Head Above Water

by Amber Garza

  “Here. Let me.” Tag rolls over onto his knees, and sand covers them. His hands move over my skin, and I giggle.

  “That tickles.”

  “You know you love it.”

  I smile because he’s right. His fingers move with precision over my flesh, rubbing in the sunblock. Once it’s dissolved, he commands me to turn around. Cold sunblock drips onto my shoulders. Both hands clamp down on my shoulders and he kneads with his fingers. It feels good, and I involuntarily let out a moan. His head lowers, his breath fanning over my neck. Then he steals a kiss on the inside of my neck, and chills skate down my spine.

  “You’re not cold, are you?” He teases.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m hot actually.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Chuckling, I bend my head until my chin touches my chest as he continues to massage the sunblock onto my skin. While his hands work their magic, I find myself wishing we could stay like this all day. This is much more relaxing than getting in the cold water and fighting the waves. When his hands fall away from me, I sigh. I guess it’s time.

  “Ready, baby?” He drops his chin on my shoulder.

  “Yeah.” I take a deep breath.

  Standing up, Tag grabs my hand and helps me up. Threading his fingers through mine, he ushers me down to the water. “You’ve got this, baby.”

  I nod, gathering strength from his words. “I’m ready.” Slipping my fingers from his, I step into the cool water.

  Tag raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t think I need your help anymore. I can do this.”

  “You sure?” He furrows his brow.

  “Yeah.” I step forward, planting a kiss on his lips. “I’ve had the best teacher ever, and he’s prepared me for this.”

  “I’ll be right here. I won’t leave your side. If you need me, holler.”

  I smile, knowingly. “I doubt I’ll need to holler. I have a feeling you’d scoop me up before I could say anything.

  “Have I really been that bad?”

  “It’s okay. I like knowing you’ve got my back.” I step back into the water. Turning away from Tag, I walk further into the ocean. The soft waves bob around my legs, splash my thighs. I dip my hands in as the water reaches my middle. I shiver against the cold. With one last smile over my shoulder, I push off with my legs and dive into the water. I kick with my legs and pump with my arms like Tag taught me. The water swirls around me, covering me like a blanket. I move through it with ease. When I need to breathe, I pop my head up through the surface and inhale. Circling my arms in the water, I hold myself upright. I’m really doing it. And I’m doing it all by myself.

  I spot Tag, and a relieved expression fills his face. He waves and then heads in my direction. I stay in one place until he reaches me. His arms circle me and he draws me to him until our chests are pressed together. I loop my arms around his neck, and straddle him to cement my position in the water.

  “You did it, baby. You swam.”

  A huge smile sweeps across my face and my chest swells with pride. “I know.” I can’t hide my excitement.

  “God, you’re so beautiful. You take my breath away.” Tag’s fingers dig into my waist and his face nears mine. His mouth presses against my lips as we bob softly together in the waves. I weave my fingers in his hair as his tongue gently teases my mouth open. Our tongues meld together, sliding over the other in perfect rhythm. I lock my ankles together so I won’t float away from Tag. He growls and kisses me harder, more intense. “I love you, baby.” He drops his forehead to mine, breathing out.

  “I love you, Tag.” I never thought I’d feel comfortable in the ocean. But in Tag’s arms, with our breath mingling together, I feel free and whole for the first time in my life.

  I feel like I’ve finally come home.

  Epilogue

  HARPER

  I STARE OUT at the ocean, watching the waves crash into the shore and then retreat. Foam ruffles the edges looking like soap. Inhaling, I take in the salty scent that has become such a huge part of my life. Funny how the beach used to represent death and fear; now it holds promise and hope. It was on this beach that I met the love of my life.

  It was on this beach that Tag saved me.

  It was on this beach that I faced my fears and finally learned to let go.

