Everything was going great riding the wall, adrenaline ruled the moment and, like a bucking bronco, the Herculean power of the Poseidon launched him and his board off the water and into the air. Which was incredible. Like he could fly. For a moment. Until on landing he buried the nose of his board into the water and wiped out, face-first.
He’d pearled plenty of times in his surfing career, but never on a wave with the magnitude of a gulf storm. Over and over he tumbled under the water, waves pounding him down, down, down, water rushing up his nose, stealing his breath. Adrenaline keeping him alert. Finally, it dropped him on something hard, knocking his head. He opened his eyes to red billows. Fortunately, there weren’t sharks in these parts.
As if in slow motion, the wipeout continued, tossing, battering him, chewing him up and eventually spitting him out on the shore. He struggled to get his bearings, but somehow made it to his feet, having no clue where he or his board was, and not really caring about the board. Then he felt two sets of hands under both of his elbows.
“You okay, man?” one of the lifeguards asked.
Shaken to the core, but not about to let the world know, he fudged. “Yeah, wow, what a ride.”
*
Laurel’s heart, like that wave, rose from chest to throat to toes. The sight of Mark getting knocked off his board, going under for what seemed like forever, then showing up on the shore with his head bleeding was her undoing. Seeing him need help, struggle to stand, spiked her rapidly beating heart down to her stomach. She thought she might hurl or pass out, so she sat before she could fall. The overworked lifeguards didn’t need two patients.
Peter ran toward Mark, the girls clustered near her. She had to keep it together for their sake, but she could barely stand. She’d slipped up and fallen for him, hard. She’d ignored the warnings and overlooked the fear, and when she’d tried to be honest with herself, to admit that she’d gotten too involved with him, too soon, she’d brushed it off. Now she paid the price of caring.
Her pulse felt like a machine gun in her neck and chest. Thank God, he was okay. And she wanted to kill him for putting her and the kids through this reckless stunt. Did he not give a damn about her or them?
Walking like a zombie, she followed the crowd, because she had to know he was okay.
His stupid, stupid risk-taking had outed her. Her feelings. Behind her smiles and feigned confidence, she was still very much afraid of what life did to people. She cared for Mark, which she was in no way ready to grapple with. It was too soon after Alan. Now, Mark’s rash actions had forced her to face her feelings and fears head-on, before she’d processed who they were together and what they were doing. Her carefree fling had turned into a nightmare right before her eyes. She’d been such a liar to herself.
She glanced ahead at the man lying on the sand, the guy she’d just been forced to admit she loved, thanks to his thoughtlessness. He could have broken his neck out there! Right in front of the kids. Did he even think about that?
They’d all been through enough loss for a lifetime.
On shaky legs, she approached the spot where the lifeguards were tending to his head wound and checking out the rest of his body. Seeing him on the sand—getting butterfly strips applied to the gash above his eyebrow—the pain she’d suffered by losing Alan came rushing back. Panic set in. Feeling scared to death, because she’d dared to open her heart again, she let anger take charge. She knew she could never survive losing anyone she loved, ever again.
And he’d risked his life for fun!
What’d that say about how he’d handle her love?
“He’s okay, just some cuts and bruises,” one of the lifeguards said, seeing Laurel and her apparent ashen color.
“It’s a badge of honor, babe,” Mark said, sounding giddy or maybe punchy from the beating he’d just taken.
A hazy red wall circled her. She was so angry she couldn’t say a word.
Peter and the girls ran up, the spectacle too hard to resist.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he answered their questions, sat up to prove it, looking disoriented or dizzy. Laughing. A lunatic. He had to be.
How could she fall for someone who didn’t care if he lived or died?
She stood there, hands on her hips, so wrapped up in fear and anger, she was unable to show an ounce of compassion or relief. The damage had been done. Her nervous system had reverted to overload. Her worst memories ever.
His grandfather and mother jogged across the sand. Laurel barely noticed until Padraig spoke. “Are you okay, lad?”
“Mark, what were you thinking?” Maureen scolded.
Her old nemesis had returned. Fear. Now close to a panic attack, she fought the primal sound fighting its way from deep in her belly to her throat. But lost. A wail escaped her lips. She shook her head. The sound quickly turned to a scream.
Mark jumped to his feet and grabbed her. She fought him. He’d made her like this, he couldn’t touch her. From the periphery, she saw her little girls and Peter recoiling. Not because of Mark’s accident, but because of her reaction to it. Like the night their father died. She’d lost control, and Mark had to fight her flailing arms before he could wrap his around her and hold her tight and stationary.
She groaned and cried, completely out of control, her nose running as much as her eyes. Unwavering, and so much stronger, he forced her still.
“I’m okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay,” he chanted over and over, for what seemed like minutes, until she quit fighting. Whether from exhaustion or his calming effect, she settled down. He’d forced her to.
“Is she okay?” Maureen asked, concern obvious. “Let’s have her sit down. Bring her here.”
Mark escorted Laurel, shaken to the point of rubber-band legs, to the beach chair. He nearly had to carry her the last few steps. She thudded into the chair and buried her face in her trembling hands. Nowhere near ready to face Mark, or anyone else, she stayed that way for what seemed like minutes. Humiliated on so many levels.
