A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  We locked eyes. My heart sped up for some reason. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say or do right then, but throwing a “bye” over my shoulder and bolting out of the car didn’t seem like the answer.

  “Well.” He nodded toward the backseat. “I should get him home.”

  “Yeah. Of course. I’ll see you soon?”

  He smiled. “Definitely.”

  “Great. Good night.”

  “Good night, Brennan.”

  We exchanged one last smile, and then I got out of the car. It wasn’t the most graceful exit I’d ever made, but at least my boot and my crutches didn’t make enough noise to wake up Tariq.

  Finally, I was on my feet, leaning on my crutches because my ankle had had enough, and I shut the car door. Zafir waved. I waved back.

  And then he drove off while I hobbled up to my apartment, smiling like an idiot the whole way.

  After I’d let myself in, as I went through the motions to get myself ready for bed, I was lucky I remembered to lock the door and didn’t put hair gel on my toothbrush or something. My mind was just . . . not here.

  Why, I had no idea, but I kept replaying that moment when Zafir had gently eased Tariq into the car. For some reason, it made my heart flutter a little. He kind of had that effect whenever I saw him with Tariq. Maybe I was just a sucker for devoted parents. Watching Aimee with her nephews had always been cute. Kasey and her roommate’s daughter had been too.

  But there was something about Zafir with Tariq that made my breath catch. Was it because he was a man? Maybe because they had a warmer relationship than I’d ever had with my own father? Or because I was pretty sure that in his position—taking on parenthood alone before I could even vote—I would have torpedoed everything and made an absolute mess? Of course I’d only seen glimpses of them, but from everything I had seen, Zafir was exactly the kind of father I aspired to be when that time came for me.

  And he’d pulled it off since he was seventeen. Shit, when I was seventeen, I was getting baked off my ass in between falling on my ass at the skate park. While I was bumming cash off my folks and weed off my friends, Zafir was parenting. On his own. And now he had a smart, respectful, healthy, thriving son who he’d gently carry out to the car even though his back obviously wasn’t happy about it.

  Why it stood out to me so much, I didn’t know, but there was just something so endearing about watching Zafir shift into father mode.

  Or any mode, for that matter.

  Am I going crazy? Probably.

  I grinned to myself.

  Fine. I’m enjoying it, so bring it on.

  * * *

  Nothing in the world bored me more than hanging out at the skate park without a skateboard.

  But, a week after my trip to Seattle with Zafir, there I was again—standing on the edge of a ramp with some of my friends, my foot still in that dumb boot. We were up on the big half-pipe, which was much less crowded than the other ramps and the two smaller pipes. This one was reserved for those of us registered for upcoming competitions. It was one of the perks of being sponsored by the shop.

  Not that I was doing much with it today. My board was at home where it had been since I’d come back from my last competition. I wouldn’t have even come here, but my buddy Sven wanted someone to look at his form. So I stood off to the side, well out of the way while he and another skater took turns.

  I was definitely ready to get out of this boot and back on my board. I needed to practice before the next competition, but it also made me stir-crazy when I couldn’t skate. Plus I knew Tariq was chomping at the bit for those lessons I’d been promising. Once I was out of the boot, I’d at least be able to show him a few things.

  A few more days. Then I’d be back on my feet.

  Someone skated up beside me and skidded to a stop. When I turned, so did my stomach.

  “Hey.” Aimee flipped her board and leaned it against her leg. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  I glanced at Sven. He gestured for me to go ahead—fucking traitor—so I nodded, and we walked over to one of the picnic tables.

  She stood, but I took a seat to get some weight off my foot.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I need to come get my stuff.”

  Oh sweet Jesus. Finally.

  “Okay. When?”

  “Whenever.” She shrugged. “I’m moving in with Shannon and Emma. They gave me the keys already, so I just need to move my crap over there.” She glared at the boot on my foot, then back at me. “But I guess you aren’t going to help carry anything.”

