Rewind to You

by Laura Johnston

  “Don’t think you can steal her from me, too,” he says. Somehow, we’re nose to nose now. A smug little smile outlines his face, reaching his eyes. “Did she tell you about the other night, how we made out on the beach?”

  “Shut up.” I turn away.

  “Come on, Dobbs,” Kyle says. “Come near her again and I’ll finish what we started at that grill.”

  “Oh, that’s finished.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m not going to fight you, Kyle.”

  “Then keep your hands off what isn’t yours.”

  “I wonder what she’d think,” I say, ignoring him completely. “Most girls would think twice about their boyfriend—of three years—if they knew he was making out with someone behind their back. Does Sienna know? That girl you were all over at the grill wasn’t the only one, was she?”

  Kyle looks blank, stunned.

  “Do you love her?”

  The question obviously throws him for a loop. I watch him for an answer.

  Just as Kyle’s lips part to form a reply, a horn honks. I glance up at the SUV. Kyle’s parents.

  “Wait here, Turbs,” I say and throw open the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

  I let the door close behind me, leaving Kyle alone with his nuts and his flowery bag and no chance to have the last word.

  I take another step toward the front door after saying good-bye to everyone and snagging a baseball cap I left, trying to break away from Jimmy, who is talking football again. I glance at the clock. Maybe I should have left Turbo in the car with the window down. Then again, it’s supposed to get up to ninety-five degrees today.

  Finally I step outside, glad to see that Kyle took his flowery bag and left. I try not to think about where he’s going, to spend the holiday with Sienna, her mom, and Spencer, like one big happy family.

  “Come on, Turbs,” I say, patting my leg. At least I have Turbo to watch fireworks with tonight. Yes, that’s exactly what my plan is.

  It takes me a second to realize Turbo isn’t following. “Turbo?”

  He whimpers in reply. I turn to see him lying down.

  “Sorry for the wait, boy.” Still, what’s his deal? He’s acting almost depressed. Then he tries to stand, and I realize something’s wrong.

  I crouch down. “Turbs?”

  His hind legs tremble as he tries, and fails, to stand. My heart rate kicks up at the sight of his sudden weakness. Finally he stands, and I try to assure myself he’s fine even though he’s breathing like an old man. Maybe he’s just hot and tired. Coming down with something. I don’t know.

  Then I see it.

  I bend down, swipe my finger through the smudge of brown on the cement, and lift it to my nose. Chocolate. Glancing up, I see the remnants of nuts and chocolate sprinkled across the sidewalk, which can only mean one thing. I bolt over to Turbo, slip my finger between his lips, and pull his gums back.

  Rage bleeds within me, seeping into every vein until my entire body is on fire. Turbo’s face is already beginning to swell. My clenched jaw grows numb as one name burns like acid on my tongue: Kyle.

  The rest of the day hurls past me, a blurry haze punctuated by names, places, and emotions—Dr. Martin, Eastside Veterinary Hospital, and uncertainty as they induce vomiting and start medications—but most of all raw anger.

  The sun is slowly descending into the horizon when the doctor approaches me. “We’d like to monitor him overnight.”

  I exhale a long breath, one that feels like I’ve been holding it all day. Turbo is alive.

  “There’s no way to put it lightly,” he continues. “The combination of chocolate and nuts is highly toxic. He’s in critical condition. My receptionist can go over finances for the treatments and Turbo’s overnight stay, if you have any concerns about—”

  “I’ll pay whatever it takes,” I say. I swallow hard, not sure I want to hear the answer to my next question. “Will he be okay?”

  One side of Dr. Martin’s lips shifts to form an unpromising grin. “It’s a good thing you got him here quickly. If Turbo didn’t have a particular sensitivity to nuts, we might have a better idea. We’ll definitely know more in the morning.”

  Feeling nauseated, I slump into the driver’s seat of my uncle’s car. My phone rings. I ignore it. It vibrates, signaling a new voice mail, and I listen.

  “Austin, hun”—Aunt Deb’s voice is wrapped in concern—“how’s Turbo? We haven’t heard from you since lunchtime. We’re worried about you. We saved you some chicken pot pie from dinner. Give us a call.”

