Gnarly

by Mickie B. Ashling

  When the last of the customers had cleared out, the kitchen help dismissed, the bar wiped down, and everything put back in place, Javi and Patxi locked up and left together. Silent until they were almost at Javi’s door, he turned and asked his father, “Do you think you could drive me to the clinic tomorrow?”

  “Are you sick?” Patxi asked immediately.

  “No,” Javi assured him. “I’d like someone to teach me how to work with the prosthesis.”

  “I thought you hated it,” Patxi remarked. “Didn’t you tell me you’d thrown it away?”

  Javi sighed. “Yeah, but not as much as I hate being crippled. And I didn’t throw it away, Aita. It’s buried in one of my closets.”

  Patxi grunted. “I don’t suppose this sudden need has anything to do with the American.”

  “Do you want the truth or a lie?”

  “What do you think?” Patxi raised an eyebrow.

  “I made a mistake a few days ago and I want to try and fix it.”

  “Good,” Patxi said approvingly. “I’m glad you’re coming to your senses. What time do you want to go tomorrow?”

  “I’ll call them when I wake up and let you know.”

  “You might have to wait a few days,” Patxi warned. “Those people are busy.”

  “I’ll beg,” Javi said. “Trust me. We’re going tomorrow.”

  Patxi chuckled. “Okay. Call me with a time.”

  AS IT turned out, Patxi was right, and Javi’s whining only resulted in a shorter wait. They could see him in two days. Normally he’d have to wait at least a week, but he was a local celebrity, albeit a washed-up one, and the people at the clinic squeezed him in as an emergency.

  After hanging up, he called his father to give him the news on the appointment. Since he had nothing else planned for the morning, he decided to start working on his tan. He didn’t have to be back at the bar until six o’clock in the evening and it wasn’t even noon. There would be plenty of time to soak up some rays.

  It took him thirty minutes to get to the promenade when it should have only taken five. By the time he arrived, he was soaked in sweat and in a foul mood. Reluctant to expose his stump, Javi wore a pair of faded jeans instead of his board shorts. The denim was too thick for this warm summer day, but the thought of curious or sympathetic glances aimed at his missing foot was worse. He’d rather suffer the blistering heat than the shame.

  All that aside, sitting on the low concrete wall that separated the promenade from the beach felt like an accomplishment. He’d come on his own instead of relying on a family member. Javi fumed when he needed help, and he couldn’t stomach the pity that came with the offered hand. He’d always been an independent free spirit who didn’t like being questioned or following rules. Watching the waves curl and break on the shore made him sick with longing. He wanted to tear off his clothes, race across the sand, and dive into the surf as he’d done a million times before. It was low tide, and there were classic left-handers in five-foot swells from the end of the breakwater ripping toward the beach. He’d have been right there with all the other surfers, whooping it up and enjoying the day. Instead he was tethered to his crutches due to his stubborn denial.

  Not for the first time, he thought about Bethany Hamilton, the American pro surfer who’d lost her arm to a shark attack when she was only thirteen. She’d recovered, shaken off the tragedy, and hopped back onto her board, winning many tournaments. Why wasn’t he as resilient? How had he let this accident define him so badly? Was the fearless optimism of youth the determining factor in making a full recovery? If so, he was doomed.

  He pulled off his T-shirt in one angry move, determined to at least get some sun on his arms and chest. Not unmindful of the harmful effect on his pale skin, he sprayed himself liberally with the sunscreen he’d purchased a while back. It hadn’t expired yet, and he was certain it would keep him from frying like the fresh anchovies they served at the bar. He swept the landscape with his good eye, wondering if Ed was out there among the crowd. Even if he was, did Javi think he’d get a friendly smile after the way he’d been acting? Hardly. He’d be lucky if Ed acknowledged him at all.

