by MK Schiller
“Are you seriously comparing me to a barnacle? This is the analogy you’re making?”
He shrugs. “If the ship fits. Look girl, you want something deep and profound, crack open a fortune cookie. You want some straight-up country boy philosophy, you come to me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I shift so I’m on my knees. “Let’s wax.”
“Never had a girl ask to wax before.”
Never had a boy compare me to a barnacle. “Focus, Grasshopper, I don’t want you slipping off this board. It’s been a long time since I’ve used my first aid training.”
“You did first aid on someone?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“I was maybe fourteen. Luckily, I’d just taken the course at school. This wanna-be surfer got caught in an undercurrent.”
“He should have taken a lesson from you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing really.” I wave my hand in the air. “I dragged him back to the shore and lost my favorite surfboard in the process. He took on a lot of water. I had to give him mouth to mouth, but he was fine after a few compressions.”
“Kiran Shenoy, are you telling me you saved someone’s life? And you said I was humble.”
“I’m not being humble. It’s just an old memory.” It’s difficult to reconcile the person I am now from the girl who used to take risks and be courageous. Maybe I have become a barnacle. I break the bar of wax in half. “We need to switch it up now.” I start making diagonal hatch marks. He follows my lead, crossing each of my marks to make a perfect X. Our hands pass by each other. We both lean forward to gain better access. Everything inside me tenses once more. I always hated waxing my board, considered it tedious work, even though it doesn’t take a long time. Now, I find myself wishing it took longer.
“Enough,” I say. “It’s waxed enough. Let’s work on your stance.”
He laughs. “What position do you want me in?”
There’s a loaded question.
We set the board flat. I toss off my beach shoes. I show him a few stances. It’s nice to be on a surfboard again, even if it is on the sand. Then Mason stands on it, his feet apart. I adjust his arm. Actually touching the sleek muscles I’ve been admiring is enough to make a girl wipe out on dry land. Mason is all business now. He listens to all my advice. He asks questions too.
I notice the blue board he rented from the hotel lies near us. “You never returned it?”
“You said it was more suited for your body.” He jerks his head toward the water. “Come out with me?”
Why not? I want to. But when I turn my head and scan the horizon, all I see is dark water. Every reasonable thought vanishes. Fear grips me, and the response gets stuck in my throat. The irony of what I’m doing, of who I have become, hits me like a tsunami. I am a complete fraud. I’m teaching him to do something I can no longer do myself. I beg my legs to stop shaking as the panic swells in my gut. I close my mouth tight before he can hear my rapid breaths.
“It’s okay, Kiran. I understand,” he says, although I never answered him. His voice is low and soothing. How could he understand? I don’t even understand. He places a hand on my shoulder and rubs slowly. “Thank you for the lesson. I don’t need to surf today. We can do something else.”
“Yes, you do. The waves are good.” I can’t even meet his eyes. Can’t look at the water. Can’t do a fucking thing. I just want him to go so I can deal with this. I place my palm flat against his chest. I push. He doesn’t move. Not even an inch.
“Kiran, are you all right?”
“Fine. Go…please.” The words come out so meek, almost a whisper.
He does. Thank God.
Now that I don’t have to contemplate going into the water, I can breathe again. I can watch him. I even do a silent cheer when he barrels through the tube of a wave. He’s out there for a good two hours. When the sun starts dipping, he heads back with all the other surfers. His shadow covers me.
“You did well, Grasshopper,” I say, forcing a huge smile.
“I had a good teacher.” He takes the seat next to me. His feet are covered with sand. “What happened, Kiran?”
“When?”
“You know when.”
“I told you I don’t surf anymore.”
“Why not?”
“There are lots of things I don’t do anymore.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I clasp my hands together. “It’s the only one I have.”
“You realize you had a panic attack, right?”
My laugh is so freaking high-pitched it’s almost a shriek. “What? No, I didn’t.”
“Dana used to have them, and I recognize the signs. Bottom line, you had one. When I tried to comfort you, you begged me to go away. I feel like a total asshole for listening to you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Why don’t you surf anymore?”
“There are lots of things I don’t do now.” I pick up my bag. I stuff my sunscreen and e-reader and all the other crap back inside. “I’m going to go. I’m tired.”
“Talk to me.” He takes my wrist and rubs his thumb across my birthmark. “Can you at least look at me?”
I tilt my head to stare into the brilliant steely blueness of his eyes. I want to towel off that look of concern etched on his face. Want to wipe it clean away. I manage a weak smile. “I’ll see you around.”
Chapter 6
Kiran
Choosing to read, I avoid Mason for the rest of the day. I almost convince myself that’s what I want to do. But being cooped up in my room is driving me nuts. So when the sun goes down, I come out of my hibernation and go for a walk along the beach. Every hotel is hosting some type of beach party. The swarms of people laughing and drinking are overwhelming so I walk until the hotels scatter farther apart.
A DJ plays Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Games.” Really? Chris Isaak and his hypnotic sexilicious voice singing about desire and falling for someone is the last thing I need right now. I keep moving until the music is washed out by ocean waves.