  Silence replaces her voice as the message ends. Numbness settles in as I slowly grasp what might still happen tonight to Turbo, the puppy I first held on my ninth birthday, the dog I could always count on, the friend that stood by me along the way.

  Kyle did this.

  Almost without thinking, I shove the key in the ignition and throw the car into drive.

  In less than half an hour, I park on the gravel road, step out, and see exactly who I came here for. I let the door slam shut behind me, hoping Kyle hears. This is where I was headed after The Westin—to the beach with Turbo. The thought that I might never watch Turbo run on this shoreline again only adds coal to the fire.

  Despite everything, I feel an eerie sense of calm as I cross the road and cut my way through the sand. A younger version of Kyle catches a Frisbee and tosses it back to his older brother. I don’t recognize anyone else. Sienna must be inside, and that’s a good thing.

  Some guys fight to prove something. Others do it for the adrenaline rush. Then there are those who do it for no other reason than the pure satisfaction of watching the other guy bleed. Well, if I want to prove something, I’ll prove it on the football field. If I want an adrenaline rush, I’ll hop on my motorcycle. And satisfaction? Pralines ’n cream. But fighting? No, I don’t enjoy fighting. At least not usually.

  He sees me a second before I swing him around and shove him back. Kyle staggers, barely catching himself.

  “You did that on purpose—those nuts. Didn’t you?”

  His fingers curl up as a twisted smile shapes his lips. “Now we’re even.”

  I duck, barely missing his swing, but Kyle isn’t as lucky. My knuckles sink into his eye socket with a sickening sound. I grab his shirt before he has a chance to regain balance, and I throw him down, shoving him into the sand and pinning him beneath me. I pound into him again and again, all the anger of the past nine hours channeled into my fists. He tried to kill my dog.

  Then I hear someone cry out. Sienna’s voice. It’s just enough of a distraction, and Kyle seizes his chance.

  He slugs me in the jaw so hard, my teeth snap down on my tongue, and I taste blood. On his feet now, he tries to hit me again, but I dodge his jab, wrap my arms around his head, and drive his face into my knee. I glimpse someone behind me, and when Kyle shoves me off him, I feel my elbow sinking into something small and delicate: a person.

  I reel around and see Sienna hit the sand.

  I fall to my knees beside her. “Sienna!”

  A small crowd forms. Kyle’s dad tries to pull me away from her, but I easily shove him off. Sienna holds her shoulder gingerly where I fell into her. I reach to help her, but she slaps my hand away.

  “What are you doing?” she nearly screams.

  Her mom helps her up, eyeing me with an iciness that keeps me back. Kyle stands behind them, blood trickling over the smirk on his lips. A couple of years ago I would have tackled him and wiped that little smile off his face, finishing the fight. But I’ve changed. Or have I? Maybe I’m still nothing more than a kid from the South Side who learned to fend for himself.

  I consider explaining why I’m here and realize how trivial it would sound to these people. After all, Turbo is just a dog. To them.

  Kyle’s mom holds a napkin to his nose. The pent-up fury of the day dissolves, replaced with nothing more than the hollow feeling of regret. Nothing I do now is going to save Turbo. Yes, Kyle’s a punk who has picke
d way too many fights. He tried to kill my dog, no doubt, another attempt to pick the fight I wouldn’t give him at the hotel. Well, he got that fight after all.

  I wipe my mouth, a streak of blood smearing the back of my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Sienna shakes her head with a scared, no, disgusted look on her face. “Go home,” she says before I can explain.

  And that’s exactly what I do.

  I stop at my aunt and uncle’s house only long enough to clean up and tell them how Turbo is. My mom stands outside the bathroom as I rinse the blood from my mouth, watching me with a wary eye. She doesn’t ask questions, though; she rarely does, and this time I’m glad.

  “Austin, are you okay?” Uncle Mark asks from the front door as I straddle my motorcycle.

  “Fine.”

  His brows slide up skeptically.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. For the blood. For the foul mood. Everything.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  I fire up the engine. “I don’t know.”

