Wet: Part 2

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  oOo

  Paul finally made it back to the shop to find the boat docked in its spot, equipment all put away, and everyone settling in for a routine day—everyone except Rhees. He walked all around the shop, but still didn’t find her. He tapped on the locked bathroom door but the new guy, Adrian, answered back.

  Paul asked around, asked if anyone had seen her, but no one admitted to it, and that pissed him off. He was already in a bad mood, angry with himself, but knowing how too many of them treated her—the girls still resented her and the guys still drooled and shared fantasies about her—right on his deck.

  With him, Dobbs, and Christian around, none of them dared say anything as offensive as he’d heard away from the shop, around town, but he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep himself from just kicking every single student, man and woman, off his property and start over with a new clientele.

  He hoped the performance-gone-very-wrong shock of the night before would finally put an end to the stupid high school behavior, but at the moment, he needed to find Rhees and figure out where they stood. He worried, sure the reason he couldn’t find her was because she’d heard what he almost did—what he was sure people thought he did—what he’d thought he did with Nicole—before he’d asked her.

  He knew people talked about him, too often, and too many would love to make sure Rhees found out about his activities, and if history was any indication, they’d exaggerate—fill in the blanks with their imaginations—imaginations based on real memories of his past.

  He feared his temper had guaranteed their pretend relationship was over before it’d even started, and that made him sick to his stomach—but for some reason—he didn’t understand it—he felt the ache of it higher up in his chest.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed her number and walked around, listening for her phone to ring. He perked up when he heard the ringtone she’d assigned him, Darth Vader’s theme song from Star Wars, and he followed the sound to her backpack, in the office. That idea was a bust, and he let out a stream of cuss words because of her stubborn, irritating, cute as hell, little hide. He might have smiled if he wasn’t so distressed.

  He didn’t care about respecting her privacy at the moment, he had to know. He checked the backpack and found her clothes neatly folded inside, her shoes sat on the floor next to the pack. She’d never wander around the island without first getting dressed—

  Suddenly it felt like a vise had seized his heart and started squeezing. He tried to dismiss his worst fear and stay calm as he walked to the end of the deck again. He looked out over the ocean, hoping she’d gone snorkeling. No sign of her. He exhaled roughly, stood frozen for a second, but then bolted, headed next door to Miranda’s store, where she lived with her son, Randy.

  “You called roll after the last dive, right?” Paul yelled as he barged through the door, uninvited. “Tell me you called the fucking roll!”

  “Yes. I called roll.” Randy jumped up from his kitchen table, knocking his lunch to the floor. His wife and Miranda looked up at Paul like a crazy man had just broken into their home.

  “Everyone was accounted for then?” Paul asked desperately.

  “Yes.”

  “What about Rhees? Tell me you didn’t leave Rhees stranded out in the middle of the ocean!” Paul knew he was still yelling, but he couldn’t help it.

  “I called roll. Everyone’s back on the boat. Specially cousin Rhees. She’s fam’ly. I’d never leave Rhees. I’d never leave anyone. You know that, mon.”

  Paul ran his hand through his hair and bit his lip before his nervous tick took control of his mouth. He ran back to the shop and frantically threw the closet door open to check for himself. Her wet gear hung inside and he dropped forward with relief. He leaned his hands on his knees as he reeled in his breathing and tried not to faint.

  “Thank you, God,” he whispered over and over.

  When his heart recovered and his mind cleared, he remembered their conversation about her having a phone.

  There’ve been times I’ve needed to talk to you but couldn’t, he’d said.

  Only because I didn’t want to talk to you, she’d answered. —on the phone or otherwise.

  He sighed, knowing this was one of those times, and he wished he could take it all back, do last night over again. He took care of a few things before he ran across the street to check his apartment, the closest possibility first. As expected, the lock hung on the door, a sign she wasn’t inside.

  He broke into a run and didn’t stop until he’d reached Oceanside. He flew up the stairs two at a time and bent forward to rest his hands on his thighs, taking a moment to catch his breath, when he saw the door open.

  Relief—he finally felt optimistic. All the thoughts running through his head since he woke up that morning, fears he’d betrayed Rhees, fears she’d been left stranded in the ocean, fears she’d figured him out and wanted nothing more to do with him—he wouldn’t blame her, but the thought bothered him and he wasn’t used to feeling that way. He needed to breathe. He didn’t call out. If she was inside, he wouldn’t find her happy.

  He pulled the screen door handle. The door opened.

  Why didn’t she lock the damn door? He shook his head and tried not to be too upset about her careless disregard for her own safety. Not today, anyway. He tiptoed in, quietly, looking to the right to find her bedroom open as well. He almost sobbed, overcome with relief when he finally saw her. She lay safely on the bed, her back turned to the door. He didn’t hear crying, but his pillow displayed a telltale wet spot and he felt like such an ass.

  “Rhees?” he said softly, in case she was asleep. She didn’t answer. He crept in, delicately crawled onto the bed, and snuggled up next to her. “Hey.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  She stared at the wall, sniffed, grabbed a tissue from the box she had on the bed, and wiped her eyes.

