Last True Hero

by Diana Gardin

  “She doesn’t lo—”

  He waves me off. “Whatever. Semantics and shit. All he had to do was make a phone call and he could have found out what kind of hero his daughter was dating. That’s all I’m saying. And Berkeley didn’t even admit to the conversation…so this may have all been a misunderstanding on her part. You didn’t give her any kind of leeway or chance to explain herself.”

  My heart, traitor that it is, clenches somewhere deep in my chest. I haven’t felt it in so long, I wasn’t sure it still beat steadily until this moment. “I heard her, Drake. That’s all the confirmation I need. I know a failed mission when I see one.”

  Standing, he nods and dusts the sand off his hands. “All right. I trust your judgment. I just hope you’re not making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  As he walks away, I turn to stone. I don’t move, I don’t think, I don’t feel. I just sit, watching the waves do what waves do. One rolls in, another washes out. It’s comforting to know that some part of the universe is working exactly the way it’s supposed to.

  Almost two weeks to the day after that last night in Berkeley’s apartment, Chase drops a bomb on me.

  “Say that again, Chase. One more fucking time, just to make sure I heard you right.”

  Chase crouches down next to the car I’m currently sitting next to, wiping my hands on a towel. At least he isn’t making the “this is no big deal” face. He actually looks concerned about something for once in his life.

  “Look, a buddy of mine back in Florida told me that Chavez has been looking for me, and that he got wind of me being in Carolina. So he may or may not have figured out where I am.”

  I sit up suddenly, throwing my wrench aside. It clatters on the concrete floor. “Then you need to not be in Carolina anymore, Chase.”

  He sits back, his mouth falling open as he stares at me in shock. “Nice, Dare. Real fucking nice. What am I supposed to do? Be on the run the rest of my life?”

  I shake my head slowly, realizing that I just don’t have the patience for Chase’s shit anymore. “I don’t know, Chase. At this point, even if you give him his money is he just gonna roll over and forget about the drama? I doubt it. You don’t have many options here.”

  He stands. “Thanks, bro. That’s all you got for me? ‘I don’t have many options’?”

  I stand, too. “I’m always gonna be here for you, Chase, but—”

  He holds up a hand, taking a step back. “Yeah, I got it. Your priorities have been real different Dare. First the army, and now all you can think about is this girl. I’m your brother, and you’re just leaving me hanging.”

  My fist slams into a cart of tools unlucky enough to be next to me. “Goddamn it, Chase! I don’t know what else to do here. This is your mess. You need to man up and deal with it. Yourself. You can stay until you figure out where you’re going next. But I have a life here, and I’m not dragging Drake into this. Not on our turf.”

  He takes one more long look at me before turning around and heading out. He has nothing else to say, which is good because I don’t think I do either.

  26

  Berkeley

  July rolls into August, and the few months I spent with Dare in my life are beginning to feel like they never really happened. I can go to sleep at night without feeling like a piece of me has cracked off and been lost. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t automatically reach for his huge body in the empty space beside me. When I’m driving somewhere, I don’t continually check my phone to see if I’ve missed a text or a call from him. And I don’t constantly evaluate what the hell happened between us. Because, the truth of the matter is, we were fine. We were absolutely freaking perfect, and then all of a sudden we weren’t.

  And he left.

  It was easy for him. And reliving that and evaluating it over and over again just about killed me.

  So I had to stop. I’m stronger than my last relationship. I have to be.

  Living with the girls has been a complete godsend. They’re two little opposite balls of sunshine, lighting up my day from the second I wake up in the morning until I lay my head on my pillow every night. If I were still living with my parents, I may not have survived this.

  I have a job. Grisham was so right when he said “Tomorrow is a new day.” Because the very next day, I received a call from the interior design firm where I interned. The owner, Beth Eisengard of Beth Eisengard Interiors, was on the end of the line, offering me more saving graces.

  “I was so thrilled to see your résumé!” she’d exclaimed from her end. “Come in tomorrow for an interview, but it’s just a formality, hon. Of course I want you on my staff!”

