by Nikki Ash
“Micaela,” he prompts with a smirk, telling me he totally caught me staring at him.
“Umm…” I shake my head slightly to clear the hormones clogging my brain. “We went on a cruise when I was thirteen. We went snorkeling and I was drawn to the marine life. A few years ago, my dad and I got our scuba license and went scuba diving. I became obsessed with learning about everything. I would love to be able to research the mammals, maybe work to help save those that are endangered.” I shrug. “I haven’t really given a lot of thought to the logistics. The first two years are just the prerequisites. I figured I have plenty of time to figure out exactly what I want to do.” Time, something I’ve learned the hard way we never really have enough of.
“And what, now you don’t want to do that anymore?”
“No, I do… I just…” I was supposed to move to San Diego to be with Ian. That was part of our plan.
“You just what?” He’s not going to let me off the hook. I already know this about Ryan. He’s the kind of person to push you past the point of safe.
“Ian and I had this five-year plan.” I open my water and gulp down several sips. “When he died, it was like my life paused, and I don’t know how to press play again.”
“You will when you’re ready.”
Ryan
Micaela is a good eight years younger than me—barely an adult. But her eyes scream maturity. She’s experienced the kind of heartbreak that ages you by several years. I’ve never experienced it myself, but I’ve seen my men go through it. I’ve lost men along the way, on a couple of rough deployments. Shit goes wrong. But I’ve never allowed myself to be close enough to someone to feel the loss the way Micaela feels it.
She should be in college, going to parties, having a good time. Not struggling every day to just simply breathe. I have two older sisters—Faith and Chloe—and even though we aren’t as close as they’d like because of me being away more than I’m home, we still talk a lot. They’re close with Micaela’s family, so I’ve heard on a few different occasions how Micaela is handling the death of her husband—or not handling it. I don’t know what it is about her, but something draws me in and holds me captive. I want to cut her open, learn all of her secrets, her deepest wishes and desires, and then sew her back together and make them all come true. I shouldn’t feel this way. I’ve only been around her for a few hours. She’s too young, too jaded, and I’m… well, fuck, I’m just me. I’m—
“If you want to stay at the house I can go home,” she says, knocking me from my thoughts. “It doesn’t really matter where I am.”
“Or we can both stay here,” I blurt out, not ready for her to leave. I can’t remember the last time I felt this content. And I can’t help but think it’s because of her presence.
Her eyes go wide, and her mouth opens and closes like the fish she saved earlier. “Umm…”
“We’re both already here. There are plenty of rooms. I can cook, you can eat.”
Micaela glares adorable daggers my way, and I laugh. “C’mon, you brought weed and ice cream. That’s not exactly part of the food pyramid.”
“That was my only joint,” she argues. “I’m not a junkie. Lexi gave it to me.” She shrugs. “It just helps me forget for a little while.”
“Maybe it’s time to work on accepting and moving forward.”
She rolls her eyes. “There you go… doing that whole savior shit again.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll show you a savior.”
Before she can question what I’m saying, I’m picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder. She shrieks, slamming her fists against my ass and back, as I run us straight into the ocean. It’s cold as fuck, but it doesn’t deter me. Holding on to her, I dip us both into the saltwater.
When we rise to the surface, her hair is plastered to her face and forehead, and the little bit of makeup she’s wearing is running down her eyes.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she splutters.
I push the hair from her face and wipe under her eyes. “There are healthier ways to deal with what you’re feeling. No more getting high.” I give her the look I give my guys when I mean business, and she nods.
“It’s hard,” she says softly. Because the water is deep, she can’t reach, so she wraps her arms around my neck. Our bodies are adjusting to the water, so it’s not as cold anymore.
“I can’t even imagine how hard, but you’re still young and you have your whole life ahead of you. Would you want him to act like this if the roles were reversed?”
She thinks about it for a second then shakes her head. “No, I would…” She visibly gulps. “I would want him to move on. Live his life.” Tears prick her eyes and she takes a deep breath. “But it’s easier said than done.”
“Have you tried? And I’m not talking about moving on with another guy… just moving forward.”
“You sound like my mom,” she says with a huff.
“Well, if she’s anything like mine, she’s probably really fucking wise.”
“She is.”
“We’re both here anyway,” I say, ignoring how close our bodies are, the way they line up perfectly. She’s wrapped her legs around my torso and it’s doing weird shit to me. “Why don’t we stay and keep each other company. There’s a reason why we both came here, right? Plus, I have a little less than two weeks before I have to spend the next year with a bunch of guys crammed into a small as hell base in the fucking desert.”
Micaela searches my eyes for several seconds, for what, I’m not sure, but she must find whatever it is she’s looking for because she nods once. “Okay, help me forget.”
“No,” I correct her. “I’m not going to help you forget. You will never forget, and you shouldn’t. You love him. He’s a part of you and always will be. I’m going to help you move forward.”
“And what will I help you do?” she breathes. A million thoughts come to mind, all of them completely inappropriate, so I push them away.
“Relax.”
“Relax?”
