Beyond the Horizon

by Bea Paige

  Malakai clears his throat, crossing his arms. “I was reminding Connie that she has a curfew and needs to go home,” he says, his voice steadier than he looks.

  “Don’t you bullshit me, Malakai. You were about to lose your shit in there with Jack. He’s a kid. They’re just kids.” She looks between us, frowning now.

  “I’m well aware of that fact, Lola,” he retorts, refusing to look at me. “She needs to go home. This is no place for her.”

  “What are you insinuating? This is hardly some seedy club, Malakai. She’s not in any danger.”

  “Could’ve fooled me…” Jack appears by my side, Alice and Georgia in tow. He seems to have sobered up a little and I’m pretty sure he’s puked given the stain down his top. I wince when I look at him. “I’ll take Connie home,” he insists, whilst Alice and Georgia look at me wide-eyed. What must this look like? What must they think?

  “The hell you will! You can barely stand upright. I’ll do it. Come on, Connie.” Malakai growls stepping forward.

  “No. I’ll be fine.” I shake my head. I need to get away. I need to go because if he comes any closer I don’t know what will happen. I feel… I feel so wound up.

  “I’ll take her,” Lola offers before I can move away. “You can get rid of the punters and lock-up whilst I drive these four home.” Chucking the keys at Malakai and grabbing my hand, she pulls me away. Jack, Alice and Georgia follow. When I look over my shoulder at Malakai he’s staring after me, his face blank, expressionless, as if nothing happened. All the heat and fire I felt between us extinguished with one look.

  My heart plummets.

  When Lola pulls up outside my house having already dropped off home a very green-looking Jack, followed by Alice and Georgia, she puts the car in park and turns to face me, chewing on her lip.

  “I’m sorry about Malakai. I’m not sure what got into him. I think, maybe, he’s been alone too long… He’s not good with people.”

  “It should be me who’s apologising to you, Lola. I’m so sorry about tonight… It won’t happen again,” I mutter, guilt making my stomach turn. He’d held me close. He’d run his lips against my skin. Hadn’t she seen that? And yet, she doesn’t mention it. So maybe she didn’t.

  “Do what again? Dance, smile? You’ve every right to have fun with your friends, Connie. Malakai stepped out of line. I’ll speak to him.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t need you to.” More to the point, I don’t want her too. This is between Malakai and me. Despite the way he’d looked at me when we’d left just now, I know what I heard. I know what he’d said to me. I didn’t imagine it.

  She nods. “Okay, but if he does anything like that again, I won’t let it go next time… What did he say to you anyway? Most of the time he barely talks and that’s when he’s feeling sociable.”

  “So you did see…” I slam my mouth shut as she frowns.

  “I saw him manhandle you out of the shack. I saw him growling at you like some uncouth beast.” She blows out her cheeks, wincing. “I really am sorry.”

  “It’s nothing…” I mumble, the lie heavy on my lips. The truth is, it was so much more than nothing. Malakai lost his cool, and with it had admitted how he felt, even if it was just in the moment. Lust isn’t the same as love, I’m not an idiot, but it’s a hell of a lot better than apathy. The attraction goes both ways. Tonight proved that. All I know is if Malakai had continued to touch me, I’d have let him. If he’d kissed me, I’d have kissed him back. And if he’d taken me back to his boat, I would’ve let him do wicked, wicked things to me.

  “It wasn’t nothing. He needs to check himself before I check him. He was always a bit of an arsehole, but I’ve never seen him like this. So…”

  “So what?”

  “So… wild.” She shakes her head. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re alone at sea for a whole year. With his past, I guess it was only an amount of time before it caught up with him.”

  “His past? Before what catches up with him?”

  Lola grimaces. “The trauma…”

  “Trauma?” I breathe in deep, my heart pounding for a different reason this time.

  “Look, I don’t know everything. Malakai has never opened up to me completely, but over the years I have managed to pick up a few things. Let’s just say that even though his family is shrouded in secret, I’m pretty sure they’re less than desirable. I’d hazard a guess that they’re dangerous, cruel even, given the scars.” Lola slams her mouth shut, regretting being so open.