  “You’ve always known I’m an ass. Last night shouldn’t have come as a shock.”

  She laughed and rolled onto her back to look at him. “You called me Dani Girl.”

  He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Of all the horrific things I need to apologize for, you’re starting the list off with a new nickname? I knew you hated them, but I guess I never realized how much.”

  “I liked it.” She laughed again.

  “Oh. So we’re starting with the only thing I did right.” He furrowed his brows, confused and cautious.

  “My grandpa called me Dani Girl when I was little. I haven’t heard it since he passed away.”

  Paul studied her for a few seconds, but then rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. His breathing sounded harsh and he moaned. He was drained.

  “Aw, Rhees.”

  With a warm smile, she leaned up on her elbow to look down at him, pulling his hands away from his face so she could see him. His eyes felt tired and bloodshot. After all he drank the night before, yes surely, they were bloodshot. He probably looked pale too. He only hoped he didn’t look as miserable as he felt.

  He did have the hangover from hell, but his misery didn’t have as much to do with the hangover as the reason for it and the things he, thankfully, hadn’t done, but could have.

  “You don’t deserve this. You’re too good to have to put up with me. You need someone who can treat you right.”

  “Stop it.” Her smile dropped as fast as it had formed. “Wait . . . are you breaking up—I mean pretending to break—breaking up, pretending to be my . . . What am I trying to ask? You’re bored, already?”

  “I’m not bored! But maybe it would be for the best.” He sighed loudly. “I should—if I was a better man, but when I die, the last thing I’ll be remembered for is my altruism.” He looked at her, sadly. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d run.”

  She smiled again and gave h
im a wide-eyed expression, nodding her head slowly as if wholeheartedly agreeing with him. He finally smiled back, happy to see her happy and teasing him, but she shouldn’t be—she didn’t know what was good for her. She didn’t because she was too nice, and sweet, and naïve. He considered himself lucky for that and then felt bad for it too.

  “I need to tell you something, but I know you’re not going to like it.” Her features drew down as she spoke, making him uneasy.

  “Then can it wait until this hangover stops kicking my ass?” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “You mean your head.”

  He opened one eye to look at her and smiled. “Yeah, my head hurts so bad, I confused it with the beautiful pain in the ass I’ve been sleeping with, but can’t actually sleep with.”

  “No.” She didn’t even pretend to acknowledge what he’d said. “It can’t wait. I’m going to tell Claire and Dobbs that I lied. I’m telling them the truth about us.”

  “No, you’re not.” It came out, not angry, not surprised, just matter-of-fact.

  “I’m not asking your permission. I only wanted to tell you first, as a courtesy. My mind is made up.”

  He rolled back onto his side to face her. “Why would you undo everything?”

  “They’re our friends. They don’t deserve to be lied to. This whole thing isn’t worth sacrificing the people we love.”

  “Pfft! Love. You’ve known them since March. I’ve known them for years, and I wouldn’t say I love them.”

  “Whatever.” She dropped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, looking saddened to hear him deny having feelings for them. “I love them, and I hate that I lied to them—that I thought I could—that I planned to keep lying.”

  “That’s why you should have left the lying up to me. I’m good at it.” The scowl on his face, the angry look in his eyes, must have been what made her sigh. He didn’t say it to brag, it just happened to be another demonstration of his self-loathing. “That whole speech last night—you shouldn’t have . . .”

  He couldn’t finish. He sighed too and tenderly pulled her so they faced each other on the bed. “I don’t want to go there again. Last night was . . . I don’t want to be angry with you, and I sure as hell don’t like it when you’re angry with me.”

  “Me too.”

  He stroked the side of her face while they both took time to think.

  “I think it’s a bad idea. We don’t need any weak links in this chain. Have you forgotten how your secret got out in the first place? You told Tracy, and now the whole island knows. Telling even one person is one step closer to danger. Rhees, you can’t walk down the street without drawing catcalls.”

  “That happened one time.”

  “One fucking time too many!” He licked his lips a few times while he calmed down. “And the only reason it hasn’t happened again is because I tried to knock the dirt bag’s nose to the back of his head—you shouldn’t have stopped me. You’re making it a habit of stepping into my fights.”

  There was a hint of satisfaction in her expression. He assumed it had to do with keeping him out of jail for assault. “I won’t discount the possibility there’re more creeps like Mario out there. We have to lie.”

  “I love them. Apologizing and telling them is the only way I’m going to fix how awful I feel. They didn’t show up at the shop today. You know that right?”

  “I noticed.” He scowled again. She suddenly sucked in a loud wheeze of air.

  “Who’s watching the shop? You and I are here, Claire and Dobbs didn’t show up.”

  Paul’s face twisted, understanding her concern. He answered tentatively. “Mitch.”

  Her mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “I see by your expression that doesn’t put your mind at ease.”

  Mitch happened to be a very nice guy, very likable, had a great sense of humor, but he wasn’t the responsible type. She rolled off the bed and Paul watched her scurry around the room, frantically.

