Step Summer

by Gallagher, Tanya

  A woman about my age stands behind the welcome counter in athletic shorts and a tank top, nodding along with the radio DJ who’s talking about the scorching temperatures on the crowded boardwalk in Ocean City, an hour drive away.

  “Hey there,” she says, offering me a broad smile. “What brings you in today?”

  “Uh. Fitness?”

  “Correct answer,” she says cheerfully. She drops her eyes to my biceps.

  I forget, sometimes, what I look like to other people. Though I’m not nearly the same person I was at the height of my career, I still have the big muscles and broad chest. More than once, someone’s commented that the scar on my shoulder makes me look like a badass, but to me it only serves as a reminder of exactly how fast you can lose everything.

  In professional sports, injuries are part of the game, and everyone accepts it. After I blew out my shoulder, the team gave me a chance to heal and come back. A little physical therapy here, some rest there, and I could have been just as good as I was before. Only my dependency on painkillers threw a wrench in my plans. Using them to get me through the pain soon turned into using them to get me high. I had always partied hard, but I found I couldn’t stop. Worse, I didn’t want to.

  My career stalled because of the accident, but what really killed it was all me.

  “Have you been here before?” the woman asks.

  I return her smile. “First time.”

  “Ooh, a Sandcastle virgin.”

  I snort because I haven’t been a virgin for a long, long time, but I know that’s not what she’s saying. “Guess so,” I say instead. “What do I need to do to work out today?”

  She tilts her head up at me. “Well, I guess that depends on how long you’re going to be here for.”

  Good question.

  She doesn’t say anything about the strangled expression that I’m sure crosses my face. She just flips open a brochure and taps a finger on a list of options. “Seems like you’re not sure, so here’s what we can do. We’ve got day passes, week passes, and monthly options. And if you’re local, there’s no reason you can’t get an annual membership. Obviously, the longer you sign up for, the cheaper it is per session.”

  I glance down at the paper, but the numbers swim. How long am I going to be here for? This is supposed to be a temporary stop until I figure out what the hell is going on with Hailey and get my life back in order. I need a job and a place to live and for my cheating ex to clear out of the house we shared. I guess avoiding her isn’t exactly helping on that last part.

  “Let’s start with a day,” I say.

  “Excellent.” The woman pulls a clipboard and a stack of papers out from a drawer behind the counter. “We’re super high-tech around here, in case you didn’t notice,” she teases as she slides the clipboard to me. “Why don’t you fill out some information and I’ll grab a towel so you can get started.”

  Ten minutes later, I’ve got my hands wrapped around a barbell, the metal satisfying and real in my hands. Susie from the front desk has followed me over to the free weights area, and she nods in my direction. “Looks like you know what you’re doing, so I’ll leave you to it.” She saunters back to her perch by the door.

  I lie on my back on the bench press bench and stare up into the fluorescent lights set into the ceiling. Even though it’s painful, it feels good to have a literal weight on my chest that I’m capable of lifting off.

  Today, I focus on arms. I need them to be so tired that I don’t want to reach out and touch McKenna again. So tired that they don’t still carry the memory of being wrapped around her out on the boat. My body reacting. My heart pounding hard.

  She’s everything I want in a package I can’t have.

  I haven’t lifted in a while, and my muscles grow sore within a few reps. In rehab, the program was all about clearing out the mind and body, but it was more about detoxing than reclaiming your life. This is the first time in a while I’m doing something physical and hard, and soon my thoughts slip away, which is exactly the point. But the second I step back through the gym’s doors and fish for my phone to check the time, I find two little messages from Hailey waiting for me.

  Talk to me, please.

  And then, underneath that, You don’t get to be the only one who makes mistakes.

  I grip the phone tighter, and sweat makes my fingers slide over the keypad. I hate that she’s absolutely right. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in the last few years, hurt her and everyone else in my life.

  But her mistake? It’s just as selfish, but it feels less forgivable. Maybe that’s a fucking double standard, but that’s just the way it is.

  Another text pings through as I debate replying. I miss you. Please tell me where you’re at.

  I sigh. This time I cave in because it feels good to know she’s thinking about me. That maybe I’m someone worth missing.

  I’m safe, is all I say, and that’s enough.

  I toss my phone on the passenger seat of the Jeep as I drive back to the beach house. I even turn a block early so I can avoid the bar that I know sits on the next corner.

  Look how good I’m being.

  Inside the house, I drop my phone on my bed and head into the upstairs bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I step through the door. I’m naked when I reach for the handle of the shower to turn on the water, but I stop short and glance up.

  One of McKenna’s tiny bikini bottom hangs over the showerhead to dry, and it smells like salt and the faintest traces of arousal.

  Oh, fuck.

  Every nerve in my body tightens at the sight of it, at the scent of her forbidden pussy, and I yank it from the showerhead and ball it in my fist.

  It’s the tiniest scrap of fabric, barely big enough to cover her ass. I sure as hell noticed how little it hid, even though I tried not to. Everything in me’s trying to do the right thing, but she’s here and in my face with that young, gorgeous body and that bright, open smile.

