High Tide

by Alyson Santos

I curve my arms up and around his shoulders, pulling him close. His own arms tighten around me until I’m sure neither of us will breathe alone again. Tears burn in my eyes as well when I feel the shift of his embrace from necessary to desperate. He buries his face in my neck, and I slide my fingers into his wet hair for a firmer grip. Has he ever been held like this? Who rescues the lifeguard when he goes under? How long has he been drowning too, drifting and sinking in the same black tide that swallowed me.

  I don’t know how long we stand there. What’s time to an eternal ocean? But soon my gentle grip on his hair becomes firmer when his hold on me shifts into something stronger. He lifts his head from my shoulder, just enough to align our lips, to transform our pain into the ecstasy of a kiss. It feels incredible, kissing him while suctioned together from head to toe. I shiver from the tiny zaps sparking at every point of contact, and find my body arching for more. His fingers weave into my wet hair, tugging to the rhythm of our lips. I realize I’m doing the same. When he presses my back against the wall, I loop my leg behind his to draw him even closer. Yes, I see his flinch from the effect of our aggression on his injuries, but I’m too far gone to care about that right now. So is he, because he responds with even surer pursuit of our connection.

  “This is okay?” he murmurs against my neck.

  My head is tilted up, as much to give him access as to strain for extra oxygen. “More than okay,” I gasp out.

  “You want this?” He breathes this question against my lips, pressing harder in all the right places. I find my hands sliding to his hips in response. Encouraging. Guiding. Pleading.

  “It’s all I want.”

  The truth leaks out on instinct. Right there, flashing bold and frightening. I want to drown in you. Yes, there it is. Terrifying. Beautiful.

  The list-whore Emma Andrews wants to let go.

  I don’t even know her name and she’s already pushing for more than a make-out session on the couch. She’s sucking on my neck as I search over her shoulder for a glimpse of Kozy. He’s the one who dragged us to this party. Nice of him to desert me the second we arrived. I’m not even sure how I ended up on a couch with a stranger, but I’m guessing I have alcohol to thank for that. How many drinks have I had tonight? I lost count, and I’m pretty sure this girl is drunk as well. She’s cute… I think. I never saw much of her face. She just kind of decided she wanted me after the hello, and I didn’t stop her.

  Except I should have. I’m the one with the secret. This mistake is on me. She doesn’t know the poison she’s sucking into her lungs, and now it feels wrong and empty and like all the reasons I avoid these meaningless hookups. For a while I thought it was because of Nadeja. But now I know the problem is me. I’ve messed around with a few girls since her and it all ends the same way. Temporary pleasure followed by that deep ache of emptiness when I want nothing more from them. It makes me feel like a monster. Just an animal in the zoo, scarred with another painful reminder of the blackhole inside. Just more brutal evidence of the truth I’ve come to accept: that I can never hope for anything more. This is it for me. This is what “love” will always be because there is no connecting with voids. There’s no hope of substance for flickering shadows. The best I can do is keep outrunning temptation and avoid the inevitable dark slide into emptiness. Alone. Untouchable.

  Merciful.

  Because that’s the real truth, isn’t it? There’s nothing left in me to love.

  Chapter Eighteen: Virgin Apologies

  I’m not a virgin anymore.

  I’m also not a terrific nurse, it turns out, but thankfully Christian seems pretty forgiving about that. The grin never leaves his face, not even when he winces from my less-than-stellar doctoring skills. It probably helps that I’m still in my underwear. I’ve also decided that he’s never allowed to wear more than his in my presence. No wonder I can’t put a bandage on straight. His naked, perfect—everything—is so freaking distracting.

  “You are okay?” he asks, interrupting my attempt to align a piece of tape at the top of the bandage on his chest. I glance up in time to witness the first slip of his smile since collapsing beside me on my bed. Gosh, he’s cute. And so, so sweet. How do I convince him for the fifth time that I regret nothing?

