But I chicken out. I start my whole renaissance with a stupid, bumbling lie.
“I had—you know this thing across town and—” I stumble over my words. Why didn’t I come up with a story on the drive over?
Carter reaches out and slips the duffel from my shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll order in some food.”
“I don’t want to be in the way,” I say, my blood pumping hard under my skin.
“Shayna, you’re not in the way. I was about to break for lunch anyway. You can keep me company. Come on, I haven’t seen you in forever. It’ll be good to catch up.”
I let the last of the weight of my bag fall into Carter’s hand and then follow him back to the living room.
“You really don’t have to do this,” I say, slumping back into the crazy comfortable chair.
“I’m happy to. Like I said, it’ll give us a chance to catch up. One liner texts here and there don’t really tell the whole story. And we barely ever talk on the phone. Which sucks.”
He’s right. Things are missed in informal text messages. Carter didn’t mention a move. But I failed to mention my entire life detonating. I don’t want to catch up. I want to forget. He starts rummaging through a drawer. “There’s a great deli down the street that delivers. Sandwiches okay?”
Carter offers to let me shower while we wait for the food, which I happily take him up on. It’s been three days since I’ve seen hot water and I don’t wait for him to ask twice.
But it still feels strange to be here at all.
Once I’ve pulled on fresh leggings and a comfortable sweatshirt, I twist my still damp hair back into a sloppy bun and make my way back to my chair.
I love how I’ve already claimed furniture in his house as my own.
Carter has food set up and I waste no time diving in.
“This is delicious,” I say around a thick roast beef sandwich with provolone and spicy mustard.
“Good, glad you like it. One of the best parts about living here is that everything is super close. You could stay in the apartment forever and have anything you needed delivered in a half hour.”
“Do you spend a lot of time here?” I glance around, and notice that it’s gorgeous, but a little cramped to never leave.
Carter wipes his mouth. “I try not to. In fact, I’m going camping Saturday. As much as I like it here, it’s good to get away, too.”
“I hear that,” I say. He goes camping, I skip several state lines.
“So, when was the last time we saw each other?” Carter asks. I know exactly when it was, but I pause and tilt my head like I’m racking my memory.
“I guess it was that Christmas,” I try to hold back the smile that pulls at the corners of my mouth, but I can’t do it. And it’s okay, because I see a grin form on Carter’s face as well.
He smirks and nods. “That was a good one.”
I push the crumbs from the sandwich I’ve just devoured around on my plate with a scrap of crust and debate whether or not I should tell him. Tell him that after he dropped me off that night, my entire life changed.
“It was,” I say.
“And since then, what have you been up to?” Carter picks up our plates and carries them to the kitchen. “Are you in school?”
“I…” Does leaving town in the middle of a semester with no notice count as still enrolled? “I am.”
“And you’re on break?” he asks.
“Something like that.”
“Something like what? Did you decide on a school?”
“I did.” My answers give nothing away, except maybe how uncomfortable I am. It’s clear to me that Carter is digging for more.
“I’m—maybe I should go.” The familiar feeling of walls closing in squeezes my chest.
Carter crosses the room and says, “Hiraeth.”
“Excuse me?” I say.
He’s here. Beside me. He may as well have a pick ax in hand the way that stare could tear down walls. Jesus.
“That nagging restlessness. Last Christmas you said there’s probably a word for it.”
So he does remember. I fight the curve of a smile.
“I figured it out. It’s called hiraeth. I’m guessing that’s why you’re here now.”
***
“You don’t happen to have a wetsuit in your bag, do you?” Carter asks. His voice is a low drawl that could easily lull me back to sleep. I pull the duvet up to my neck and snuggle back into the plush bed.
“Huh?” I ask. I look up at him through a layer of lashes that I’m unwilling to part completely just yet.
“A wetsuit. I’m going camping down at San Onofre, I thought you might like to come with? Or you could, you know, stay here if you’d like.”
It finally dawns on me where I am and I pop my eyes open.
“Carter?”
“Morning, Shayna.” He slips his phone out of his pocket and gives it a quick glance. “Afternoon, I guess. How’d you sleep?”
“How? Um…” I glance around the bed looking for my sweater. “Good. I slept really good. How long was I out, though?”
“Eighteen hours. Give or take. You were beat.”
“I am so sorry. So, so sorry. I know this has got to be a huge intrusion—”
“It’s fine, really. I was more than comfortable out on the sofa.”
“You slept on the sofa? At your own place?” Oh dear God, what a leech I am. I sift through the vague memories of awkward conversation before I must’ve fallen asleep. I can’t remember much from last night. I was so damn tired.
“Would you stop it. I made omelets, I’ve already eaten, but help yourself. I’ve got to run down the road to grab some more surf wax. And I’m guessing that’s a no on the wet suit?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I don’t have a wet suit.” My brain is still cloudy.
“Okay, so, I’m just going to run out then,” he says.
His eyes rake over me in a way that I’m familiar with, but with Carter, the wanton look feels different. I can’t get what he said to me last night out of my head. He understands. Maybe more than he’s willing to admit. That feeling of loss for something that you maybe never even had. He gets it so much that the look of want in his eyes almost makes me sad. Because maybe he’s more broken than he wants to admit. Maybe all these years of being the ‘together’ sibling in his family is all a painful ruse.