  I thought the workout did me in, but god was I wrong. My heart’s racing again, everything hyper-alert and anxious. I already know I’m going back to the gym as much as possible. I’m going to need it.

  I toss McKenna’s bathing suit onto the bathroom counter, then adjust the shower temperature and plunge under the spray, cringing at the shock of it.

  I need to get laid is all.

  Until then, it’s cold showers for me.

  9

  McKenna

  July

  “Do you know,” Brooke asks, swinging an arm around my neck, “that the Fourth of July is my favorite holiday of all?” She plants a sticky, lip-gloss-coated kiss on my cheek, and I wipe it away with the heel of my hand.

  I glance around the Putt-Putt Hut, but nobody’s here to see. Everyone’s already cleared out to celebrate the holiday, and Brooke’s dad agreed to shut the place down early. She and I are getting the place in order for tomorrow, but otherwise, we’ve finished work for the day.

  “Someone’s pretty damn happy tonight,” I say.

  “How could I not be?” Brooke bats her eyelashes at me. “My best friend, the block party of the century, and all of the food and booze you could ask for.”

  “So it’s not really me you’re excited about. It’s just the fact that I got this invitation for tonight.”

  “Lies!” Brooke leans her elbows on the counter and grins up at me. “Aren’t you excited?”

  Her infectious energy makes me smile back at her. “Obviously. Now let me finish up so we can actually go to this party you’re so excited about.”

  I close out the cash register and straighten the golf clubs and balls for tomorrow, while Brooke wipes down the ice cream cooler. When everything is shiny and spotless, she hooks her elbow through mine and tugs. “Let’s go.”

  We pile into Brooke’s BMW, and she drives us north back toward my house. The sky is fading to a rosy sunset, and we drive with the windows down, the ocean breeze curling through our hair. It feels like summer in the best possible way—full of opportunity
and freedom and adventure. This is what I wanted when I came here. The chance to live outside of anyone’s expectations. The chance to just be me.

  Brooke blasts the radio, but even over its noise we can hear the gulls calling to each other and pedestrians chattering as they crowd the streets, everyone decked out in red, white, and blue.

  Brooke pulls onto my block, where all of my summertime neighbors have gathered for our annual party. Blake stands in the middle of the crowd, setting up a folding table and chairs, while Mrs. Rosa, the old retiree who normally plays bridge with my grandmother all summer long, fawns over him. I don’t blame her—he looks entirely too edible today. He’s wearing simple blue board shorts and a white T-shirt, those dangerous tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves.

  The sight of him gets me like it does every time. So damn hot. So very, very off-limits.

  “Who the hell is that?” Brooke asks as she cuts the engine in my driveway.

  I follow her gaze to Blake.

  Of course.

  I grit my teeth and grip the armrest of the car. “I guess you never officially met, did you?”

  Her eyes bulge. “That’s your stepbrother?”

  “Yep.”

  She lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

  “Looks like you have competition, anyway.” I wave in Mrs. Rosa’s direction.

  Brooke groans. “Guess so.”

  We climb out of the car and stroll across the way to Blake, and his face lights up when he sees us.

  Or me.

  I’d like to think it’s me.

  “Brooke, meet Blake. Blake, meet Brooke.” I make the introductions, and Brooke offers him her hand and a giant smile.

  The pit of my stomach sours. “I’m going to go inside and change.” Before anyone can protest, I walk toward the house. When I look over my shoulder, Mrs. Rosa’s standing over Brooke and Blake, instructing them on the fine art of buffet table arrangement.

  She seems to have cornered them.

  I bite back a smile.

  Inside the house, I toss my phone on the coffee table and head upstairs to my room. I slip off my Putt-Putt Hut T-shirt and slide on a tank top, simple and white, then apply a thin spritz of perfume to cover the fact that I’ve been on my feet all day in sweaty conditions. On second thought, I gather my hair, which I’ve worn down all day, and braid it over my right shoulder. It’s too humid to leave against my neck. When I finish, I bounce down the stairs, humming under my breath. Better go rescue Blake and Brooke.

  Blake’s sitting on the edge of the couch when I come downstairs.

  “Oh, you’re here,” I say.

  He looks up at me and I freeze. Everything in his face says heartbreak, and he looks at me like I’m a traitor.

  “What’s going on?” My lips feel numb.

  Blake uses his foot to nudge my phone toward me, and it slides off the coffee table and falls to the carpet with a soft thud. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “What?”

  My skin goes hot and tight, tiny prickles of panic running over my chest.

  I crouch to the floor and reach for my phone.

  Oh, shit.

  “I wasn’t trying to look,” he says, “but the phone buzzed when I was here, and I saw your mom’s name on the screen. Wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  I look down at the words that must have crushed him. Everything with Blake okay? There’s no drinking, right?

  Oh, god.

  “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  I glance up at Blake, but his eyes are hard and closed off, like there’s a door inside him that he’s slammed shut.

  “Just when I thought…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head. “You’re not my babysitter, McKenna.”

  “I’m not trying to be.”

  He rubs his palms over his thighs and stands. “Sure.” His voice is flinty, like one more strike and we’ll catch on fire.