  You fucked another dude in our bed, and you thought I was going to carry your shit?

  I moistened my lips. “Sorry.”

  “I’m sure,” she muttered.

  I ground my teeth. No way in hell was she going to make me feel guilty for not helping her out. This was her choice. Not mine.

  She fidgeted, tapping her nails on the edge of her skateboard. “So who’s that guy who keeps coming by the shop?” Her lips twisted as she cocked her head. “I never saw him before.”

  I swallowed. “Just a friend.”

  “Yeah, but who the hell is he?”

  “I don’t think my social life is really any of your business anymore.”

  Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Oh.”

  I exhaled. Okay, maybe I’d sounded more like a dick than I’d intended. “Sorry. I’m . . .” I shook my head. “Look, he’s just a friend. And I’m teaching his kid to skate.”

  “Oh.”

  “What did you think he was?” I smirked. “My boyfriend?” My throat tightened, and my mouth suddenly went dry.

  Why would I throw that out there? Put that thought in her head? What does it matter if she does think Zafir’s my boyfriend? He isn’t, so what does it matter? God, why did I say that?

  She just rolled her eyes, though. “No. I was just curious because I’d never seen him before, and suddenly you’re joined at his hip.” Glaring at me, she snidely asked, “Why? Is he your boyfriend?”

  “No!” I sighed dramatically. “Jesus, Aimee.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who said it.”

  “He’s a friend, okay? So, when did you want to come by and get your stuff?”

  She folded her arms loosely and shifted her weight. “When are you working this week? It might be, um, easier if you’re there, so we can separate stuff.”

  Well, that saved me from suggesting that I didn’t completely trust her anymore to be alone in what was now my apartment. “My schedule’s all over the place. I’m closing tomorrow and Wednesday, but I have to see my doc on Wednesday.” I tapped the boot. “About this stupid thing.”

  She pursed her lips. “Could I come by tomorrow morning, then?”

  “How long do you think it’ll take?” I asked. “I have to be at the shop by two.”

  She scowled. “I’ll come by around nine, and if there’s anything left when you have to leave, then we’ll figure it out.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Cool.” She smiled thinly, but her eyes didn’t follow suit. “See you tomorrow.”

  Yeah. Can’t wait.

  * * *

  About ten minutes to nine the next morning, it occurred to me that I hadn’t asked Aimee to please not bring Billy to help her move. Fortunately, when she showed up—at almost nine thirty because fuck being on time—she was by herself.

  Neither of us said much. I let her in, and then did my best to stay out of her way. She’d brought a few boxes up from her car, and went room to room collecting her things. She’d already moved her clothes and skating gear out, so there really wasn’t much left. Between us, we didn’t have a ton of stuff, and besides dishes and towels and things like that, we hadn’t bought a lot as a couple. Since she was moving in with roommates and I was staying here by myself, she left most of the household stuff for me.

  At a little past eleven, she carried the last box out, then came back in to go through the apartment one last time.

&nb
sp; “I guess that’s everything.” She stopped in the kitchen where I was rinsing out my coffee cup. “So, um. I’ll see you around.”

  More than I’d like, but that’s what I get for dating a skater.

  “Yeah. See you around.”

  One more beat of uncomfortable silence, and she was on her way out.

  She’d almost made it to the door when I remembered we’d forgotten one thing, and I hurried—as fast as my boot would allow—to the kitchen doorway.

  “Aimee.”

  Hand on the doorknob, she turned around.

  I held out my hand, palm up.

  “What?”

  “Your key.”

  Rolling her eyes, she dug into her pocket. Her keys jingled in her hand, and she quickly took the house key off the ring before shoving it into my palm.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She muttered something, then turned to go. I didn’t stop her this time. A second later, she slammed the door hard enough to rattle the apartment.

  “Whatever,” I grumbled into the empty room. This was her decision. If she wanted to be pissed, that was her problem.

