[Unbreakable 02.0] Rule Breaker

by Kat Bastion

  “Keep ’im off our beach, Leilani,” Koa growled. “Don’ wan’ pretty city boy ta get all fucked up.”

  Everything in me railed at the idea of backing down, but I reminded myself their fight wasn’t mine, had nothing to do with me.

  Then a message flashed into my brain: What would Ghandi do?

  The moment I turned, a bright light flashed into my peripheral.

  Pain exploded into my temple. The world spun, and I stumbled. Black dots fuzzed the edges of my vision.

  Leilani stepped in front of me, shouting, fear and anger washing over her expression.

  But I couldn’t fully see her.

  Didn’t actually hear her.

  My lungs seized from shock. Memories from another horrific time blurred with the present. Pinching my eyes shut, I tried to block out the onslaught of emotion. Then I gasped in a burning breath.

  It isn’t the same. I still stood.

  Guilt flared through me that it wasn’t…and that I did.

  Leilani…

  Mase stumbled forward, struggling for breath.

  I grabbed his forearms and pushed hard up against him, leveraging him upright.

  Don’t pass out. Do not pass out.

  Frightening images flashed into my head of him hitting the ground, then those idiots surrounding and beating the shit out of him while he was down. But when Mase almost tipped over onto me like a tree, the stupid kanaks faded back toward the water, uninterested.

  When Mase finally found his legs, he gripped my shoulders and pushed me away from him.

  I assessed him closely. “Can you carry your board?”

  He gave a nod, then teetered right, planting a foot out for balance. On a sharp wince, he pressed a hand to his temple. “Maybe you could hand it to me?”

  During the seconds it took to retrieve both boards, Mase had leaned against a rocky outcropping in the sand a few feet away. Somehow, we managed to get our boards on our heads and pick our way back up the narrow trail, him in the lead.

  Every few seconds, I glanced forward, making sure he didn’t sway off trail. “You better not fall.”

  “Not planning on it.” Anger darkened his tone.

  Eventually, we made it to the truck. He tossed his board in, then got into the cab. I climbed up into the bed, opened the built-in metal toolbox that Makani kept stocked with first aid supplies, and found an icepack. Bending it back and forth, I broke the rigid tube in the center, then massaged the granules inside, waiting for its chemical reaction to make it cold enough.

  When I handed it to Mase, he stared at its white cover for a beat. Then he jammed an elbow onto the doorframe at the base of his open window and rested his head into his hand against the icepack.

  I walked around back, then got into the driver’s side. My fingers pinched the key. But I couldn’t start the engine. Every breath I took burned with regret. Deep shame churned in my gut.

  He got hurt because of me.

  But he’d needed to understand, see the hatred in person. And better with me there than not.

  “Didn’t mean for them to hurt you,” I murmured. No better explanation came.

  He cut a harsh glare toward me. “You knew that would happen?”

  “Well, I didn’t know your face would take a hit from a loaded beer can.”

  “Really? What did you expect?” He shouted. “A fist? A knife? A gun?”

  His last growled-out word echoed so loudly, I jumped in my seat, startled at his fury. “No. L-l-look” —I stammered as my throat locked up— “I didn’t think they w-wo—”

  “That’s your problem.” His tone lowered, bitterness turning it sour. “You didn’t think. Try it next time. I’m a person. I have a life. Random shit happens all on its own. You don’t need to be throwing someone you care about into a powder keg when they have no clue they’re the lit match.”

  “Look, Mase, I’m sorr—”

  “Maybe you don’t care,” he muttered as he shifted his gaze away from me to stare out the windshield. Then he closed his eyes and rested his temple against the icepack again.

  “No. I do. I care.” The hushed words came out before I gave any thought about them.

  I do. I care. Maybe a little more than I’d been willing to admit to myself. A whole lot more than made any kind of sense, given who he was…who I was.

  “Then show it. Think.”

  Got it. Not the first time I’d heard it.

  I started the engine and began the drive back to my place, wishing I could find some reset button to start over with him. “Okay. Okay, I get it. I fucked up.”

