Maverick

by Cruise, Anna

  After an hour, he and I walked out of the restaurant. We made our way out the parking lot and he turned to look at me. “Thanks, Kellen. This was good.”

  I nodded and shook his head. “Yeah. And, look, I'm sorry I was an ass these past few weeks.”

  He waved a hand in the air. “Over and done, man. Don't worry about it. Transitions are tough and it sounds like you were caught by surprise. But it's over and done and we'll move forward.” He smiled. “Gina said you were pretty reasonable once the stubbornness wore off.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He nodded. “Yep. She likes you, man.”

  My heart jumped into my throat but I didn't say anything, just listened as he continued.

  “Trust me,” he said. “Behind the scenes, we're honest with each other. If she didn't like you, she would've told me. To prepare me. But she was pretty clear. She thought I was getting off easy because you were cool. Pretty sure she wasn't happy about getting pulled to another project when you guys were in the middle of doing this.” He shrugged. “But you gotta do what you gotta do, you know?”

  I did. It had taken me way too long to figure it out, but I finally knew what I was supposed to do.

  I thanked him again and told him I'd touch base with him tomorrow.

  I drove home and instead of watching TV or cruising surf sites, I shifted my attention to the next thing on my list. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, positioned myself on the couch and for the next two hours, I scoured every news source I could find. Not about surfing. Not about public relations.

  About Leo Bellori.

  Most of the articles were the same. A couple of pieces about his surfing career but most were about the trial. The fight at the beach. A few pictures of him in the courtroom. I dug deeper, trolling local beach papers, trying to find that one thing I knew was missing. I didn't know what it was but there was something Gina wasn't telling me, something that was driving every action she took when it came to me. And I was determined to figure it out.

  Two hours later, my eyes hurt from staring at the laptop screen. I'd moved to the kitchen table so I could plug in the nearly dead laptop and my back ached from sitting in the wooden chair. I could recite verbatim what had happened at the trial, could recount every small surfing competition her brother had won but I was no closer to figuring out what Gina was hiding than I had been two weeks ago when I'd asked her about her past.

  My phone buzzed and I looked up, startled. It was almost midnight. I reached for the phone. Matty. Checking in.

  “Haven't heard from you in a while,” he said. “Or seen your ugly ass in the news. You cool?”

  I rubbed at my eyes. “Yeah, man. Just keeping a low profile.”

  “You back on track with the tour?”

  It took me a minute to answer because I didn't know. I hadn't given the tour much thought at all in the last couple of weeks. I'd had other things on my mind, things I'd needed to sort out.

  “I think so.” I hesitated for a minute, thinking back to my last conversation with him. “Hey, remember when I was asking you about Bellori?”

  “Leo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about him?”

  I expelled a deep breath. “The chick from the PR firm? That's her brother.”

  Matty let out a low whistle. “Dude. Serious?”

  “Yeah. She sort of alluded to it but didn't want to talk about it. Which was why I asked you.” I wanted to come clean with him, wanted him to know the real reason I'd asked about Leo.

  “That was one messed up chick back then.”

  I cocked my head. “What? Why? Because of her brother?”

  “Well, yeah. Sucks having your brother head off to the pen. Worse that your testimony is what put him there.”

  I thought back to what I'd read. “I thought the guys he was with testified against him.”

  “They did,” Matty said. “But she did, too.”

  “She was there?” She hadn't told me that. Maybe that was what she was hiding. Maybe she'd somehow been involved with the fight. But even as I thought it, I shook my head. There was no fucking way Gina would be caught dead in a fight. Doing something stupid. She was the smartest woman I knew.

  “Look, the press didn't play this up because the families kept it under wraps. She started her work in public relations early, apparently.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The dude her brother hit? The guy who died?” Matty paused. “His name was Luke Stewart. Gina Bellori's boyfriend.”

  THIRTY EIGHT

  I didn't sleep that night. Even after I'd crawled into bed and turned off the light and closed my eyes, sleep didn't find me. I spent the night thinking about Gina. Armed with Luke's name, I was able to look him up and suddenly, bits and pieces of the story were there, like puzzle pieces fitting together. I searched images on the Internet and found a few pictures of Gina and Luke together. A lifeguard event—he'd been a lifeguard for Encinitas beaches—and a summer camp where they volunteered together. News snippets from Encinitas High, where they'd both gone to school. They'd both been on the swim team and yearbook. From the few high school pictures I could find, it looked like they'd been a couple then, too.

  Luke had looked like me. Not completely but the resemblance was there. Blond hair and tan. He loved the ocean. He'd never competed but he liked to surf. The completed puzzle was right in front of me and I didn't know how to feel. Sad for Gina and all she'd been through but relieved to know that I'd figured out what she was keeping from me. What she was afraid of. Because I knew. Without a doubt, I knew. She was afraid of losing someone again.

  I got out of bed and threw on a pair of shorts. I glanced at my phone but there were no messages. I stared at the date long and hard. I knew what day it was. It had been easy to figure out once I had all the pieces of the story. It was the day of the fight. The day Luke had died, the day Gina's life changed forever. I knew that day would be waiting for me in January. I wasn't there yet and I didn't know how I would react but I knew it would be there, trying to drag me down.

