“Good morning,” I offered the woman, keeping one hand on the door and hoping she would leave as quickly as she appeared.
“Good morning to you.” She bit hard on her bottom lip, and I saw her eyes rake me over like a piece of candy.
Why in the hell did I have to deal with this right now? I pulled the handle and stepped one bare foot into the camper. I had no interest in talking to a forty-something woman already in a bikini. It was barely daylight.
“See you around? I’m Alice. Staying in Pirate’s Booty right next door if you want to stop by some time.” She waved, only using the tips of her fingers.
“All right.” I closed the door behind me and dropped my head. I would end up next to the cougar on vacation trolling for her next young thing. I knew I was being rude, but some boundaries had to be established right away.
The only thing I had for dinner last night was a bag of corn chips and beer—an entire case of beer. Tom always said habits like that would catch up with me, but I didn’t care. The headache hurt like hell, but it was worth it. When was the last time I had listened to the music I wanted, drank what I wanted, ate what I wanted, and built as big of a fire as I wanted? The higher the flames, the colder the beer, the more I forgot.
I flipped open the mini-fridge. It reached the top of my waist, but had plenty of room for a summer bachelor. I smiled. There was one more cold beer with my name on it. I twisted off the top and chugged a few swallows.
The empty bottle landed in the trash can. I realized I had now spent my second night on the island in a less than comfortable sleeping position. The bed tucked at the rear of the trailer looked softer than a pile of feathers. I stripped my T-shirt and threw myself chest down on the red and white checked quilt. Sleep—I needed more sleep.
***
“Mama, I’m fine.” I tried to soothe my worried mother. “I needed a break from work, that’s all.”
“Darlin’, if you’re in some kind of trouble, then just come on home,” she suggested.
“I’m not in trouble. Everything is perfectly ok. It’s called a vacation.” The last time my mother sounded this worried was when I got caught skipping school. My parents had grounded me for a month after that.
“Ben, I don’t like to get involved with your Hollywood stuff.” I smiled. That’s how she always referred to my work. “But, I want to help you. Why don’t you come home and rest here? I can make all your favorites.”
“As tempting as that is, I don’t need mac and cheese right now as much as I need to clear my head.” I could picture her, hair pulled back in a clip sitting in front of the bay window with a cup of coffee in her hand and a frown on her face.
“It’s that girl, isn’t it? That’s what this is all about.” Her tone was sharp. “You know I don’t like to read those magazines, but her face was all over the stands at the checkout at the supermarket.”
I thought about how to answer that question. Of course Rebecca was part of this, but not in the way my mother thought. It wasn’t heartbreak. It was humiliation and disappointment. One more failed relationship to add to a growing list for the world to tally up for me, one neon headline at a time.
“Rebecca’s moved on. I’ve moved on. I don’t really want to go into it right now.” The pictures of Rebecca looking adoringly into some other guy’s eyes were still fresh. At least last night, with the help of some cold beer, I had forgotten about them.
“Ok, let’s talk about something else, then. Where are you? Is it nice?” Her east Texas accent accentuated the vowels in each of her words.
I gazed out the window as a pelican skimmed across the water. “Yep. It’s beautiful. You would like it.”
I wondered if the set of pirates would be back later today to attack the sand dunes. I knew my mom would get a kick out of them. She frequently referred to her future grandchildren, but always followed it up with “no pressure here.” At twenty-eight I was in no rush to start a family. Hell, I wasn’t in a rush to find another girlfriend. Becs had cured me of that for a long time.
“I bet I would. I’ve been trying to get your father to take me on a trip for months now, but he won’t leave. He says there’s no point in getting out of Texas. For once, I’d just like to take a vacation with him.”
I had invited my parents to my first awards show in Hollywood when my career began to skyrocket, but my mother wouldn’t travel without my father and my father wouldn’t leave Texas.
“Mama, why don’t you take a trip without him? Do something for yourself. I can arrange it for you.” I had offered on several occasions. I knew what her answer would be before the words were out of her mouth.
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I know, I know.” I shook my head. “All right, let me get goin’.”
Eventually, this call would circle back to Rebecca and my whereabouts. I had to cut her short. It was better for her sake if she didn’t know where I was, just in case Rick did call and try to pester it out of her.
“Love you, darlin’. Call me if you need to,” she added.
“You too. I’ll call later in the week.” I wanted to talk to her before Rick tried to reach her first.
“I’ll tell your father you said hello.” The words hung in the air.
I didn’t have anything to say to that.
“Ok, Mama, bye.”
I left my phone on the table. My father wouldn’t return the sentiment. We didn’t’ speak on the phone unless it was because he accidentally answered when I called.
Joe Baldwin hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that his son turned down an opportunity to play professional football for a chance to chase imaginary bad guys and gorgeous women in pictures. It wasn’t that I didn’t love football, but at best I would be a second string quarterback, more likely a tight end on a low budget team. It was the concussions that scared me more than anything. I had had three: one in high school and two in college. And I knew the ones coming from the pros would leave a much deeper impact.
