Leo jumped on my lap, gazing at me with sweet kitty concern, and with a heavy heart, I wrote a short letter to Jax.
After that, I packed up the rest of my stuff and the Salvation Army collected the furniture, I crammed what I could into my car, along with a mewing Leo in his cat carrier. The last thing I did was tape the letter to the front door. Then, I stole away into the night headed for Santa Cruz.
Jax would forgive me in time. He would just have to.
Jax
The last thing Tyler and I wanted for our parents was a funeral. Instead, we opted for cremation. I’ll never forget the way the impersonal, mortuary-issued box felt in my hand as I held the remains of the two people I had loved most. My mother, who had carried me in her womb, my father, who had guided me in becoming a man. Was this all they’d been reduced to? A pile of ground up bones and dust?
Tyler and I picked a day when the ocean was glassy and still to perform the paddle-out with the ashes of our parents. We stood together on the cliff overlooking the ocean in the early morning light, a gentle breeze tickling our faces. “I’ll go down first, and you hand everything to me,” I said. I shimmied down the rope, and Tyler handed me first his surfboard, then mine, and the two plastic freezer bags we’d crammed our parents’ remains into. Then he climbed down the rope. We looked at each other, and Tyler forced a smile. We had decided we wanted this to be a private event, and didn’t tell any of our parents’ friends or even Rosalyn our plan. As the sun gently crept over the horizon, the sky streaked with pink, white, and purple, a few seagulls circled overhead. Tyler and I each placed a bag onto the front of our boards and paddled out into the ocean. A few surfers paddled out to the lineup, but Tyler and I paddled farther out and farther south.
The sun hit my eyes as we sat on our boards, our legs dangling in the cool ocean. The water was especially clear, a few bright orange garibaldi swimming underneath our boards. “I guess this is it,” Tyler said. His shoulders were relaxed as his hands caressed the bag that held our father’s remains. “How are we supposed to do this?”
I shrugged. “Guess nobody wrote a manual.” A lump caught in my throat. I picked up my bag that contained what was left of my mom. “All they need to know is that we loved them.” Our family hadn’t been religious; the only thing we needed was each other. “So, I guess we just talk about how we loved them and stuff.”
Tyler nodded and clutched the bag to his chest. He cleared his throat. “I’ll start. Mom, Dad, you were the best parents any kids could ever hope for. I remember how much I bugged you guys for my guitar, and you finally got it for me. And Mom, I love the way you always made sure we had our lunches for school, and the way you made us keep our room clean, and the way you loved having our friends over, and making everybody dinner. Dad, I loved that you taught me to surf, and …” Tears filled Tyler’s eyes, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “And you taught me how to change the oil in your car, when all I wanted was to write another song.” He paused, took a deep breath and looked at me.
I clutched my mother’s remains in both hands, balancing myself on my board with my legs. “Mom … Dad … I love you. I’ll never stop loving you and thinking about you.” I blinked rapidly, as though somehow this whole nightmare would disappear. “You put up with me when I was a kid and drove you crazy tearing through the house destroying things. Do you remember the time I set off that firecracker and it almost singed my eyebrows?” I smiled. “And the one time I skipped school ‘cause the waves were really good and that kid from down the street ratted me out?” I wiped my eyes with my hand. “I never was any good at getting away with things.” I looked down. “Mom, I’m sorry you were upset about Rosalyn and me. I’m … I’m sorry that you never got to know that I found love.” I glanced up at Tyler. His hair fell into his face as he rubbed his hands on wetsuit clad legs.
Tyler and I sat on our boards as the wind whistled through our ears, a few pelicans dove for their breakfast, and the other surfers caught waves.
Tyler continued. “Jax and me … we’re going to make you proud.” He held the bag tighter. “We promise we’ll be good and work hard, and take care of each other and take care of all the people we love.” Tyler bowed his head. “We don’t want you to worry about us.”
I said, “You raised us right. You’re a part of us now, and you’ll never be far away. We’ll be together again one day, but for now, all we have to do is surf, and we’ll think of you because you’re part of the ocean.”
Tyler and I opened the bags for release into the ocean. The grey mixture of ground up bones sank to the depths, while the dusty parts were carried off by the breeze. When the bags were empty, Tyler and I held hands. He said, “You and me bro, we’re gonna make it.” In the distance, a pod of dolphins swam through the sea, their happy tails flicking up as they dove, then surfaced, gliding through their home.
I said, “Let’s surf.”
We spent the next hour surfing. It felt like someone else inhabited my body, like I was a ghost. I couldn’t stop thinking about my parents and what Tyler and I would become. I vowed we’d make them proud and that we’d always remember the things they’d taught us. I knew that part of being a good person was taking care of the people I loved, and I knew that what Rosalyn and I had was real. I was certain that, once we dealt with the grief and some time passed, we would figure out a way to have a happy life together. It was with that thought that I went to Rosalyn’s that day.