  It’s true. I have no idea where I’m heading until I get there.

  I park my motorcycle, walk down the stone staircase, and blend into the crowd of people dressed in red, white, and blue along River Street. Between my stop at The Westin this morning and now, I completely forgot today is the Fourth of July. I find a park bench and sit as the first firework explodes into color against the dark sky. I do my best not to think about Turbs, about the call I’ll get tomorrow morning from the vet.

  Patriotic music plays somewhere behind me. People talk and laugh, boozing and lighting sparklers, and everything blends into a fog of incongruence around me. The celebration feels wrong, and I wonder if, in a very small way, this gutted-out feeling is anything like what Sienna experienced the night her dad died.

  I focus on the reflection of fireworks on the Savannah River, trying to press Sienna out of my mind. But it doesn’t help. The longer I stare at the flash of colors, the deeper one thought burns inside me: Sienna is watching fireworks right now as well, only she’s with Kyle.

  In spite of this, I was painfully right. No matter what Sienna does, no matter what happens between us or how much it hurts, I’ll always love her.

  CHAPTER 34

  Sienna

  Violent, that’s how Kyle described him. I sit on a blanket in the sand, waiting along with everyone else on the beach for the fireworks to begin over Tybee’s pier. When Kyle first accused Austin of being dangerous, it didn’t sit right. But today, I caught a glimpse of the Austin Kyle described.

  I look at the shiner that’s beginning to outline Kyle’s eye in shades of pink and purple. He lies down on the blanket beside me with a contented smile. With parasailing this afternoon and the fight this evening, I’ve hardly had a chance to think about my dad, about the fact that it was one year ago today that he died.

  “How’s your nose?” I ask.

  Kyle places my hand on his face and burrows into it, beckoning my affection. “Sore,” he replies and pulls me toward him.

  Dull pain pinches my shoulder where Austin fell into me. “What was that all about today?”

  “I told you,” he replies with an edge on his tone. “He’s unstable, Sienna. I ran into him at The Westin this morning. I asked him what was going on between you two, and he told me it was none of my business. Seriously, this thing he’s got for you is freakish, obsessive. I warned you. He’s insane. Literally. He got all pissed about me being with you, and he snapped. That’s all.”

  “That’s what you told our parents,” I say. “There’s nothing more to it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Really?”

  Kyle rolls his eyes. “Come on, Sienna. He’s a ticking time bomb, and he blew, like he did at the grill. Why do you think he never mentioned anything about breaking my arm?”

  I look away, unable to deny that it is suspicious. Why didn’t I ask Austin about it at his aunt and uncle’s house yesterday? When I’m with him I so easily—so blindly—trust him.

  “He didn’t want you to know what he’s really like,” Kyle says and wraps his arms around me. “I’m leaving Monday morning. Brittney’s freaking out about the wedding without my mom there. Anyway, tomorrow’s our last day together.”

  Cupping the back of my head, he leans in to kiss me as the first firework explodes over the pier. A vibrating pulse shakes the ground beneath us.

  “How are you?” he asks. I look over at Kyle, realizing I just dodged his kiss. “You know, with your dad and everything?”

  Fireworks shoot up, one after another. I smile, inadvertently thinking of the first time I saw Austin under a sky of fireworks. That night I set out for River Street with the intention, however painful, of moving on. I went to River Street looking for the happiness I once felt there, and I found it.

  “Actually, I’m okay,” I say. But with the thought of Austin comes an intolerable ache. I stand.

  “Where are you going?” Kyle asks.

  To be alone. “The restroom,” I say instead. I can’t hide it, the pain of knowing Austin isn’t the person I thought he was, yet senselessly loving him nonetheless.

  “You’ll miss the fireworks,” Kyle says, but I’m already at the back patio.

  I close the door behind me, shutting out the muggy Georgia air and the acrid smell of fireworks. A chill sweeps over me, and I welcome it. I’m not scared anymore.

  Another firework flashes, casting a red glow on the kitchen cabinets. I walk to the stairs, feeling my heart thud faster and faster, the palpitations Dr. Kovac told me about.