“Yeah, your dad thinks relaxing will be good for me. Taking time for myself. You can help me do that.” She’s already doing that and she doesn’t even know it.
“Okay,” she agrees. “And the first step of relaxing and moving on is…” She raises her body and lets go of my neck. Her hands come up and push on the top of my head. At first I’m confused, but then it hits me… She’s trying to dunk me into the water. Silly girl, doesn’t she realize who she’s messing with?
“That’s cute,” I taunt. “My turn.”
Realizing her efforts are futile, and I’m not going under, she resorts to plan B: run, or in her case, swim. She lets go of my neck and pushes off me, attempting to swim away, but before she can get far, I grab hold of her ankle and pull her back to me. Then, lifting her into the air like a rag doll, I throw her a good three feet away.
“Oh my God!” she shrieks when she comes up, bobbing up and down in the water. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I thought you would want to be released like that fish you saved.” I laugh.
“Real funny.” She glares. “Just remember paybacks are a bitch.”
“Bring it, sweetheart,” I yell as I watch her sexy ass swim to shore. And with that thought, it hits me. I just suggested spending several days in a beach house alone with that woman.
A woman I shouldn’t find sexy but do.
Who is off-limits, but has me wanting to be near her.
And she agreed.
What the hell was I thinking?
Micaela
“C’mon, slow-poke, you need me to carry you?”
I’m following behind Ryan up the beach, but since my tennis shoes got soaked in the water earlier when he threw me in, I’m barefoot and my feet are sinking into the sand.
“Maybe if you hadn’t thrown me in with my shoes…”
“Get on.”
I glance up and almost run into Ryan’s back. “What?”
“Get on,” he
repeats. “We have another half-mile to the pier and you’re taking too long.”
“What are we even going back there for? I’m not fishing again.”
Ryan chuckles. “It’s a surprise. The first step to you moving forward.”
“Fine, but it’s technically my second. My first is no more crying.” I hop on his back and snake my arms around his neck. “Giddy up.” I make a clicking sound and quickly squeeze my thighs together. Ryan laughs and takes off like a horse.
When we get to the pier, I notice it’s busier than it was earlier this morning. He drops me on my feet and takes my hand. I think it’s only to guide us through the throng of people, but I can’t help but focus on how my hand feels in his. The last hand I held was Ian’s, and that was years ago when we were both in high school. His hand was soft and gentle, untouched, the opposite of Ryan’s hand, which is rough and strong, callused from years of working with his hands. I don’t know what it is about his touch, but it instantly calms me. Makes me feel protected and safe. Like he could easily shield me from anything life throws at me.
When we arrive at the end of the pier, he lets go of my hand, and I want to thread our fingers back together. Something about him, his presence, makes me feel less alone. When he told me he would help me move forward, for the first time I felt like it was actually possible.
“What is this?” I ask, taking in our surroundings. There are several booths and tents set up around the perimeter of the pier. I didn’t notice this before because we didn’t make it all the way to the end of the pier.
“The Venice Oceanarium. I saw a flyer for it. They call it the museum without walls.” Ryan entwines his fingers with mine once again and steers us over to the first booth. “What better way to take your first step forward than to remind yourself why you need to graduate college?” He glances over at me, a confident smile on his face, and my insides turn into mush.
“Hello,” a sweet woman, who’s wearing a red jacket with a logo that reads Venice Oceanarium, greets us. “Would you like to take a look?” She points to the booth with a microscope and several pieces of marine life placed all over the table. “All of these were found right here in the Pacific Ocean.”
I grab a sea urchin and place it under the microscope to examine it. While Ryan and I take turns looking at each sea creature, the woman tells us some fun facts about each one, how we can help the ocean and marine life, and how to donate. It’s cool getting to see all this. Because I still have a semester left of my prerequisites, I’ve yet to have any hands-on classes.
We spend the next few hours going from booth to booth, learning about the ocean and marine life. I even speak to a nice guy who has a degree in biology and is getting his PhD. He works in a lab, studying the effect human activity has on certain marine wildlife. With every booth we stop at, each person we speak to, I feel a little more like my old self. And by the time it’s time to go—because they’re shutting down—my adrenaline is pumping from excitement.
“That was fun,” Ryan says while we eat lunch at a small restaurant on the beach.
“It was.” I take a bite of my tuna salad (minus the tuna because I’m still traumatized from earlier). “I forgot how much I love learning about marine biology. The wildlife and water…”
“It’s your passion.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I’ve only taken one course in high school and an elective credit when I was in college.”
“I could see it in your eyes. The way they lit up over every detail and fact. When the guy was talking to us about the water, you were practically bouncing in place. Nobody gets that excited over the topic of saltwater unless it’s their passion.”
“Maybe,” I repeat with a laugh. “What’s your passion?” I ask, finding myself wanting to know more about Ryan. I’ve known him my entire life, but with our age difference, he graduated and moved when I was ten—only going to Breckenridge once when we were there. He was with his wife, but I didn’t really spend much time with them. Now he’s back—and divorced—and I feel like I don’t really know much about him.
“Growing up, I enjoyed robotics engineering. Learning the codes, inputting them, and building the robots. When I joined the military, I found I was good at applying those same types of skills to my job, so I got a degree in engineering.”
