Surf & Surrender

by Riley Edgewood

  I shake a few of the beer cans, finding one still half full. I pour it on his face. He comes up spitting—and swinging. "Jesus Christ, Sawyer. Leave me be."

  It's easy enough to move out of the swing of his fists. I wait for him to chill and then lock my arms around him, picking him up and tossing him on his unmade bed. He's light. Should he be so light? "Are you eating these days, you skinny little shit?"

  He closes his eyes. "Why are you always such a dick?"

  Because otherwise I'd break. Otherwise you'd have me on my knees begging you to get yourself together, and we both know that wouldn't work. "Because you're always such a fuck-up. Get your act together and I'll be sweeter. Hell, I'll bring you goddamn flowers."

  "Pansy," he slurs, rolling onto his side.

  "You want pansies? I'll bring you a bouquet." I probably know more about flowers and bouquets than necessary, but Quinn's always been into them, and it turns out I've always been greedy for information about anything that makes her who she is.

  Jess doesn't respond. Snoring. Again. This time I leave him be and pick up his room. Though I hit my limit when I find plates covered in mold under his bed. I toss them in the trash, and I sit on the now laundry-less armchair across from my sleeping-it-off father. I wait.

  It's another hour before he cracks open one bloodshot eye. It wanders the room and when it lands on me, he drags a hand across his mouth, and pushes himself up to study me. "Son." His voice cracks with leftover sleep.

  "Pop." I'm surprisingly calm. The time spent waiting for him gave me a chance to think. "We need to talk."

  "I'm not feeling so hot this morning. Might be coming down with something. Can we reschedule?"

  "No."

  He yawns and nods, resigned. "Figured as much. Let me grab a coffee."

  "There's a fresh pot on in the kitchen."

  "Appreciate it."

  "Leave some for Jess."

  He doesn't respond, and he's still bleary-eyed when he returns to the couch, handing me a fresh cup first.

  "Have you seen Jess's room?" I ask as soon as he sits down.

  He meets my gaze. "I give him his privacy."

  "Guess that's why he doesn't bother hiding all the beer cans."

  He flinches, glancing at his cup. "Teens drink."

  "Not the way he does. He said he'd straighten up if we came back here, and he isn't doing it."

  "We aren't leaving again."

  "What if it's what's best for Jess?"

  "If I thought it was, we'd be out the door. But I don't believe that."

  I want to get on board with him. Hell, especially after yesterday with Quinn. After any day with Quinn. But Jess…before we came back to the beach, he was spiraling so bad his next step was juvie. Or worse. So he's who we have to think about now. "Dad—"

  "No. I also came home for this job—and I've managed to keep it." He juts his chin up, like it's something to be proud of. And it is, really, considering it's the first time he's kept a job longer than a few weeks in years. But he continues, "And because I need to be close to where your mother rests, and God help me, I'm not leaving her again."

  His eyes go glassy and my own damn throat thickens. I only have bits and flashes of memories of my mother, but I know my dad remembers her like she was here yesterday. A moment goes by before he says, "Jess isn't leaving either."

  I lean back in my chair, forcing my posture to remain relaxed. "I will wait this out just a little while longer. But if I'm going to agree, then you need to get some help."

  "You think if I could afford to hire someone, Jess would let some nanny tell him what to do? I'd have to hire a damn supermodel to get any sort of reaction from him. Even that might not be enough."

  "No—it's time for you to get help."

  He shakes his head when my words sink in. "I'm functioning just fine. Bills are paid. Your brother's fed. Alive."

  A functioning alcoholic. He accepted it years ago. The problem is, I accepted it, too. "Is that what life's worth to you? You can function? Your youngest son is alive?"

  He doesn't answer, but the shock wiping the tiredness from his face tells me maybe I've started too strong. Except I'm starting to realize I should've started even stronger a long time ago.

  For years I told myself not to parent my own father. I had my own demons to deal with, and I was in no shape to deal with his at the same time. But it hits me, sitting here, that I can't expect Jess to get his shit together if he doesn't have at least one role model to mirror on a more regular basis. "You need to get clean. Or I'm taking Jess."