  Time ticked by as he lost himself to the pleasurable experience of being back in his element. From the very first time Patxi had carried him to the beach as a toddler, Javi had loved the ocean. Unlike most children, who balked at waves, little Javi barreled through the froth, frightening his father and lifeguards into action. Very often he’d been pulled out of the drink, coughing and spitting up seawater, but always with a triumphant grin on his face. Swimming lessons were almost superfluous to a kid who’d jokingly remarked he was a merman. Nonetheless, Patxi insisted he receive proper training, and Javi passed all the classes easily.

  It wasn’t hard to understand his desire to become a professional surfer. What did shock and surprise the town was his homosexuality. Patxi’s generation associated queers with mama’s boys and weakness. In Javi’s case, the math didn’t add up. The boy and his father were inseparable, going from one manly pursuit to the next. His mother, Teresita, adored her only son but was closer to her daughters. Patxi had final say in Javi’s upbringing, which was all well and good until the scrappy and fearless boy announced he was gay.

  At first, his father was certain Javi was going through a phase. He’d always been quick to take up a dare and try anything new. Through his sport, he’d met and hung out with surfers from all over the world, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine the partying that went on after the surfboards were put away. Booze and danger were synonymous with sex, and Patxi attributed Javi’s sidestep into the world of homosexuals to his extreme sport and new friends. It took him years to understand and finally accept the truth. His parenting had nothing to do with his son’s orientation. Javi was hardwired to be gay, just as he was naturally inclined to the sea. It was preordained, and once Patxi made peace with it, he set the wagging tongues to rest with his scathing remarks and unconditional support. Eventually Javi’s orientation became a nonissue, but he remained a favorite topic of discussion due to his prowess and success as a pro surfer.

  Despite his long absence, people knew him on sight, and Javi acknowledged the tentative greetings with a friendly smile. Seeing this, other young surfers, who’d been afraid to approach, walked up and started asking questions. Within minutes, Javi was surrounded by surfing aficionados, and as he fielded one question after another about his beloved sport, he realized there was much he had to offer by way of knowledge. He didn’t have to be on a board to get his point across.

  He was momentarily distracted when Ed walked by with someone Javi didn’t recognize. The stranger was sporting a lifeguard’s shorts and had his arm slung over Ed’s shoulder like it belonged there. Javi knew almost everyone who surfed in San Sebastián, and he sure as hell would have remembered this guy. He was ripped in the right places and golden brown from long hours spent in the sun. Shaggy brown hair hanging down almost to his shoulders only enhanced his masculinity. He was hot, and Javi was sick with envy. Who in the fuck was he?

  As if they’d heard, the pair stopped in front of Javi.

  “How’s it going?” Ed asked.

  He sounded so calm, Javi thought, as if their last encounter hadn’t been contentious as hell.

  “All good,” Javi replied, continuing the charade. “Who’s your friend?”

  Ed made the introductions, introducing Javi to Iker. Sex on legs stepped forward and offered a hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Elizalde.”

  “Call me Javi.”

  “Thanks,” Iker replied, rewarding Javi with a megawatt smile. “I’d love to talk to you about surfing someday.”

  “Are you new in town?” Javi asked.

  “I’ve been here about six months.”

  “That’s why I don’t know you. Where are you from?”

  “I heard about your accident,” Iker said, changing the subject. “Tough break.”

  Javi snorted. “You could call it that.”

  “Mayb
e we can sit down for a drink and shoot the shit,” Iker said.

  “Anytime,” Javi lied. “I’m bartending most evenings. You should stop by.”

  Iker turned to Ed. “Do you know which bar he means?”

  Ed acknowledged with a silent nod.

  “Maybe we’ll see you tonight,” Iker said, turning to Ed questioningly.

  “We’ll see how things play out,” Ed replied frostily.

  Javi wanted to say or do something nasty to derail Doctor High and Mighty. Turning toward Iker and those amazingly blue eyes, he offered, “I can give you directions to the bar if you want to come by yourself.”

  Ed’s cool façade slipped and he snarled, “I’ll bring him.”

  Checkmate.

  Javi grinned. “See you guys later.”