  What else was new? Yet another half-baked Leilani idea with consequences I’d failed to consider—that could’ve been much worse.

  And he was really bent about it. His hands shook. Breaths had shortened. Brows remained drawn low. Beneath the dark-blond stubble on his face, his jaw kept clenching.

  I’d hurt him—more than physically. And hadn’t meant to.

  Chest still burning with regret, I heaved out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Gruffness edged his tone.

  Clearly, it wasn’t. But nothing I could do about it now; I’d disappointed him.

  The hour-long drive passed silently. For the first half of it, I’d taken the turns as easy as I could while his head had stayed propped on his icepack-pillowed hand. With every glance his way, I’d verified he hadn’t fallen asleep, but his eyes had stayed shut, even when he’d finally pulled his hand down and tipped backward against the headrest.

  Seconds after the engine cut, he got out, went up the steps, and disappeared into his screened-in portion of the lanai, tumbling into the hammock. I pulled our boards out and put them with the others in the back of the carport.

  The house fell dead-silent. Which I noticed for all of two seconds before I buried myself into work; he hadn’t taken his offer back, so the job was still on. Over the next two hours, I researched out windsurfing competitions and outlined a potential schedule, including days in between for training.

  When my hips began to cramp from sitting too long and time had run out before we needed to leave, I got up, grabbed our small icepack from the freezer, then brought it outside. His long legs didn’t move when the front door thudded shut. After hesitating for only a moment, I knocked on the screen-door frame.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Nope.”

  “Single syllables are a good start.” When he made no move to get up, kept his back toward me, I stretched my arm in front of his face, offering him the icepack.

  He took it with a swipe, then pressed it to his head. “Thanks. Still pissed as fuck at you,” he grumbled.

  “Got it.” I’d earned the punishment, would grin and bear it like always. “Still goin’ to Peggy Sue’s?”

  “What?”

  “Peggy Sue’s. The car show.”

  “Oh, shit. I forgot about that.” He sat up and swung around fast, then planted his feet when he wobbled. “Got any ibuprofen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we’re goin’ to Peggy Sue’s. If you’re drivin’.”

  After the pills, we drove the thirty minutes to Kihei in silence. Well, almost. He’d asked about the closing sugarcane mill, and I’d filled him in on what little details I knew.

  But I hardly noticed the lack of chitchat. I grew distracted by how public we were about to be. And since I didn’t exactly frequent car shows, I had no idea what to expect.

  Will Maui’s car collectors treat him differently? Will their crowds?

  After we parked the Tacoma and walked toward the colorful cars, a group of familiar faces who’d gathered at the nearest end caught my attention.

  Dread curdled in my gut.

  Because I got the feeling Mase’s lesson in our cultural diversity hadn’t ended yet.

  Mase…

  Anger seethed just under my skin.

  Not toward Leilani anymore. With everyone: generations who’d come before us, world
leaders, local influencers, parents—mine included, mine especially.

  The world gets saved one kind act at a time.

  What I kept telling myself. The change I wanted began with me.

  During the ride over, my attitude toward Leilani had softened. She’d only known what she’d grown up around. And she had asked me a question under the influence of alcohol: “Ever feel like you’re living someone else’s life? Like what everyone wants for you, expects for you…isn’t for you?” Only I hadn’t bothered to learn more.

  Until the evidence had knocked me upside the head—welcome to reality.

  With every step we took farther away from her truck, Leilani grew more agitated. She kept casting nervous glances toward a group of tuners our age, all Hawaiian, who’d gathered near an entrance up ahead.

  When I put a gentle hand on her shoulder to slow us up a second, she flinched.

  “You’re jumpy.”

  “Yeah.” Her glance shot over toward the group of guys again. “Sorry.”

  “Hey.” I touched a fingertip under her chin and gently lifted until she looked up at me. “Stop worrying. This isn’t your fault.” She needed to hear that. To know I felt it. “Earlier…it just caught me by surprise. I did tell you I could handle it.”

