Broken Rules: A Rescuer Romance

by Gunn, Jenna

  “Have you talked to Anya?”

  “No.”

  “What’s keeping you two apart?”

  I flash hard eyes at him. “I’m not talking about this.”

  He grins, shakes his head, “Come on. Don’t be pig headed.”

  “Seriously. Not the time or place, alright?”

  Tyson lets it drop. Probably because we’re pulling into the county complex.

  I’m surprised as hell to see my dad in the parking lot. Then I realize that Brandon’s truck, and Bryce’s truck are there too. Damned, it’s an Archer family reunion.

  “What the hell?” I mutter.

  Tyson punches me in the arm. “What did you expect?”

  I shrug. “I figured, you know, this is my mess, so I’d have to clean it up.”

  “Whatever. I think they’ll get the point with all of us here. They’d be foolish to keep you from returning to work.”

  “I guess, but…”

  He says lightly, “No buts. This is going to be over with soon. The department needs you, and you need to get back to work.”

  If only my other troubles could be wiped away so easily.

  When I walk into the council chambers, there are a few dozen other people in the room. The Archers take up a row of seats with their solemn faces and broad shoulders. I wait in a designated seating area to get called for my case.

  When it’s finally my turn I move to the lectern and adjust the mic to my height.

  Councilman Brightly begins, “Please state your name for the records.”

  “Brandon Archer.”

  “Mr. Archer, I understand you were in an altercation, please explain.”

  I quickly recount the facts… the facts about the fight, not the fact that I lost my heart that night.

  A few other council members ask questions. Brightly finally takes over again. “I see that your brothers and your father are here tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d like to ask for a couple of their comments on the matter of your return to work. I’d like to begin with Mr. Ben Archer, your father.”

  I step back from the mic.

  My dad steps forward, his face schooled into a neutral, professional expression.

  “Good evening.” Dad says.

  “Good evening, Mr. Archer. With your decades long history as director of Ocean County’s Rescue, do you see Brandon as fit to continue his duty with the county, based on this episode.”

  “I do sir. His actions were based on protecting someone from a threat. That’s honorable in my mind.”

  “Do you have any additional comments to add?”

  “I realize that it’s unusual for a father to be in this position, but I want to say without a doubt that Brandon is an excellent member of Ocean Safety. I wouldn’t have let him remain on the force during my tenure if he wasn’t. Saving lives is his calling, I hope you’ll give him the chance to do it again.”

  There’s a hushed whisper between a few council members. Then Brightly says, “Thank you, sir. That’s all.”

  Dad steps away, rests a hand on my shoulder as he walks by.

  A gigantic lump grows right in the middle of my throat. Please don’t ask me anything else, because there’s no way I can talk.

  Brightly leans back to his mic, “Brandon, the council will vote now on your reinstatement.”

  I watch solemnly as one member makes a motion. A woman seconds the motion. Then a vote is held. It’s a unanimous vote to allow me to return to work.

  A flood of relief washes over me. Yes.

  I see the approving faces of my family when I turn around.

  There is a real Archer reunion in the parking lot when we get outside. Bishop and Christian are the only ones missing.

  Before I can protest I’m dragged off to dinner and drinks to celebrate.

  I call Anya on the way to the restaurant as Tyson drives. There’s no answer.

  There are so many things I want to talk to her about. And it needs to happen in person.

  Unfortunately, it’s ridiculously late when the rest of the Archers finish with me and I know her brother is at her house. So, it just has to wait.

  17

  My eyes are glued shut when the alarm screams at me. God, the morning hurts already.

  I throw on my usual pre-work uniform. Sweatshirt and tights.

  The door to Cam’s room is open. His bed is unmade. The air in the house is warm and the only sound is the low whomp-whomp of the living room ceiling fan.

  The kitchen is still a wreck. Actually, it’s even messier than last night. Where is he?