  Chapter 8

  ED TRIED to mask his irritation, but his astute companion, who’d only known him for twenty-four hours, was feeling the tension.

  “How long have you known Javi?” Iker asked as they walked toward Ed’s apartment building.

  “Actually, I met him years ago when we were both in our early twenties, but we lost touch afterward,” Ed said, measuring his words. “This is the first time I’ve been back in the area since then. I knew nothing about the accident until I visited him almost a week ago. Seeing him like this has been a bit of a shock.”

  “You know he’s a legend among surfers,” Iker said.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Were you lovers?” Iker asked.

  “What makes you think that?” Ed asked defensively.

  “Javi’s reputation goes beyond surfing,” Iker said pointedly. “And I might be wrong, but I sense a connection between you two.”

  Ed shrugged off Iker’s arm and picked up his pace, a little uncomfortable with his questions and demonstrative nature. He’d allowed the PDA earlier after spying Javi on the promenade, but now that they were out of sight, Ed needed to end the game. He knew he’d been wrong to use Iker this way, and not for the first time. Last night, when he’d crashed into Javi on the street, a future date with the lifeguard had been implied. Telling the truth—two drinks and a discussion on drowning and CPR techniques—wouldn’t have elicited the desired response. Ed was aware he was being juvenile, but Javi’s rejection had stung, and the unmistakable signs of jealousy on Javi’s face were as good an excuse as any to act like a frat boy instead of the responsible doctor he was supposed to be.

  Still, it was a shitty thing to do, and he didn’t want Iker to get the wrong idea. Nothing physical was going to happen between them until he figured out where this unbridled lust was coming from. Ed couldn’t deny the attraction, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Just because he was away from the curious and often judgmental eyes of his peers didn’t give him carte blanche to turn into a sex fiend. He wondered if he’d be so reluctant if two women were involved. Probably not. He’d embrace the resurgence of his libido with open arms.

  And therein lay the problem. As a man of science, Ed ought to know why he was suddenly craving a man’s touch. Instead, he was floundering, walking around like a hormonal teen imagining not one, but two men in his bed. Christ! Talk about delusional….

  Thirty years was a long time to bury his orientation. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced he was bisexual. He had to be. You didn’t just wake up after years of deriving pleasure from a woman and decide it had been a mistake. He’d loved Carol. They’d had a healthy sex life. Not once in their years of marriage had he felt deprived or looked to the opposite sex for relief. He hadn’t thought of Javi until after Carol’s death, and even then, it had been in a moment of desperation.

  Once Ed had decided it was time to rejoin life, he was dismayed to find that his body refused to cooperate. Impotence had never been a problem in the past, so he forged on, convincing himself he hadn’t met the right lady. He tried dating but always with no success. It was only when he resurrected long-forgotten memories of his time with Javi that his body came alive. Picturing the beautiful young surfer on his knees tonguing his slit made him hard within seconds. Ed’s libido gleefully skipped back to a place in time when all of life’s challenges were far in the future and the only thing on the agenda was fucking Javi. Six wild weeks when pleasure had superseded logic.

  After his foray into the dating scene had failed, he retreated from life again. Women who were initially interested in Chicago’s most eligible widower realized Ed was only going through the motions. Rumors of his lack of initiative or supposed impotence began to circulate and women stopped calling. And then he’d decided to come to Spain.

  “Ed,” Iker said, shaking him slightly.

  Pulled from the past, Ed stared at Iker like he was a gorgeous apparition. “Sorry, buddy, I must have zoned out.”

  Iker chuckled. “You were deep in thought.”

  Guiltily, Ed invited him upstairs for a drink. He felt foolish for his erratic behavior. Iker had been nothing but a straight shooter since they went out last night, and he didn’t deserve to be a pawn in this ridiculous game he and Javi had started.

  “Wouldn’t you rather be alone?” Iker asked. “You don’t look like you’re in the mood for company. Was it something I said?”

  Once again, Ed felt a knot of guilt in his stomach. Iker wasn’t just a pretty face. He was a nice guy and much more intuitive than Ed realized.