  "You're not taking Jess." No trace of tiredness in his voice this time. He stares at me, hard, but I don't look away. He clears his throat. "If you're that worried, you could always move—"

  "No." I'm not moving in with him. I can't, and we both know why.

  The last person I hit before Danny Simmons? My father.

  I had quite a bit of practice before him, but my aggression was always leading toward my dad. He was drunk and saying things he shouldn't have been saying, and I was so angry with him for so many reasons. I didn't even try to stop myself. My fist landed right below his eye, and he went down. It was like a bucket of razor-sharp ice, watching him fall. I helped him up and couldn't stop apologizing. I'll never forget the way he looked at me, so broken. I'll regret it for the rest of my life.

  But some days I worry I'll have the impulse to do it again. Like right now. Knowing he was so wasted on his own last night he had no clue what Jess was up to.

  Keeping distance from my dad keeps the anger in my gut leashed—but I'll never be too far away, not while he's responsible for my brother. After that…time will tell.

  "Well, you aren't taking your brother."

  "Then you know what you need to do."

  "Where is this coming from?" He studies me, looking genuinely bewildered. I can't blame him. I've ignored his shit almost as long as he has. I guess we both figured a drinking addiction was better than a few of the other bad habits so many people have. But not anymore.

  "Jess almost died a couple weeks ago," I say, watching the bewilderment slip back into shock. "He was wasted in the ocean on a rough day and he started to drown. That's where this is coming from."

  He drags a hand across his face. "I… I didn't know, Sawyer. Shit. If I'd known—"

  "It's bad enough that I didn't know," I say, my own composure slipping into something a little darker. "But that you didn't? What sort of father are you?"

  "The kind who struggles his entire life to provide for his two ungrateful sons." He's saying this out of hurt, out of anger—same as my own words—but it doesn't stop the burn that comes with them. "Kids get away with things sometimes. Even if I was the best father in the world, he'd be able to slip things by me."

  "If you weren't a drunk, he wouldn't be able to get away with half as much," I say. "I know you love him, but what Jess needs right now is more than that."

  He's silent for a while and I give him the time he needs to process. When he speaks again, he sounds defeated. "I can't just snap my fingers and stop drinking."

  The fact he's thinking about it is a start. One he's made before, but this time I'm not letting him fall backward.

  "I have money put aside," I say, not including that it's in a college fund for Jess. "I saved most of my half of what Rajesh and I earned when we sold the designs to our…system." We designed a farmland grazing system to fence and herd livestock along paths similar to those taken by grazing animals found in nature. Natural herds are kept closely contained by their predators and have to relocate after eating, flattening, and shitting all over an area, only coming back once it's regrown. We put together plans that should help ensure the maintenance and restoration of rangeland ecosystems. But my dad usually stops listening as soon as I mention the word grazing, so I refrain from trying to explain it for the millionth time. Especially considering the most important part of this conversation: "I'm going to give you some of my savings, and you're going to use it to check yours
elf into a clinic to dry out. I'll take Jess while you're gone, and he'll come home when you're back."

  "I'm not taking your money. You're my kid." He said the same thing when I offered it to him to help with rent, or groceries, or anything to make things easier. But this time he doesn't get the final say.

  "Sometimes the lines between fathers and sons get crossed," I say. "This is one of those times. You can go voluntarily, or I can take Jess away through legal means." It's murder on my heart, saying these things. Until I imagine drowned Jess, bloated on the beach somewhere. Then it gets a whole lot easier. "Take your pick."

  He sips his coffee, but his eyes slide to the bottle of whiskey at the end of the couch. "I need some time to think about it."

  "I'll give you five minutes." I drink my own coffee, as though I've got all the time in the world.

  "Damn it, Sawyer. You can't just spring this on me."

