Out Of Line

by Jen McLaughlin

  Or looking at her.

  Or thinking about her.

  No big deal, right? Right.

  He paddled closer to me and gave me a long, hard look. “So, where’s Lover Boy today?”

  Lover Boy? As if. “Don’t you call him Golden Boy?”

  “Yeah, I did, but I changed my mind lately. Where is he?”

  “He’s not the surfing type,” I said simply.

  The truth was, I hadn’t invited him. Why would I? This wasn’t his thing. It was mine. Besides, I had been spending way too much freaking time in his company lately. He was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t do a single thing wrong. Never lost his temper or fought with me. Never called me annoying nicknames. He treated me like a princess.

  Turns out, I didn’t like being treated like a princess.

  I liked annoying surfer boys who lied to me.

  “No kidding,” he said dryly. “I never would’ve guessed that.”

  “Talk to Jesus, not me.”

  “I can’t. I only talk to him when I’m alone.”

  I saw a wave coming in the distance, but quickly realized it would be too big. I knew not to ride the huge ones. Knew I was a novice at best. He worried for nothing. Small correction—he worried about me because he was paid to do so.

  “You get this one.”

  He hesitated. “You going to be okay alone?”

  “Yes, yes.” I rolled my hand in a sweeping gesture. “Just go.”

  He gave me one last look before paddling forward. Despite my annoyance with him, I couldn’t help but watch in admiration. He sliced through the wave as if he was born on a surfboard, and he made it look damned sexy. Effortless too. I could sit here all morning, watching him surf.

  Talking to him. Fighting with him. Kissing him…

  God, what was wrong with me? Why was I still thinking about him like this after what I’d found out? After knowing he’d been paid to get close to me? To fool me into liking him. I was sick. I would never have believed myself possible of such weakness before Finn.

  By the time he made his way back, I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. He grinned at me and shook his head like the dog he was. Droplets landed on my nose, and I swiped them off. “That was a great one.”

  I clucked my tongue and kept staring straight ahead. Not looking at him. “I saw.”

  “You okay?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.

  “I’m freaking wonderful.”

  I checked over my shoulder, but it didn’t look like any waves of an appropriate size would be coming anytime soon. Maybe he’d been right, and I should’ve left, but then I’d have to admit defeat to him…and I wasn’t willing to do that. Not ever again, if I could help it.

  He looked out at the ocean too, his brow furrowed. “We could just head in. You can try tomorrow.”

  “Not happening. I’m riding at least one wave before I go home.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said, his voice low. “We both know you’re good at surfing, but that’s exactly why you can’t take one of these. You know you’re not ready.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” I said, my grip on my board tight. “I’ll take whatever wave I want, whenever I want it, and you can’t do a darn thing to stop me.”

  “The hell I can’t,” he snapped, throwing his left leg over the side of his board. “Watch me.”

  “Stop right there,” I warned, holding my hand out. If he touched me, I would be done for. I couldn’t ever feel his touch again, because if I did, I might just forget all about the lies. I might not care anymore. “I’m warning you.”

  “Or what? You’ll yell at me some more?”

  He hopped off his board and started swimming to me. Oh God. I had to get away. Needed to escape. He’d triggered the fight-or-flight response in my system, and I chose flight. I glanced behind me just in time to see a wave forming. It was bigger than usual, but nothing too insane.

  He must’ve seen the look in my eyes, because his own went wide. “Don’t do it, Carrie. You can’t—”

  “The hell I can’t,” I echoed back at him, paddling forward.

  “Carrie, no!” he yelled. He leapt on his board, clearly trying to catch the wave with me.

  I had no idea if he succeeded, because I was trying to keep my balance since the “not so big wave” turned out to be humongous. I was an idiot for trying to ride it. Within seconds, I wiped out, the salt water stinging my eyes and filling my mouth. I hadn’t held my breath. Hadn’t been ready. I’d been too busy worrying about him and what he was doing.

  I went under hard, and my tethered surfboard hit me in the back of the head. Stars swam before my eyes, but I tried to wait out the torrential wave like Finn had taught me. I got thrown around like a limp rag doll in a washing machine. Oh, God, I was going to die out here in the cold Pacific Ocean, all because I’d been too much of a fool to know when to call it quits. Too darn full of pride for my own good.

  What would happen to Finn when he realized I wasn’t coming back up? How could it be that we would never see each other again? There was so much more to talk about. Things to figure out and fights to have. I wasn’t ready to die yet.

  A hand closed around my wrist, yanking me up to the surface. Before I could so much as blink in surprise, my face cleared the water. Finn took a deep gulping breath, then disappeared below the ocean.

  “Finn!” I screamed, paddling around in a frantic circle. “Finn!”

  Nothing. He was gone.

  I took a deep breath and sank under water, but I only just got my head under when someone from behind me yanked me back up. I let out a broken sob and broke free. “No! He’s missing!”

  I dove back under the water, but my captor caught my arm again. I swung a fist at him, refusing to be held back when Finn needed help. Refusing to let him die because he’d saved me.

