by PJ Lincoln
"Can I get you another, Matt?"
He was gazing out over the ocean, seemingly miles away in his thoughts. She wondered if he had even heard her or noticed her presence. "Matt?"
"I'll wait until my food comes out," he said.
Regan tapped her chin with the end of a pen, a nervous habit. She didn't give customers much thought generally, despite the trick of learning their first names and listening about where they were from and what they were doing in Florida. Even the cute guys - and there were plenty that came through the doors - didn't make much of an impression.
This one was different somehow. It wasn't his looks, which she considered average. It wasn't his burly build, which held a certain nice quality, but it wasn't the sculpted look she tended to opt for. There was another factor at play she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"It should be up in just a sec," Regan said.
He nodded a polite nod and refocused his attention on the sea. Regan took the drink orders for a family of four just sat in her section. Before filling their orders, she checked on Matt's food.
"How we coming on the fish tacos, Sid?"
The middle-aged man, who wore a double-breasted black chef's coat at all times, as if he were an artisan preparing gourmet meals, instead of burgers and other bar fare, took his glasses off.
"Perhaps you need a set of these, kid?" he smirked. Sid nodded at the counter above the grill, the "window," where he placed completed orders under heat lamps.
"Good thing it wasn't a snake," Regan said.
"Would have bit you right in the -- "
She snatched the dish, scooped up the drink platter and headed back into crowd before Sid could finish the sentence.
Matt had shifted positions, she noticed. He was typing something on his phone, though she imagined it must be difficult for a guy with such thick, stubby fingers.
"Fish tacos," Regan said. "I'm telling you, Matt, you're going to love them."
She sat the plate in front of him and then a second Corona. She lingered and found herself wanting to inch closer to him. Regan noticed the top of his buzz-cut head was already a little red.
He finally took a bite of one of the tacos and gave a thumbs up. She studied his face for any traces of dissatisfaction and saw none. He was honest.
"Told ya," she said. "Best on the entire Florida coast."
Matt took another massive bite and the first taco was all but gone. Regan patted him on the shoulder and, at a touch, felt the power of his body. The man was solid as granite.
"Can we get refills, hun," the overstuffed mom called out to her.
"Right there," Megan said. "Let me know if you need anything else, Matt."
He smiled and something inside of her tingled.
IT HAD BEEN A DECADE SINCE MATT SMELLED THE WARM SALT AIR OF A FLORIDA BEACH. Not since high school, not since the senior trip to Daytona when Jen had agreed to marry him one day.
The fish tacos were better than he thought they would be. He actually preferred them over the carne asada versions he ordered as a backup plan. Combined with the beer, both were sitting heavily in his stomach.
After leaving the bar, Matt reached the beach in seconds and slipped his sandals off to feel the sand on his skin. He ambled over to a van parked on Cocoa Beach and rented a chair and an umbrella. He searched for a spot away from the mom and kid brigade, but was only partially successful. He wound up a few hundred feet north of the Sandbar Sports Grill with a view of a long pier ahead of him.
His late lunch wasn't the only thing weighing him down. Wade was right, he needed to move on. Part of him wanted exactly that, to put Jen and their five-year marriage behind him. She certainly had. Engaged in less than a year?
It was as hurtful as the divorce itself. How could this woman he had invested so much into be ready to marry another guy? It was maddening and caused him equal fits of seething rage and self-loathing.
Matt set his chair to face the Atlantic. Screwing the 60-inch umbrella into the sand to anchor was harder than it looked and he chided himself on being so out of shape. He removed his white tank top, pulled out a tube of sun block and worked it into his arms, legs, chest and shoulders. More time in the weight room needed when he got home.
Properly oiled, he trained his view on a pair of children, brothers playing catch with a tiny football being winged at them by their father. The boys were barely above toddler stage. Matt smiled at their antics, how one tried to show he was the alpha and worthy of more tosses. In between catching passes, the boys leapt over a small pit dug into the sand. They acted as if it was a great cavern waiting to swallow them up, emitting something akin to a rebel yell with each successful hurdle.