  She gave me a weak smile, remorse in her eyes.

  I shook my head. “Don’t apologize again. I’m good.”

  After she sucked in a shaky breath, she gave me a nod. “N’kay.”

  Then I hooked my arm into hers and purposefully got between her and them. “Think we’ll make a scene?”

  Amusement sparked in her eyes. “No.”

  “Not enough?” I glanced their way, then back toward her. “I could dip you” —I wrapped an arm around her back, swung her sideways and down low, then bent my head until our lips were a few millimeters apart— “and kiss you.”

  Her shallow breaths fogged over my lips, dark gaze locking with mine. She swallowed hard.

  Before she could answer, I spun her back upright. “Think I’ll save the kiss for later.”

  “Why?” She blinked, clearly stunned.

  “Because the dip was enough.”

  “For what?”

  “Getting your mind off everyone else.” I nodded toward the group as we passed by them. “Didn’t stop ’em from mad-doggin’ me, though.”

  “Mad-doggin’?” She glanced back. “Oh, you mean stink-eye.”

  “Stink what?”

  “We call it stink-eye here: dirty look. They think they’re hot shit. C’mon, let’s keep walking. No flying cans yet.”

  “Atta girl.”

  As we strolled down the aisle of bright paint and curving fenders, a polished chrome bumper stood out at the end of the angled spaces on our row. A beautiful shiny grill fronted what at first looked like a rust-bucket of a truck. But a deeper story unfolded if you took the time to look. Islands of weathered green paint had surrendered to large patches of intentionally preserved surface-patina rust. A soft shine along the curve of the nearest fender told me a clear satin sealer now protected what years of nature had created.

  Fixated on the truck, I drew closer, skirting around her front until I stood beside the driver’s door. I stared in at an impeccable, refurbished cab interior.

  “Niiice.” A red-and-white FOR SALE sign sat on the camel-colored leather bench seat.

  Not thinking twice, I pulled my phone out and began snapping pictures from every angle. “You got your Notes app handy?” Couldn’t get a decent pic of the sign.

  “Yep.” She plucked her phone out of her dress pocket.

  I read the vehicle info to her, “1954 Chevy restomod. New drive train, 350 V8, auto-trans.” Then I rattled off the price and phone number.

  “You said you wanted ‘character’” —she tilted her head a little, squinting her eyes at it— “this definitely has character.”

  “Sure does. What d’ya think? You like her?”

  “Yeah.” She stepped back, crossing her arms as she titled her head a fraction to the other side. “Maybe. A Maui cruiser, for sure.”

  “I heard ‘yes.’” I dropped her a knowing look.

  “Maybes and noes are yeses, now?” She arched a brow. “Fine. I’ll be seen in it. But no capital Y and no exclamation points.”

  No sex, she meant. “Uh-huh. We’ll see.”

  An older Hawaiian gentleman with a white T-shirt and mirrored sunglasses approached us. “You like ’er?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I stared longingly at her. “She’s a beaut.”

  “’Nuff ta buy ’er?”

  “Maybe…” I winked at Leilani. “Let’s talk price.”

  He broke into a wide smile, extending a hand toward me. “I’m Kaleo.” He nodded toward the truck. “This is Halia, means ‘in remembrance of a loved one.’”

  Damn. I froze for a second as I thought of Deke. Then I recovered and shook his hand. “I’m honored to meet her, Kaleo. I’m Mase. This is Leilani.” She gave him a brief nod.

  Then Kaleo and I negotiated while I looked under Halia’s hood, examined her undercarriage, asked how long he’d had her and the modifications he’d made since ownership. In the end, after learning all the painstaking details Kaleo had lovingly put into his truck, I paid his full asking price—well worth it, and then some.

  With banks closed for the weekend, we agreed to meet at the Bank of Hawaii in Pukalani late Monday afternoon, a ten-minute drive from my rental house. Leilani offered to drop me off.