  “I see…”

  “It’s why he lives on Princess, why he never settles anywhere, to get away from his family. It’s a lonely life, but I don’t think he has a choice.”

  I frown, my mind whirling with questions.

  “It doesn’t excuse his behaviour, Connie, but it might explain it.”

  “Yeah…” My voice trails off because I don’t really know what to say. Malakai is no more than a stranger regardless of the attraction between us, and I need to keep my head straight.

  I need to find out more about Malakai Azaiah Dunbar, and there’s only one person on this island who’s known him longer than Lola…

  Grandma.

  Twelve

  Connie

  The next morning I awake with the sunrise. Pinks and gold feather across my skin drawing me out of my restless dreams. For a moment, I just lie still allowing the morning sun streaming through the window to caress my body. Dust motes float in the air and I lift my hand into the sunlight, my fingers wiggling, scattering them about the room. When I turn to check the time, my digital clock flashes four thirty-seven am but there’s no point in trying to get back to sleep now. I need to be at work in little over an hour anyway. Getting up, I haul my arse into the shower then change into a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a dark blue vest top before slipping on my converse trainers and hoodie. Grabbing my notepad, rucksack and favourite guitar, I head downstairs.

  Grandma is still asleep, and whilst I have so many questions for her about Malakai, I leave a note telling her I’ve headed off to work early and I’m going to grab some breakfast at the shack. Honestly, I’m not in the mood to talk. I’m itching to write, to strum my guitar and find an outlet for all these thoughts and emotions tumbling around inside of me. All night I dreamt of Malakai, of his lips against my cheek, his warm breath against my skin. Those dreams had quickly turned to nightmares of faceless people hurting this broken, bitter man, his tattoos revealing scarred and damaged skin that no amount of black ink could cover, or caresses could soothe. Before I awoke, the last dream had been of Malakai climbing onto his schooner and sailing away whilst I stood on the harbour, a breeze lifting up tendrils of my hair as a deep sadness welled inside of me. That part, most of all, felt the most real. He’s going to leave, just like he promised he would, and I’m going to try and stop him.

  Clambering onto my bike, with my rucksack stashed in the basket and my guitar slung over my shoulder, I cycle to the harbour. The sun rises steadily, casting everything in a warm glow. It’s looking to be another beautiful day, but even though the sky is clear I feel the heavy weight of thunderclouds looming over me. Even the cricket song and the call of the terns circling overhead do nothing to soothe my soul.

  Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at Lola’s Shack. The door’s locked, the lights off, so I lean my bike up against the wood, grab my rucksack and head towards one of the benches that line the harbour wall. Most of the trawlers are out and only a few tugboats remain. Princess is still moored at the far end of the harbour, bobbing gently on the water. The pounding of my heart settles a little when I see that she still remains because where she is, so too is he.

  Malakai. Even his name sends a thrill through me.

  Placing my guitar gently on the seat next to me, I pull out my notebook and pen, opening up a fresh page. My fingers gently slide over the thick cream paper as I settle my gaze on Malakai’s boat, beyond which the sunrise climbs, turning gold into burnt umber and pink into a rose red that r
eminds me of the dress I wore last night. Beneath the stunning sky, the ocean glitters with every imaginable colour. Blues and greens mix with pinks, oranges and reds, a kaleidoscope of colour. Mother Nature sure is a talented artist, the original Monet. There’s so much beauty here. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees it. My friends just want to escape. They want everything that’s beyond the horizon. They want a life that’s exciting and thrilling, a life where simple pleasures are replaced with bright lights and loud noises. They want the rush of a busy city, where there’s danger, new experiences and variety in every sense of the word, and whilst I enjoyed spending time with my friends last night, I sensed the change in them. It was subtle, but it was there. Talk of their time in Canterbury quickly evolved into in-house jokes and knowing looks that I wasn’t party to. They had an amazing time, which they repeatedly told me, and they can’t wait to get back to party. Yet, throughout, all I could think was that I’m glad I stayed home.