  “Don’t be silly,” Ed replied. “I’m still getting used to the timetable. My stomach is telling me I need lunch, but none of the restaurants are ready to serve yet.”

  Iker glanced at his watch. “They won’t be open for another hour. Do you want to grab some pintxos instead?” he suggested. “They’re always laid out early.”

  “Nah, I’d like to have a full lunch. Let’s go upstairs and have a drink while we’re waiting until two o’clock. It’ll give us a chance to talk and relax.”

  “That sounds good,” Iker said.

  “What’ll you have?” Ed asked when they reached his kitchen.

  “Do you have any beer?”

  “Sure.” Ed pulled a longneck out of the fridge. “Alhambra okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Iker reached for the bottle, and Ed watched him wrap full lips on the opening and drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and the butterflies that had taken up residence in the pit of Ed’s stomach since he’d first laid eyes on the lifeguard were back in full force. Iker had pulled his long hair up in a man bun as they walked, and yet it did nothing to detract from his masculinity. Heavy scruff covered his jaw, and for the first time, Ed noticed a small tattoo behind Iker’s left ear. It looked like a basket of sorts.

  “What’s the significance of your tat?”

  Iker touched it gingerly with his free hand and smiled. “It’s a cesta.”

  “A what?”

  “Have you ever heard of the game jai alai?”

  “Yes, but I’ve never watched it.”

  “It’s a Basque sport. Faster than handball and more dangerous. The cesta is like our mitt, used to scoop and throw the ball against the three-walled court,” Iker explained. “I was a professional at the fronton in Miami. My contract ended six months ago, and there was no way I could stay in Florida without a working visa.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you speak English?” Ed remarked. “You do, don’t you?”

  “My accent is as thick as tomato sauce,” Iker said, flushing in embarrassment.

  “Speaking another language is always a plus,” Ed said reassuringly. “The accent doesn’t take away the meaning of the words.”

  “I try and speak it as often as possible.”

  “Let’s switch to English, then,” Ed said. “It’ll make conversation a lot easier if I don’t have to search for the right words.”

  “Okay,” Iker said.

  “Why aren’t you playing jai alai here?”

  “I’m too old,” Iker pronounced. “And there’s no money in the sport like before. Plus now, it’s only played i
n the summer.”

  “Seriously? How old are you?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  “That’s not old,” Ed scoffed.

  “It is if you started playing at fourteen.”

  Ed whistled in disbelief. “I guess you’re right when you put it in perspective. So what do you do when you’re not saving drowning victims?”

  “Unfortunately, there’s no work for someone with my limited education. I never went to college. I learned CPR in the States and took the refresher course here to get licensed. I’ve been living on my savings and the pittance I make as a lifeguard. Eventually the money will run out and I’ll be in trouble.”

  Ed frowned. “That’s a disturbing thought.”

  Iker shrugged. “Would you be interested in watching jai alai?”

  “Yeah,” Ed said. “I’m very interested.”

  “There are several kinds. One is cesta punta, which is what I played, and there’s also pelota mano, where you use your hands instead of a cesta.”

  “I’d rather watch your kind.”

  “We’ll have to rent a car so we can go to Markina. Or go by bus.”

  “No, I’ll rent a car.”

  “Okay,” Iker replied. “I’ll check the schedule for the game times.”

  OVER A hearty lunch, Ed continued to ask more questions about jai alai because he liked seeing Iker’s face light up with enthusiasm. Although retired from the sport, he was obviously still very much in love with it. His expression resembled Javi’s when he talked about surfing. It was ironic that both men were still attached to sports they no longer played. And funnier still was the fact that Ed, the least sporty person in the world, was attracted to their energy.

  “When I was growing up, jai alai players were rich and famous,” Iker recounted. “Going to a game was as important as going to a bullfight or the opera. Now it’s a dying sport. There aren’t many frontons left in the States, and they’re relatively deserted except for the hard-core gamblers. It’s really sad.”