High Tide

by Michelle Mankin

  “Yeah?” I lifted a brow. “But will you?”

  She smiled, reminding me of my mom so much when she did, it made my chest hurt.

  “I’m happy for you that you found someone so amazing like Ash.” I reached for her hand, squeezing and then releasing it. It was comforting to know she would be well taken care of when I pushed her away.

  “Thank you. But back to you and Diesel, as in there will never be a you and Diesel.” She narrowed her eyes at me.

  I nodded, knowing she wouldn’t let it rest until she had that confirmation from me.

  “So, what’s going on with Max? Tell me everything. Here. Now. Where I can see you, look you in the eyes, and decide what I need to do, if anything, about you and him.”

  She didn’t need to do anything. It was up to me. But for this moment, one more moment, I let her play the protective big-sister role for me.

  “I like him a lot. I thought we were building toward something. But he left without really explaining, and he hasn’t contacted me in days. And now I wonder if I got it all wrong.”

  “He hurt you.” She started to reach for me, but I took a step back.

  “Don’t baby me, Fanny.” I lifted my chin, not to be tough but to keep from falling into old patterns. “I’m eighteen. I need to figure things out on my own from now on.”

  “Okay, if you say so. No need to be so defensive.” But her expression didn’t say it was okay.

  “Who all is invited to the party?” I asked, thinking it would be wise to refocus her. “And what’s on the agenda besides cake?”

  “Friends of friends. Trusted ones who won’t make a big fuss because you’re an actress but more because you’re my sister. Laughter. Food. Music, of course.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Thank you for planning it for me.”

  “I would do anything for you.”

  “I know you would.” Tears threatened. “That goes for me too. I hope you believe that.”

  “Of course I do.” Her brows drew together. “What’s really going on with you? I haven’t seen you this volatile since your first birthday without Mom.”

  I felt a lot like that right now. Adrift. Scared. Uncertain. Fanny knew me well.

  I sighed.

  “Hols—”

  “I’m just tired,” I said quickly. “I get emotional when I’m tired.” Partially true.

  I dug deep, found the role I needed to play, and committed myself to it.

  • • •

  Hours later, my sister and I, along with the Dirt Dogs and their girlfriends, were all seated together around a long, gleaming wood pub table shaped like a surfboard. There was a beer bucket on one end and a half-eaten cake on the other end where I sat, swirling my fork through the dollop of pink frosting on my plate.

  “You not gonna eat the piece of cake that goes along with that frosting you scraped off?” Diesel asked.

  “No. You can have it.” I pushed my plate across the table toward him.

  “Not trying to take it from you.” His eyes narrowed. “Wondering why you’re not eating it.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “How can that be? You’ve hardly eaten anything all day.”

  I shrugged, while the others—all couples—at the other end of the table broke into another round of inclusive-sounding laughter.

  “Feeling like a third wheel with everyone paired off, huh?” He leaned an elbow on the table and tilted his head at our friends.

  “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “Wanna go outside? There’s a private deck facing the water. We could get some fresh air.”

  I glanced at the others again. Fanny leaned back into Ash, who had his capable arms around her. Ditto with Simone and Linc. The pretty brunette and the blond lead singer were a beautiful couple, obviously as in love as my sister and Ash were. The blond, blue-eyed cousins who looked more like brothers were content with their women.

  On the other side of the table, Ramon had his arm slung across Karen’s shoulders. The guitarist was playing with the end of her French braid. The woman he called his surf girl looked pretty tired. Her light brown eyes kept drifting closed. She was pregnant and feeling more tired than I think she wanted to admit.

  “Maybe I could go outside for just a bit.” I pushed back my chair from the bar-height table.

  “Hold up, birthday girl.” Ash’s commanding voice startled me.

  “Where you headed?” Fanny frowned as she glanced back and forth between Diesel and me.

  “Just outside to get some fresh air.”