  Turning my attention back to the morning, I bask in the rising heat. This is my favourite part of the day. No matter the season, I’m often up early enough to catch the sunrise because with every new day the pain of my parents’ loss lessens that little bit more. I will always feel their absence, that will never go away, but like Grandma Silva says; “Life goes on no matter how much your heart hurts, Connie.”

  She’s right, it does. My parents wouldn’t want me to be perpetually sad. They wouldn’t want me to live a half-life. I know they’d want me to find happiness. To live and to be loved. Mum never shied away from it. She refused to believe in the curse and loved my father with every piece of herself. Sometimes I would watch them in awe, my young impressionable heart absorbing their happiness, allowing it to fill me up. When they were happy, I was happy.

  And when they died, part of me died too.

  It’s taken me years to get to this place, to be thankful to be alive rather than wishing I died with my parents. Much of that is to do with this island. It’s more than a home to me, it’s everything. I feel a deep connection to this place, especially to our little cove, Broken Shores. Our private beach has a special kind of beauty. Even through the winter months when the ocean’s violent waves eat away at the rock and sand, I still adore it. There’s something so alluring about this place I call home. I think that’s why I’m so drawn to Malakai. He’s how I imagine the island was before anyone settled here, standing alone against the elements, unapologetically raw and wild.

  Inhaling the briny sea air and opening my eyes, I put pen to paper and start to write. Words flow freely until I’m so absorbed by them that I pick up my guitar and begin to strum a tune, my voice gently singing words about love and loss, life and death, words that morph into a story about a man lost to the sea, longing for a place, a person to call home. Closing my eyes, I allow the music to take over, I allow the words to fall from my lips and lift into the air until a feeling of peace washes over me.

  “You sing beautifully, Connie,” a deep melodic voice tells me.

  My fingers still on the strings, the last note drifting free from my lips as I open my eyes. Malakai is standing on the deck a few feet from me, surrounded in a halo of light that makes his black hair lighten to a chocolate brown. My breath is snatched from my body as I absorb him, imprinting this moment to memory. He’s wearing low slung slacks and nothing else, his skin tan against the cream material. Words to describe him fill my head. Strong, bold, handsome, hard, withdrawn, lonely…

  “Thank you,” I respond, gently placing my guitar on the ground by my feet, afraid to move too quickly, afraid to break the spell and the magic in the air that seems to be settling around us both. For the first time he isn’t looking at me in anger or like I’m the one to fear. He looks at me as though I’m a breath of fresh air, as though, maybe, I’m more than just some kid he doesn’t want to be attracted to.

  “Did you know that your mother loved to sing?” he asks me, a faraway look in his eyes.

  “I did. Dad always said she had the voice of an angel, but that was only because he loved her so much. Mum knew she was tone deaf.”

  Malakai smiles gently. “She was awful, but that never stopped her.”

  “No, I bet it didn’t…” My voice trails off as I push away the heavy feeling of loss. Talking about them both is difficult. I’m still not at the point where I can do so without crying, even eight years after their deaths.

  “Would you mind if I sat?” He asks after a beat, glancing at the space next to me. I nod.

  For a while we both look out to sea, at the endless ocean that stretches off into the distance. This morning my heart doesn’t thunder, my stomach doesn’t roll over and my pulse doesn’t race. Instead, I feel a deep sense of peace in the gentle rise and fall of our breaths and the lap of the water against the dock. Malakai is the first to break the silence, his voice papery and thin as though any moment now he’ll disappear like a ghost and I’ll wake up in bed, this moment nothing more than a dream.

  “There’s something about you that frightens me, Connie Silva. Something I can’t even begin to explain…” he sighs heavily, and when I turn to face him a deep sadness pulls at his features. I want to reach for him, soothe him somehow, but I don’t want to break the spell. So instead, I listen, my fingers clasped together in my lap. “I’m drawn to you.”