  Not three seconds later, though, there was a light knock. Had she forgotten something?

  Swearing to myself, I went to the door and opened it.

  On the other side was a very different woman than the one who’d just stormed out. Her shoulders sagged beneath her hoodie, and she kept her eyes down.

  “Bren, can we talk?”

  “Didn’t you just—”

  “Yes. And I’m sorry.” She finally met my gaze. “That’s actually what I wanted to say. I’m . . . What I did to you was shitty. You have every right to hate me for—”

  “I don’t hate you,” I said quietly.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged, wondering when something like that had started requiring so much effort. “It hurt, but . . .” How to explain it? I wasn’t even sure why I didn’t hate her.

  She took a breath and pushed her shoulders back. “Look, I shouldn’t have done what I did. I wasn’t happy, and I should’ve just said something and called it quits instead of letting you find out like you did.”

  Shifting my weight, I resisted the urge to fold my arms, and instead hooked my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans. “I guess the part I don’t get is why.”

  “Why, what? I mean, which part?”

  “Why didn’t you just talk to me if you were unhappy?” I hesitated. “Was it really that bad, being with me?”

  Color bloomed in her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to the welcome mat between us. “I was just frustrated, you know? I felt like you didn’t want me. And he . . .” She absently toed the edge of the mat. “He made me feel the way I needed to.”

  “Oh.” We were quiet for a while. An uncomfortably long time. At a loss for anything else to say, I murmured, “I’m sorry too, then. For making you that miserable.”

  Aimee released a heavy sigh. “I think I screwed up more than you did. So . . . I’m sorry.”

  There was a time when I’d have lashed out and told her where she could store her apology—preferably elbow-deep in Billy’s ass—but I had to admit, our breakup had been a blessing in disguise. It hadn’t been fun by any means, but things were looking up.

  “Apology accepted,” I said. “And I mean it: I don’t hate you.”

  She met my gaze again, and studied me. Then a smile slowly formed. “Thank you.” She rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet and glanced over her shoulder toward the parking lot. “I’ll, um, get out of your hair, I guess. I still need to unload everything.”

  “Okay. Take care.”

  “You too.”

  We stood in silence, as if she were as uncertain as I was about what we were supposed to do at this point.

  Then she stepped across the welcome mat and hugged me gently. “I’m glad we talked.”

  Hugging her back, I said, “Me too.”

  She let me go, and after we exchanged smiles again and a couple of quiet “good-byes,” she headed out to her car and I went back inside.

  I sank onto the sofa and released a long breath. Carefully, I propped my foot up on a pillow on the coffee table, then leaned back and spread my arms along the back of the couch.

  So this was my place now. Not our place. Mine. She was really gone. Her name was off the lease. Her stuff was out of the house. Her key was here and she wasn’t.

  A few months ago, we’d had one of those big fights that made me think we were about to call it quits. She’d stormed out, slamming the door just like she had today, and stayed at a friend’s house.

  A friend’s house. Right. Bet that “friend” did more than listen to her bitch about me.

  All night long, I’d been scared shitless we were done. But then she’d come back, and we’d talked enough to calm some of the tension. Then there’d been makeup sex for some reason—I’d never really seen the point, but it was better than fighting—and we’d never talked about it again. Next fight? Same thing. A week later? Again.

  Why the hell had I been so afraid that any one of those fights would be the end? I should’ve just told her we were done so I could’ve started getting over her.

  Ah well. Couldn’t change the past. She was gone now, though, and not a moment too soon.

  The rent was going to be pretty steep unless I took in a roommate. I wasn’t sure I wanted to live with anybody else right now, though. In the short time since she’d left, I’d kind of gotten used to having the place to myself.

  Maybe if I got desperate. Sven was always complaining about his roommates, and Kim was dying to move out of his parents’ place.

  Not yet, though. I’d enjoy having my own space for a little while.