  “Yes, a little sore, but I’m fine. Actually no, I’m great.” I straighten enough to plant a solid kiss on those perfect lips. I much prefer them tilted up in a smile.

  “It will be better next time, I think,” he says. “The first is maybe not so good.” His eyes practically plead with me to accept this. Or is it a deeper concern? He’d been so hesitant to get close, and now that we have, seems in disbelief that I could be happy. I don’t get it. How can he not understand how incredible he is? That I’m seriously the luckiest woman on the planet right now?

  I trace his cheek, willing him to see that. “I know it will.”

  “Okay, because—”

  I cut him off with another kiss and linger at eye-level. “Christian, I was a virgin, not a nun. I’ve fooled around before. I know how this works, and you were amazing. Everything was as perfect as it could have been.” His gaze continues to search mine, still laced with concern. I let out a small laugh and grip his face. “Now quit distracting me so I can get this stupid tape on properly, okay?”

  There’s that smile again. I don’t recall tiny stars and comets exploding around the room when other people smile. Guess what? It’s hard to use tape with comets darting around your head.

  “I can do this,” he says, eyeing the crooked bandage.

  “I know you can, but I want to.” I lean back to study my handiwork. The new angle doesn’t help, and I grunt a curse. His laugh melts away my frustration, and I gasp when he tugs me down on top of him.

  “Your stitches!” I shriek, swatting him while being careful to settle my weight against his good side. He doesn’t seem to care about that and his gaze turns serious once we’re reclined on my bed. Maybe it’s his favorite position too. I tuck my leg over his and rest my head on his chest. His heart pounds slow, steady beats that soothe my own. I run my fingers over his skin, while he does the same to me. Closing my eyes, I relax into the calm, absorbing every detail of the moment I wish could last forever. It’s then that I realize this is the same feeling I get from my lists. It makes me brave. Strong. Resolved. It makes me say crazy things like, “I’m going to schedule a visit with my father.”

  His arms tighten around me. I settle into the safety of his hold, the belief that if this warrior can defy the odds and survive the demons of his past, maybe I can too. Not maybe. Can. I can. Especially when he responds, “Then I will go with you.”

  Gram is more than a little surprised later that night when I ask her to set up another meeting with my father. Her disbelief melts into something kinder after a glance at Christian who’s standing behind me, arms tucked around my front to lock me against his chest. Since I’m already a pre-approved visitor from my last failed attempt, she doesn’t think we’ll have to wait long. His hold tightens to counter the instinctive rush of panic at the thought. I reach for his arms and squeeze until I’m able to settle back into the calm. He relaxes a bit as well and presses a kiss to my hair.

  “I must go with her,” he tells my grandmother. She smiles, clearly having no intention of standing in the way.

  “Of course, my dear. You will have to wait in the waiting area, but you can go up to that point.”

  “I’m going too,” Harper says, joining us in the family room with a bowl of popcorn.

  Jakub perks up behind her, his arms loaded with bottles of water and assorted beverages. “Where are we going?”

  “To visit Emma’s dad in prison,” she replies, shoving a handful popcorn in his mouth.

  I almost choke, and can’t stop the smirk at Jakub’s surprised confusion.

  “What?” he mumbles through the kernels.

  Harper places the bowl on the coffee table so she can help him with the drinks before they shatter on the floor.

  “I will
explain,” Christian says to me. He straightens a bit to address his friend, and I watch Jakub’s face as Christian talks to him in Slovak. Calm and direct, you’d think Christian was explaining his favorite physics law, not the mess that is my history. Jakub responds with what seem to be follow-up questions that Christian answers in the same unadorned tone. Geez, my drama doesn’t even phase him, does it? A quick glance at Harper, and I can tell even she’s impressed. She lets down her guard and returns her attention to organizing our snacks, confident Christian’s got this covered.

  “I should go too,” Jakub says in English, dropping beside Harper on the couch.