  “I’ll take you later,” Ash said, exchanging a glance with my sister. They obviously shared similar concerns about Diesel. “Right now, we’re gonna play some tunes so you girls can dance.” Ash gave his bassist a disapproving look.

  “It’s our gift to you,” Ramon said with a nod that bounced his head of black curls. They were almost as long as Diesel’s.

  Linc’s blue eyes sparkled as he flashed me his easy smile. “Yeah, what else can we give a famous Hollywood actress who has everything?”

  I don’t have everything, I thought as the guys moved off as a group toward the elevated stage. I didn’t have the close bond they shared with their women.

  And what I did have—Fanny—I had to let go of after tonight.

  “You mean to tell me that you’ve never seen the Dirt Dogs perform?” Karen asked, no longer looking sleepy.

  “Never seen any rock band perform live, besides my sister.”

  “Surely that can’t be right.” Karen glanced at Fanny. “I thought rock ’n’ roll was a big part of your life growing up.”

  “A big part of my life. Hollie’s interests are different from mine. In music, a lot different.”

  “I like show tunes.” I raised my chin. “And the two best musicians of all time.”

  “If you say so.” Fanny gave me a placating look and patted my shoulder.

  “I really don’t get how the music you like is any different from mine,” I said absently while watching the guys set up.

  Ash sat on a stool behind his drums at the back of the stage. He winked at me as he adjusted a bracket on his snare. Linc yanked the pole on his center mic to bring it level with his mouth as he stood in front of his cousin. Ramon was front and to the right, stomping on an effect board at his feet. Diesel hunched down on the left side of the stage, taping what appeared to be a set list to the floor.

  They were just a bunch of musicians with instruments on a stage. Yet I sensed an excitement in the air that made my heart beat faster.

  “Rock music is guys with guitars,” Karen said with her hand on her chest and her eyes on Ramon.

  “Guys with guitars and attitude.” Simone sighed as Linc stared at her.

  “Guys with attitude on drums,” my sister added.

  Simone nodded. “Whatever they play—”

  “When the music starts and the spotlight hits them,” Karen said, “they all become super sexy.”

  “You’re in for a treat.” Simone bounced on the tips of her toes. “But I can’t see over the crowd. Let’s get closer.”

  In a single line, we followed the woman with sun-kissed skin and hair the color of brown sugar to a pocket of space just to the right of the stage.

  “This is a good spot.” Karen gazed up at Ramon adoringly.

  I risked a quick glance to the opposite end of the stage where Diesel stood. After removing his hair tie, he shook out his curls and strapped his bass on. The brown-and-white body of his instrument rested low across his narrow hips. I flushed, thinking about how hot and hard what lay between those hips had felt against me, and wondered if he was still that hot and hard.

  As if he sensed my thoughts, Diesel turned and looked at me. His lips curved up slowly.

  Being on the receiving end of that smile with his eyes on mine gave me an electrical jolt. Plus, there was an anticipatory hum in the air that he and all the Dogs seemed to somehow personify. As the crowd quieted, all eyes focused on the stage, I felt more than just my skin
getting hot.

  Maybe there was something to this rock music.

  Behind his drum kit, Ash suddenly raised his sticks into the air and clacked them together over his head. “One. Two. Three.”

  Ramon swung his arm into a loud power chord that vibrated the floorboards beneath my flip-flops. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as if I’d been electrified.

  “Hold on to your panties,” my sister hissed without looking away from her man.

  I shifted my feet a little farther apart and braced. It wasn’t enough. My hair and my body were blasted back by the force of the sound waves that blew out of the stacked speakers in front of us like a sonic boom.

  Ramon’s guitar blazed. Ash’s drums rained hellfire, and Diesel was the fiery comet to burn down the night.

  Then the spotlight found Linc, and he sang about the ocean and a girl. If the Dirt Dogs were a galaxy, he was the galaxy’s voice. He was sexy, sure. Girls screamed. Panties arced through the air and landed at his feet.

  But to me, Diesel brought the real heat.