  "Spring this on you?" I laugh, though there's no humor in it. "This has been years in the making. Four at least, but if we're honest, it goes back farther than that, too. You swore if we came back here you'd get it together." Jess swore he'd get his shit together, too, if he could come home and reconnect with his old friends. And I swore to myself I'd keep away from Quinn.

  Guess none of us keep our promises.

  "We came back here because I had a job offer. And I've held it down steady these months. I am together."

  "No. You're not."

  "Let me try AA first," he says, changing tactics. "It worked last time."

  "Not really." I point at the Jack Daniels. "Working for a little while isn't the same thing as working for life."

  He sucks in a deep breath when I say for life, and I know how hard it must be to consider the rest of your life without one of your driving forces.

  Much like I felt when I walked away from Quinn.

  "One mistake," I tell him, praying I won't regret giving in. "One drink from here on out, and we do this my way." I push off the chair and swipe his bottle of Jack Daniels, taking it into the kitchen and dumping it down the sink. The fumes burn my eyes and nostrils. Not that I mind whiskey on my own, but it's hard to take this early in the day. For me, anyway. Not so much for my father.

  He's still sitting there when I return, staring into space.

  I want to stress my point to him again, to make sure it's really hammered through his skull that one more step out of line will land him in rehab no matter what, but I swallow the words. "You didn't mention seeing Quinn."

  He glances at me, unsmiling. "Neither did you."

  It's true, and she's probably not something we should talk about right now, anyway. I pull my phone from my pocket, doing a quick Internet search. "Grab your stuff."

  "Why?"

  "I found a meeting that starts in twenty minutes and we're going." Then, after thinking about it, I add, "Wake up Jess, too. He's coming with us."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  QUINN

  I HAVEN'T HEARD from Sawyer since I dropped him off on Monday, and I'm a ball of annoyingly nervous energy by the time Friday night comes around.

  Cassidy and Gage got a later start than they'd planned, so we're meeting at Port O' Call instead of my place. Which is maybe for the best because they'd probably be irritated with me here. I've changed my outfit at least five times. I curled my hair. I brushed it out and straightened it.

  So stupid. I know. But this is my first date—even though it's a secret one—with Sawyer in four years. And not a minute's gone by this entire week when I haven't been remembering how it felt to kiss him again. How it felt to have access to his amazing mouth. To his amazing body.

  How it felt to have his hands on me. To feel him so close to pressing into me.

  God. Maybe I need another shower. A cold one.

  But a glance at my phone tells me I don't have time.

  I double-check the locks on my Jeep, like I do every time I get to it or leave it now. They're still locked. Nothing's been taken. My new spare tire is still there.

  Good. I slide into my seat breathing a little easier.

  Cassidy and Gage are already at the restaurant when I arrive. He's checking something out on the stage, all tousle-haired and laid-back rocker styled, and she's relaxing with a beer at a nearby table, all big-boobed and gorgeous. God, sometimes I'd kill for boobs like hers. Though…I do love the way Sawyer's able to palm mine. Hmmm. Going to need to quit thinking about that right now.

  Gah.

  I love his palms. And I love his fingers and I love imagining and remembering the way they feel lazily trailing up my thighs—and everything that comes after…

  Shit. Get it together, Quinn.

  The bar's half full and the tables visible through the railing of the open second level, the restaurant area, are packed. "It looks like it's going to be a good crowd tonight," I say, after hugging Cassidy and Gage hello.

  Cassidy's eyes shine and she turns to Gage, tucking a few blonde strands behind her head. "This is so cool!"

  He waves her words off, but his eyes shine right back at her. "I've played places like this plenty of times."

  "Yeah, but this time it's with your own songs." She wraps him in a hug and he tries to be discreet when he takes a sniff of her hair, but I totally catch him.

  He shrugs. "I like her coconut shampoo."

  "You like what it reminds you of." Cassidy untangles herself from his arms, shaking her head, sharing some happy inside memory.

  "Oh, God. Gag me," I say, but my tone's light, and joking. Which is a first when it comes to them, I think.