  The ground shakes, sending a tremor up my legs. It takes me back to the Jeep, to the smile on my dad’s face as we zipped down the highway exactly one year ago tonight. That was the last of his smiles I ever saw.

  I let myself think about it. Make myself think about it. Difficulty breathing, a cold sweat . . . I feel it all in full, doing nothing to prevent this seizure. As ridiculous as it is, I want to see Austin, the Austin I met under a sky of fireworks, who made life feel right again.

  I kneel beside my bed, burying my head in the down comforter as the aura of light fills my vision. At last, I feel that same spark I did on River Street when the light gives way and I see him.

  I waste no time after Kyle leaves town. Snagging my cell, I send the text I’ve been thinking about since the fight on Saturday.

  I need to talk to u. Meet me by the pier.

  I leave Austin no room to argue or refuse. My phone rings, and I yank it back out, my anticipation sinking when I see it isn’t Austin.

  “Hey, Brian,” I answer.

  “Hey, how was your Fourth of July?” he asks.

  I tie my hair into a ponytail, hesitating before I reply. “Interesting.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Look, Brian, I gotta go—”

  “I just called to invite you to a party. My house. Tonight.”

  “Tonight? You’re throwing a party on a Monday night?”

  “Why not? It’s summer break! We’ve got tons of fireworks left over. We’re having this big dance with a DJ and—” He goes on and on.

  “I’ll try to come, Brian. Sounds like fun,” I say and thank him. I end the conversation and open the patio door.

  “Where are you heading off to so early?”

  I turn to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table with her kale juice, watching me.

  “Brian called. I’ll be at the beach.” I leave it at that and give her a smile on my way out.

  I walk down the beach toward the pier. I find a spot in the shade, sit, and look at the ocean, recalling what I rewound to when I passed out Saturday night. Austin and I were eating ice cream on River Street, just like on our “first date.” It works. I can save the moments I want to rewind to, at least the high moments that are worth remembering.

  I don’t have to wait long before I hear the motorcycle pull up. He kills the engine, and a minute later I feel his presence behind me.

  “How’s your shoulder?” he asks.

&
nbsp; “Why didn’t you tell me about how you broke Kyle’s arm?”

  I hear Austin’s feet shifting in the sand. “I hoped you’d realize on your own what your boyfriend really is.”

  I almost laugh. “What he really is? So what is he, Austin?”

  “A liar.”

  “He’s the liar?” I turn around, looking into blue eyes that stand out against his tan skin. Wearing a casual shirt and the plaid shorts I first saw him in on River Street, he’s as ridiculously handsome as ever. Best to ignore those details at the moment. Although I doubt he ever blatantly lied to me, he deceived me by keeping the truth silent.

  “Where is this coming from?” he asks.

  “Why didn’t you answer my question about the drugs, Austin?”

  He takes a step back, visibly affected by my question. He can’t play stupid, though. He can’t be Two-Face forever, like Spencer’s Batman villain, without my seeing his other side.

  “I hoped you knew me well enough already,” he says, “hoped you’d see me for who I am and not what other people say. And you did.”

  I look up at him, wondering if he just answered my question. “You’ve never used drugs?”

  His shoulders deflate, and he shakes his head. “No.” He sits on the sand and pulls his baseball cap off, running his fingers through his thick hair. “I trusted my dad like no one else. Shouldn’t have, but did. He was the sun, the moon, and the stars to a kid with nothing but a football and big dreams. Then he disappeared.

  “After he left, I guess it was easier to hang out with guys who were in the same boat as me. Evan’s dad has been in and out of the slammer, Landon’s parents are divorced several times over, Jake’s mom abandoned him when he was a kid, and the same goes for the rest of my friends.

  “We all had screwed-up families. It was easier that way. None of us asked questions. They accepted me for who I was, and I did the same in return. Probably not the brightest way to make friends, but too late to change that now. I wasn’t going to pretend to be something I’m not. And I guess I got used to expecting everyone to see me for who I am without ever opening up to them. Even you.”