  As he lounged back on his section of the stage and grooved, I discovered that I couldn’t look away. My blood simmered with his half-lidded eyes on mine. His gaze was like a match, igniting every single suggestive innuendo inside my mind. I trembled, my body suddenly seeming hot enough to melt my bones.

  One song became two. I swayed my hips to the beat. Everyone moved to the rhythm. It was impossible not to.

  As the Dogs concluded their current number, I turned my face to the breeze from the open windows. The dampness of the ocean air helped some, but it didn’t entirely cool me down.

  “Hey.” Diesel stepped up to the mic in front of him. His low voice amplified the jazzed energy I usually experienced around him. “Doing this next shit on account of it being someone’s birthday today.” His gaze locked with mine. “But if anyone films me playing it, I’ll have to break their camera, no fuckin’ joke.”

  He stepped back from the mic and went to take a seat at an upright piano. The bench was angled so the audience could view the player in profile.

  “I didn’t know Diesel played piano,” I said, turning to my sister.

  “Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you?” she asked.

  I shook my head. I loved the piano. That would definitely be something I would have remembered.

  “He rarely plays.” Karen and my sister exchanged a glance. “Usually, it’s like pulling teeth to get him to do it. But for some reason, he wasn’t too hard to convince.”

  My why turned into a whoa as soon as I heard the first notes.

  “I love this song.” I sighed.

  “I know you do, retro-pop diva. C’mon.” Fanny took my hand, tugging me toward the center of the dance floor.

  “Move aside,” Karen said to the people in her way as she followed us. “Birthday girl and pregnant woman coming through.”

  The crowd parted, and I saw Diesel grinning at me before my sister turned me, positioning me in the middle of a line with the other women beside me.

  “Dance,” Fanny ordered.

  My cheeks burned. “No. Everybody’s watching.”

  “Do it,” she said firmly. “Hand motions and everything, Hols. Not my thing. I so don’t get it. But his music makes you happy, and you should go for it.”

  So I did. I swayed and spun. Day-breaking my hands and sun-shining my worries away to Barry Manilow as sung surprisingly well, without sarcasm—well, not too much—by the Dirt Dogs’ lead singer, with Diesel playing piano and my sister goofing off with me like she hadn’t done since we were little.

  • • •

  Afterward, my heart was lighter, the smile on my face genuine, as I stood by the stairs and said good-bye to my sister’s friends, signing autographs for some and taking pictures with others.

  “Hols, can you spend the night at the penthouse?” Fanny asked when the last person was gone.

  I shook my head. “I’ve got the Firelight premiere tomorrow. Publicity shots, interviews, and everything first thing in the morning. But this was great. So cool.”

  My throat tightened. Time had run out. I had to leave soon. It had been so wonderful to be with her, I couldn’t summon the nerve to do what I needed to do.

  “I understand. Don’t start frowning again. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get Linc to do Manilow again. But we still need to do one more thing.” She took my hand and tugged.

  “What? You’ve done too much already.”

  Understanding dawned as she led me toward the stage. Toward the piano.

  “No, Fanny.” I dug the soles of my flip-flops into the floor, glancing at the remaining staff at the bar and the Dogs with Simone and Karen. Diesel stared at me with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “We do this every year, Hols. On her birthday, my birthday, and yours. Keeping the tradition alive. Honoring her memory.” Fanny took a seat on the piano bench and scooted to the end, making room for me to sit beside her.

  “But it makes me cry.” I didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. Especially in front of Diesel.

  “Then cry. It’s better to experience emotion rather than hold it back. Right?”

  It’s what our mom would have said had she been here. But I preferred suppressing my emotions. Predictably, as soon as Fanny started playing, tears burst from my eyes.

  Elton John was our mother’s favorite artist. Mine too. Manilow was for when we were feeling in the mood for show tunes. Elton was for happy and dancing, except for “Your Song.”