“You shocked her, that’s what you did, son,” Padraig said, stating the obvious. “What she needs is some good Irish whiskey.” The words trailed away as he headed off.
The thought of anything going in her mouth made her gag. Mark stayed by her side rubbing her back, as she shivered and dry-heaved, until finally her body began to put itself back together again. It was then she noticed she was surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. More humiliation. She’d made a spectacle of herself, had probably embarrassed her kids beyond repair.
All because she’d let herself do something she had no business ever doing again—caring for Mark.
Obligation weighed as heavy on her shoulders as the stares from the lookie-loos. She struggled to make her mouth move. “I’m sorry I ruined things,” she pleaded to her kids, who stood silent with fearful expressions on their faces.
Grandda was back with whiskey, and she took a swallow, letting it burn down her throat and esophagus. She coughed. Couldn’t help it.
The crowd lost interest once she’d quit screaming and yelling, and had already disbursed. Mark was still at her side, stroking her arm, concern so prominent in those blue eyes, she couldn’t bear to look at him. She took another swallow of Padraig’s magic elixir and began to feel warm and lighter, the nerves letting go of their choke hold. She closed her eyes and drifted, as images of the day Alan died, and the deepest pain she’d ever known, replayed.
Mark had released her demons. She’d fooled herself into thinking this, whatever she had with Mark, was different, or was easier. But losing someone she loved had left a scar so deep it would never heal. Today had forced her to face the fact she’d never be normal in a relationship again.
A minute later, “I’m sorry I ruined things,” she whispered, her eyes remaining closed, accepting she couldn’t do this again. Fall for someone. Ever.
*
Laurel’s extreme reaction to his accident freaked Mark out. She’d acted like he’d tried to kill himself in fr
ont of her and the children. Which, when he thought clearly about his impulse to surf the wild waves, came pretty close to the description. Bonehead! But she’d always seemed so together under pressure. So calm about dealing with life. He’d assumed being a widow at such an early age had taught her how to roll with the punches.
He ran fingers through his wet and sandy hair. He’d messed up. Made a bad decision. And Laurel had completely lost it.
“If anyone ruined the day, it was me, babe. I take full responsibility.”
She didn’t open her eyes. Nor did she relax.
“Peter? Don’t ever think about showing off for a girl,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, but failing miserably. “That’s what I just did for—” He stopped himself from saying “for your mother,” realizing it might open a whole other can of worms—dating was one thing, but the fact they’d become emotionally involved, well, baby steps. Especially after insisting to Peter that they were friends just like he and Peter were friends. So he made an immediate edit to his sentence “—you guys, and look where it got me. Your mother’s a nervous wreck on account of me.” He turned his attention back to the shattered woman next to him in the beach chair, then dropped to his knees. “I am so, so sorry, Laurel.”
His mother had taken off and now came back with a cool compress, placing it on Laurel’s forehead. “This might help, dear,” she cooed.
Laurel whimpered in reply, while his mother patted Laurel’s hand and fussed with a few stray strands of hair around her face.
He felt useless…because the damage had already been done. He couldn’t take it back. He’d been careless, and she’d paid.
Having seen her meltdown, and how devastating it was to her kids, Mark was overcome with guilt. On top of the aches and pains, not to mention the humongous headache he had, his stomach roiled. A premonition that he’d done something irreparable sent a deep chill through him.
Laurel shook her head, opened her eyes and sat up, looking like her usual self.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded. “I’m fine. Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. This is all on me.”
She tried to get up, but needed Mark’s help. “Peter,” she said, “can you get the picnic basket and, girls, help him gather the plates and food?”
Was she back on track or faking it? Mark knew her well enough to suspect she’d forced herself into mommy mode because she had no other choice. Because of him. Once again, his stomach went sour at the thought of what he’d put her through.
The group walked her back home, his mother and grandfather taking off across the street when they reached the B&B and deposited the beach chairs on the lawn. He guided her up the walkway to the steps. She stopped at the door. “I think I’m going to lie down, if you don’t mind,” she said, her eyes never finding his.
“You need me to watch the kids?”
“I’ll do it,” Peter broke in, as though sensing his mother needed time alone. Away from Mark. And making it obvious they were a family and he was the outsider.
“If you need anything, call me, okay?” He said it to Peter, but meant it for Laurel’s ears. “I’ll be here in a flash.”
“Is my mommy okay-oh?” Gracie asked, her voice trembling, as her lower lip quivered.
Mark knelt to answer. “She’s shook up. It’s my fault. You take good care of her, okay?”
“We will,” Claire said, sounding far more confident than her sister.
Some teenager Mark didn’t know ran up the walkway. “Sir? They think they found your surfboard.”
With that, and a heavy heart, and one hell of a throbbing headache, he left Laurel and her children to themselves, and took off to find a surfboard he’d just as soon never see again. And after that, he needed a bottle of aspirin.
*
Sometime around seven, Laurel, feeling half human again, had showered and eaten—if two bites counted for a meal—and had gotten the kids settled in. The twins watched an animated movie, and Peter was content playing a video game. Still shaken to the core, but back in control, she texted Mark: Can we talk?