When I arrived, her car was gone. An envelope with my name written in Rosalyn’s loopy handwriting was taped to the front door. I ripped the envelope off, pounded on the door, and when there was no answer, I used the key she’d given me to enter the apartment. The place was in disarray, furniture and things cast aside. Rushing through the small rooms, panic sent pinpricks up my spine, and I could barely breathe. “Rosalyn!” I jerked open the closet door to find a few lonely hangers in the empty space. Rosalyn was gone. Leo was gone. The only thing Rosalyn had left on the wall was the painting of the sunset we’d stolen from the abandoned house. Seriously?
The envelope burned a hole through my hand.
I shoved through the front door, slamming it behind me, and sat on the stoop to read the letter.
Dear Jax,
I can’t believe that it’s come to this point, and I’m sorry beyond words. When I first moved to Point Loma and met you, I was filled with happiness at being welcomed into your family. You made me laugh and smile, and the two of us turned out to be great friends, didn’t we?
What I wasn’t counting on was that you and I were going to connect the way we did. God, this is hard baby, but I don’t know how else to tell you that yes, I do have feelings for you, and that’s why I have to leave. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and it’s going to be a great life. If I was in the picture, things would be screwed up for you, and you deserve better. I know you think you’re in love with me, but you can’t know that at your age. You’ll see, as time goes on, that there are other women who you will grow to love, women that you can have a real relationship and future with.
Don’t look for me, you won’t be able to find me. I want you to have a chance at your own life without me confusing it.
Please don’t be mad at me.
Love,
Rosalyn
I read the letter, anger swelling up inside me. How the fuck did Rosalyn know what was right for me? How dare she make these decisions without me? I ripped the letter to shreds and let it fly in the breeze where it stuck to the dew on the green lawn.
As I sat on the stoop, blood whooshed through my ears, my nostrils flared, and my fists clenched so hard that my arms ached. I popped up, barreled through the door, and ripped the painting off the wall. Then, I bolted down the steps, threw the painting in the backseat of my car, and peeled out of the driveway. My vision blurred with rage as I sped down to Sunset Cliffs where I grabbed my surfboard. I didn’t even bother with the rope as I scrambled across the rocks and boulders to jump off the cliff into t
he ocean with my board. I landed with a smack and paddled furiously out to the lineup where I caught wave after wave, not stopping to eat or drink or even sit and talk to anyone. I surfed through tide changes and different wind conditions, and I even kept going when a fog bank crept in and I could barely see the next set of waves. Fuck Rosalyn! Let her go and have her grand adventure or whatever it was she thought was best for both of us. Thinking about the tone of that letter made my blood boil. How dare she?
I paddled close to the spot where, just that very morning, Tyler and I had attempted to come to terms with our parents’ death. What had we done to deserve losing both our parents? Tears mixed with seawater, and I angrily brushed them away and paddled into another wave. First my parents were gone, and now Rosalyn thought she made things better by packing up and leaving?
When the sun finally set, I crawled back to my car where I sat, pounding the steering wheel until a torrent of tears engulfed me. Tears for my parents, tears for Tyler and me, and tears for what could’ve been between Rosalyn and me.
The first month that Rosalyn was gone, I was certain that she would come back or, at the very least, try to get in contact with me. So I waited. The crippling grief over losing my parents was compounded by losing Rosalyn, and I spent a lot of time surfing, running, and even doing yoga. Anything to quell the sadness.
As the months went on, the thoughts drove me crazy. What did I do wrong? Was it because I told her I loved her? Was I not enough? I knew she thought I was young, but that didn’t matter because we were so right together. My rational mind tried to figure out how to make things better, but my heart was broken. I would go down to Sunset Cliffs for epic surf sessions and afterward, sit overlooking the ocean as the sun set, remembering her smile, her laugh, the warmth of her body, and her sandalwood scent. Sometimes I would sit there late into the night listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks below. Then I’d look up at the stars that, I swear, still spelled out her name.
I missed my parents.
I missed Rosalyn.
My folks were dead, but Rosalyn, as far as I knew, was still alive. How could she do this to me? To us? I couldn’t understand how she just bolted out of my life at a time when I needed her most and after all we’d shared.
Tyler and I moved out of the house in Point Loma because the bank advised us that there was no equity, and we discovered that no provisions had been made as far as a will or life insurance. Tyler and I were on our own.
We teamed up and rented an apartment in Ocean Beach because the rent was cheap. We worked at whatever odd jobs we could get, busboy, waiter, construction laborer and I gave surf lessons at a local surf shop. Anything to put food on the table.
All that first year, I tried to find Rosalyn, but Rosalyn didn’t want to be found. I tried typing her name into various Internet search engines, but honestly, I didn’t know where to look. I called directory assistance in New Mexico, thinking that maybe she’d gone there. I asked around at the school she’d attended.