A moment later, the younger boy tripped before jumping and went face first into the hole. His wails brought Matt out of his chair. Matt dropped to his knees and gently lifted the boy out. His father arrived a second later and the boy, with wet sand clinging to his face and hair, went immediately to him, throwing both arms around his neck.
Amid the boy’s cries, the father enveloped his son with his massive arms and hugged him tight. He then looked at Matt and nodded as if to say, ‘thank you.’ Matt returned the nod and was happy to have played a small part in their day.
He went back to his chair and looked up at the sun. Matt closed his eyes and wished being a hero was as easy in his everyday life. He knew the daily doses of contempt and outrage he faced as a cop had hardened him. Perhaps it was the walls he had erected to protect himself that had really cost him his marriage.
Matt shook the thought away and guessed it was pushing four in the afternoon. If he was actually going to taste some saltwater, now was the time. After thirty yards and with the waves finally slowing his progress, he dove like an oversized pelican in search of a meal from the Atlantic.
Air bubbles surrounded his skin as he submerged. They tickled him all over and it took just a flash for him to resurface. A wave knocked him backward as he did, saltwater splashing his face and stinging his eyes.
It felt good. It felt right, as if the ocean just might scrub the doldrums away. A young teenager on a wake board zipped past him with a toothy smile.
"This is awesome," he howled.
It was indeed. Matt tested his strength against the waves for another thirty minutes and then left the warm waters. He was surprised at how far south he had drifted during his play, but was able to find his lonely beach chair and umbrella. He checked to make sure his phone was still tucked underneath his tank top and then scolded himself for being so distrusting.
He swiped the phone to life and saw a pair of texts from good old Wade.
"Pics dude. I need pics."
"Hello..."
Matt smiled. "MILF's and teen agers," he typed back. "Not many co-eds."
A few minutes elapsed. "What? I love MILFs!!! Come on, I need some pics, dude. WTF?"
Wade was never going to grow up, that was for sure. His body almost dry, Matt put his tank back on. He laughed at himself, noticing the new pinkness of his skin despite the layer of SPF.
Looking south on the beach, he noticed a slender figure coming his way, a young woman with dark hair. As she came into focus, he saw it was the waitress from the Sandbar.
CHAPTER THREE
Matt vs. Eddie
Emily was right. An evening on the Cocoa Beach Pier was exactly the tonic Regan decided she needed to forget about Eddie for awhile and spend a day's worth of meager tips.
Five hours of waitressing had produced just forty three dollars, but it was enough to have dinner and a few drinks. Before leaving the restaurant, Regan changed into a pair of capri pants and a sleeveless smocked neck blouse. Both were navy, a color that muted her rich tan and dark brown hair a touch.
It wasn't something she did regularly for a trip to the pier.
She usually just went and didn't mind talking with a few people that would inevitably recognize her after glancing at her Sandbar t-shirt. Tonight, she just wanted to blend. She left her work clothes in
a small locker Sid and Connie provided each of the waitresses in a cramped back room.
Regan walked past the bar, winked at Connie then made her way across the deck and down to the beach. She scanned the expanse of sand between the restaurant and the pier. At half-past four, families and tourists were starting to peel away. Another wave of them would descend after dinner and stay until dusk. It was as predictable as the tide.
Cocoa had its regulars, too. Packs of local young guys constantly trolled the shore for easy scores with northern college girls, many of whom were easily dazzled by their gym muscles and deep tans. Older, grizzled men for whom the ocean seemed to be a place of daily worship. And the hustlers, like Tommy, peddling beach toys and trinkets.
Regan spotted Tommy a hundred yards ahead of her. As she approached, he was in mid-spiel. His black garment-like bag, filled with shark's teeth, ankle bracelets and glow in the dark sticks, was rolled out on the sand in front of a ghostly white woman. Her three children pointed to items Tommy apparently convinced them they had to have.
