by Kat Bastion
In that moment…
Heaven.
After a few beats, my senses began to sharpen in slow motion, awareness of our surroundings settling back in. I collapsed around her, falling to the side as I caught my breath. Then I gathered her in my arms and held her close as our breaths slowed together.
Time seemed to warp as we drifted in and out, light fading into darkness.
At one point, I remember her kissing my arm and hearing her murmur, “I want to keep you.”
I tightened my hold. “Try and take me away.”
In the far reaches of my mind, I understood what she meant. But I ignored the fear. Because it could only hurt us if we let it.
Mase…
“Like hell. You’re coming.” Kristen Michaelson, oldest sister to my ex-roommate, Cade, gathered her dark hair together with calm strokes of her fingers then fastened it into a ponytail all while glaring at me with her electric-blue eyes in vivid liquid crystal from my laptop screen.
“Sorry. Not my gig.” Politics? No fucking thanks.
Thirty minutes after Leilani and I had returned from our amazing twenty-four hour escape, Leilani had run out to Kula Marketplace to grab some sandwiches when Kristen had texted me to call. And I’d only been video-chatting with Kristen for ninety seconds when she dropped the bomb that the Michaelson’s party-planning business, Invitation Only, had been hired to run an upcoming fundraising campaign for the illustrious Senator Price. Bile had risen into my throat the split second she’d suggested I fly out for it.
“Ma-son…” Silence followed the staccatoed syllables.
“Ye-esss…”
A growl vibrated out. “What’s your middle name?”
“Kinda loses the intimidating punch when you have to ask.”
More glaring silence.
Aw, what the hell. I stifled a grin and played along. “Alexander.”
“Mason Alexander Price, you get your too-skinny ass out here for this party.”
“My ass is not too skinny.”
A groan sounded out. “I can’t believe we’re talking about your ass.”
“You brought it up.”
“Fine.” She rolled her blue eyes. “Your ass is not too skinny.”
“It’s not?”
“No. It has just the right amount of muscle.”
“Okaaay…this just got weird.” Kristen was a mom-like bossy sister to me.
“Oh, yeah?” Her brows raised, the beginnings of an evil smile forming. “Ass. Balls. Di—”
“Holy fuck, Kristen. Stop. I do not want to hear body parts coming from your mouth.” Jesus. Now I felt like I needed to scrub my brain.
“What’s the matter, Mason Alexander?” She attempted to rhyme in singsong.
“Cute.” Okay, good. Back in schoolyard territory.
“You coming? Or do I need to ramp up the torture…”
On a heavy sigh, I leaned forward, bracing my arms on my thighs. “Going is more heinous torture.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Not you. You know I love you guys. It’s my parents. Five civilized minutes in a room with them is like lying flat for five blistering hours on thousand-degree coals.”
“That bad?”
“Then rolling in salt.”
“Ah, so worse.”
“Then being covered in pissed-off fire ants.”
“As opposed to delighted fire ants?”
“Sure.” Somehow, ridiculous banter with her calmed me. Kristen, and all the Michaelsons, were like family to me—the Norman Rockwell picture everone wanted but never had.
“So, how bad” —her head tilted, voice lowering— “guilt and judgment bad?”
“Worse. Shame and resentment.”
“Ah. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Not your fault.”
A quiet sigh sounded over the phone. “You sure you don’t want to come? Your mom pulled me aside yesterday to ask me if I’d ask you.”
“She did?” Shocked, I sat up, then stared out the window, made sure the sky was still blue. Because my father had been the cold and demanding one to my face, but most of the shit behind the scenes? All her.
“And she seemed nervous about it. Specifically told me not to tell you she asked.”
I huffed out a dry laugh. “Said request blatantly disregarded.”
“Duh. You’re my brother. We don’t keep secrets.”