She’d spent a lot of time thinking about what she wanted to say while in the shower, almost running out the hot water heater. Then more before she took a nap.
No sooner had the message been sent than she got his reply: Be right there.
She wished she had another jigger of Padraig’s whiskey to give her the confidence to say what needed to be said. Mark was a wonderful man, but today he’d reminded her of the most important lesson of her life.
He tapped on her door, and though she didn’t feel anywhere near ready, she opened it and let the man she’d regretted letting her barriers down for come in. With her insides zigzagging to her toes, she led the way to the living room. Now all she had to do was explain it to him. That after tonight she couldn’t go on seeing him.
Chapter Eight
Dread threaded through every capillary as Mark sat on the small sofa in the B&B living room. Laurel had made sure there was one cushion between them, which ramped up his regret. He’d pulled one of the dumbest things in his life that afternoon, thinking he could surf the mother of all waves. Nearly got himself killed, too. After the new territory they’d entered the last couple of weeks, he couldn’t blame her for being pissed.
“I’m sorry, Laurel. I swear I’ll never be that reckless again.” He hoped to preempt her.
“It’s not that easy. I wish it were.” She stared out the window.
Mark followed her line of vision and noticed one of the letters on The Drumcliffe sign had gone out—HOT L—and made a mental note to fix it. How had that slipped by him? Because he’d been too busy falling for Laurel? And why couldn’t making up for a stupid stunt be as easy as fixing a broken bulb in order to get back on track with her?
“I’ve lost so much,” she said, absorbed in thought. “Then this afternoon, I could’ve lost you.” It was a statement devoid of feelings, as though after her beachside meltdown, she didn’t have any left.
He moved closer, tugged her to his side. “But you didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.” When she finally looked at him, there was such sadness in her eyes, all he wanted to do was erase it. Some way, somehow. “In that moment, I had lost you. It brought back every horrible memory of watching my husband die. Of seeing my kids suffer along with Alan. Of thinking I’d never be able to live without him. But this time it was you.”
Now having an inkling of what he’d set off by being selfish and inconsiderate, the previous dread turned into remorse so deep it sank into his lungs, making it hard to breathe. How horrible of a person was he? “I never meant—”
“It’s not the point.” She flashed a frustrated glance. “My reaction is. I’ve still got a huge hole inside me.” She shook her head. “I’m not ready—”
He wasn’t ready to hear what she might say next, so he intervened. “I’m messed up, too, and I’m not any readier than you are for whatever it is we’ve discovered. It’s just, I thought we were good for each other. I hoped we were helping each other. I thought so, anyway.”
Her eyes glistened. “You made me want to move on. I let my guard down and let you in. Then today everything came crashing down when you went under that wave. I realized I’d only put a bandage over my pain. I’m not healed. I can’t love again.” Tears brimmed and slipped over her cheeks. The sight of her angst stabbed deep in his chest. “I can’t love because I can’t bear to lose anyone else, and until there is some sort of guarantee that won’t happen—” her wet, defeated gaze split his heart “—I can’t take the chance.”
There was no way he could argue with her logic, after all she’d been through, but feeling adequate or not, he needed to try. Because she’d just as much as said she loved him.
“Laurel, I lost so many people during my tours in the Middle East, I lost count. I know it’s not like losing a spouse, but I promised myself I wouldn’t forget even one of them. Carrying around
that burden kept me from living. That’s the guy you met in the beginning. Then you came along and I forgot things when I was with you. I felt light again, smiled, started to enjoy life again. You’ve helped me in so many ways, I can’t begin to explain.”
Her brows softened, but he could still see resolve in those eyes. “My letting my guard down with you put me in a horrible place today.”
“I was hoping maybe I’d helped you some, too.”
“I thought you had. But today I found out I’m not ready to care about anyone else yet. The threat, or fear, or whatever you want to call it, of loss is still too real for me. It’s too great for me to overcome. I can’t do that again. I can’t put my kids through it.”
He understood her point. But I didn’t die. He may as well have, because he’d seen firsthand how she’d suffered from the chance he might’ve. If he had a better handle on what it was they had going on, maybe he could fight back. But he was as confused and new at this as she was. Until he had a better understanding of what he wanted in life, and where a relationship would fit in, she didn’t deserve his inflicting irresponsibility and selfishness on her on a whim. She deserved more. Better. Even so, something made him take one last stab at making things right.
“There’s no guarantee for anything in life. The only way to avoid loss is to never feel. To hide out. Be a bystander. I thought that was what I wanted until I met you. So now I’m asking, is that what you want? For the rest of your life?”
A long, strained silence ensued. He was hell bound to leave without an answer. Until recently, he’d been the master of passivity, but Laurel had helped him want to change. Not that he had, but at least he wanted to. He’d hoped he’d done the same for her. Thought maybe he had.
She stared straight ahead, not trying to engage with him. “I can’t do it, Mark, I’m sorry. I’m not ready.”
Evidently, he hadn’t done the same for her.
“My grandfather always talks about the silver lining after our struggles and troubles. Will you at least consider that?”
Soldier, Handyman, Family Man Page 15