  I headed out to the beach to try to clear my head. I didn't grab my board but went for a long run on the sand instead. It was the first time I'd run in weeks and within minutes I was drenched in sweat. It felt good and it gave me time to think. By the time I got back to the house, I knew what I needed to do.

  I brought up Gina's contact info and hesitated for just a second.

  Then I texted her.

  Thinking about you today. Wanted you to know.

  She had no idea I knew about Luke and I wasn't going to tell her then. I just wanted her to know she wasn't alone. Because I knew, come January 11th, I would want someone to do the same thing for me as I relived the nightmare at Maverick's.

  Five minutes later, my phone vibrated.

  Thanks.

  It was more than I expected. I'd thought she would ignore it, especially considering how we'd left things. But even if Gina was pissed off at me, she was still professional. And even though I wanted more, wanted her to call and ask me why the fuck I was texting her, I would settle for that for now.

  I jumped in the shower, rinsing the sand and sweat from my body, thinking about her and what her day would be like. I wondered what she would do, where she would go. Was she by herself the entire day? Or did she hang out with her other brother?

  I got out of the shower and toweled off. I pulled on another pair of shorts and paced the house. Rip watched me from his perch on the couch, his tail twitching each time I passed him. I needed something to occupy me, something to get my mind off Gina. I glanced out the back slider. The waves were choppy, little two foot swells that tumbled on top of each other.

  I grabbed my phone and checked the surf report. Most of the Orange County breaks were dismal, nothing but chop. But further south, the report was more encouraging. Stronger swells blowing in, better sets, three to four footers.

  I stared at the water for a moment and thought about Gina. And sud
denly, I had an idea about what she might be doing that day. I had no idea if I was right but I grabbed my board and my keys and headed out to my car.

  If I happened to run into her, it would just be coincidence.

  Or something like that.

  THIRTY NINE

  I never slept the night before the anniversary. I always tried, but I always ended up getting up in the middle of the night and watching TV, waiting for the sun to come up so I could get the damn day over with.

  I barely ate breakfast, unable to force food into my gut. I tried to talk myself into doing something different for a change, pointing out that part of what made the day so unbearable was the fact that I forced myself to go to the last place I wanted to go to, the one place I avoided the other 364 days of the year. But, like the previous years, I lost the argument with myself. It was like some sort of punishment that I wasn't sure I deserved.

  I took my time showering and getting ready, then answered work emails that I'd let pile up for a couple of days. When my phone vibrated, I was sure it was Anthony.

  But it wasn't.

  It was Kellen, telling me he was thinking about me.

  I stared at the message. Why the hell was he thinking about me? Today, of all days? Tears welled up in my eyes and I blinked them back. I would not cry.

  I looked at the message again. He wanted me to know he was thinking about me. Even though I'd been a total bitch at the beach, had said my piece and walked away, he was thinking of me. It was almost like he knew what the day held for me. It tugged at my heart, almost made me want to tell him everything I hadn't yet told him.

  He'd occupied nearly every waking minute of my thoughts. I played over in my mind all the things he'd said to me on the beach. Not just the sweet things, but the angry words, too. He'd been pissed off at me for leaving him that morning and he'd let me have it. But he'd said tender things, too, things that made me want to launch myself into his arms and hold him tight and beg him to give me a chance, to let him be the one I tried to love again with. He was the only one since Luke, the only one I could even picture myself being with. And that was the hardest part, the thing I couldn't face, the piece I didn't know how to deal with. Because every time I looked at him, I saw the past. And I didn't want to look at it anymore.

  I took a deep breath. There was no way I could tell him any of that. I didn't want to confuse him and I didn't want him to think I needed him, even if I did.

  I was a big girl. I'd done this day before and I could do it again.

  So I just stared at the screen a minute longer and then typed “Thanks.” That was all I could bring myself to say.

  Part of me hoped he'd text something back, some sort of smartass remark that would make me laugh and shake my head. But he didn't.

  I watched the phone a minute longer, willing it to vibrate, to ding. And when it didn't, I stood up. I just needed to get the day over with.

  I put on my running clothes and shoes and headed out.

  I jogged my way out of the neighborhood, heading west toward the beach. I was about six blocks from the coast and by the time I hit the running path and headed south, my muscles were warm and loose and I picked up the pace. The bikers and rollerbladers were out in force, enjoying the afternoon sunshine and I settled into an easy rhythm. Thirty five minutes later, my breathing a little labored, I slowed my pace to a walk.

  It was a quieter stretch of town, tucked away from the stores and heavy residential areas, the nearest houses a half a block up the road. The beach was directly to my right and I watched the waves break, the sun leaning toward the horizon, the sky streaked with a thin film of clouds.

  I kept going, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I knew exactly where I was going.

  The spot where Luke died.