  “Jesus, Ginger,” Finn said, shaking me. “I’m right here.” He shook me again. “Carrie, I’m here.”

  I stopped fighting and took a deep, ragged breath. He was here. Alive. I burst into tears and threw my arms around his neck. He hugged me tight and kissed my temple, then my cheek. I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d take it further. If he’d kiss me. He seemed to hesitate, his lips hovering near mine. So close I could move just a tiny bit, and we would be touching.

  But I held my breath for nothing, because he didn’t move that inch, and neither did I. “Sh. It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you.”

  I choked on a sob and hit his shoulder. “I wasn’t worried about me, you idiot.”

  “Well, you should have been.” The calming tone he’d been using disappeared and was replaced by the hard, cold tone he’d never used on me before. “Fuck, Carrie. You could’ve died. All because of what?”

  “Because of you!” I hit him again, but he didn’t even flinch. “Because you won’t leave me alone! I had to get away.”

  He flinched. “Well, from now on, I will. Believe me, I will,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the last word.

  He started for the sand. Part of me wanted to continue this fight out here in the ocean, but the other part of me wanted to get him safely to the shore. I had almost lost him. Really lost him. When he’d sunk under the water, I had gone insane with worry. And the way I felt at the mere idea of losing him told me something I should have known already.

  I wasn’t over him. I might never be completely over him.

  As soon as my feet cleared the hectic rush of the water, he let go of me and dragged his hands down his face. “Jesus.”

  “What did you mean out there?” I asked, unable to stop myself. “About leaving me alone?”

  He turned to me, his face drawn and ragged looking. “I didn’t know you hated me so much you’d rather die than surf next to
me.”

  I swallowed hard. That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t hate him. That was the problem. “I can’t surf with you or be your friend. I don’t even want to see you. It hurts too much.”

  He paled. “It hurts me too. You have no idea how damn much it hurts because you think this was all a game to me. It wasn’t. And seeing you every day? It kills me.”

  I pressed a hand to my heart, the pain he’d sent slicing through it with his words was almost knee buckling. Okay. So maybe he really had cared about me, at one point. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d lied to me. Or the fact that he’d been spying on me for money. For my father. I cared about him too, but nothing could change any of those things…no matter how much I wished it could.

  Because I really did.

  “Then it’s settled.” My throat was so swollen with pending tears that I could barely speak, let alone breathe. “It’s better if we avoid places we used to hang out. You watch me from a distance as you have been this week, and we don’t come out here anymore. Don’t see each other.”

  He cleared his throat. “You won’t see me again. Goodbye.”

  Wait. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let him walk away from me. There had to be a way to at least be friends. Or to try. “Finn, I—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” He shrugged. Actually shrugged, as if he didn’t care at all. “It doesn’t even matter, does it? We didn’t ever stand a chance.”

  My throat ached from the tears I held back. The tears I wasn’t sure I could hold back anymore all because I’d gone and fallen for my bodyguard. “Not with all the lies.”

  “Right.” He laughed. “It was all a mistake. One huge fucking mistake, but it’s easy to fix. As easy as walking away.” He gave me one last long, hard look, then said, “Goodbye, Carrie.”

  “Finn…” I held my hand out, but he’d already turned his back on me.

  He walked away, his back stiff and his head held high. The tone in his voice was so…so final. As if he meant what he said, unlike me. And I had a feeling he would be better at sticking to his word than I was too.

  I wouldn’t see him again.

  Three agonizing weeks later, I sat on a bench, an open technology textbook perched on my knee and a hat pulled low over my head. All part of my incognito spy outfit. That way if she saw me, I wouldn’t be instantly recognizable. It had worked so far. We hadn’t spoken since that day in the water, and she hadn’t looked at me even once.

  I’d seen to it.

  It was five o’clock, and the soft ocean breeze calmed my otherwise fraught nerves. Soon she would come out. I’d been following her around. Watched her help out at the cancer race. Watched her go to the soup kitchen, even though I stood outside of it now. Watched her give away clothes and food and money—but not once had she done anything fun for herself. She just studied and helped and volunteered.

  No fun. No games. Hardly ever any smiles.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think she missed me. But she didn’t.

  Carrie came out of the building five minutes earlier than usual, her hair frizzy and her face lowered. Even with her hair sticking up every which way to Sunday, she was the picture of perfection. A breath of fresh air on a hot, smoggy day. I tensed as she walked right past me, but she didn’t even glance my way.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach, her steps quickening. Was that a groan I heard? No, I must’ve been imagining things. I stood up, tucking the book into my bag as I shadowed her steps. She walked faster than usual, but had some odd kind of shuffle to her step. Like a supersonic zombie. What was wrong with her?

  When she slapped a hand over her mouth and ran for the cover of the bushes that lined either side of the walkway, I got my answer. She was sick. I sprinted after her, my stomach twisting in response to the retching sounds that came from her. Any time someone vomited, I always felt sympathy nausea. Sometimes, that sympathy turned into my own bout of puking my guts up.

