brain sifted in every memory of their past, of what he had gained, of what he had lost, and it was paralyzing and overwhelming in the instant.
She was still his little tornado.
“So…what’s the answer? Is it Ace now?” she said, her grin getting larger.
“Holy shit! Lan!” he said finally, jerking her up into a hug. “How? What? Shit! How are you? What are you doing here?” He put her down, needing to stare at her. She had dyed her brown hair to almost black, and cut it to just below her shoulders. Damn, she looks good.
“I told you I’d be watching you win in Bali, did I not?” she said. “Didn’t you win? Aren’t I here watching?” She leaned up to hug him again. “Congrats, Wes. I’m so happy and proud of you.”
His arms fell over her and they continued hugging in silence. Infinitesimal silence. Smell was the strongest sense tied to memory. That was something he’d heard or read once, and in the moment, he believed it. If staring at her had simply awakened the memories, the smell of her hair made him re-live them. The magnitude with which he sensed her everywhere, in everything, had never lessened. The way he missed her? He couldn’t really string it into coherence and describe the feeling. It was just there.
Like heat in the summer.
Cold in the winter.
“Um, well, are you busy right now?” he asked as he slowly untangled from her.
“Nope,” she said with a hopeful smile.
Wes rubbed the back of his head. “Good. Shit. I gotta catch up with the boys. Can we meet in, like, two hours? There’s a café in the Bali Villa Hotel. It’s called something I can’t for the life of me pronounce correctly, and I always feel embarrassed saying it. Anyway, I’ll call you with the exact time. Number still the same?”
“Yup. And I’ll be there…” She waved before she turned and walked away, leaving Wes feeling like he’d just experienced some type of paranormal event. And after drinks with his friends, he was upstairs beating back nervousness. Sometimes the bad is never bad enough to make you forget the good, he thought as he slipped into jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers. And he hadn’t forgotten any of the good.
His heart was deep in his stomach as he took the elevator down to the ground floor. She was already seated at a table with a book opened on top when he walked into the café. She had been wearing something casual at the beach, but she was wearing a strapless blue dress, tight and knee-length, now. As he approached, she got on her feet and pulled him into another hug, like it was the first time.
“So, how have you been, Lan? How’s everything? Are you still on the East Coast?” he asked as he slid into the seat across from hers.
“Back in Los Angeles as of two weeks ago, actually. I sort of became a suit recently. Only sort of.”
“Really? What are you doing?”
“Still at Bar Method, but I took an assistant position at an art gallery in Santa Monica.”
“Really? You’re working with art?”
“So unlike me, right? But for me, isn’t that kinda being reckless? Trying out something not temporary? It’s way out of my comfort zone, that’s for sure.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “How are all your friends? How’s Char? How’s Abe?”
“Char’s great. Clean. Going to meetings. Focused on school. Asks about you all the time.” Wes placed his hand on hers. “I guess this is the first time I really g
et to thank you in person for what you did. Thank you. Your bike—”
“It was worth it, Wes…and it still is three hundred and sixty-five days later.” She smiled reassuringly. “I had actually already planned to sell it and bid on a first edition of Wuthering Heights for you, but it went to a better place. Anyway, I’m saving up to buy another bike really soon.”
“Of course you still want a bike!” Wes said, laughing. “So, Abe’s really good, too. We’ve been helping our mom get settled in her new place.”
She gasped. “Your parents split?”
“Yup. Finally. Thankfully. She crashed with us a few months to get on her feet.”
“Good for her! So I saw in People that Kai and Dylan got engaged?”
“Yeah. Another one bit the dust! I always thought she’d choose me! Yeah, they’re great. He wants to get married, like, tomorrow, and she wants to wait and figure out whether she wants to join him on the road, where they’re going to live, if she wants to hyphenate her name. Usual Dylan…crazy. But…I want to talk about you.”
And over small plates, Lana explained that she had been to Moscow once to visit Sadie and the Olins, she hadn’t spoken to Brody Swift in a year, and she and Grayson had moved in together, just the two of them, and she was on the lease this time. After dinner ended, he suggested that they take a walk on the beach before heading over to the contest after-party. The beach was crowded still due to the earlier contest, so he and Lana walked away from the commotion as much as they could.
“How long are you in Bali for?” he asked.
“…Until tomorrow evening.”
“Even with the holiday weekend in the States?”
She smiled. “I came to see what I wanted to see…” Lana raked her fingers through her hair and the tattoo on her left shoulder drew his attention.
“Wait. What is that?”
“Uh, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but…you seem to have them all over your arm,” she said, poking him in the side, but she kept walking, letting her hair fall back into place.