  “Uh no. You have to work,” she says, pressing her finger into his chest.

  “So does Christian.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why? He’s—”

  Harper gives him a look, and I kind of feel for the guy. I’ve been on the receiving end of that look. I’m not surprised when he reaches for a bottle and mumbles something about watching a movie. Jakub shoots back a glare when Christian says something in Slovak with clear teasing in his voice. I have no idea what he said, but I’m chuckling as I lead my boyfriend to the open space on the couch.

  With Gram still on our pull-out couch, Harper and I swap beds so Christian and I have more room. I’d braced for renewed protests from the boy who wanted nothing to do with this plan ten hours ago. But suddenly, he’s undressing and pulling back the blankets like staying over is the most natural thing in the world. Not gonna lie, I kind of love it.

  When we wake the next morning cuddled in each other’s arms, I’m struck by the real problem with our plan. How will I let him go back to his actual apartment after the excuse of this week off is over? I burrow my back even closer to his chest at the chill.

  “Are you cold?” he asks, tugging the sheet up and over my shoulder.

  I pull his arm down around me instead.

  “That’s better.”

  He chuckles, and I decide we’re not moving from this spot for the next six days. If it’s temporary, I’m not wasting it.

  “It is strange to be in bed,” he says.

  “With me?”

  “No, not at work. I am happy to be with you.”

  I smile at that. “Me too. Is this your first day off since you’ve been here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Geez. Seriously? They don’t give you any days off?”

  I feel his shrug. “We can take a day, sure, but we don’t get pay. I don’t need a day off. I need money.”

  “Don’t we all,” I mutter.

  “What about you? You work a job?”

  “Usually I work a lot during the summer, but I decided to take a summer course instead this year. I have some money saved up and needed a break anyway. During the school year I’ll work again. I have a couple of work-study jobs that will start up in August.”

  “Work study?”

  “Yes, basically I work for the school. I work in the cafeteria and help in the admissions office. Things like that.”

  “Okay. Yes, I do this too at my university.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I work in my dorm. Cleaning and...” I feel his search for the word.

  “Maintenance?”

  “I think yes. Thank you. Cleaning and maintenance.”

  “I see. Until you came here to rescue American tourists from jellyfish stings.”

  He laughs against my hair. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Will you work in your dorm again when you go back?”

  A deep freeze settles over the room at my question. When he goes back. Because he’s going back. He’s. Leaving. Separated. Locked in and settled on the other side of the world.

  “No. I will need a different job,” he says finally. His voice is heavy, hesitant like he has the same icicles stabbing through his blood. I shiver and turn to face him.

  Reaching up, I brush my finger down his cheek, imagining what it will be like to miss this. To remember moments like these and ache for them. To think about how real and alive and warm he was while waking to the cold company of nothing. And I can’t. I physically can’t imagine it and end up tucked against his chest again, breathing in the soothing scent of sun, soap, and life. He’s too real to be gone, even in my imagination. His arm tightens around me, and I blink away the sting of longing at the thought. Plenty of time for that later. For now, we hold on to the present.

  I pull in a deep breath. “What do you want to do today on your day off?” I ask, looking up into his face again. I love the flash of humor in his eyes as he considers my question.

  “In honesty?”

  “Uh, yes, in honesty.”

  That smile. I go in for a quick taste. How can I not? He’s still grinning when I pull back. “So what is it?” I ask, stern this time.

  “Well, I wish to go to the beach.”

  “On your one day off? Are you serious?”

  He nods, mischief in his eyes. “Yes. It will be nice to go as tourist. Maybe I get stung by a jellyfish?”

  News flash: my boyfriend is just as hot out of uniform. It’s hard not to notice the cross-generation drooling going on as we navigate the water’s edge together. Gram is happy with her puzzles under the umbrella while Harper is busy swatting hopeful beach-babes away from Jakub’s chair. Christian keeps tossing amused looks back at his friend, clearly enjoying the view from this side of the beach.