Brother in spirit, not blood. But our bonds were tighter than most for all that we’d shared growing up. Kristen knew me even better than Kendall, Kiki, and Cade did. When I’d been only eight and Kristen sixteen, she’d saved me, literally dragged me from a shed into her comforting arms—the first genuine hug in my life that I’d ever experienced—when we’d played hide-and-seek at her parents’ country house; the game had ended hours before and darkness had fallen. Hot off an argument with my parents about their favoritism of my older brother over me, I’d hid where no one would ever think to look—in the darkest cobweb-infested rat hole I could find. I’d stewed for the first hour, as if no one had come looking for me, as if no one cared. Through the shed walls, I’d heard their laughter as they walked by with my brother, Deacon. But none of my delusional self-pity had been true. None of them had ever spoken a harsh word to me. Not even Deke—especially not him.
But that day had been hard. It was the first time I’d realized I was the second son. Second in everything…including my parents’ love.
Love.
On a deep breath, I began to smile.
Something incredible had changed between then and now, life-altering and bone deep. I wasn’t the kid in the shed anymore. I no longer defined myself as second in anything.
I’d put myself first, chased my dream, searched for a place where I felt most at home.
And at the moment I’d found me? So had the most amazing girl.
Her love? More than I’d ever hoped for. All I ever needed.
Plus, I had my real family in the Michaelsons, the one that mattered: my ‘ohana. “Kristen?”
“Yeah?” Understanding eyes stared back at me.
“Count me in.”
Because with Leilani by my side? How bad could it be?
Leilani bounded through the front door ten minutes after my video-chat with Kristen ended.
Two tickets to Philadelphia had been selected on the previous screen, and the cursor now hovered over the Date of Birth dropdown bars for Passenger 2.
But my attention zeroed in on Leilani: silken black hair spilling over her shoulders, dark eyes with thick, long lashes under slender arching brows, cheeks pinked from plenty of sun.
They plumped when she smiled wider. “Watcha doin’ there?”
“Hoping you’ll say yes.”
Smile vanishing, she dropped the sandwiches on the plywood-covered counter. Weight shifting to her right, she moved into her trademark hip-pop, hand lowering to rest at the waist of her green sundress. Her face tilted downward as she leveled an intense gaze at me. “Yes. After all the mind-blowing things you’ve done to me? The answer will always be yes.”
Images of all the things we’d done to one another flashed into my head, heated my blood. “Great. Now you’re addicted.”
“Definitely.” She crossed her arms. “Gonna need a daily hit. You up for that?”
“Only daily? And I’m always up for you.”
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing. “Got proof of that, surfer boy?” Unfolding her arms, she took measured steps across the ten-foot distance between us. “Twice a day.”
I patted my right thigh. “Getting closer...”
Instead of taking my offer, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, slid her hands down my chest, then brushed her lips over the top of my ear. “Should I just sit on your lap all day?”
“Yes. Please.” I gripped her forearms, spun her around, and tumbled her sideways onto my lap. The metal folding chair groaned under our weight, teetering. I instantly spread my legs out for stability, holding her tight in my arms as her eyes widene
d and lips fell open with surprise.
A beat passed. Then another. We both exhaled and sat more upright, reasonably confident we weren’t under imminent threat of collapsing to the floor.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing a gentle kiss to my jaw. “Well, maybe not in this chair.” Sliding her cheekbone along mine as she turned her face toward my computer, she wriggled her ass over my lap.
I groaned, then planted my hands on her hips to still her.
“Sooo…what were you hoping I’d say yes to?”
“Well, if you don’t stop moving over my always-up dick…destroying this chair.”
“Oh.” Her voice quieted. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“No” —she angled her face toward mine, gave me a soft kiss— “I’m not.”
“Wild island girl,” I murmured, kissing her gently back.
“You know it.” She pulled slightly away, then stared into my eyes.
Yeah, I do. “Lucky me.”
“Sooo…” She nodded toward the laptop, where the screen displayed passenger data fields. “A nonbusiness trip?”