  And it was on this beach that Tag got down on one knee and proposed six months ago. I remember the day with such clarity. In fact, I’m sure that I will never forget any of it. It’s engraved on my heart, etched permanently in my memory. I’ll never forget how sweet he looked kneeling in the sand, holding out my ring. I knew with absolute certainty that I wanted to be his wife. I didn’t even let him finish asking me before I blurted out a yes. The truth is that Tag stole a piece of my heart the first time I saw him. And then every day after that he took one piece after another, until the whole thing belonged to him. I don’t know the exact moment he finally owned the whole thing, but I know it was a long time ago. Long before he proposed. It never was a question of if I would marry Tag. It was always a question of when.

  “You ready?” Dad holds out his arm to me. He looks so good in his black and white tuxedo.

  “Yes.” I slip my arm into the crook of his elbow. My white strapless dress falls right above my bare feet that skim the sand with each step. In my hand I hold a bouquet of white flowers. I clutch them tightly to my chest and look up. My breath hitches in my throat at the sight of Tag. He stands a few feet away wearing a fitted tux, his hair styled neatly and his eyes shining in the sun. I want to run right into his arms, but I force myself to take deliberate steps. My heart pounds and my palms fill with moisture. This is it. Today I become Harper Williams. Today I get to marry the man I love more than life itself.

  Dad guides me past our guests. There are only a few. We wanted it intimate. Kate winks at me, but I see traces of tears in her eyes. My mom dabs her eyes with a tissue while Tag’s mom openly weeps. We’ve become so close, and I’ve been helping her fight her depression. Tag says I have a special gift. I’m counting on that since I’ve finished school and I’m close to opening my own practice.

  “You’re really happy, aren’t you?” Dad whispers in my ear.

  “Very,” I respond.

  His eyes fill with tears. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

  “I know, Daddy.” I sniff, and then blink to keep my emotions in check.

  A breeze kicks up, and the roar of the ocean fills my ears. There was never a question of where we would get married. Tag made that clear when he proposed.

  He said, “The beach is where met and where we fell in love. And the beach is where I want to start my life with you.”

  With a peck on the cheek, Dad hands me over to Tag. When his fingers curl around mine, happiness spreads through my body like wildfire. I step toward him, my eyes locked with his. The minister starts to talk, giving a speech about marriage and unconditional love. I hear his words off in the distance, but my focus is on Tag, on the way his hair curls at the base of his neck and the way his jaw tightens when he’s nervous. I love every detail about this man. Everything I’ve learned up to this point, good or bad, has endeared him to me. And I look forward to learning so much more.

  When it’s time to say I do, I have no hesitation. I speak the words loudly, firmly. I do promise to love Tag for the rest of my life, and I trust him to always keep my head above water.

  Turn the page to read the first two chapters in Star Struck by Amber Garza….

  1

  Star

  I wipe my clammy hands down my jeans. My fingernail snags on a loose thread, and I yank it out. Then bite down on the jagged edge. Lola raises an eyebrow at me, and I quickly retract my fingers from my mouth. Nail biting is a habit I’m trying hard to break now that I’m in college. I glance down at my stubby nails and cringe. I guess I’m not doing a great job.

  The girl on stage strums her guitar loudly and belts out a note in a way that makes me wince. Lola fla
shes me an amused look, but it only succeeds in turning my stomach. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the slick pub table we’re seated at. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

  “Oh, come on. You are a million times better than this girl.”

  “That’s not saying much.”

  “Trust me, you’re gonna blow this place out of the water.” Lola plucks the cup of soda off the table and takes a dainty sip. Everything about Lola is dainty from her French manicured nails, to her coifed black hair and her ruby red lipstick. She always reminds me of an actress from the 1950’s. I rub my lightly glossed lips together, tuck a strand of my straight brown hair behind my ears, and glance down at my short nails that haven't been painted in years. Maybe I should finally let Lola give me that makeover she's always threatening me with. “You are so much more talented than you give yourself credit for.”

  That’s the reason Lola has been my best friend for so long. She believes in me in a way that no one else does. And she’s always encouraging me to put myself out there. Even though it infuriates me sometimes, the truth is, that I’m grateful to her. However, at this moment I’m terrified. We’ve only been on campus for a week, and she’s already talked me into performing at open mic night at a popular coffee shop. The place is jam packed with people, and every time a new person enters the room my insides are attacked by another swarm of angry butterflies.