  “Are you going to spend the entire day gloating?” I ask, tugging him further down the beach.

  “Gloating?”

  “Um… bragging?”

  “Bragging?”

  I laugh and loop my arm through his. “Never mind. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “Really? You don’t look fine.” He’s definitely still in pain. I noticed his winces and stiff movement this morning as we got ready. I also haven’t seen him touch the pain medication prescribed to him.

  A protest brews on his face but any response is ruined by the whir of an engine. He tenses, and even I’m on edge from the familiar sound. This guy again?

  We stop when the golf cart pulls in front and wait as Kenneth unloads himself. I wonder briefly if Christian will let go of my hand to hide our relationship, but if anything he holds tighter as the supervisor approaches.

  “Well, hello there!” Kenneth says, making his way toward us.

  “Hello,” Christian replies, stone-faced.

  “How are you enjoying your time off?” The man’s face contorts into a terrible imitation of “casual friendly.” Does he realize facial expressions involve multiple muscle groups?

  “His time off?” I spit out, then cringe at Christian’s warning look. Sorry, but is this dude for real?

  Kenneth nods. “A week right? That’s what they tell me anyway.”

  “Yes a week,” Christian says, still giving nothing away.

  “Paid leave too, that’s nice,” Kenneth informs us.

  “Guess that’s the going rate for getting your ass kicked while saving a woman’s life.” Me again. I know, I know, but come on! I drop Christian’s hand and find it balling into a fist at my side. Would I ever punch someone? It’s a question this man is special in making me consider.

  He only seems confused by my hostility. Maybe he’s just confused in general. That’s probably a pretty normal state for him.

  “Of course, honey. I was just—”

  “Don’t call me honey.”

  “Um…”

  “So when they were telling you about Christian’s time off, did they also tell you he got twenty-six stitches? That the woman he saved is named Carol, and her daughter is a lovely person who was extremely grateful? Did they mention how long Christian was at the hospital getting treated and then waiting for an update on Carol to make sure she was okay? Funny, I didn’t see you there. We must have missed you.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Right. You’re a busy supervisor and all that. So, while I’m sorry that your schedule is down a lifeg
uard for seven freaking days, I’m sure you’ll be able to use your stellar supervising skills to figure out how to make the situation work without him.”

  His stunned expression flickers from me to Christian, back to me, then settles on Christian. He clears his throat, suddenly appearing three inches shorter. “Anyway, all I was going to say was good work, kid.”

  I blink in surprise. Christian’s expression lifts with the same. Then, the briefest hint of amusement glimmers in his eyes.

  I straighten and tuck my arm around his again. “Oh. Well. Good. Have a great day, Kenneth.”

  Kenneth nods but nothing comes out his mouth when it opens to respond. I smile sweetly, lift a hand to wave, and tug Christian past him. Christian falls into stride, and I feel him shake with a silent chuckle once we’re clear.

  “He is afraid of you, I think.”

  “He should be. He’s an idiot.”

  “He’s my boss.”

  “Doesn’t mean he can’t be an idiot.”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to tell him that always.” At least Christian isn’t mad at me this time. I love the smile turning up the corners of his lips. Good thing, because I’m pretty sure that will always be my automatic reaction to Kenneth.

  “Maybe not, but I can’t help it. He just…” A legit growl finishes my thought, and Christian laughs.

  We continue on with content smiles, and for the rest of the day I’m a normal girl with a normal boyfriend doing very normal things. Everything, so incredibly and beautifully normal. Normal is amazing—until you return home to learn you have an appointment to visit a murderer in three days.

  Chapter Nineteen: Odpustiť.

  The drive to State Correctional Institute Phoenix feels different this time. Gram sits up front with Harper, and I’m squeezed in the back with Christian. Music blasts from Harper’s playlist while she and Gram chat quietly with each other. Christian and I haven’t said much for the first seven hours, however.