  Just like that, I was a design assistant for Beth. And working for her has been filling my days like nothing else would be able to. I don’t have time to think about you-know-who, between taking room measurements and photos, matching paint color wheels to fabric swatches, and practically stalking potential clients.

  And then there’s Grisham. Thanks to my father, he lost the job in San Diego. He’s now stationed at the same navy base as both of our fathers in Brunswick County, and he’s paying dearly for his “disobedience.” He’s an officer, but he’s really starting on the low end of the pole when he could have been handling a lot more responsibility in California. I feel sorry for him. Grisham was being my friend, and he’s paying for it.

  I see him nearly every day.

  At first, I didn’t want to do anything. I would sit on the couch after work and turn on a movie, zoning out while Greta and Mea cooked dinner and opened a bottle of wine. They would flutter around me, clucking over me like old mother hens, and then Grisham would show up.

  Without saying a word, he would sit next to me on the couch and watch whatever stupid girly movie was running across the screen. We’d sit in silence while the girls served us a meal and continued with their evenings. Then, at around ten, he’d kiss me on the cheek and say good night.

  That continued for days until one day I asked him if he’d like to watch anything else. He’d sent me a shocked, small smile, and turned the channel to SportsCenter. I caught Mea and Greta exchanging a look, but they’d said nothing in response to our changeup.

  Today, a blistering hot, mid-August Saturday, Grisham has convinced me to go surfing. I hear the knock on the front door to the apartment while I’m pulling on my tankini, and I know he’s here to pick me up. I grab my wet suit and head to the hallway, stopping short at the door to my room.

  “Shit, Grisham,” grumbles Mea. “She’s actually leaving the house with you to do something fun. This is kind of huge? Why the hell can’t you take her to do something she actually likes to do?”

  Her grumbly voice is so freaking cute; I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling. She’s totally fussing him out, but it’s reminiscent of what a baby cheetah might sound like when it’s mad. Shaking my head, I start through the doorway but pause when I hear his quiet answer.

  “She likes surfing, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

  I can only imagine Mea’s dubious expression. She’s perfected her “what-the-fuck” face over the years.

  “I’m serious. She needs this. She needs to do something active and just let go for a while. This is the best way I know to get her to do that.”

  I ponder this for a minute, standing in the doorway in my bathing suit and bare feet. Surfing is definitely an adrenaline rush, if you’re actually doing it right. When you stand on your board, your stomach begins to drop out from under you, and when the wave takes ahold of you and pulls you into the shore you get kind of lost in the roar of the wind and the spray of salty sea in your face.

  Normally, just after that is when I bust my ass and crack an elbow or a knee on my board. And I completely forget about the feeling I just had right before I crashed and burned.

  Hmmm. Maybe Grish is right. Maybe I need to embrace the sport a little more.

  “She hasn’t been the same since Dare,” warns Mea. “You know that. She needs a
great day today, because…” Her voice cracks a little, and I feel my throat closing up.

  She said his name. Fuck, she said his name and now I can’t really breathe. I’ve avoided saying it, even in my head, even in my dreams. I suck in a gulp of air, and then another, as I process the rest of her sentence.

  “Because she doesn’t laugh anymore, Grisham. I haven’t seen Berkeley’s dimples in I don’t know how long. Actually, I do know exactly how long. I want to see her happy again. This Berkeley hasn’t been happy. Not since…”

  “I know,” snaps Grisham. He sounds really irritated. “I fucking know, okay? She’ll be fine. She doesn’t need him.”

  I can’t listen to this anymore. I pull myself together, tying up the invisible laces that hold in my insides, and walk down the hallway.

  “Hey, Grish,” I say with tons of cheery, false enthusiasm. “I’m ready to hit the waves.”

  He stares at me, his plush bottom lip hanging open a little. “What…you are?”

  I nod, pulling my board shorts off the back of the couch and shimmying into them. “Yeah. So let’s go.”