I come to the fenced area that separates the private hotel beaches from the vacant Lancaster property. The chain-link fence is still there and so is the sign that reads Private Property. As a teenager, my friends and I used to hop this fence and hang out on the other side. I have no idea what makes me place my fingers in one of the chain-link openings and then a foot in another. I just want to be that girl again, the one who was carefree and a little careless too. The fence stands at least eight feet high. I struggle with each push upward. I tell myself the fence has changed. It’s higher and the footholds smaller. Except it’s not. This is the same fence that’s stood here for ten years. It’s me who has changed. What was once easy has become monumentally difficult. My fingers tense, the metal cutting into them as I grip harder. The scar that runs across my stomach smarts with each stretch as if warning me to stop this foolishness.
Fuck you, scar.
“Need a hand?”
I stumble for a second before I catch my grip again.
“Take it easy, Shenoy. I wasn’t trying to startle you.”
With a sigh, I resign and climb back down to where he is. The sand is soft, but a sharp pain shoots up my legs anyway. He catches my wince. He looks at me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. And maybe a little sympathy too. Take it back, Mason. All of it.
He’s taken a shower. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and dark jeans. His spicy cologne mingles with the salt air. I struggle not to stand on my tiptoes, nose up to his neck, and take a long whiff. Yeah, because I’m not weird enough.
I cross my arms and lean against the chain-link fence. It’s cool on my back. “Were you following me?”
“I was.”
I didn’t expect him to answer honestly. I’m not sure how to respond. I want to be angry, but I can’t funnel the emotion, no matter how hard
I try.
He places his palm on the fence right next to my head. It sways for a second. “I saw you leaving the lobby.”
“Kind of stalker of you.”
“Or we could just call it friendly reconnaissance. Why were you hopping the fence?”
“To get to the other side.”
“Funny.”
“It’s a private beach. No one uses it, though. I used to sneak in all the time when I was younger. Guess I’m feeling sentimental.”
“You want help getting over the fence?”
“No.”
“I’ll see you on the other side then.”
Wait. What?
He walks a few steps back before running, jumping, and practically leaping over it. The fence wobbles against his weight, but only for a second. My mouth drops as I watch him hop over the fence in one fluid movement, as if it were nothing more than a small bump in the road. “Are you Captain America?”
He gives me a sly smile. “Shhh, I’m incognito.” He puts his fingers into the chain link in the hole next to mine. “Are you coming?”
I take a deep breath and start my climb. It’s not as graceful as that crazy catapult thing he did. When I get to the top, I make the mistake of looking down before I swing my leg over.
“I’ll catch you if you fall. Do you trust me?”
The answer comes quickly without any thought or hesitation. “Yes, Mason, I trust you.”
I take the last step, sighing with relief when my foot touches the sand.
“Nice job, Shenoy. You did it,” he says.
“Don’t patronize me.” It comes out like a sharp snap. This time it’s Mason who winces. I replay his words in my head, hunting for the note of sarcasm, but I can’t find it.
“I wasn’t. I would never do that. I know that’s physically hard for you. If you think for one second I’d belittle you for that, then you don’t know me.”
“I’m sorry. I just...” I can’t find the right way to express myself. So I just look up at his face. “Please forgive me. I’m a jerk.”
“You’re forgiven.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks around. “Who owns this?”
The area is desolate and peaceful. I would go so far as to say it’s pristine. In a beach chock-full of huge hotels standing next to each other like linebackers, this spot has always been my favorite. Although it all comes from the same stock, there is something serene and pure about the sand here. The moon is full and low, giving off a translucent light. It highlights the chiseled planes of his face.
“The Lancaster Corp. They had plans to build a hotel here a while back. But they never got their act together to get the proper permits. They still own it, though, as far as I know. So it just sits here vacant.”
“Except for the pesky kids who occasionally come here to make out?” He arches a brow, the question ripe with amusement.
“Mostly we smoked pot.”
“Kiran Shenoy, you naughty rebel.”
“In my defense, we always cleaned up after ourselves, and we never did anything too wild or crazy.”
“You were probably too paranoid.”
“Yeah, we were pretty freaked out the whole time.” I turn my gaze toward the ocean. “I did have my first kiss here, though.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No joke. Tell me the deets. Where were you? Who was the dude? Was it a hit or miss?”
I take his arm and walk him backward a few steps until we’re behind the only palm tree in the area. I can’t believe it’s still here. “Right here.”
“Here? Under the cover of this tree?”
I lean against the rough bark. He takes a step closer to me. “Right here. I was fifteen. His name was Tahl.”
“Tall?”
“Taaahaall,” I say, exaggerating the syllables. “He hated when people called him Tall.”
“Okay, so tell me about Taaahaall.” He exaggerates the name the same way, which I think Tahl would hate even more.
“He was my first boyfriend.” Realizing that isn’t quite right, I bite my lip. “My only boyfriend.”
“Uh-huh, go on.”
“What else is there to say?”
