by Piper Lennox
“You jump, then.”
I look at the platform. “Fine.”
“Luka, no!” She grabs my arm and pulls me back to her side, laughing. “God, I was joking.”
“I’ve done it before. It isn’t as scary as it looks. It’s actually a huge adrenaline rush. And look, the water’s so calm today—you’ll be fine.”
She peers over the edge again, considering.
“Just, you know,” I add, thumbing my lips, “watch for sharks.”
“Oh, my God.” She storms over to our backpacks while I laugh.
“Seriously—if I jump, will you jump?”
“This is, like, the most on-the-nose example of peer pressure I’ve ever encountered.”
While she spreads out her windbreaker to sit, I crouch by my backpack and dig through it. “Got something that’ll change your mind, I bet.”
“Sure,” she scoffs. “Let me guess: a ring?”
I smile as I fish the ring box from the water bottles and granola bars. “Actually...yeah.”
Tanya
“You’re not serious. You’re not.” My hands fly to my mouth as I get to my feet. My heart’s pounding.
Luka brings up one knee, opening the ring box. Silver band, one large emerald in the center, flanked by diamonds.
“Tanya King,” he says, “will—”
“No, no,” I sputter, laughing through my nerves. I point at him. “You can’t ask me to marry you after...after all those jokes, and fake-outs—”
He laughs, too, and rises. “Fine,” he says, reaching for me before my panic can pull me away, drawing my body close to his. “Let’s make it interesting.”
I know, with his hand braced against my back, he can feel the way my heart’s about to erupt from my ribs. It’s already interesting. I’m just so scared and excited and freaked out, I have no idea what to do with it.
“If I jump,” he whispers, as he lifts my chin until I look at him, our mouths barely separated, “you have to put on the ring. And if you jump, it’s official. We’re engaged.”
Slowly, he slips the box into my hand. I stare at it.
“Wait,” I manage, as he backs away and starts slipping off his shoes. “What if I don’t jump?”
He takes his time answering, tossing his hat to the ground, pulling off his shirt, and pushing back his hair, all the while gravitating closer to the platform. I follow numbly, pulse still flying, the ring box closed off in my hands like a baby bird as he steps onto the wood, looks down, and turns.
Then he smiles again, that crooked, confident grin I’ve memorized.
“You will,” he says.
Then he dives.
I tear out of the line forming behind me and rush to the edge of the cliff, just in time to see him plunge into the water below. He barely makes a splash, his body a perfectly straight line as it enters the water and sinks.
The water’s even clearer than I realized; I can see him nearing the surface a few seconds later. When he emerges, spitting water and laughing, he shouts, “Now put on the ring!”
I’m only somewhat aware of the crowd around me, most now watching with huge smiles, as I open the box and slide the ring onto my finger. Both hands are shaking. I wish I knew which thing was freaking me out most: the fact I’m about to jump off an actual cliff, or the fact this glittering little circle feels so incredibly right as I push it into place.
A few people are already chanting jump, jump, jump before I’ve even finished taking off my shoes. I’m in shorts and a tank top—not exactly swimming attire. While I tuck the hem of my shirt as far down into my shorts as I can and approach the platform, the chant gets louder.
There is no way in hell, I think, my stomach collapsing in on itself the second I look down at the water again. I shake my head at Luka, who’s treading water near the bottom of the ladder a few feet from where he landed.
“You can do it, babe,” he calls.
I press a hand to my stomach and will myself not to get sick in front of all these people. “I really can’t.” My voice breaks. If it weren’t for the breeze and sun, drying out my eyes right now, I’d probably be sobbing.
A kid behind me promises it isn’t as bad as it looks; his sister nods in agreement. Everywhere I look, not one person doesn’t offer some annoying encouragement or friendly smile. Everyone but me has officially lost their damn minds.
“Think of it this way,” Luka shouts. “Up there, you’re my girlfriend. But down here? You’re my fiancée.”
The crowd laughs and awws. And he’s still got that grin on his face, so sure of himself. So sure of me.
I look at the ring again, then him, and nod. The crowd cheers as I take a step back.
“Feet pointed, arms close,” somebody reminds me. A kid, an adult, I have no idea who. “Pencil in.”
Pencil in, I repeat silently, already tensing my muscles.
I move one foot forward, then the other. On the next step—the final one—I push off.
Pencil is the right word. As the wind engulfs me and rushes in my ears, I feel weightless but sharp, small and insignificant but somehow okay with it, for once. Cheers float at me from the cliff.
Surprisingly, I don’t scream. I’m just holding my breath, waiting for the impact.
Whether I pointed my feet properly or not, I can’t tell; I still hit the water like a train. The slap of it on my flesh as I go under sets every nerve on fire in the worst way. Adrenaline heightens the sting.
But then, when I’m under the surface, still sinking, I open my eyes.
All I hear is a faraway roar, the tide dragging the ocean floor. Bubbles crackle around me and look like they’re glowing, caught in the sunlight overhead. The water doesn’t even look blue, this far inside. It’s as clear as glass.
When I slow down and start to rise, I kick like crazy. The emerald of my ring shimmers with each stroke upward.