Regan had seen his act countless times. Tommy was the carefree spirit from Hawaii just looking to scrape together enough cash to get back to the north shore of Oahu. It was the story he sold along with the trinkets. Coupled with his charm, it was good enough to earn a steady stream of five and ten dollar bills.
Tommy was no different than the street sharks of Chicago she encountered on her forays to the museums and night life of the Windy City. Regan felt a certain kinship with all of them. Not about grubbing a buck, but about being alone in the world. People like Tommy and her had themselves to rely on.
She gave him a slight nod as she passed by and he diverted his gaze from his customers for a split second to shoot her a smile. Regan continued on with the late afternoon sun pressing on her back. She kicked off her sandals and scooped them up in one motion.
Regan edged toward the ocean and the warm, frothy waters tickled her feet. Occasionally, she'd walk over a sharp sea shell, but her soles were tough enough to avoid being cut. Regan continually went barefoot away from work and school.
She rarely looked up at the other beach-goers. After two years of living at Cocoa, they all looked remarkably similar. She edged closer to the pier and noticed a lone figure sitting under an umbrella. He was wearing a stark white tank top and his hair was incredibly short, a buzz cut she thought.
Matt.
Regan froze for an instant. Should she just keep walking or explore that thing about him she liked and couldn't quite put her finger on? The ocean breeze kicked up and her hair blew behind her. She started moving again, one foot in front of the other and glanced in his direction.
His head was turned her way, seemingly locked. A few more strides and she was less than thirty feet away from Matt. Her heartbeat quickened when he waved at her.
Regan waved back and smiled, but kept walking.
A WAVE OF GUILT CRASHED INSIDE OF MATT’S HEART. Seeing Regan like this, her hair down framing her face, her attire accentuating a near perfect form, it whisked every other thought from his mind. The twinge of attraction he had felt at the restaurant had turned into a distinct pull.
The fact that she acknowledged him by waving back made him flush like a schoolboy. He couldn't believe himself, his own reaction. Matt could hear Wade's voice inside his head: "Dude, she's righteous, go for it." He stared down at his ring finger. The indentation in his skin where his gold wedding band had rested for so long was still visible.
Matt looked up and saw Regan heading straight for the pier. He wondered if she was meeting friends and then realized how stupid he was. She was going to meet a boyfriend. No way a girl like that would be single. No way.
He had to find out. His attraction and interest in her overpowered any lingering guilt. Matt watched as Regan walked up a ramp onto the pier and into a bar or restaurant, he couldn't tell which.
He unscrewed the umbrella from the sand, gathered his chair and tossed his cell phone in his pocket. He left the tube of sunblock lying in the sand. In less than five minutes, Matt had paid for the rentals and nearly reached the pier.
He didn't have a plan. He was working on adrenalin and impulse. Regan could very well scream for help when she saw him again. Good luck trying to explain that to his boss, a Captain who made the warden from Shawshank Redemption seem tame by comparison.
Matt let out a long breath before opening the door to Marlins On the Pier. This was crazy. Crazy right, his heart told him. He stepped inside and looked around a small lobby. No hostess.
From where he stood, he couldn't actually see any tables or the bar, just restrooms straight ahead. He took a step forward and his eyes followed along the paneled walls, which were filled with black and white photos, programs for long ago beach concerts and clipped newspaper articles. He spotted an arrow pointing to his right. He followed the sign and a man was sitting in a high chair holding a fist full of money.
"Three dollars to get on the deck," the man said.
"What?"
"Three bucks. You here for the launch?"
"Ah, no, dinner," Matt said. "What do you mean about a launch?"
The man, who wore an unbuttoned, tropical-looking short sleeve shirt and shaggy grey hair down to his shoulders, gave him a sarcastic look. "Up at Canaveral in 45 minutes. A satellite is going up. It's three bucks to watch from the deck."
Matt thought it might be the reason Regan came up to the pier. He fished out a few dollars and the man collected the money and stamped Matt's hand.
"Restaurant over here?" he asked, nodding to his left.
"Yep," the man said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief.
"Thanks."