  The first year, I'd driven down to the spot near the beach, parked my car and sat there nearly the entire day, crying, pounding on the steering wheel. Since then, I'd chosen to run to the spot, knowing that I'd burn off some of the energy that the memory of the day brought with me. I wasn't entirely sure why I felt the need to revisit the spot each year, except that it was the last place I'd been when I'd felt whole. When I'd had Luke, when I'd had my brother, and everything seemed to fit. Ever since that night, I'd felt fractured and I kept thinking that going back to the spot, to that moment in time might make me feel whole again.

  It hadn't happened yet.

  I sat on the retaining wall that divided the boardwalk from the sand and stared at the spot on the asphalt where I'd knelt over Luke and realized he was going to die. And just like the previous years, I repeated my actions. Took a step forward and knelt down, my eyes trained on the pavement, noticing every fracture, every crack. If someone had seen me, they probably would have thought I was just a tired runner, resting, catching my breath.

  I was definitely catching my breath, but it had nothing to do with running.

  After awhile, I took off my shoes and socks, set them on the wall and walked down to the edge of the water. Every year, I promised myself I'd step into the ocean and every year I failed. I'd get close, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The water still reminded me too much of Luke. The memories we'd shared. The moments we'd never have. As much as I wished for it to disappear, it remained, this invisible barrier that held me back.

  I dug my toes into the sand, just far enough away from the water that even as the tide came in, I knew the dying waves wouldn't reach me. The beach was mostly empty. The early afternoon exercisers had retired and gone home, leaving me with my memories and a late day hazy sun.

  I stood there for awhile, thinking about Luke, about Leo, wishing that it was different. But, like always, I knew it wasn't. I knew I couldn't change anything, that we couldn't go back in time. Luke was gone, Leo was in jail and I was just...there. Existing but not really living.

  I took a deep breath and took one last look at the water. I'd done it. I'd come back and faced the demons, just like I had the previous two years. And it still ached and nothing felt better, nothing felt normal, but I'd faced it. I could breathe a little, knowing I wouldn't return for another year, knowing I could do my best to try to forget, to try to get back to the normal tasks of my every day life.

  I breathed in the water, my foot poised just above the sea foam. I was inches away. The mist from the wave grazed my foot. All I had to do was take a step forward.

  Maybe next year.

  I expelled a breath and turned around. The sand was deserted.

  Almost.

  One person was on the beach with me. Walking toward me.

  It was the last person I expected to see.

  FORTY

  Keith Branagan, the guy Kellen had fought with and later apologized to, was standing there, smiling at me. His shaved head was wet and he wasn't wearing a shirt. There was a small lightning bolt tattooed on his left shoulder.

  “I thought that was you,” he said. His arms were folded across his massive chest. “Handler's attorney. Or whatever you are.”

  I didn't say anything. What the hell was he doing in Encinitas?

  He glanced past me toward the water. “He out here? Surfing or something?”

  “No.”

  He licked his lips and squinted at me. “What are you doing down here?”

  “Just out walking,” I said. “But I was headed home.”

  His mouth twisted into an ugly grin. “You know, my dad wasn't real happy with that shit you pulled at our house. He's been cussing you out ever since you left.”

  I felt my pulse quicken but managed to keep my voice steady. “That right?”

  He nodded slowly. “That's right. He didn't like being set up.”

  I looked up and down the beach. I didn't like being alone with him. We were the only ones there.

  “I'm sorry he feels that way,” I said. “But I'm gonna get going.”

  I went to step past him, but he slid over, blocking my way.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Don't be in such a hurry. We're just
chatting.” He smiled again, but it wasn't friendly. He jerked his head toward the road. “My dad owns a place just up the beach here. That's why I'm down here surfing today. Maybe you wanna go back there and...chat.”

  I took a step back, making sure there was distance between us. “Like I said. I'm heading home.”

  He ignored what I said. “So why are you working with a guy like Handler?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, questioning. “He's a piece of shit.”

  Instinctively, I felt for the pockets in my shorts. But I didn't have my phone. I'd left it at home. I did have my keys, though. I pulled them out and clutched them in my hand.

  “Look, I really don't think it's a good idea for us to be talking,” I said. “Mr. Handler apologized. You got what you wanted.”

  “How do you know that's what I wanted?” he said, then looked me up and down. “Maybe I wanted something more. You know?”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You're going to threaten me here? In public?”

  “Who says I'm threatening you?” he asked, rubbing at his chin. Then he took a look around. “And looks to me like we've got some privacy. If you don't wanna go back to my place.”

  The first nervous pang hit my gut. He was right. We were pretty much alone. He was bigger and stronger than I was. I clutched the keys tighter in my hand.

  “I'm leaving,” I said.

  I stepped past him and he grabbed my arm, spinning me back around. His fingers dug into my arms.

  “You're not going anywhere, bitch,” he growled.

  I'd manipulated the keys between my fingers and swung at his face. The keys gouged his cheek and he dropped my arm, his hands going to where the keys had dug into his skin. He pulled his hands away and his fingers were covered in blood. There were three long bloody stripes on the side of his face.

  I held the keys up in between us. “Touch me again and...”