I shake my head in frustration. “I would’ve already graduated with my associate’s and been in San Diego working on my degree. Ian and I—” I cut myself off, refusing to finish my would’ve, could’ve. If I’m going to move forward, I have to think about what is, not what could’ve been.
“You can still do all that,” Ryan says, refusing to let me get lost in my thoughts. “You took a little detour, but you can still get back on track. No, it won’t be the same plan, but it’ll be your plan.”
We finish eating dinner, and then, after stopping by our spot on the beach and grabbing our stuff, we head back to the house. The walk is filled with comfortable silence, and once we’re back, we go our separate ways to shower. When I get out, I notice a missed call from my mom, so I call her back.
“Hey, sweet girl, how are you?”
“I’m good,” I tell her, and for the first time in a long time it’s the truth. My day out with Ryan has been really good for me. I not only thought of Ian less, but I didn’t cry once the entire day.
“What did you do today?”
“Is that your way of trying to find out where I am?”
“I can’t help but worry.” Mom sighs. “I know you’re twenty and free to come and go, but you’ve been holed up in your room for over a year, and then you disappear with nothing more than a note telling me I was right and you needed to get away. What if something happens to you? I wouldn’t even know where to look.”
The worry in my mom’s tone isn’t something I like to hear. It’s the same tone she’s been using since I lost Ian and, in turn, lost myself. I left to give everyone a break from worrying about me, and until she knows I’m safe, she’s going to keep worrying.
“I’m at the beach house, but please don’t tell Dad. He’ll have someone come check on me, and I’m okay. I promise. I went for a walk today to the pier, did a little fishing…”
“You fished?”
“It was horrible. I don’t recommend it.”
Mom laughs, and I find myself joining in. I’ve missed talking and laughing with her. “What else did you do?”
“There was a pop-up museum on the pier. An oceanarium. It was really cool. Did you know that less than five percent of the ocean has been explored?”
Mom laughs again, but this time it sounds weird, kind of watery. “I didn’t know that,” she says with a sniffle.
“Mom, are you crying?”
“Oh, sweet girl, I’m just… You sound happy, and well, that makes me happy. This last year, seeing you hurting. I hated not being able to help you.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You lost your husband and you were mourning. And even though you’re happy today, there will probably be more bad days. Days when you miss him and feel the pain. But I’m glad today was a good day.”
“It was.” And it was all because of Ryan. Because he forced me to take a step forward. He distracted me with fishing and swimming and the museum and dinner. It was the first day I didn’t focus on Ian and the pain I feel from his death. Instead I focused on myself, on taking one step forward. And it felt good. Ryan was right. Ian wouldn’t want me mourning him for the rest of my life. He would want me to live.
Mom and I talk for a few more minutes about my day, and I make it a point to leave Ryan out of the conversation. Dad mustn’t have told her he gave Ryan a key, or she would’ve mentioned it the moment I told her I was here. With the promise to call her soon, we say good night.
I throw on a pair of leggings and a Cooper’s Fight Club hoodie, then head out to find Ryan. He’s lying out on a lounge chair on the back patio, staring out at the ocean. I grab a Gatorade and a beer from the fridge
and join him.
“Didn’t we talk about this?” he asks, when he spots the bottle in my hand.
“It’s for you.” I hand him the beer and sit next to him. “I thought you could use one.” I show him the Gatorade in my other hand. “This is for me.”
He grins and his two sexy dimples make an appearance. “That a girl.” He pops the top and raises the beer to his mouth. His head goes back slightly, exposing his neck as he swallows a mouthful of the liquid.
“You did good today,” he says, setting the bottle between his muscular thighs, which are stretched out in front of him.
“Because of you.”
“No, because of you. I just steered you in the right direction.” He turns his face toward me, granting me the most gorgeous smile, and a knot forms in my belly. This shouldn’t be happening. I’m nowhere near close to being over Ian, but for some reason my body and heart aren’t communicating with each other.
I push the feelings aside, refusing to acknowledge them. I need to focus on me, on healing, on moving forward, creating a new plan and life for myself.
Ryan is here to relax before he leaves to go overseas. Why he’s here with me, I don’t know. I know he’s got money. He doesn’t act like it, but Bentley and Kayla are loaded and their kids all have trusts in their names. The moment he saw I was here, he could’ve just rented a hotel room. Is he that good of a guy he would stay here just to help me get through my shit?
His phone rings, momentarily pausing my thoughts. He holds it up and it says Laura—his ex-wife.
“Hey, Laura. Everything okay?” I would expect him to walk away to have some privacy, but he doesn’t move. He nods slightly, listening to whatever it is she’s saying, and a small smile creeps up on his lips. “Congratulations.” He takes a swig of his beer then sets it back down. “That’s great, Laura. I’m happy for you.”
I try to find a hint of insincerity in his voice, but can’t find any. “I love you, too,” he says. “Talk to you soon.”
He hangs up, and I wait for him to speak, unsure of what happened just now. Did he actually tell his ex-wife he loves her?