Thanks for the hospitality, jerk, Matt thought. He made his way into the Marlin and scanned for Regan. He spotted her at the bar with a guy. All of the adrenalin left his body and his spirit vanished along with it. Despite his better judgment, he found an unoccupied table away from the bar and prayed she wouldn't see him. A waitress came buy and he ordered a Corona in Regan's honor.
He couldn't help but glance in her direction. The guy with her was tall, tanned, and muscular. Matt thought they looked like a nice couple, like they should be together. Something about Regan's body language was off, though.
While the guy was leaning in toward her and smiling, she appeared to be holding back. Matt could see her facial expression and she looked annoyed. Perhaps it was just a lover's spat.
The waitress returned with his beer and he ordered a burger and fries. He took a long pull from the Corona and looked to his right, out at the ocean. Windows circled the back half of Marlins and he imagined it was part of the restaurant's charm. He could picture himself watching the sun set over several rounds of Bass Ale. Matt managed a small laugh at himself, remembering what Regan had said about English pubs and Florida. He glanced her way again.
Her date had his right hand under her arm trying to pull her away from the bar. Regan was resisting. She used her free arm to elbow the guy. The disturbance had caught the attention of the bar tender, who moved toward the couple and yelled out for him to stop. Matt pushed away from the table and raced toward the fracas.
“ LET ME GO,” REGAN DEMANDED.
Eddie Levan ignored her request and kept pulling. He actually lifted her off her seat. Regan elbowed him in the ribs and then kicked at him wildly, missing the mark. Restaurant patrons were watching the fight, but did nothing to help.
Once away from the bar, Eddie pushed Regan forward. He was trying to force her out the door. The bartender, Ray, a slender man appearing to be in his late forties, grabbed Eddie’s shoulder.
“She said let her –-”
Eddie released his grip on Regan, turned to his left and flattened Ray with a roundhouse right. She used the distraction to try to get away, but he regained his hold on her by yanking a clump of her hair.
Regan howled in pain, but kept fighting. Eddie had her left arm pulled behind her. She reached behind her with her right and clawed his face with her nails.
A few feet from the door, a man stepped in front of them. Regan looked and his face didn't register. Then it hit her, it was the guy from the Sandbar and the beach: Matt.
Eddie flung Regan into a nearby table with his left hand and then grabbed a fist full of Matt's tank top with his right.
“Get the hell out of my way,” Eddie yelled, “if you know what’s good for you.”
“Not happening,” Matt said.
He towered over Matt and Regan knew what was coming next. If Eddie couldn't intimidate, he would pummel Matt. He liked to fight and she had witnessed him drop a pair of college guys at a keg party when one of them got too friendly with her. To her surprise, Matt didn't move an inch after Eddie's threat.
Eddie shot his left fist into the side of Matt's face. The blow snapped his head backward, but Matt held his ground. A quick right from Eddie grazed his chin. Matt regained his footing and seemed to dare his opponent to swing again.
Eddie obliged and tried a straight right. Matt pushed it away with his left hand and into his raised right arm. In one motion, Matt secured Eddie's hand with his left and used his bodyweight to roll Eddie's caught arm over. Matt then leaned forward and down, pushing Eddie arm back at an awkward angle.
"You're going to break my wrist," he yelped.
Matt took Eddie to the floor and then quickly moved behind him, pinching his arm backward. Matt putt a knee in Eddie's lower back then grabbed his left arm and applied some type of hold on his left thumb. Eddie tried to buck Matt off, but it was useless. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Eddie turned his head to face Regan. He smiled and then let out a sarcastic laugh.
“You think this is over, bitch?” he said. “It ain’t. I’ll get --”
Matt slammed Eddie’s face into the floor and then a second time for good measure. He leaned down to whisper into Eddie’s ear.
"Shut the fuck up,” Matt said, “if you know what’s good for you.”
Regan wanted to stomp Eddie’s skull, but knew getting anywhere near him might cause Matt to lose his grip. Her entire relationship with Eddie flashed before her eyes. She couldn't believe it had come to this. He had been so much fun at first and even seemed like a good guy.