Luka dives in and swims to me. I can see him smiling, air escaping as he laughs. He grabs my hand and pulls me to him.
“I can’t believe I did that!” I laugh, gasping and spitting water as we surface together. He helps me to the ladder, but stops me from climbing up. Instead, we tread in place, both of us still grinning and panting.
“Which part?” Under the water, I feel his fingers lace into mine again. He brings my left hand to the surface, turning it so the ring can sparkle. “Jumping off a cliff, or getting engaged to me?”
“The jump,” I smile, finally catching my breath as he swims closer. He hangs onto the ladder above us with one hand. The other arm wraps around my waist and pulls my body to his. “Getting engaged to you…I had a feeling I’d get brave enough, one of these days.”
“Not as scary as it looks,” he smirks. A few pieces of hair fall into his eyes, dripping.
I push them back. “Just gotta jump in the right way,” I whisper, and bring my mouth to his.
Also by Piper Lennox
Love In Kona Series:
Pull Me Under
Standalones:
All Mine
Teach Me
The Road to You
It’s Complicated: A Novella
(Subscriber Exclusive)
Turn the page for a preview of Piper’s upcoming novel,
When We Break
(Love in Kona, Book Three)
Sneak Peak
When We Break
Colby
“I’m just calling it like I see it: this is creepy.”
“Noted,” my mother whispers, teeth gritted into a smile as the caterer approaches.
I slink away. This is my window, and I probably won’t get another until this party ends.
Outside the event room, I study the portrait. It’s huge and grainy, mounted to foam on an easel. “In Loving Memory” is scrawled in glitter underneath Eden’s name.
The dates sear my eyes. Too close together.
“Hi, is this the right place?”
I jump at the hand on my shoulder. It’s another reporter. Three are already
here: two local papers and a news anchor. There’s a rumor they’ll be selling their notes and footage to national outlets, and I believe it. People love a good tragedy.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Through those doors.”
She thanks me and breezes inside.
Funny: she didn’t even glance at Eden’s picture.
That’s the worst part about being here, in fact. There are pictures of Eden everywhere, propped on easels and scattered on tables. I haven’t noticed anyone else being gutted from the mere sight of them. They’re all so happy to remember. Even the tears I’ve witnessed are singular and smiling.
It’s still a tragedy, but an old one.
I, meanwhile, have a filet knife butterflying my stomach open. Navel to chest. My grief apparently lives inside some abdominal organ that never empties completely.
Stop.
I look at the photo again. It’s Eden’s senior portrait from high school, before the piercings and her neck tattoo. It’s no coincidence Aunt Rochelle chose this one to enlarge: moving to California to become an actress was bad enough. Giving up on acting, piercing your dimples, and getting a sugar skull etched into your skin in cotton candy ink was downright unthinkable.
But that was my cousin. Brave, bold, and full of surprises. Capable of anything. Especially the unthinkable.
Stop. Now.
Another sob worms out. I shouldn’t be crying. It’s been a year.
“Excuse me,” another voice asks, this one a man’s, “is this—”
“Yes,” I snap over my shoulder, without even turning around. I sense his footsteps behind me, shuffling and hesitating, before veering into the room.
The party was Aunt Rochelle’s idea. She thought it would be cathartic to meet the recipients of Eden’s organs, after reading schmaltzy stories online about mothers looking into their sons’ eyes once again. Children hugged strangers and listened to their fathers’ heartbeats.
“Don’t you think it’ll be nice?” Mom asked over the phone, when I told her I didn’t want to fly back to Kona for this shitshow. So far, only one organ recipient had responded yes, but my family was positive they’d come in droves. After all, who wouldn’t want to thank the family whose enormous, earth-shattering loss had given them a second chance at life? Who wouldn’t want a free trip to Hawaii?
“No. I think it’ll be weird as shit.”
Even the distance of the ocean couldn’t smother her sigh. “Colby. You’re coming home. End of discussion.”
“You can’t make me fly back,” I laughed.
“Hmm.” My mother clicked her tongue. “Maybe you can’t make us pay your rent next month.”
God. The lowest blow.
“Mom, seriously, I just....” My excuses shriveled up on my tongue. I just can’t. I still miss her too much.
I still get nightmares about her body. The thud when she hit the ground.
I still kind of hate her.
“It would mean the world to your aunt,” Mom said. “Just come home for one weekend, go to one party, and that’s it.”
“That’s it,” I echoed sarcastically.
Well, that was it: Dad paid a pretty penny to drag me out of California for a couple days, sending me the plane ticket without so much as a greeting. It was decided.
The flight was hell. Full of honeymooners already dawning leis and floral shirts, some turbulence that almost shook my breakfast loose, and a seatmate who thought I couldn’t see the porn he was watching on his phone.
All of Kona was electric with the news. Eden’s donor recipients were going to be treated like island royalty, from the looks of it: coffee plantations sent heaps of free samples to our house, where Aunt Rochelle now lived—in my room, no less—and I’d never seen more muffin baskets in my life.