At first, a local department store asked if I would model for them, next it was a national chain store, until somehow I wound up with an agent pitching me for small parts in action films.
I fell into acting as easily as I could read an oncoming blitz. I never knew I needed that creative outlet until I held the first script in my hands. There was something exhilarating about creating life in the words on a page.
I didn’t tell my father right away that I wasn’t entering the draft. I told my mother. We both knew she could soften the blow. The way she handled a crisis was impressive.
I wedged into the shower. I meant to ask Flo yesterday why the water turned off so quickly. I didn’t think the entire shower had lasted ten minutes. I made a mental note to stop by the office later today.
Sufficiently soaped and rinsed, I wrapped a towel around my waist. It was after one, and I wanted to head back into the village. As much as I enjoyed the junk food binge yesterday, I needed to make another store run and stock the Sand Dollar with some proper groceries.
I grabbed the keys to the Jeep and slid my sunglasses on. The blaring sun hit me right between the eyes. Ibuprofen would be first on today’s list. I cranked the Jeep and turned toward the village.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chelsea
It didn’t bother me that on my one day off it was raining. I pulled my wrap a little tighter against my chest and repositioned a pillow behind my back. The ocean looked flat. The raindrops beat steadily against its waves, creating the illusion that it was calm. I knew it was anything but.
I could sit here all day rocking in the hammock with my guitar and notebook of songs. I was tucked against the side of the house, protected from the wind while the thunderstorm raged on around me.
The way you felt against my lips
The way you—
I changed the key and tried the notes again.
The way you held that kiss
It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. My stomach turned. Just like kissing Derek, this song was w
rong. I scratched through the words until they were illegible.
You want to clip my wings
Keep me in your cage
But that’s not who I am
And that’s not who I’ll be
My fingers fell into a rhythm on the guitar as the words tumbled from my lips.
I have my own dreams
No matter what you say
I’m still going to believe
I’m still going to walk away
I stopped to write down the last few lines. These words felt right. They were coming from a place in my heart I knew was true. I kicked along the deck so that the hammock began to swing again. I closed my eyes and strummed, humming the words in my head. I might have just written my own anthem.
***
The rain had finally stopped. I stretched my arms above my head and carefully stepped off the hammock. The only thing I regretted was that it was almost dark and that meant the day was over. Tomorrow would come early, and so would another full day of clock watching at the store.
I padded inside and closed the sliding glass door behind me. The air conditioner had been running all day, and it was chilly in the apartment compared to the humid air on the porch.
I used the pen to secure my hair in a twist. It felt good to get it off my neck. Once I was in writing mode, everything else fell away and out of place. I hadn’t bothered to take a shower all day or even dab on moisturizer. The plus side was that I had written two songs that were nearly perfect.
However, my stomach was growling and my brain would need fuel if I was going to keep up this writing marathon. In ten minutes, I had a pot of water boiling and a bowlful of spinach leaves washed.
I dumped in a handful of spaghetti noodles when I heard the chime on my phone. It was Derek.
I need to talk.
Shit. This was exactly what I didn’t want to do. Lucky for me, yesterday was his day off from work. He told me he was going to surf all day. Today, I was off from the store so we hadn’t talked since the morning after Paul’s party. Eventually, I would have to face him. It was stupid to think two days apart would put me back in the friend zone in his mind.
I tried to think of a casual response to keep things light.
What’s up?
I’ll be over in 5.
I grimaced.
Maybe another time. I’m not feeling great.
It was a complete lie, but I had spaghetti, salad, and an amazing song to craft. I watched my phone anxiously. After a minute, I slipped it into my pocket. Derek must have taken the hint. Relieved, I twisted the cork off a bottle of red wine and poured a glass of the crimson liquid. It tasted sweet on my tongue. It was amazing how it soothed all the stress from my body.
“Chelsea! Chelsea!” Derek’s voice carried through my door along with several heavy knocks.
I coughed on the last gulp of wine and rushed to the door. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Der, what’s going on?” I stepped back as he barreled past me.
He was carrying a straw bag in one hand. From the top, I saw pink petals peeping out.
“Are you ok? Are you really sick?” His brow furrowed as he did a quick assessment of my condition.
“I’m tired. Exhausted actually. I’m having a bite of dinner, and then I’m going to bed. Can we talk another time?” I followed him to the kitchen. Apparently, he thought I wasn’t seriously ill.
The straw bag was on the center of the table, and he began emptying the contents: vanilla pillar candles, pink roses, a speaker, chocolate, and a bottle of wine.
“What’s all this?” The nervous feeling had crept back to my stomach.
Derek shifted on his feet. “The other night. It was all wrong. All wrong.” His hair, damp from the rain, clung to his forehead.