  “I understand, because I feel it too.” My words are no more than a whisper, a gentle chord that my heart strums in time to. I’m fully aware that this honesty won’t last, that whatever has given him the courage to speak the truth this morning will end. He lifts his gaze to meet mine, anguish slicing through the sudden heavy weight that seems to drag his shoulders down. He rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his head in his hands.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t have done what I did… It was wrong.”

  “Was it a lie?” I ask him, trying not to flinch at how much he believes that. He thinks for a moment and I know he’s considering telling me one right now. He doesn’t.

  “No, it wasn’t a lie,” he admits, drawing himself upright once more. “But that doesn’t make it right either.”

  “I’m not a child, Malakai,” I say, before he can accuse me of being one. These feelings, these needs, these desires, they’re not childish.

  “You’re eighteen. You’re too young. You’re Anna and Blake’s daughter. You’re off-limits. You’re here, and I live out there,” he reminds me, pointing out to sea.

  “And Lola?” I ask, frowning. Why hasn’t he mentioned her? They’re together after all.

  “You think…? Fuck. You think I’d be unfaithful, is that it? Do you think I’m that kind of man, Connie?” He glares at me, a little of the anger he always seems to have when I’m nearby, returned.

  “But I thought you and her…”

  He shakes his head. “No, Connie. I might sleep with women for sex, but I’m not a fucking cheat. That isn’t me. Lola is my friend. She’s only ever been my friend.”

  “You don’t want her like that?”

  “No.”

  “But you want me…?” I ask him, holding my breath whilst I wait for his answer.

  “It doesn’t matter what I want…”

  “It matters to me,” I press.

  “What I want isn’t important.”

  “Why?”

  He ignores my question, scraping a hand over his face. “I’m not the man you need. I’m no more than a stranger… You know nothing about me, about who I really am.”

  “You don’t have to be a stranger.”

  He laughs bitterly, some of the darkness I’ve been used to creeping back in. “I’m broken, Connie. This, whatever this is, it can’t happen. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”

  “I hear what you’re saying. In fact I understand you perfectly, that doesn’t mean I have to listen.”

  “That look you’re giving me now tells me all I need to know. You’re looking for roses and romance, happily ever afters and love songs,” he says, flashing a look at m
y notepad lying open on the bench between us. “I’m not that man. I’m not someone who can fulfil your notion of romance. This will never be a fairytale story with everlasting love. I can’t give you what you dream of... I break hearts, Connie.”

  Gathering my notepad and pen and sliding them into my rucksack, I pick up my guitar and stand. “Here’s the thing, you’ll never be able to break my heart because it was broken a long time ago when my parents died.”

  “Connie…” he begins, guilt for making me admit that rippling behind his eyes. His mouth opens, but I hold my hand up not giving him a chance to speak.

  “This thing between us, it’s attraction, plain and simple. So the question really isn’t about whether you might break my heart, Malakai, but whether you’re strong enough to make sure I don’t break yours.” With that, I turn on my heel and walk away, the lie heavy on my lips.

  My heart might already be broken by my parents’ deaths, but I’m pretty sure Malakai Azaiah Dunbar has the power to shatter it completely.

  Thirteen

  Connie

  For the next few days I keep busy, working hard at the shack, barely taking a break. The fishermen come and go, and Lola and I work steadily to keep on top of the workload. I feel Malakai’s presence around the harbour, but apart from a few glimpses of him, he keeps his distance. I’m not sure whether Lola’s managed to have that chat with him or not, but if she has, she doesn’t say. I don’t return to The Shack in the evening despite my friends’ efforts to get me to go and Lola’s requests for me to sing.

  Today’s she’s been quiet, thoughtful. Eventually it’s time to lock up for the afternoon and Lola motions me over to the counter.

  “It’s been a busy day. Far busier than it’s been in a little while, actually,” she muses, leaning her elbows against the wood and cupping her face in her hands. A sheen of sweat covers her skin, and there are two bright spots on the apples of her cheeks. Her skin looks a little ashen now that I’ve time to study her closer.