  Well, as much as I was ever here, anyway. Lately, my free time had been split between work, Zafir, the skate park, and . . . Zafir. I pretty much came here to sleep and shower, and then I was gone again.

  Still, it was nice to come back and have this quiet place to myself. I could actually be alone with my thoughts for a little while. Which would’ve been a lot nicer if those thoughts didn’t keep drifting to the woman who’d just given me her key.

  It was probably because I’d been so busy and preoccupied lately, hadn’t really had much opportunity to think about how I felt about Aimee. The weirdest part was that now that I had that opportunity, I felt . . . nothing.

  It wasn’t numbness or denial. Not like when she’d first left and I’d been so shell-shocked I couldn’t make sense of my emotions. It wasn’t even a sense of peace now that we’d talked.

  I just didn’t care. It was over, and it was in the past, and I was perfectly happy with my post-Aimee life. Sure, I missed the early days when we were together every waking moment or texting if we had to be apart. But looking back now, I realized those days had ended long before I’d caught her on another guy’s dick.

  The fact was, even though I’d loved her, we’d been miserable for a long time. Being together had become routine. Something that was known. The idea of breaking up had terrified me because it was unknown.

  That unknown turned out to be spending a lot of time with a guy I hadn’t even met until the day after Aimee and I split. Suddenly I had this friend who was cool as shit and had this awesome kid and had helped me figure out something I hadn’t known about myself, and . . . Aimee who?

  I closed my eyes and smiled. Would I be this okay if I hadn’t wandered into Red Hot Bluewater to fix my ego the day after Aimee left?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  But I had wandered in, and now? I was definitely feeling okay.

  In fact, I felt pretty fucking good.

  Chapter 10

  Zafir

  Any time I had to work the day after I took Tariq to the mosque in Port Angeles—a few times a month, which was less often than I would’ve liked—I was always hit by how surreal it was to have the job I did. Last night, I was keeping an eye on Tariq, making sure he properly performed the wudu—washing his hands, feet, and face before
prayer. Today I was kneeling by the magazine rack at Red Hot, switching out last month’s pornos with this month’s.

  I chuckled to myself, and just hoped for the millionth time that my dad didn’t find out what I did for a living.

  Just before noon, when I predicted Brennan would be strolling in any minute to grab lunch, the shop’s phone rang. I nearly sprinted for the back, but then I remembered my boss was in the shop today, and she answered.

  “Red Hot Bluewater, Violet speaking.” Pause. “Just a second. Zafir!”

  I swore under my breath, then called out, “Be right there.” I set the stack of Bra Busters Monthly in my hand next to the mostly empty box, and toed it behind the rack so no customers—what customers?—would mess with it. Then I went to the counter and picked up the phone. “This is Zafir.”

  “Hey, it’s Kelly.” My babysitter’s voice made me cringe—don’t bail, don’t bail, don’t bail . . . “I’m sorry, hon. I’ve got to cancel on you today.”

  Oh shit.

  “You—” I pinched the bridge of my nose, racking my brain for alternatives. “Okay. Okay. Uh, thanks for letting me know.”

  “Sorry about that! It should just be for today, though. Tomorrow, we’ll be good.”

  But what do I do about tonight?

  “Okay. No problem. I’ll give my sister a call.”

  After we’d hung up, I called Leyla.

  “Hey,” I said. “Are you free tonight by any chance? I am desperate for a babysitter.”

  She sighed. “Sorry. I’ve got two fevers here, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want Tariq getting whatever this is.”

  “Shit . . .”

  “Why? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I . . .” I bit back a string of curses. “I have to work at Old Country tonight, and Kelly just canceled.”

  “Oh no! I wish I could help, but . . .”

  “It’s okay.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’ll . . . I’ll figure something out.”

  “Good luck.”

  We hung up, and my heart rate shot through the roof. There was no way I’d find somebody on this short notice. Nobody I could trust and afford.