  I smile cheerily at Mea, who narrows her eyes at me, and walk out of the apartment. I pause on the landing, waiting on Grisham to step out after me. He does, closing the door behind him, and I continue down the two flights of steps that lead to the parking lot of our complex.

  If they think I’m falling apart, well then it looks like I have some convincing to do. Whatever is happening on the inside of me is my business, not theirs. I have a right to my emotions, without everyone around me evaluating them and picking them apart like I’m some kind of psychiatric specimen for study.

  Grisham is quiet on the five-minute ride to his favorite surf spot, glancing over at me occasionally. He’ll open his mouth as if to say something, and then snap it shut again. I ride silently, my right foot hitched up on the dashboard and hanging out the open window.

  “Since when do you paint your toenails black?”

  I look at him sharply, and he’s glancing pointedly at my exposed toes. I look down at them, and then sigh.

  “They’re not black,” I inform him. “They’re Wild Cherry Nights, and I love this color.”

  Grisham raises two dark-blond eyebrows in response, but says nothing. He pulls into the sand-covered lot and exits the Audi. He busies himself removing our boards from the rack on the top, and I stare out over the cliff we’re parking atop of. The ocean is crashing roughly against the shore and into the craggy rocks right beside it. It’s a very windy day down here at the beach, and I suddenly can’t wait to be in the water.

  When Grisham hands me my board, I place it over my head and begin picking my way down the hill toward the beach. I can hear him behind me, and as we reach the bottom I suddenly turn to face him.

  “Stop worrying about me, Grisham,” I order. “I’m fine, okay? You don’t have to walk on eggshells. I just want to surf.”

  His eyes widen in surprise. “You want to surf?”

  I smile at him. “See? Fine. Now let’s do this.”

  We take the rest of the rocky path down, and then I strip off my shorts to pull on my yellow and black wet suit. While Grisham is still tugging on his solid black one, I grab my board and take off for the water. I hear him chuckle behind me, and blow out a sigh of relief. Maybe now he’ll stop looking at me like I’m going to break into tiny little pieces right in front of him.

  The water is cool despite the summer’s heat, and I relish the feel of it as it covers my ankles, my knees, my thighs, and my hips. When I finally get to the point where I can climb atop my board, I sit serenely, surveying the scene around me. I’m surrounded by solid blue in almost every direction. The gray-blue water meets the turquoise sky in a collision of hue, and I close my eyes, breathing in the salt. For the first time in a month, I feel…peaceful. Calm. Steady. I pull in a breath and let it out again, and as I do I feel the swell of a building wave.

  “Do it, Berk!”

  Grisham is next to me; I never saw him ride out, but I do as he says and begin paddling. He’s next to me stroke for stroke, and when I see him start to stand up a few feet away, I scramble lithely to my feet. I swear it’s the smoothest transition I’ve ever completed, and then I’m soaring.

  I hold my hands out to either side of me and bend my knees, reacting to the movement of the water beneath me as I ride the wave into shore. When I reach the sand, I hop off and throw my hands into the air, curling my fingers into jubilant fists.

  Grisham is right behind me, and he tosses his board to the ground and sprints over to where I stand. He scoops me into his arms, and I’m suddenly laughing my ever-loving head off.

  “Oh, my God!” he shouts happily. “That was amazing, Berk! That’s the best one you’ve ever done. You rode the shit out of that wave!”

  “Holy fuck, I did, didn’t I?” I ask in wonder. His arms tighten around me, and I throw my head back. My heavy, wet curls slap us both in the face, and Grisham bursts into laughter beside me.

  When he pulls back, his face is shining and bright with elation. “You want to do that again?”

  “Hell. Yes.”

  It’s nearly dark when we finally pack it up and head home. Grisham has a perma-smile on his face, and I’m pretty sure I do, too. Only, as soon as we get in the car, the bubble of happiness the day has created begins to fade and ebb.

  He reaches over and clasps my hand in his across the center console. “You laughed today,” he says fiercely. “You laughed, dammit. Don’t pull back into your shell now. Stay with me, Berk.”

  “I’m right here,” I whisper.