“Wow.” I looked at the nine photo frames lined up on the kitchen table and tossed my luggage underneath it. Each held the same photo of Eden, laughing open-mouthed in front of the ocean. I knew this picture. It was her first day in California: she’d texted it to all of us back on the island.
“I thought the recipients might like a photo,” Aunt Rochelle explained. She brushed the Easter grass off her pants from the basket she was assembling and hugged me. “Good to see you, sweetie.”
“You, too. Are Mom and Dad here?”
“Your Mom is running an adoption event,” she answered, thinking, “and your Dad is....” Slowly, she smiled. “Oh. I’m not supposed to tell you.”
I smiled, too. Dad always bought my favorite ice cream from Kona Creamery whenever I visited, and I always pretended to be surprised when he gave it to me. A small tradition, but one worth keeping.
“So,” I said, taking the seat across from her and shoving a basket out of my vision, “all nine really said yes?”
Her face fell. Ever since Eden died, she wore a tentative smile at best—and broke into sudden, full sobs at worst—which slipped whenever people asked something too direct. And I, as I was often told, spoke far too directly for most tastes.
“Two,” she said, the smile bouncing back, fake. “But the other seven didn’t say no—they just…didn’t respond. So we’ll see.”
“Wait, you bought plane tickets for all nine?” The insanity of this party was now at its tipping point.
Hell, forget the party: Aunt Rochelle was losing her actual mind. And Mom too, probably, since I was sure she’d footed the bill.
“Yes,” she said, voice quiet, but defensive. “I also booked some suites at the resort. They gave me a discount.”
This sounded about right: everyone on the island had been giving my aunt deep discounts and freebies the last year. Not that she didn’t deserve them, and frankly, she needed them. She’d been so depressed that she stopped going to work, stopped paying her mortgage. Stopped everything.
For a few minutes, I felt guilty for thinking this party would be creepy and weird and tense. It still was all those things, at least for me—but for my aunt, maybe it would provide some kind of closure.
And, judging by the mountain of gifts on the table in front of us, it had given her a decent project to throw herself into.
“How’s Luka doing, anyway?” I asked, just to change the subject. “I see his brother around town, sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t know. His mother arranged the discount for me, when she heard about the party. No one sees him much, these days.”
“Kai said he’s turned into a workaholic. Who knew.”
“Oh, I’m not one bit surprised he’s thrown himself into that resort. All that energy when he was little had to lead somewhere.” Rochelle pulled a frame closer and fixed the latches on the back. “I hope everything goes well.”
I knew, from the way her smile faded, she was talking about the party again. “I’m sure it will,” I said noncommittally, rolling a can of coffee to myself and running my finger over the Grown in Kona imprint.
Of course, Rochelle was oblivious to the fact I wanted to talk about literally anything else. “I hope everyone got the letters. The donor program said they’d forward them to anyone who was open to correspondence, but couldn’t even tell me how many that was.”
By now, even the thought of my favorite ice cream made me want to puke. Social graces weren’t my specialty, but next to Rochelle, I looked like a freaking empath. She’d keep this conversation going no matter how curt my responses were. Including the “hmm” I let out as she added, “I do know which recipients are coming. Of the two that responded, I mean.”
When I didn’t ask the follow-up I knew she was trying to beam into my brain, she took a breath. Her smile flowed back. “One is a boy about your age—kidneys—and the other is a woman. She got her eyes.”
It was instant, the panic that churned in my stomach like a tsunami.
Kidneys? Sure, cool, whatever. You didn’t think about kidneys.
You didn’t see them.
But her eyes.
Staring into that murky blue again, for the first time in ten months. A stranger’s eyelids
blinking around each one.
A piece of her living on, blood pumping, tissue thriving, even though Eden herself was just an explosion of ashes in the ocean, by now.
“I’ll be right back.” I booked it to the backyard. The table shook as I left; I could still hear the freebie baskets rattling against each other when I slid the porch door shut behind me. A forest of wicker and swag and Easter grass.
The panic attacks were new. I hated them, for more reasons than the chest pain and complete loss of logic as my brain launched its own little horror film. It was inconvenient, striking just when I needed to hold it together the most; it was inconsistent, improving by leaps and bounds one week, before reaching a new all-time low the next.
More than anything, it made me feel weak. Which made me feel nothing like myself.
I paced our backyard in a circle and practiced the breathing tips I’d read about online. Then I picked through the panic, ignoring the rapid thoughts that didn’t make sense, until I found the one that did: I’d have to look Eden in the eyes all over again.
You can do this.
It would be an entirely new face. A new person. Without Eden’s fiery smile or easy wink, maybe her eyes wouldn’t even look like hers.
It’s just one day. You’ll survive.
I’d survived worse.
Orion
She was somebody’s daughter.
I actually threw up in my mouth.
This wasn’t my first rodeo. I know organs don’t appear by magic, and I knew it long before that letter showed up. Donors aren’t nameless. Even if you never learn their names.
Someone died, and I lived.
But to get actual proof that that “someone” was more than a Jane Doe in a filing cabinet? That was a first.
Her mother wanted to meet me.
“Free trip to Hawaii,” Walt offered at dinner, the day the letter arrived. I set it on the table in front of us, where we both read and re-read it without picking it up.