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “How do you feel about meeting my parents?”
She blinked, then pulled away, scrutinizing me for a couple of beats. “Uhhh…how do you feel about it?”
“Near-violently ill.”
“Sounds awesome.”
I raised my brows a little. “I’ll be there…”
Wild island girl shimmied her hips. “Sounding better…”
Holding her hips, I thrust up against her, proving exactly how always-up she’d driven me.
“I’m there.” She turned and clicked into the Date of Birth dropdowns, completing the info.
“Thank God.” My shoulders relaxed. Hadn’t realized they’d ratcheted up toward my ears. When a creak groaned out under us, I smiled. “And we’re bringing the chair.”
On a deep breath, she turned. Her expression grew serious. “On that note: Want to come to my father’s house tonight?”
The weight of her tone told me near-violently ill didn’t begin to describe her dread about the flip-side event. But the demons of our pasts were necessary evils we had to bravely face at some point.
“Yeah.” I gave her a gentle kiss, then rested my forehead to hers. We exchanged breath: ha. And her body began to relax in my hold. “I do.”
After our meeting-the-parents plans had been made and the airline tickets purchased, Leilani had gone back to her place for the afternoon. I’d put in some facetime with the chicks, letting them explore their new run while I spent a couple of hours working in the garden.
By the time I picked Leilani up, the sun had begun to set. “You go to your dad’s often?”
“No.” She picked at the hem of her sundress. “We don’t get along.”
“As bad as your other two brothers?” Besides Makani. “Koa and…
“Holokai,” she provided. “And…no. Worse.” She pointed at a dirt driveway. “Turn in there.”
“Ah.” We’d only driven a couple blocks makai of Leilani’s house. We could’ve walked. I parked behind a line of three Tacomas, right behind Makani’s.
The decades old single-level structure sprawled across its third-acre lot, original house connecting to one addition after another, the only telltale sign of add-ons being the varying pitches of its rusted metal corrugated roof. The exterior paint had been dark green at one point, but some sections had weathered to a drab brown, others had peeled off entirely, exposing rotting wood. The window casings, once white, were coated with a layer of Maui’s reddish dirt.
An older large Hawaiian stepped out the back door, scanning the backyard as he walked. He paused midstep, gaze landing on me. Bright white hair and scraggly beard framed eyes that narrowed in harsh scrutiny. Dressed casually in a faded blue T-shirt, loose cotton shorts, and brown canvas slippahs, nothing about his stance gave any sign that he was friendly: hunched shoulders, tensed thighs, clenched jaw. Faded tribal tattoos circled his biceps under the tight cuff of each sleeve. A gleaming ivory shark’s tooth, two-inches wide, hung from a short, black leather necklace.
Leilani’s three brothers stood a few yards away, gathered around an imu pit. They all held beers and stared our way. None made any attempt to approach.
I got the sense they followed their patriarch’s lead. Even Makani, who wore a resigned expression.
“Makuakane, this is Mase. My boyfriend.”
Instant shock registered on her father’s face as the same shock hit me—hard.
She hadn’t gone the easing-in route with Dad, this is the windsurfer Makani has sponsored or even gentled the blow with Dad, this is my new boss. Nope. She’d made an unambiguous statement and had gone for the kill: Hey, Dad. Meet the white guy who’s fucking your daughter.
Pride swelled in my chest that she felt I was worth the risk—even as fear spiked in warning.
Her father didn’t say much, simply stared at me with contempt.
I offered him my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kealoha.”
His gaze dropped to my hand. He made no move to take it. I left it there, hanging in the air. Didn’t feel one ounce of embarrassment about it. Because if Leilani could make a bold statement, standing up for ourselves and making an effort? So could I, right by her side.
Eventually the staring-at-my-hand thing ended when he cut a critical glare toward her. “No, he’s not.”
Lani took a deep breath, tightened her lips, then pressed them together. “Makuakane.”