  They're so unbelievably in love…it used to make me sick, the past year when he'd visit her at school—and when he moved into our apartment building, it was almost too much. Now I think of Sawyer and I don't feel so grossed out anymore.

  Cassidy and I have an odd relationship. We're roommates, but we've never been close. It seemed like we could've been, when we first met my freshman year. But the next year we moved in together, and her brother died and she shut me out. She shut everyone out, basically. But especially me because I was there. All the time. And I tried—I tried to get her to talk to me about it; I tried to get her to hang out for a girls' night, for anything—but a girl can only handle so much exclusion from another person's life before they stop trying, and I discovered my limit with Cassidy.

  Last year she came back changed. Happy. In love. And this time she was the one trying to get to know me—but Julian was uncomfortable with anyone finding out about us, so I kept her at arm's length. I figured she'd hit her limit, too, but when she texted that she wanted to come visit this summer, I jumped at the chance to say yes. Because Julian's out of my life, and I want her to be back in it. Especially since she's moving in with Gage next semester, and I don't want to lose touch.

  My phone vibrates where it sits in my purse against my hip. It's a text message from Gianna. We're here.

  We?

  I turn, looking for her, just as she comes through the door—with Chase.

  She's looking at me, but he's looking at her and something about the moment just…makes sense. I can't keep a smile from spreading. Something tells me Gianna's going to be in trouble.

  "I had no clue you were coming," I say to Chase after a round of hugs and introductions. And shit. I still hadn't figured out how to explain Sawyer's arrival to Gianna, much less with Chase in the mix.

  He nudges Gi with his elbow. "She leads, I follow."

  "Sounds about right, when Gianna's involved." I raise a brow at her. This isn't weird for you?

  She mirrors my expression. Nope. "He might be a keeper," she says, loudly. "But don't tell him I said so. Then he'll get an ego big enough to compete with mine and I'll have to let him go."

  Chase sticks his fingers in his ears. "I hear nothing."

  "Good boy." She pats his arm. I raise a brow again and she adds, "I'm queen B of all the puppies, remember?"

  "All too well." Stupid Danny Simmons. And Chase doesn't seem to mind being petted, or referred to
as a puppy, so… I drop it.

  "I think I like you," Cassidy says to Gianna. "Queen B of all the puppies? I don't know what that means, but it already makes me want to follow you."

  "I think she and Teagan would get along," Gage says, earning another brilliant Cassidy smile. "Has she called you back yet?"

  Cassidy shakes her head, her face falling. "She freaked me out this morning…" She glances at me. "We met Teagan for breakfast today, it went…longer than we thought it would. That's why we got into town so late."

  "It's okay," I say. "I'm just happy you're here at all."

  Teagan's Cassidy's best friend from her hometown in Virginia. I met her a few times the past school year when she visited, but mostly briefly because I was always on my way out to see Julian or had him hiding in my bedroom. The memory has my face flaming. I can't believe I let myself get swindled that way. What a waste of a year.

  But then I see Sawyer at the entrance and the flames in my cheeks slide way, way lower. Who cares about the past when my present looks the way he does? A day or two's worth of stubble along his sharp jaw, perfectly messy hair, and electric green eyes zeroed in on me. White T-shirt, dark denim jeans, and his hands in his pockets. Sexiest beach bum I've ever seen. And, let's not forget the washboard abs beneath that shirt. Or the vee that edges out of them like an arrow straight down to another one of my favorite parts.

  "I'll, um, be right back," I say to whoever's listening. "Getting a drink. Or something."

  I tilt my head toward the bar and he meets me there.

  "Why didn't you give me your number?" he asks, leaning against the bar, all casually even if his tone is way accusatory. "I tried the one you had four years ago, but it's disconnected… Or you could've come back by my shop."

  I grin. He's been missing me, too. "Forgot about the number thing. And we had plans for tonight—I didn't want to drop by sooner and push my luck."

  "So you thought you'd push me into going mad instead?" he asks. "Don't ever stay away that long again."

  "Careful, Sawyer." I slide a stool between us.