  I climb to my feet, unsteady. Even though Blake is taller and bigger than me in every way, this is the first time I’ve been around him that I’ve ever felt small, like a kid. The years stretch between us.

  “I swear I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say.

  He says nothing but heads for the sliding glass door that leads out onto the deck, the broad expanse of his back like a wall between us. Then he pauses with the door cracked and the noise from the street rattling through. Someone gave one of the kids outside a kazoo to play, and its shrill sound grates my ears.

  “Are you really going to tell me that you never talked to our parents about me? That they never asked you to keep an eye on me?”

  “I…” My mind flashes to my mom again, when she asked me to keep alcohol out of the house. I can’t tell Blake that, but I can’t lie to him either.

  I open my mouth and close it again.

  My silence says everything.

  “Right.” Blake’s face is hard and sad and disappointed before he turns away.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, rushing after him. I pick my way across the deck carefully, since I don’t have shoes on.

  “To the party. We’re here to celebrate, aren’t we?”

  “Blake, stop.”

  But he won’t stop, and he thumps down the stairs and out toward the crowd. The street is full now, teeming with neighbors not just from our block but from a three-block radius. Everyone has set out tables for food, and the air smells like hot dogs and watermelon and tangy potato salad. Kids chase each other down the street, shooting water guns and throwing water balloons. Someone’s even set up a face painting station, and the more clever kids have tiny American flags painted on their shoulders like temporary tattoos.

  Blake slips in among our neighbors, his shoulders stiff and unyielding. Something in the fierce line of his back sparks a rush of pride or ego or arrogance inside me.

  I’m not who he thinks I am. He needs to know it.

  I catch up to Blake and then pass him, my shoulders set now, the need to prove him wrong coursing through my veins. I head for the nearest set of coolers, then reach for the slim, cool neck of a bottle of tequila and pull it from its bed of ice. I use the hem of my shirt to protect my hands as I twist open the cap. Then I pour a shot in a plastic cup and hold it out, arm’s length away, and shout to him.

  “Not your babysitter.” I lock eyes with Blake and pour the alcohol down my throat, sticky and astringent. My jaw clenches and my teeth squeal a protest. I fucking hate alcohol, but I hate his silence more.

  “Look,” I say after I swallow my drink with a wince, never taking my eyes from his. “Now do you believe me?”

  Blake gapes at me in disbelief, like I’m insane. And maybe I am. There’s nothing rational about me right now, but when it comes to me and Blake, there’s nothing rational, period.

  I pour another shot and let it waterfall down my throat, too, until my chest heaves and my stomach roils. If this is what it takes to make him believe I’m not spying on him, I’ll drink the whole damn bottle dry.

  I slam the cup on the closest table and lift the tequila to pour round three.

  10

  Blake

  July

  I don’t know what the fuck McKenna thinks she’s doing by drinking in front of me, but she looks absolutely miserable as she pours a third shot and clutches the plastic cup against her chest. Miserable and gorgeous.

  High spots of color splash across her cheeks, and her forehead is crumpled and mad. Her lower lip trembles as she glares at me, so defiant. It’s a turn-on.

  She’s pretty when she’s angry. I know I shouldn’t think that. That she’s pretty or especially that she’s pretty when she’s pissed. But she is. There’s something about it that feels like I’m seeing the spark light up inside her. That’s the core of her that I’m starting to know—the girl who stands up for herself. It’s pretty damn attractive.

  “What are you doing, Kenn?” I take a step closer to her, and she shakes her head.

  “Leaving.”

  She se
arches the crowd and storms in the direction of Brooke, who’s perched on the hood of someone’s vintage car. When McKenna arrives, her friend glances my way and shoots me a warning look.

  O-kay.

  The crowd shifts and swallows up McKenna, and it reminds me of how very alone I am here.

  Crowds were never a problem for me in the past. I used to love them, the way they’d cheer for me, the way girls would lower their shirts and ask me to autograph their breasts after games. Maybe it was just the pills making me fly high, thinking I was on top of the world. Without their crutch right now, the world feels empty and hard.

  I don’t want this test right now, even though I know I can pass it. What I want is McKenna standing here with me, smiling that smile at me, but I just chased her away.

  Damn.

  The only person I know in the crowd is Mrs. Rosa, so I thread my way back to her. She stands like the deviled-egg overlord, inspecting all the food laid out for the buffet. Despite the hands on her hips, she looks like a friend right now. I don’t want to hang out with a collection of strangers, and I need to calm down until I figure out what to do with McKenna.

  I’ve only known McKenna a little while, but because it’s been so intense, I feel like I’ve known her for years. It makes her betrayal cut that much deeper.

  Was she only opening up to me to get me to spill my secrets? I want to believe she hasn’t been keeping tabs on me, but I also know what my dad asked me right before I left. I was supposed to be watching out for her. Not the other way around. Maybe we both got played.

  Mrs. Rosa looks up when I approach, and it’s impossible to tell her age. She could be seventy or she could be ninety. There are some people who look like they’ve been old forever, and she’s one of them. My grandmother was like that, too. Even though I’m sure at one point she was young, I can’t actually remember a time that it was true. Even in pictures, she always looked like a grandmother.