Or maybe I’m just hungry and reading too much into the way his eyes slipped over my skin like a soft satin ribbon, tickling me with delight without even being touched.
“I’ll be back in a few,” he says, finally breaking eye contact. He turns for the door but stops short.
“Listen, Shay, I don’t want to pry, but I thought I’d mention it before we get on the road because there’s crap cell service out at the camp site. Do you… do you want to call your parents or anything before we head out? I’ll be gone for a bit, so you’ll have some privacy—I just thought—”
“No,” I say firmly. “I’m okay.”
“Alright, I just wanted to bring it up, you know, in case you had anyone you wanted to check in with. Let them know you got here okay?”
“I said no, Carter.” I reign in the bitch voice and try again. “Thank you for mentioning it though, that’s very sweet.”
My mind flips back to the other night when I drove home from Nolan’s. I had already made up my mind to get out of town before I walked through the door, but my parents’ reaction only solidified the decision. My mom was furious when I told her that Nolan and I had broken up. On our ‘anniversary’ no less. She immediately asked me what I’d done wrong. And all I could think of was what she and Dad had done wrong. Pushing me to be someone that I’m not out of fear. Pushing me to be with someone they wanted me with. I’m not ready to talk to them right now. Not with all of the secrets floating between us. I’m not sure when or if I ever will be again.
“Is this where we’re camping?” I ask as Carter pulls the car into a parking place. It doesn’t look like much, but
it butts up against white sand. I open the car door and breathe in deeply, my lungs filling with the pristine, salty air.
“Yep, it’s one of my favorite spots. Anytime I ever doubt my decision to move west, I come out here and remember all the reasons I did,” he says. He slings a couple of bags over his shoulder.
“What can I get?” I ask, peering back into the car.
“Depends. Have you ever seen the Pacific before?” Carter asks.
I shake my head and bite my lip, my body vibrating with nervous energy at the ocean air swirling around me, and Carter looking at me with that gorgeous smile.
“Then nothing. Slip off your shoes and go check it out. I’ll set up camp,” Carter beams.
“That doesn’t really sound fair,” I say, all the while pulling off my strappy sandals.
“You can make it up to me,” Carter says. He gives me a quick wink that makes my heart race before waving me off toward the sand again.
There’s about ten yards of sand with tiny pads of concrete to separate each camp site with picnic tables and fire pits in between before it all drops off to a rocky cliff. After a quick glance around I find a path that leads down to the water. I carefully navigate the tiny, rickety staircase that leads down to the actual beach, walking sideways and clutching onto the flimsy railing. I have the fleeting thought that maybe coming out here alone wasn’t the best idea after all, that is, until I let my feet sink into the wet sand at the bottom of the staircase. The wind is stronger now that I’m closer to the waves and I can’t help but close my eyes and let it blow through my hair, clearing my thoughts. I completely understand what Carter said about coming out here and forgetting everything else. There is no other feeling like standing next to this massive ocean, alone, just you and the wind and the waves. I hug my arms around myself in the cool breeze and for the first time in a long time, feel like I’m okay. My feet sink deeper into the sand as the water laps around them and I feel the most grounded I have in as long as I can remember. How can a place do that? It feels impossible.
“You cold?” Carter’s voice is near my ear. I let my eyes flutter open and smile.
“I’m perfect. This… this is amazing. How did you know that this is exactly what I needed?” I ask.
Carter shrugs. “Trust me, I need this place a lot myself. I’m glad it’s helping. You want to stay down here for a bit?”
I nod. “Please. Unless you need my help?”
Carter pulls his hoodie over his head and hands it to me. “I’m good up there. Take all the time you need.”
***
I didn’t think this through. I’ve got one tent.
What if Shayna isn’t cool with sharing a single tent with me? I can’t really blame her. We’re friends… or maybe she’s my little sister’s friend. If I look at it like that, it makes it even more awkward. I want to look at her in a dozen different ways—and none of those ways running through my mind have anything to do with being Quinn’s friend.
Shit.
I put the tent together anyway and decide if she doesn’t want to share, I’ll take a blanket on the sand. Sleeping directly under the stars is what real camping is all about, right?
I’ve got our camp set up and a fire going by the time Shayna makes her way back up the stairs. She’s walking toward me wearing my hoodie that’s so big on her, it looks like it’ll swallow her up like the ocean. But she’s gorgeous. So damn gorgeous. I remember her as pretty, hot even, but seeing her again—here it’s like seeing her in a new light. She’s relaxed, her features a little less pained. I love that. A smile tugs at the corner of that sweet mouth I’ve been staring at for the last two days.
I don’t know what’s going on with her or why she showed up the way she did, but I need to find out. Something about her makes me want to help her. To fix things for her—even if I’m probably the last person on earth who should be trying since I can’t even fix myself.
“You hungry?” I ask, clearing my throat.
She bats at the rogue strands of hair swirling around her face. “Are you cooking again? I thought that was Quinn’s thing? Guess it runs in the family. Is your mom a good cook?”