  Afterward, Leilani and I wandered through the rest of the cars. Then we got burgers and milkshakes at Peggy Sue’s. When we finally left, things had almost gone back to normal between us. I’d cooled off from my earlier pissed-off and she’d relaxed about the whole thing. To a point.

  As we headed toward her Tacoma, passing by the same tuners whose group had since doubled in size, I stealthily slipped my hand into hers—my compromise on a dip-and-kiss encore.

  But she unclasped before we ever reached full contact, then crooked her arm into mine.

  When I arched a brow at her, she dropped me a deadpan look. “Friends. Remember the rule? No dating my boss.”

  Uh-huh. Fat chance, sexy island girl.

  Because when I’d thrown her off-balance, dipping and almost kissing her? When her breaths had shortened, lips parting on a gasp?

  She wanted way more than friends.

  With a definite capital Y.

  And page full of exclamation points.

  Leilani…

  “How am I supposed to work like this?”

  “Like what?” Mase’s warm breath skated over my bare shoulder.

  I swallowed hard, then pulled in a steadying breath. “With you so…close.”

  The gleaming drywall nail balanced between my pinched fingers; I had the blunt end of my brand new hammer aimed at its circular head.

  But I couldn’t concentrate.

  His body heat seemed to warm my skin no matter where he stood. The earthy ocean scent of him nearly overwhelmed me, made me struggle not to exhale on a sensual sigh. And the thin black V-neck T-shirt that clung to his biceps? Deadly.

  He stepped back, giving me breathing room. “Consider my house neutral territory.”

  “What?” I glanced at him, dropping the nail I’d been obsessing over.

  His ice-blue eyes were more vibrant above the black of his shirt. A healthy tan colored his face, light pink dusting his cheekbones. Tousled hair, once dark-blond, had lightened after only a week of daily surfing.

  His stubble-covered jaw clenched a beat. “Like Switzerland.” Full lips quirked up a little as he stared at me.

  Easier said than done. In the five days since the car show, we’d danced around each other. We’d gotten his few belongings moved into the house, had spent two days demolishing what he’d wanted to get started on—in my steel-toed work boots—and had begun organizing materials, all while almost brushing up against one another.

  The sexual tension? Thicker than ever.

  But I wa
sn’t about to admit it. Or give in. Switzerland? Challenge accepted. “Fine by me. No flirting. No advances. No teasing or sexual innuendo.”

  He rolled his eyes. “No fun.”

  I punched his shoulder.

  “Ow. What?” He rubbed where I’d made contact. “That’s all I heard.”

  Ignoring him, I grabbed my nail again, positioning the point where he’d shown me. “Seriously. I’ve never done this before.”

  “Swung a hammer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. So you see this here end?” He ran a finger down the wooden handle. “You hold it. And this tiny metal end here? That’s where you make impact.”

  “Ha. Ha. You want me hurt, smartass?”

  “I’m just teasin’. Look” —he pulled his hammer from his belt, then fished out a nail from a pocket and pressed the point onto his next penciled X along the edge of the drywall sheet— “it’s not in the swing; it’s all in the aim. You’re holding your nail too low. That’s how people miss and smash their fingers.”

  He pinched his nail under the head, then gave a few short taps. “Hit the head of the hammer squarely on the head of the nail.”

  After the nail sank down a third of the way, he removed his fingers, then finished with heavier pounding. “Use your whole arm and elbow. Keep your wrist straight; let the weight of the hammer do your work.”

  Nodding, I placed my nail, then imitated his swings with a few easy taps.

  “You’re choking up too high on the handle. Rookie mistake.” He stepped in behind me, slid his palm over my forearm, then covered my hand, my fingers.

  I gasped from the intimate contact, then kept inhaling to cover my instant reaction.

  When I relaxed my hand, he guided it into proper position. “Grip lower down. Gives you more leverage.”

  On a hard swallow, I gave a short nod. Only when he stepped back, breaking contact, did my brain cells fire again, did my lungs remember to breathe.

  Focusing all my pent-up energy on my task, I tightened my hold, then followed his instructions, hammering in smooth easy strokes.