  “Ooh, you’re up next,” Lola squeals, her eyes dancing with excitement.

  Goodie. My palms fill with more moisture and I feel dangerously close to puking. When my name is called, I throw Lola a pained look and force my legs to carry me up on the makeshift stage. Peering down at my long shirt, skinny jeans and ballet flats, I’m grateful that I’m not wearing heels. Since I’m only five foot four, I tend to wear high heels a lot. But judging by how violently my legs are shaking, I’m pretty sure if I weren’t wearing my flats I’d be face down on the ground by now. Thankfully I make it to the stage and I plop down at the keyboard. With shaky fingers I pull the microphone to my lips and rest my fingers on the keys. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, and I don’t dare look out at the room. If I just pretend I’m alone in my room singing I should be okay. I love to sing and play. It’s probably my favorite thing in the world to do, but performing is something I’m still not comfortable with.

  I decide to play a song I wrote a couple of years ago for my ex-boyfriend Spencer. It’s one I’ve sang so many times I could probably sing it in my sleep, so I figure it’s a safe bet. Even if I completely blank out I won’t forget the lyrics or anything. When I press down on the first key, I close my eyes and allow my mind to drown out the room. I focus on the music, letting the lyrics and notes whisk me away. As I splash around in the waves of the song, eventually I go under, drowning in it.

  I want you close

  I want you here

  I feel complete

  When you are near

  After playing the last chord, I finally come out of my trance and open my eyes, taking in the room. The first person I notice is Lola, and she’s beaming up at me. The room has quieted down and all eyes seem to be on me. This causes my heart to start beating frantically in my chest. I stand up, and a smattering of applause ensues.

  Swallowing hard, I take deliberate steps off the stage, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. Before I can reach my table, a guy about my age intercepts me. He has brown hair that falls a little past his ears in a sweep that reminds me of the typical look of the members of boy bands. His eyes are dark and the lines around them crinkle as he smiles at me.

  “Hey, you were pretty great up there,” he says.

  I bite my lip, heat creeping up into my cheeks. “Thanks.”

  “I’m Ryker.” He juts out a hand to mine.

  After swiping my sweaty hand over the thigh of my jeans, I hold my hand out too. “Star.”

  “I like it.” He cocks an eyebrow.

  “I’m Lola,” my friend calls out from where she is seated at our table. “Why don’t you join us, Ryker?” Lola indicates the extra chair at our small table.

  Ryker smiles as he plops down into the chair. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I slide into the chair opposite him and glance over at Lola. She’s grinning from ear to ear, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. It turns my stomach. I’m so not ready to get back in the dating game. I just got out of a two-year relationship, and by that I mean I got dumped big time by the only boy I’ve ever loved. Honestly, I thought that Spencer was the one. Clearly I was wrong, but the thought of jumping into another relationship right now does not sound appealing.

  Lola nudges me and I glance back over at Ryker. I suppose he’s pretty cute, but I’m not sure he’s really my type. In truth, he looks more like Lola’s type with his trendy outfit and hair style that he clearly put a lot of effort into.

  The next performer starts playing, so Ryker leans toward me. “I’m in a band and we’re looking for a female singer. I think you’d be perfect.”

  This perks my interest. “Like a lead singer?” I’m not sure I’m ready to be the front runner of a band. I could hardly get through open mic night without emptying the contents of my stomach on stage.

  “No, we have a lead singer. We’re looking for kind of a backup singer, I guess. But there would be plenty of opportunities to feature one of your songs if you wanted to,” Ryker explains.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been in a band before.”

  “Why not? You’re amazing,” Ryker gushes.

  Lola elbows me in the side. “I’ve been telling her that for years.”

  Ryker peers over at Lola and raises his eyebrows. I recognize that look. Pretty much every guy I meet is attracted to Lola. It’s almost impossible not to be. “Smart friend.”