I shake my head and let out a nervous laugh because the thought of my mom being a domestic goddess that passed her culinary skills down to Quinn and I is laughable. Mom tried her best, I’ve always believed that, but she never could quite get her shit together. Things would fall apart, Mom would leave for odd amounts of time, come back and we’d all sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. Those things weren’t talked about in our house. I can’t tell if it’s better or worse now that Quinn and I are both out of the house and it’s just Mom, Dad and our younger brother Mason at home. Quinn has always said that Mason was the golden child and they’d keep things together for him, and maybe that’s true, but the brand of crazy and dysfunction that Quinn and I saw growing up couldn’t just evaporate. It’s still there, and if Mom passed anything down to Quinn and I, that’s what it’d be.
It took Quinn a long time to accept that she couldn’t fix things—that she couldn’t hang around in that misery even if it was to take the brunt of the bullshit off of Mason’s shoulders. But dwelling on how Quinn and I took a major loss in the familial lottery isn’t something I want to do right now.
I hold up a potato. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a baked potato and a rib eye cooked over a campfire. I don’t think Quinn will whip up one of those for you, either. She’s a little precious about her cooking.”
“Sign me up,” she says. Her smile is ridiculous. It’s sass and sweetness all wrapped up into one gorgeous, plump mouth that is practically begging me to kiss it. Again. She’s crazy if she actually believes that I don’t remember that Christmas Eve. The one where she tried to open up to me, but when her eyes gave away that I was getting too close, she threw up a wall and put her tongue down my throat instead. I’m not complaining, not at all. But it wasn’t what she needed then, and now, well, I can’t go there now with anyone.
“So it was nice down there?” I ask. I rub oil and coarse salt over the rough skins of the potatoes then wrap them in foil and toss them onto the grill I’ve rigged.
“It was otherworldly. Seriously. How do you ever leave?”
“Work,” I say. “Being an adult blows sometimes. If I had it my way, I’d be out here every day. Surfing, grilling, covered in sand for the rest of my life.”
Shayna doesn’t respond, but stares up at the darkening sky and smiles.
I hope she’s taking it all in, appreciating how rad this place really is. I’ve been coming here for a few years, but I haven’t always taken the time to appreciate it.
It started out as a place to come with my buddies from school to drink until we passed out. Too many times I woke up Sunday morning when it was time to head back to campus still too drunk to roll out of my sleeping bag—sometimes with a random girl in it that I didn’t remember and then had to then make excuses as to why I wouldn’t call. I didn’t start coming out here alone until after a weekend of excess—a celebration of finals week being over. I woke up in a pool of my own vomit outside of my tent. My surfboard was gone, my friends said I tried to surf while drunk as hell and lost it. They had to come pull me out of the water, said I almost drown. Here. In this place where you have everything you could ever want, I chose to get so damn drunk I couldn’t see any of it. I couldn’t show my face around those guys anymore, I could barely stand to look at myself. It was the first time I really realized that I had a serious fucking problem. After that, this campsite became a place to get away when the cravings became too intense to stand back at home or when I felt lonely as hell, and knew that the one friend—the one girl I couldn’t stop thinking about for months was probably out with another guy.
But now she’s here.
I arrange the steaks on the fire and say, “Sometimes I feel like this is the only sane place left on earth.”
“I can totally see that,” she says.
“The waves can b
e better company than any other person I know.”
Shayna laughs softly. “Present company excluded, right?”
“That goes without saying,” I say and tip the rim of my Angels ball cap at her. “So, I wanted to talk to you about what I said this morning—”
Shayna’s eyes fill with immediate panic. “About the wetsuit? I don’t have one, just this bikini.” She gives a light tug on the knot at the nape of her neck. Not enough to untie it, but enough to get my attention. “That’ll be good right?”
She successfully changes the subject by forcing me to visualize teaching her to surf while she wears that tiny bikini, her skin slick with salty water, my hands all over her…
I swallow hard. “Yeah, of course, that’s… perfect.”
“Smells good,” she says, fidgeting with her hands.
I nod, trying to come up with something to clear the awkward silence.
“I’m hoping to get my mom to let my brother Mason come out at some point. I’d love to take him out here.”
Shayna smiles. “I always forget that you and Quinn have another brother. He plays hockey or something, right?”
“Baseball,” I say. He’s good. Crazy good. My parents have bred him to be. He has had a pitching coach, a batting coach, and specialists from all over the country to mold Mason into a major league player. Even though things at home had calmed down a lot after Mason was a couple of years old, he wasn’t shielded completely from the drama, and really, with all of the pressure put on him, maybe he had it even worse than Quinn and I. I keep waiting for him to snap, revolt, drop out of baseball… or worse. End up in the hospital after an overdose like Quinn… or turn out like me.
“You have any siblings? I ask, realizing how little I actually know about Shayna, and how much I’d like to change that. I know that she’s more of a dreamer than she likes to admit. I know that she’s smart as hell, but plays it down. I know that she’s brave and flirty in a text message, but more timid in person.
She clenches her jaw before she shakes her head. “Nope, only child.”
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