  I open the back door. The yard is empty and what little grass is there needs to be mowed...as usual.

  I scan through the rest of the house—dining room, living room, spare bedrooms, and circle back into the kitchen. He split.

  I shouldn’t be surprised.

  But I am a little surprised there’s been no message or call from Brandon. I dial him as I pour almond milk over granola. Voicemail again. “Good morning. Hope you slept well. I passed out like a log. I’m going to work soon. Cam left sometime before I got up. Talk to you soon.”

  I slow my car down as I drive by the Ocean Rescue station. No sign of him.

  I know he’s not big on texting. With any luck, I’ll see him working on the beach.

  As I walk toward the surfboard storage with my students in tow, I scan the lifeguard towers. Raven, one of the county rescue staff members, zips by me on a quad. It’s tempting to flag her down to see where Brandon’s working today.

  I do my lesson thing on the beach. The students practice with me, doing what looks like an Upward Dog from yoga and something that’s a lot like Burpees.

  The motions are the foundations of surfing. And we work through the motions over and over.

  This morning’s class has a mom, two sons and a father, and two young college age women. “All right, let’s see who’s got the best pop-up!”

  They show off their skills and I pick one of the sons. He’s about ten and beams when I tell him he wins.

  Together we all move into the water. It’s a beautiful morning, but the waves are stronger today. Days like this can be deceptive, so I take a few moments to explain about rip currents. “If you feel the water pulling you away from the beach, stay with your board and paddle this way or that way.” I point to the ends of the beach. “Paddle or swim along the beach until you escape the pull. Don’t panic, just relax and keep working your way to the side. Got it?”

  Everyone nods.

  Soon they are having a blast, catching little rides. Splashing around like kids—all of them. I’m clapping for the mom when I hear yelling. My eyes scan the water. All of the students are safe and with their boards.

  But a man is thrashing into the thigh-deep water, coming toward me. He’s pointing and yelling. When I turn to look where he’s pointing, I see a small child on a boogie board being pulled by the current. I’m close, but the distance between us is growing fast. The lifeguards will come quickly once they see, but if the little one lets go of his board, or gets pulled off it, he could be lost.

  I grab a board from my closest student. “Go to the beach, now! Get a lifeguard. Hurry!”

  Turning, I paddle the board over the first wave, then the next. The waves try to push me back, but I know how to use the board to get over them. I take a few strokes, then feel the pull of the current start to take me away from the beach.

  I paddle as hard as I can toward the kid. There’s lots of shouting on the beach, but I keep my eyes on the little boy.

  A few seconds later, I’m at his side. His big brown eyes are wide and his knuckles are white from gripping the board.

  “Hey there, big guy. Let’s get you on my board.”

  It takes a minute, but I manage to pull him and his boogie board right on top of my board. Now all I need to do is wait until the lifeguards come. The water splashes around us and pulls us a bit further from shore.

  Trying to keep him from get
ting scared, I ask, “What’s your name?”

  “Monkey?”

  I giggle, “Monkey? That’s a fun name.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Mermaid.”

  His eyes narrow on me. “Nuh uh.”

  “I’m in the sea, aren’t I? Isn’t this where mermaids live?”

  He puzzles over that for a few seconds. “I guess so.”

  On the beach I see flashing lights on a truck and two bare chested lifeguard running toward the surf. I’m stunned speechless when I see Brandon with Bishop.

  What is Brandon doing at work?

  Did his case get resolved? I didn’t even know.

  Brandon’s carrying a big yellow rescue board and Bishop has a pair of surf fins and a buoy. While I know any of the county lifeguards are capable of helping us, I feel extra safe knowing that these two are coming.

  The man who makes my heart do flip-flops gets to us first. He’s glistening in the sunshine, like a bronze sea god. His eyes are steely, his focus on assessing the scene. Monkey starts clapping. “Rescue man!”

  “Yep. And he’s going to help us get back to the beach safely.”