  “You have no idea,” she jokes, running a finger over the rim of her glass.

  “Thanks for the offer, Ryker, but I’m just not sure about it.” I look to Lola for some help. Surely she won’t want me to join a band with a complete stranger. For all I know he could be a serial killer.

  “Why don’t you give us your information and Star can give you a call to discuss it further?” Lola asks.

  Ryker grins, pushing away from the table. “Great. I’ll be right back.”

  I glare at Lola, who just shrugs her shoulders in response.

  “I’m not joining his band,” I hiss over the loud music blaring from onstage.

  “Why not?” Lola runs a long fingernail through her shiny hair.

  “I don’t know anything about the guy. I don’t even know the name of his band. What if he doesn’t even have a band?” Panic chokes me at the thought.

  Lola just laughs and waves away my words with a graceful flick of her wrist. “Did you see the guy? He screams ‘boy band’. But finding out if his story is legit will be easy enough.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but Ryker reappears before I can ask her. He shoves a piece of paper at me. I glance down and see a phone number and address scrawled on it. “Whose address is this?”

  “Our lead singer,” Ryker says. “We practice in his parents’ garage.”

  Seriously? I am so not showing up at some stranger’s house. This is getting even more suspicious. I throw Lola a cautionary look, and she grimaces back. Finally she’s on my side.

  “We’re practicing tomorrow night at seven. You should come and jam with us.” Ryker rolls his shoulders.

  I open my mouth to tell him no thank you, but I clamp my mouth shut as my gaze takes in the guy walking on the stage. He’s quite possibly the best looking guy I’ve ever seen. Not only that, but he walks with a swagger that causes everyone to stop and take notice. He has a guitar slung over his shoulder. He's wearing skinny jeans, boots and a black short-sleeved shirt that shows off the intricate tattoo that covers one of his arms. His dark hair is short, and when he smiles at the crowd it causes my heart to flip in my chest. He begins playing, and I’m mesmerized
. When he opens his mouth to sing, I freeze. His voice is incredible – raspy, yet controlled in a way that most guys can’t master. I’m completely entranced with him.

  “Who is he?” I breathe, mostly to myself, but Ryker must hear me because he turns in my direction.

  “That’s Beckett. He’s the lead singer in our band. That’s why it’s called ‘Beckett.’ He has a bit of an ego.” Ryker chuckles lightly before sitting back in his chair.

  I exhale and stare up at the stage. This guy is the leader of the band Ryker wants me to join? I sit still during the remainder of Beckett’s song, unable to tear my eyes away from him. When he finishes, the crowd erupts into clapping and I turn to Ryker with a smile.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow night,” I say, my mind made up.

  Last night I was so certain about this. Of course I think that had everything to do with seeing Beckett up on stage. I've never been so taken with someone at first glance. However, now as I pull up in front of a complete stranger's house I'm having second thoughts. The house is nice and clean with its blue trim and white shuttered windows, and the lawn is well manicured. But that does little to quell my nerves. I've watched enough crime dramas to know that even serial killers live in pretty houses in nice neighborhoods. Besides, this is just Beckett's parents' house. I have no idea what all the guys in the band are like, and that's who I'll be with, and in the garage no less.

  "Hey, you gonna stand out here all day?" Ryker walks toward me, his hands shoved into his pockets.

  I jump back, wondering where he came from. "Um, no, I just um...you know...wanted to make sure it was the right house. Which I now see that it is."

  Ryker flashes me an amused smile and lightly taps me on the arm. "Come on. I'll introduce you to Beckett."

  Just the sound of his name causes my pulse to race. Taking a deep breath, I follow behind Ryker. He ambles over to a box built into the house directly next to the garage. After punching in a few numbers on it, the garage door opens loudly. Inside I can see instruments set up - there's a drum set, a keyboard and guitars resting on stands strewn about. Just as I step inside, a door to the house pops open and Beckett walks through it clutching a bottle of water. I've never wanted to be an inanimate object before, but taking in the way his fingers curl around the sweating bottle I feel a sense of jealousy.