  “I hope I can get back before he decides it would be a great idea to build a bon fire on the deck, you know, on the deck made of old, wooden planks? . . . Or some other equally brilliant plan.”

  Paul pressed his fingers over his eyes. He knew she was right, but for the first time since he’d bought the shop, he didn’t want to go back. He didn’t move.

  “Shoot!”

  Paul looked to see the problem. Her shoulders dropped and she hung her head, like she just remembered she’d forgotten something important. “I can’t believe I left the shop wearing nothing but my swimming suit. I don’t even have my shoes.”

  He understood why. “You ran. You were upset. You don’t think rationally when you’re upset. You run first, think later. Like now.” He watched her pull on one of his T-shirts over her suit and bend over to pick up her bronze sandals. “You’re running now.”

  “No, I’m not. I need to make sure the shop is still standing.” She glanced down at herself. “This looks stupid. Baggy men’s shirt with nothing but heels.” He listened to her grumble as she moved around, getting ready to leave.

  “Dani Girl?” Paul said quietly.

  She stood up straight and looked off blankly into the corner of the room. He could tell she was trying to fight his persistent attempts to call her back to the crucial topic they still needed to address. He watched her warily.

  “About last night,” he pushed.

  “Water under the bridge.” She bent over to put on the first sandal, dismissing his lead-in.

  “I want you to know, I wasn’t really angry with you.”

  She exhaled, a little too forcefully. “Bullcrap!” She stood up straight again. “You just said you were, not five minutes ago. ‘I don’t like being angry with you’.”

  “Bullcrap,” he repeated under his breath. She actually made him grin, even with everything from the night before still hanging between them, nearly sucking the air out of the room. He sat up and stared at her, wondering how she could be so . . . like she was.

  “I said I don’t want to be angry with you . . . and I’m not, wasn’t—maybe I thought I was for a second, but I’m really just angry at myself.”

  She closed her eyes, and her bottom lip quivered. He stood and made it to her side in one giant step.

  “Aw, Rhees. Don’t. Pleease.”

  “You were—are mad at me! The things you said, those things have obviously bothered you for a while. You don’t respect me. You can’t respect me for caring about what others think or feel and for being scared all the time, about everything, but I don’t know how to change it.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper as she repeated what he’d said. “I sure as hell don’t like it when you’re angry with me.”

  “God, Rhees. Is that what you think? I don’t respect you?”

  She didn’t answer, she didn’t look up, and she didn’t do a very good job holding back the tears. He put his arms around her, held her tight, heaving harsh breaths into her hair, mustering the courage to tell her the truth.

  “I’ve watched you all this time, wondering, ‘How is it possible? No one can be so naïve, and so sweet, and so—good’. I told myself you can’t keep up this game forever. I’ve been watching, waiting for you to slip up and finally reveal that chink in your armor.”

  “That’s what you think of me—” She couldn’t have looked more hurt.

  He put his finger over her lips and shushed her. “I was sure it was just an act, because you are just too good to be true, but the better I get to know you, the more I realize how genuine you are.

  “So, no, I don’t think that about you anymore. It’s just me—it’s all me. It’d be so much easier for me to believe you were just like me, well, maybe like everyone else—no one’s as bad as I am. I thought you weren’t being honest with yourself or
anyone, putting on a facade . . . Because if I admitted that you really were different, then I could have been different too, but I’m not. I’ve spent the last few years convincing myself that everyone has a dark side. Some people just hide it better than others. I got tired of hiding it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Of course she didn’t. Her genuine innocence made it impossible.

  “You’ve been an unwelcome reminder that I’ve just been fooling myself and making excuses for my really shitty behavior. So no, I’m not angry with you. I respect you, I admire you . . . I am in awe of you!”

  “I’m not that good, Paul. I don’t know what you see, but—”

  He kissed her to shush her instead of placing his finger over her lips. It was a chaste kiss; no tongue, no grabbing, just a kiss of admiration . . . and emotion. She didn’t fight him, but it left her with a confused look on her face, as though she didn’t understand why she’d let him.

  “I need to apologize to Dobbs,” she finally said, moving the awkward moment along.

  “And Claire too, right?” He sighed loudly. “All right. We’ll go together.”

  oOo

  “I still think this is a bad idea,” Paul said. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Rhees glanced at him once and knocked on the door with a look on her face to suggest he should stop wasting his breath. She knew what she had to do and he couldn’t talk her out of it.

  “I said I have to do this!” No one answered so she knocked again.

  “Their place is exactly like mine, it’s small. It’s not like they didn’t hear you knock the first time.”

  Rhees slumped, looking defeated, and then her eyes rolled to the side like she was about to cry, but trying not to. Paul stepped closer and put his arms around her waist, rested his forehead on hers.

  “Please don’t cry. I’ll help you find them. We won’t give up until we do. I’m sure they’re just out.” He didn’t recognize himself by the words coming from his mouth. He didn’t want her to find them, blow their cover story, and put herself in jeopardy again. “I know how important it is for you to apologize.”