  “Hand him over,” Brandon says, his eyes meeting mine over the boy’s head.

  “I didn’t know you were working.”

  “I am, so let’s get moving.” There’s something behind his tightly masked gaze...it stops my breath.

  Is he angry?

  I push the boy and his board over onto the gigantic yellow rescue board.

  Brandon positions the kid so he’s lying on his stomach, holding onto the rails of the board. He hands the boogie board to Bishop who is now treading water next to us. Bishop barely acknowledges me. When he does, it’s just a quick glance.

  Wow, what’s going on here?

  Brandon finally looks at me from beneath his tight brow. “You’re okay to paddle back in?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He tears his eyes away and begins paddling to the beach.

  “See you on the beach, Monkey,” I yell.

  It takes a few long minutes to work our way back to the beach. The students are wide eyed, gathered in a little clump when I get back to the sand. Monkey’s dad grabs him up in a fierce hug. Mist forms in his eyes, his voice chokes.

  All too often tourists drown at the beach. So many are preventable if only people would wear life jackets. Today this family was lucky.

  The student who handed over her board meets me and takes it. “Tell the others we’ll go back in the water soon, I just need a minute to speak to the lifeguard.”

  Bishop doesn’t stick around. He’s a hundred yards down the beach, moving at a swift run. Brandon’s loading the rescue board on the county truck.

  “Hey, you. I didn’t know you were allowed back at work. That’s wonderful.”

  He glances over his shoulder at me. His lips pressed in tight line.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Besides me having a heart attack seeing you out there in that rip-current?”

  “Yeah, besides that. I teach surf lessons, for heaven’s sake. I’m in the water every day.”

  His jaw tightens, his eyes flip away from me.

  I sigh. “I didn’t hear from you last night or this morning. I’m a little surprised.”

  Brandon towels himself off in brisk motions.

  “What’s going on Brandon?”

  “Nothing.” He grumbles.

  “Take a tip from me. You’re a terrible liar.”

  His back rises and falls in a big motion, like he’s sighing, but he just keeps on working, putting equipment away.

  “Thanks for helping the kid.” He says flatly.

  “Sure, I was close. It was not a big deal.”

  The muscles in his shoulders bunch and twist as he positions the board into the overhead rack. “To that family it is a big deal.”

  He jerks the strap to tighten the board.

  Brandon opens the driver’s door. His eyes look hurt when they connect with mine. “I gotta get back to the tower.”

  The slap of his cold voice leaves my skin stinging. I know he’s on duty, but what is happening here? And Bishop? He barely acknowledged me too.

  It hits me suddenly. Bishop must have told Brandon about my interview.

  A two minute conversation isn’t going to solve this problem, if it can be solved. I say, “I’ve got to get back to the lesson.”

  His fingers drum on the steering wheel. I expect him to start the truck and drive away, but he doesn’t.

  I finally ask, “Brandon, did you talk to Bishop?”

  “Yes. I did. We had a long talk last night.”

  Did Bishop tell him about my encounter with Stu? “Is everything okay?”

  “I’ll come to your place after work.”

  I press my lips into a hard line before I say, “Of course.”

  The truck engine starts with a roar. I’m left standing, staring at the tailgate as he weaves off through the scattered beach blankets.

  * * *

  I hear Brandon’s truck before I see it. Not that I was standing by the door or anything…

  Okay, so maybe I was.

  His face is all hard angles when he gets out.

  This is not a happy man.

  Nerves take flight in my gut. I hate feeling like I have to explain myself for anything… especially when I don’t have a clue how he feels or what makes him mad.

  I hold open the door as he comes in. He doesn’t look me in the eye as he moves past.

  His salty man scent swirls around me, sending my nipples into a contraction. I close my eyes to regroup. Damn the man and his irresistible sexual pull.

  I find Brandon in the kitchen, head in the fridge.