I missed Rosalyn, and I couldn’t understand what had happened. But what choice did I have?
About a year after Rosalyn left, I stopped waiting. I decided to take everything she’d taught me and put it to good use with women. If I couldn’t have her, I knew that I could at least have sex with the many women I met at the beach, women who were more than happy to spend a night or a few weeks with an athlete. I became quite popular.
When I met a woman I was interested in, I’d smile, hold her gaze longer than necessary, offer her my sweatshirt on a cool night, and put my arm around her. Then it was an easy matter of kissing her gently, stroking her hair and back, and kissing her ears and neck. In no time, I had my target in my bed where I could work the Rosalyn Richards school of sexual magic.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever met who knows exactly how I like it,” was a common refrain. I don’t mean to sound egotistical in saying that I knew what women liked because the women and all my sexual encounters helped me just as much as it helped them; there’s nothing like a fifty foot wave or a mind-blowing orgasm to make everything in the world right again. And I loved each and every one of the women that I romanced and had sex with. Females are so pretty, delicate, and deserving of attention and love. I devoured those women. But no one could compare to Rosalyn.
I made a vow that I would never fall in love like I had with Rosalyn. Because it hurt like hell when she left.
Tyler went on to become wildly successful with his band, and I became involved in the pro-surfing tour, which eventually morphed into my real love: big wave surfing. I qualified as one of twelve regulars competing on the Big Wave World Tour, and my life centered around training and becoming stronger physically.
Tyler and I saw each other as often as possible between his busy touring dates. But even when we weren’t together, we connected by phone every single day.
Tyler and I were best friends to each other during our twenties. Then Tyler was wrenched from my life in the most horrible way.
When Tyler was thirty and I was twenty-nine, my only brother, my only family, the one person in the world who I truly loved, was murdered.
Tyler had purchased his home in Twentynine Palms, California as a way to escape the hustle and bustle of the insane life of touring with the band. And that’s where he met the woman who would kill him. She was an alluring supermodel type, a mail order bride from Ukraine, whom some desperate man had brought into the United States. The way the story went, she’d gotten into an argument with her husband, left him, and drove to Twentynine Palms where she met my brother. They’d only spent a few days together, but it was long enough for her to entrance Tyler into having a brief affair. All I heard from Tyler was in the last voice mail I received from him. His voice was filled with excitement. “I met someone.” I never had a chance to talk to my brother again because that night this psycho lady killed him. This crazy bitch poisoned him with a pie she’d baked containing a species of highly toxic berries. Every time I think about what happened to my brother that night, I retch, my throat closing up almost as if I’m going to barf. The night of the poisoning, Tyler drove himself to the local hospital and was dead a few hours later. I’d researched the poison and discovered that it caused severe stomach cramps, vomiting, coma, and then death. The doctors who treated Tyler told me that at first, they didn’t know what he’d ingested. They tried pumping his stomach, but as far as I was concerned they didn’t try hard enough to save my brother.
This mentally ill woman had already poisoned one man, her abusive first husband, and Tyler was next on the list. Dissociative Identity Disorder is what the high-priced Stanford graduate psychiatrist who’d taken on her case had diagnosed. I’ll never forget the headline that screamed from the tabloids: Black Russian Widow Gives Tyler Priest the Kiss of Death.
My protective shield closed around me and slammed shut forcefully the day that I had to identify Tyler’s body. I don’t even want to think about what that day was like as I entered yet another coroner’s office. I took refuge from the triple digit heat in the building’s interior, only to feel cold to my bones when I saw my brother’s face. I started hyperventilating as I stared at Tyler’s body, and then anger crept over me, a slow burn that started at my feet, made its way up my spine and exploded in my head. I’m never going to feel this deep despair again. I shrugged the Grim Reaper away as my resolve to somehow move forward galvanized. I would find my own way in life.
END OF BOOK ONE
* * *
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In Book Two, Surge of Lust, Jax gives surf lessons to wealthy OC housewife Sandy Farnsworth’s son. But Sandy wants more than surf instruction. She thinks Jax will make the perfect paid sex partner. When Rosalyn reappears, the stage is set for the tantalizing finale. Like the intense waves, this story will pick you up and take you on a wild ride. CLICK HERE NOW!
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THANKS FROM JENNIFER
Thank you so much for reading Peaks of Passion – Pleasure Point Series Book One. I need to thank some of the folks who’ve made this book possible. Big thanks to all my early readers: Kerry Pedlow, Cheryl Choate, Jennille Smith, Robby Sap, Athena Bedford and Ali Maton.
My editors, Alyssa Archer and Leslie Watts, deserve an acknowledgment all their own for their impeccable work. Their editorial comments, line edits and proofreads are fantastic. It’s a pleasure to work with these smart, good-looking, fun, detail-oriented women. Your friendship is a rare treasure.
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Peaks of Passion: Pleasure Point Series Book One Page 18