Mason’s smile is usually boyish, good-natured, and on the sweet side. But sometimes it heads into mischievous territory. Right now, it’s downright wicked. This smile revs up my pulse and causes my toes to curl. I can barely stand still as if I’ve absorbed two pots of coffee. I freaking want to take a snapshot of this smile and keep it in my pocket anytime I need a jolt of caffeine.
“You haven’t told me anything about the actual kiss. How was it?”
“Long. Long and a little traumatic.”
He frowns. “Traumatic?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking. His lip ring got caught in my braces. It hurt. It took us a while to figure out how to separate without permanent damage.”
Mason’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Oh shit, Shenoy, that’s gotta be the worst kiss in the history of first kisses.”
“Maybe. Tell me about your first kiss.”
“Nah, that’s not what I signed up for.”
I punch his arm. Ouch. “Don’t double standard me.”
“Fine.” He sighs and takes a step back from me. “It was amazing.”
Figures.
“I need details.”
“I was fourteen the first time I kissed a girl. But it was the kind of kiss I’m gonna remember vividly even when I’m eighty. We were on the beach. I was lying on my back. The sunlight was so bright it filtered down on her like a halo. I thought she was an angel. She knelt over me. Her hair fell against my chest. When she leaned down, I wasn’t sure what she was doing. I couldn’t even breathe. Then she kissed me.”
Why did I ask for details?
“Sounds like the best kiss in the history of first kisses.”
“Maybe. At least an honorable mention. It’s definitely the best kiss I ever had.” He jerks his head toward the coastline. “Will you walk with me?”
“I’d love to.”
We both throw off our shoes and walk toward the water. We leave deep footprints as we walk in the area straddling the water and sand. Our arms touch a few times. We’re quiet, though. The white peaks of crashing waves contrast against the dark waters, making the Gulf look magical in a way. I walk deeper into the water until my ankles are covered. My feet sink into the wet sand.
“What are you thinking right now, Kiran?”
“I want to go for a swim.”
He points at me. “Do you have a suit on under that?”
“Does it matter?” I turn to him. “In the last few years, I’ve forgotten what it means to take a risk or share parts of myself. I’ve been content to make excuses for my sabbatical from life. But the truth is there has only been one person holding me back. That person is me.”
I take his hands in mine. “I was in a car accident. It happened a week after my eighteenth birthday. My mother had just bought me my first car. We were going out to eat, and I wanted to drive. I insisted on it. There was a rainstorm. We hit some debris on the road. The tire went flat. We spun around and crossed a lane. Thank God, there weren’t any other cars around. But that also meant no one saw us land in the ditch. When I came to, there was glass everywhere. It wasn’t just in the car. It was inside of me, all along the side of my face and body. My mom’s side hit the embankment. The pressure of that collision killed her. I was trapped in there and helpless. All I could do was scream. I screamed for over three hours, begging her to wake up or for someone to help us. I screamed so much I couldn’t talk for over a week. Sometimes I can still hear myself screaming.”
He wraps his arms around me. It’s a good, strong hug, the kind that makes me feel safe. I need this hug. I’ve needed a hug like this for a very long time. “Oh my God, Kiran. I’m so sorry.” He wipes my tears.
“Thank you.”
&n
bsp; “It wasn’t your fault. It’s called an accident for a reason.”
I nod. “It’s taken me a while, but I believe that now.”
“Were you okay? I mean, I see the scars, but how bad off where you?” Mason’s voice is a whisper, but I hear it. It calls to me as loudly as the waves.
I want to stop talking now, but I can’t. This is not a story I ever tell. I only have the courage to tell it once. “I was air-lifted to Tampa for emergency surgery. I had internal injuries. Papa and Linda flew down. They stayed here for six months while I recuperated. After, I moved to New Jersey permanently. I couldn’t do all the things I did before. I couldn’t even remember simple things for a while. There was a lot of rehab and then even more surgeries. I missed the entire second half of my senior year of high school. I had to withdraw my acceptance to Iowa. Eventually, I took the GED test. For the last three years, I’ve been hibernating, a complete cave dweller. I hardly leave the house. That’s why I chose online classes. I withdrew from all my friends even though they tried to keep in touch. I’m still a mess.”
He touches my cheek. His hand feels comforting against my skin. I haven’t been touched in so long. I’m not even sure I can rationalize this. It’s not sexual. There is no questioning where it will lead or what it means. Right now, it’s comfort and exactly what I need. I lean into his hand and close my eyes.
“Are you in pain still?”
“Not unless I twist my body in a strange way.”
“Like climbing over a fence.”
“Yes, like that. The scars immobilize some movement, but I can do most things now.”
“You fought your way through a really rough road. You have to be proud of that.”
“Proud? I haven’t driven a car or surfed or even gone swimming since it happened.”
“But you want to go swimming now?”
“Yes, I think I do. Very much.”
He lets go of my hands. “Okay, me too.” He grips his shirt and pulls it over his head. His chest heaves with each breath. Even in moonlight, his blue eyes shine bright. His jeans come off next. He stands before me in nothing but black boxer briefs. I swallow, taking in his lean, sculpted body.