“I know it was.” I sighed, wishing we were on the same page, but knowing that this display of romance said something completely different.
“And I want everything with you to be perfect. So I brought it—the perfect night.” He crossed the four steps between us and wrapped his arm around my waist.
The smell of his cologne and mint gum invaded my space.
“Der, I’m really sorry about the other night, but—” Before I could protest, his lips landed on mine and his hands worked their way under my shirt. Tomorrow, neither of us would feel great when I didn’t return his affection. Maybe in some other world I could use him this way, but we had known each other too long, and I would always be in this place with him—not moving forward. I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to keep that promise to myself.
“Derek.” I shoved against him until I was out of his arm’s reach. “No.” I hated the confused look on his face. “We both agreed. It was the last time.”
He approached me. “But there’s something here. There’s always been a thing between us.”
If I told him I agreed we had great physical chemistry, it would only lead him on. He hadn’t read all the signals wrong. But it was too fucking confusing to sort that out.
I shook my head. “Derek, we have been friends forever.”
“Don’t give me that damn friend speech. I don’t want to be friends. I want to be with you.” His eyes blazed. “And you’re being stubborn about it as usual.”
“It’s not going to happen.” I crossed my arms. “I tried to tell you.” I realized then that I hadn’t done a good job of explaining my position. Every time I said no to him, it was accompanied by kisses. Kisses that led to other, hotter things. Shit. I could see how the guy was tangled up in the mess I had created.
“Nothing? You can honestly stand there and tell me you feel nothing?” His fingers reached for my neck, but I stepped away. The last time really had happened.
“I guess that’s my answer, isn’t it?” he whispered.
I didn’t recognize the look in his eyes. I had known him since we were kids and thought I knew every expression on his face. It hurt to see him look at me as if I were a criminal. The kind of criminal who picks up a knife and plunges it deep into someone’s heart.
“I am sorry. You know I care about you, don’t you?” I tried to explain.
This was the worst possible ending. I had to make him understand. I was trying to keep from hurting him more. He had to see that.
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “I don’t need to hear it. This probably has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with that.” He pointed at the guitar resting in its stand. I had dropped it there on my way through the door.
It was as if he had attacked my child. Protective instincts rushed through me, and I stepped a little closer to the instrument. I always thought Derek liked my songs. It didn’t occur to me until now that maybe he only listened to them so he could spend more time with me.
“You know what music means to me.” The realization that he might not understand or even like my music seemed like sudden betrayal.
“Yeah, I do. It means more than me, or any one else on this island,” he accused.
“You aren’t being fair. You know I could leave any day. I’m sending out songs every week. One of the labels is going to call me. I am leaving, and then what? You’re going to pick up your surfboard and follow me to Nashville or Austin? There’s no ocean in either of those places.”
“I took geography,” he snarled, leaning against the door. “You know there’s more to me than surfing and working at the store. There are things I want to do too.”
I studied him. I could name his favorite foods, his favorite bands, his beer of choice, but I had no idea anything else interested him. He was bluffing.
“Ok, then tell me. What do you want to do? Do you really want to pack up your life and leave Brees Island?” I had never asked because I didn’t need to. Derek was an open book. One that I had read repeatedly.
His groan filled the room. “No, I don’t want to leave. Why would I? Our families are here. The beach is here. Everyone we know is here. I wish you would stop thinking that you could be happier somewhere else.”
>
I folded my arms. “That’s what you don’t get. I have been happier somewhere else. I went to college. I went to grad school. I loved Carolina. Every single day I was in Chapel Hill was better than being stuck here. But you wouldn’t know anything about that since you refused to live life off this piece of sand.” I gritted my teeth.
He peeled away from the door. “I can’t believe you.”
“Der, don’t go like this. We shouldn’t be arguing about this stuff. It’s always been this way.” I pulled on his arm. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Believe me. I didn’t want this to happen. This is everything I tried to avoid.”
His eyes narrowed. “Crazy, because when you were begging me for it the other night, I thought you wanted me.”
I slapped him across the face harder than I meant to. It was the first time I had hit anyone. My palm stung.
His eyes dropped to the floor before he opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him.
I went straight to the kitchen and inhaled the glass of wine. Maybe it could soothe me again. I opened the sliding door and tucked my feet under me as I sank into the hammock. I didn’t know when they started, but the tears were there, running down my face like the rain.
CHAPTER NINE
Ben
“Hey, there.” Alice waved as she placed her beach chair ten feet from mine. “This spot taken?” she asked, pointing to the open patch of sand.
She proceeded to bend forward from her waist. Today’s suit was a one-piece leopard number with big ovals cut from the sides.
I pretended to adjust my hat. I didn’t want an accidental peep show of anything that belonged to Alice. It was clearly her intention. In the past two weeks, she had worn every skimpy outfit imaginable, and I didn’t know how much more I could take.
“No, it’s free.” I limited my smile. It was one of my new habits on Brees Island.
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