When her father walked off, showing us his clear rejection, she squared her shoulders, rose taller, and took a rigid step toward him.
I put a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her. “It’s okay, Lani. He doesn’t want me here. They don’t want me here.”
“I want you here.”
“Is that enough?”
She blinked in shock, as if I’d slapped her. “For me or for them?”
“For you.” All I cared about.
“Of course it is. And me wanting you here is enough for them too.” She glared toward her brothers. Makani gave a helpless shrug.
“You sure about that?”
“No.” She turned her back toward them, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “But it will be. It has to be.”
“Why is their approval so important to you?” I stared down into eyes that began to sparkle with tears. I wanted to reach out, hold her, wipe her tears away along with every fear she had. But I didn’t. Not in the hostile territory we stood in.
“Because you’re important to me.” She took my hand in hers.
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “And they are too.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Didn’t see how it could happen, their approval. Inborn prejudice didn’t suddenly evaporate.
Her stubbornness about not wanting to get involved with me? Suddenly made perfect sense.
And I’d pushed the issue.
So, clearly, I needed to fix it.
Leilani…
As I sat on the low lava rock wall, a cramp burned at the base of my throat, making it difficult to breathe, swallow…talk. I stared at my stubborn, hateful makuakane and my two boneheaded oldest brothers. At least Makani had come around and kicked it with Mase, the two of them in beach chairs, out front, out of sight and out of the way of all the aggressive testosterone.
“Why do they have to be so stupid, Tutu? Why can’t they let me be?”
My grandmother’s wrinkled hand cupped my cheek, then brushed strands of hair that had been flying across my face behind my ear. Brown bony fingers reached up to an overhanging plumeria branch and plucked a bloom that had peachy petals trimmed in dark pink. She tucked it into my pinned-back hair. “There.”
Wise eyes stared into mine. Then she counseled me as she always did, in her native Hawaiian tongue, “Men have things to prove. Battles to fight. Wars to wage. Hawaiian men have more to prove. Our lands mean everything to us and the white man desecrates it
. Our glorious koa trees were felled. Their nasty invasive species were brought. Greedy builders contaminate our pristine waters. Business commands us, as if their money gives them the right to.”
I sighed. She was right on all counts. “But what about me?”
“You are one of us, mo‘opuna i ke alo. And a haole is threatening to take you.” She’d called me beloved grandchild.
“He’s not taking me, Tutu.”
“Isn’t he?”
“No.”
“When your mind goes quiet, do you think of Ke‘eaumoku?” The beer-can-throwing beach bully my father approved of and had been pushing me toward. “Or is Mase the one on your mind?”
I didn’t answer.
“It’s okay, mo‘opuna i ke alo. We cannot control who our heart embraces. You are wild and free like the wind yet calm and unmoving like…Haleakala.”
Tutu’s pause had been deliberate.
Because there’d been another like me. One I’d loved more than anything in the world.
And lost.
I said aloud what my makuakane and brothers hated to hear. “I’m like Makuahine.”
Tutu’s eyes welled with tears. Because she believed what all the rest of them did: She’d lost her daughter to the poisons spread by haoles.
A week after doing my best to introduce Mase to my family, we stepped onto the petrifying beach as if it was just another routine day at work. Competition had been scheduled to start yesterday, but had been delayed due to negligible wind. Today? Whole other story.
A lawn chair flew by, tumbling in midair only inches from my face.
Shouts sounded, muffled in the distance, as grains of sand pelted my skin.
Mase didn’t even turn his head. Only stared straight ahead at the coiling fearsome waves: thirty-foot roaring monsters.
According to the surf report, near-hurricane-force winds gusted through the arena. Scattered across the sand from the dark rocky cliffs to the high tide line, dozens of boards lay in wait, their colorful sails quivering so hard, many looked ready to leap into the sky. In twenty-second intervals, wave after wave crashed onto the rocky points bracketing the bay, each booming an echo out like cannon fire.