  Okay…

  He grumbles something, then pulls out the pitcher of filtered water. With bristling energy, in silence loaded with enough weight to collapse a bridge, he fills two glasses.

  He chugs the first. I step up and take the second cup off the counter as he stares out the back window over the kitchen sink. I guess we drink before we talk.

  “Have any bourbon?”

  I sputter on my water. “What in the world for?”

  “I need to take the edge off.”

  “No, I don’t keep alcohol in the house.”

  He turns, carefully places his glass on the counter. His eyes rise to mine. “I realize there are a lot of things I don’t know about you.”

  I take a sip of water, hoping to douse the burning uncertainty inside me. “Yeah, like?”

  He crosses his arms over his thick chest. “Like why you would be at the Fox Hole with my brother?”

  “I didn’t intend that...I mean, being there with Bishop.”

  A hard gleam flashes in his eyes. He just watches me, a tight muscle flicking in his jaw.

  I can’t take the intensity, I turn and walk out of the kitchen. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I need to move.

  Shoving open the screen door, I step onto the narrow concrete stoop. The door creaks open, and Brandon’s standing next to me suddenly. His body heat wrapping around me even though he’s a good foot away. “What did you intend?”

  “To get a job.”

  “At the fucking Fox Hole?”

  My eyes flash to his, but my voice is steady. “Yes, at the fucking Fox Hole.”

  “Anya—” he snaps.

  I drop down from the stoop, and pace across the yard, kicking a clod of dust with my flip-flop as I go. Brandon’s right there beside me, matching his strides to mine. I turn out of the yard, onto the sidewalk. “You’re not getting out of this argument.”

  “This is not an argument.” I grumble. “It takes two to argue and I’m not mad.”

  We hit the intersection and have to wait for a car to go by. I take off again as soon as I can. Not really sure why I’m striding off to nowhere.

  I jump when his hand lands on my shoulder, weaves its way under my hair and around the back of my neck possessively. “Where are you going?”
/>
  “I have no clue.”

  With every step I take, I feel something red and volatile growing inside of me. I’m suddenly alarmed, I haven’t felt this sensation in years.

  Since I became the only adult in the house, getting angry only made things worse.

  I trudge on. Him right beside me. Things start flooding into my brain. Memories of my parents. Hurt from their abandonment. Anger at my brother’s recklessness.

  My life is a giant crappy mess, thanks to everybody but me. And now I have to answer to someone else, for something I don’t even understand?

  My jaw starts to ache. I press my fingertip right into my TMJ joint.

  Oh...this is not good. My jaw never hurts until I’m about to detonate.

  Suddenly that little seed of fire inside me of flashes red hot bursts into a bloom of dangerous anger. I shrug off his hand. “Don’t.”

  I refuse to bother looking at him. My feet slap at the sidewalk—my vision blurred by the ugly thing that’s taking over my brain.

  “How did Bishop end up at the bar with you?”

  I swallow, the muscles in my neck so tight I can barely get my throat to work. “Ask him.”

  “I asked him, and he said to ask you. So I’m asking you and somebody better start talking.”

  My hands clench into fists at my sides. Why me? All I try to do is do the right thing, and look what happens…

  I’m sick of it. All of it.

  Brandon can be mad, or pout, or whatever this is that he’s doing.

  I’m not defending myself for trying to get a second job and being with his brother when it wasn’t my fault.

  I growl and speed up.

  Only I’m yanked to a sudden stop. Brandon’s big hand wrapped around my wrist. He doesn’t let go.

  I jab a finger from my other hand in his chest, “Let go of the jealous act. I told you that Bishop and I are not into each other.”

  “Anya—”

  “You know what. I’m not taking this. I’ve had enough of everyone’s crap. I’m taking care of myself from now on. No one else, including this whatever it is you have going on between you and Bishop.”

  I try to jerk my hand away, but he holds tight. Not hurting me, but not budging. I’m seething mad, but tugging at this oak tree of a man does no good.