  I glance at him quickly, and then look out at the dark forms the trees take as they fly by outside the car. “I’m hungry.”

  “Yeah? You should be. You killed it today, Berkeley. I’ve never seen you like that…you were amazing. Do you get it now? Why I like to surf?”

  He guides the car off the road and into the parking lot at See Food.

  “Yeah, Grish. I do. That was…it was freeing. I don’t know. That sounds weird, right?” I clasp my hands together in my lap, toying with the tie on my board shorts. I feel my face heating as a blush creeps up from my neck.

  He squeezes my hand. “It’s not weird. That’s exactly how I feel when I’m doing it. Want me to grab some food to go?”

  I nod, and he walks up to the restaurant. Just as Grisham reaches for the door, it opens, and Drake walks out with a to-go container in his hands.

  He freezes when he sees me, glancing from me to Grisham and back again. His eyes are warm when he settles them on me and he wallops me with his killer grin.

  I unfold myself from the car, leaning awkwardly against the door. “Drake…” Just seeing him fills me with nostalgia, and the pain that simmers beneath the surface rises, ready to slice me open.

  “Hey, Berkeley,” he says gently. “You been doing okay? I miss you, girl.”

  I nod numbly, and swallow so that I don’t look like a mute. “I’m doing fine, Drake. How are you?”

  He nods, glancing at Grisham again. Grisham is watching us warily. I realize he never met Drake. “I’m doing really good. This is still my favorite restaurant.”

  I nod. “Drake, this is my friend Grisham. Grish, this is Drake. He’s…” I trail off, at a loss. How am I supposed to get this out? It ain’t gonna happen.

  Drake shifts his food, and holds out a hand to Grisham. “I’m Dare’s roommate.”

  And there it is. Shit! The pain rips through me, and I bite the shit out of my lip to stop it from trembling. Grisham shakes Drake’s hand quickly and then lays a steadying hand on my lower back.

  He knows. Damn.

  “Good seeing you, Berkeley.” Drake frowns at me, as if he’s trying to figure out what just happened.

  Dare’s not with him. Where is he? Maybe he’s seeing someone. Maybe he has a date. Oh, God in heaven. What if he’s inside with said date right now? If I see that, I’m going to hurl right on the hardwood floor at See Food. Lenny and Boozer w
ill kill me.

  “Where’s your roommate tonight?” The question is casual, but I can hear the slight edge to Grisham’s tone when he asks it.

  Drake hesitates, staring at me cautiously. “He’s been helping his brother out with something. Been pretty tied up with that.”

  Grisham nods, visibly relieved.

  “It was good seeing you, Drake.”

  “You too, Berkeley. Don’t be a stranger.”

  He walks away, and Grisham guides me into the restaurant.

  Lenny rushes over, happy to see me, asking questions about the new job. I’m swept up in her excitement, and it allows me to push all thoughts of Dare way down deep and focus on telling her all about being a design assistant. Grisham leans back in the front booth and watches, a small smile etched on his sun-bronzed face.

  “What?” I demand, once Lenny is gone to get our order.

  He tenses his jaw, keeping his eyes on me. “I like seeing you talk about your job. It’s something you’re happy about.”

  I mull that over, and his smile grows. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  He’s quiet for a few minutes, alternating between staring at me and strumming his fingertips on the table. I just wait. Finally, he asks. “Are you okay? After seeing Drake?”

  Ah. It all comes flooding back. The pain, the anxiety, the whirlpool of emotions that leave me hanging on for dear life. I’m teetering on the brink of a tearful, embarrassing breakdown, and I suddenly feel like if I start I may never be able to stop.

  “I’m tired,” I choke out, pushing away from the booth. Grisham stands, too, his features full of concern. “I’ll be in the car.”

  He nods. “Berk—”

  I throw a hand up at him, because I know one more understanding word from him may break me.

  Then, just before the tears begin to fall and my heart starts to constrict, I turn and flee the restaurant.

  I’m not over Dare Conners, my ex-Army Ranger. I might never be over him.