  So, as a rule, I avoided people who were throwing up, but this was Carrie.

  I dropped to my knees at her side, grabbing her hair and holding it back from her face so she wouldn’t get it dirty. She didn’t even bother to look my way or tell me to fuck off. She just kept puking. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, but I tightened my grip on her hair and made sure to breathe through my mouth—not my nose.

  Shallow, slow breaths.

  “Sh. It’s okay.” With my free hand, I rubbed her back in wide, sweeping circles. “I’ve got you.”

  She shuddered, one last gag making its way out of her body before she let her head hang. Not knowing what else to do, I kept rubbing her back and holding her hair. After what seemed like an eternity of sitting by the putrid vomit, she lifted her head. Her blue eyes were hard, but they held a touch of vulnerability to them.

  “Go away, Finn,” she mumbled. Swiping a hand across her mouth, she struggled to stand up. “I’m fine.”

  I quickly rose and lifted her to her feet. When she stumbled sideways, almost right into her puke, I gripped her hips. “Shit. Stay still.”

  “I’m trying,” she muttered, clinging to my shoulders. “The world won’t stop spinning.”

  “Can you walk?”

  She lifted her chin. “Of course I can.”

  “Okay.”

  I let go of her, even though every instinct screamed at me to hold on tighter and never let go. She took one step and almost fell flat on her face. I caught her effortlessly, swinging her up in my arms.

  Her head flopped down on my chest, and she looked anything but ready to be released. “God, it hurts.”

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.

  My heart seized at the look on her face as she drifted off. She was pale and listless. Her small hand rested on my chest, right above my heart. She liked putting it there, as if she knew she owned it and was re-staking her claim. “I know you can, but I want to help you. Now rest.”

  I dropped a quick kiss to her clammy forehead and headed for my bike. I almost reached it before I realized I couldn’t ride home with an unconscious Carrie on my lap. I hesitated, not sure what to do. Should I get a cab and take her back to my place? Or should I carry her up to her room and take care of her there?

  I spotted Marie walking to the dorm, three girls on either side of her. They were laughing loudly, talking about a study session involving alcohol in Marie’s room. Carrie stirred at their laughter, her brow furrowing. I held her closer, kissing her temple.

  “Take me home,” she muttered restlessly. She burrowed closer to me, let out a ragged sigh, and fell asleep.

  Well, that settled it. Home. My home.

  Walking right past my bike, I managed to call a taxi without waking Carrie. Once it arrived, I settled into the back of the cab with her curled up on my lap. I smoothed her hair off her face, studying her delicate features. Her small nose was red at the tip, and she had bags under her eyes that hinted she hadn’t been sleeping well lately. I hadn’t been either.

  I missed Carrie too much.

  Somehow I doubted I was the cause of her insomnia, though. More likely, it had been because she’d been hitting the books harder than usual. Midterms were coming up, so she had been preparing for those. I had seen her in the library with Lover Boy almost every day this week. Whenever she studied, Cory did too.

  Fucking annoying pansy.

  The cab stopped in front of my place, and I shuffled Carrie in my arms so I could reach my wallet. The cabbie eyed Carrie. “Is she dead? If so, it’ll cost extra.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Glad to know humanity is still at its peak.”

  “Hey, I’m just sayin’.”

  “So am I.” I tossed the cash at the man. “She’s not dead. She’s sick.”

  �
�Then get her out of my cab before she ruins it.”

  I glanced pointedly at the cigarette burns covering the seat and the crack in the glass of the window. “I think it’s too late for that.”

  “Whatever.” The man dismissed me with a casual flick of his wrist. “Just go.”

  I was getting damned sick of people telling me to “just go,” but now wasn’t the time to address that. I had a sick Carrie on my hands—one who might explode at any given time. I opened the door, hugging her closer to my chest as I bent to get out. She jerked awake, her eyes wide. She looked…ah, fuck.

  She looked green.

  I picked up the pace. “Are you going to make it inside?”

  She nodded frantically and squeezed her eyes shut. I practically ran to my door, unlocked it, and deposited her in front of the toilet. She waved her hand at me, clearly wanting me to leave, but I hovered in the doorway. Though my stomach demanded I do as she wished, I couldn’t leave her.

  When the first tortured groan escaped her, I stopped trying to fight the inevitable. I kneeled beside her, grabbing her hair to keep it out of the path of destruction. Her body tensed, but she didn’t have a chance to tell me to go away before the vomiting started again. My own stomach twisted in reply, but I gnashed my teeth. By the time she was finished, I knew I would be throwing up today too.

  I stood, my legs shaking, and wet a washcloth with warm water. She rested her cheek on her forearm, which was flung over the side of the toilet. When I came back to her side, she opened her eyes and blinked at me, a tear rolling down her face. “This sucks,” she whispered.

  I dabbed the washcloth over her forehead and across her mouth. “I know.”