  Our mom had begun singing it to Fanny back on Vancouver Island when it had been just the two of them and they’d had nothing but the music to share, just like the song said. Then it had become something simple yet meaningful that we’d done together on birthdays, the three of us. Nowadays, only Fanny and me.

  As my sister sang and played, my chest constricted to the point I could barely breathe.

  Life had been wonderful while our mom was in the world. But the memories associated with the music pummeled me. Her smile. Her eyes. Her voice. Her cinnamon-sugar scent. Her affection. Her hope. Her love.

  Gone. All gone.

  Hot tears slid down my cheeks. I popped up before the last note died. Swaying, I felt like I might be sick.

  “Hols,” Fanny said. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head at her. “Don’t touch me,” I snapped when she reached for me. “Leave me alone.”

  My head and chest hurt. A jagged sob lodged in my throat, so sharp it felt like it ripped my windpipe open.

  “You shouldn’t have done this.” I gritted out the words through clenched teeth. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.”

  I was so angry and upset, I was shaking. Moving backward unsteadily, I caught my flip-flop on a thick electrical wire and tripped. Red-hot pain burst from my skin as my knees hit the floor, hard.

  Quickly, I pushed to my feet. The pain from the abrasion on my skin was minor compared to what was going on inside me. Pain I usually buried deep had been sliced wide open. I was exposed so everyone could see how weak I truly was.

  Holding one hand over my heart as if to hold the edges of a ragged wound together, I glanced around for an escape. Spotting a blood-red exit sign, I stumbled toward it.

  Outside, a narrow balcony faced the ocean. Going straight to the railing, I gripped it and breathed deeply, trying to calm down. The wood was old and rough, but solid beneath my fingertips. I focused on that thought, the image of everything else wavering through the sheen of tears.

  “Hollie,” Diesel said, and my heart sped up as it seemed prone to do whenever he drew near.

  “Go away.” I gripped the railing tighter, lifting my gaze to the water. The waves were agitated like I was. They crashed and tossed spray in the air as they hit the shore.

  “You made your sister cry.”

  A scoffing sound bubbled up, escaping the confines of my throat. The truth was she had made me cry, but maybe he hadn’t been watching me as closely as I thought he had. I di
pped my chin, letting my hair swing forward to curtain my face.

  “You should go back inside.” His tone was authoritative as he came toward me. “Apologize.”

  “Who are you to tell me what to do?” I swung my head around, forgetting to hide my emotion.

  “Someone who—” Diesel paused in midstride, his hard expression softening as if the sight of my pain affected him. “Someone who will give it to you straight.” His lips firmed. “You have a habit of running away whenever anything gets intense.”

  “What happens between you and me has nothing to do with what happened in there.” I licked the gathered tears from my lips.

  “I think it does.” His gaze dipped to my mouth.

  “You think everything revolves around you.”

  “You’re wrong.” He glared at me, his eyes as dark as the night. “You might want to examine your own self before you hurl insults at me.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “You’re right. I am.”

  Why did he sound pleased?

  “I might be a son of a bitch, but at least I don’t avoid my problems like you do.”

  “You don’t know anything about me or my problems.”

  “I think I do.”

  “How can you possibly?” I swiped the wetness from my cheeks with the back of my hand. “What problems do you have beyond finding the next groupie to have sex with?”

  Inexplicably, his lips curved. “That is a problem. Choosing only one.”

  Diesel’s gaze raked over me as he moved beside me at the rail. Leaning into it, he turned his head toward the ocean. As he watched the waves, his expression darkened as if a shadow had passed over his features.

  “Sometimes I think you’re just like my ex.” His voice was low, reflective. “Other times I think you’re not at all like her. That you feel too much, instead of too little. But one thing is the same.”

  He turned and gave me a hard look. The harshness of his expression made me stiffen.

  “You expend far too much effort trying to escape the inescapable. Nothing’s going to take away that gaping hole inside your chest. It’s always going to be there. So, wall off the worst of it. Don’t wallow. Accept that your life will never be the way it once was. And move on.”