Break Line

by Sarah E. Green

  She nods, biting her lip.

  Dez doesn’t rank really high on my list of people for Brit. Doesn’t rate high on a lot of lists I have. I’m protective of people I care about and Dez has already hurt her by dropping us in high school.

  I know people can change and grow, which is why he’s sort of getting the benefit of the doubt from me, but this isn’t a game. After one strike, he’s done.

  “Why aren’t you happy for me?”

  “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  “Emery.”

  “Brittany.” She makes a face at her full name, hating the sound. She never goes by it.

  “He’s not in high school anymore,” she whispers, looking down, and I feel like shit for making her feel bad, but I remember the day I held her in the school bathroom as she sobbed during the first week of our freshman year. “He’s not the same person.”

  I nod, afraid that I won’t have control over what leaves my mouth. I’m not lying when I say I’m happy if she’s happy. I’m on Team Brit in everything, so if this is what she wants, I’ll support her. And she needs to see that. I’m not mad, I just don’t trust Dez with her—with her feelings or with her heart.

  I will literally destroy him if she cries over him one more time. No man is worth tears.

  I push up from my spot, running toward my bed, and tackle Brit. We go down with pillows to cushion our fall. My mattress is practically made up of pillows. I’m a pillow hoarder.

  I squeeze, putting my cheek to hers. “I love you, best friend!”

  “I love you too, freak.” She laughs, pushing me off. “Now, will you help me find something to wear?”

  “Sure.” I grin. “Jeans and a long sleeve bodysuit coming up. No hanky-panky will be going down in that theater.”

  “Hanky-panky?”

  “It’s a saying. For sexual relations.” I shimmy my shoulders and wiggle my brows.

  “Did I miss the time traveling we did to go back to the 1950s?”

  “Psh, as if you’d be so lucky to go to the 50s with me.”

  Brit throws another pillow at my face.

  My morning routine has changed. In the span of five days, I’ve grown used to not being alone. Maybe it’s too soon to get attached, but having the reassurance of another person out in the water has calmed some of my nerves about being out there.

  Having Bash around reminds me that despite pushing friends and people away with my secret, letting someone in can be worth it.

  Bash has turned into a great partner to surf with.

  On the days that the surf has been lacking, we float on our boards, talking about anything that isn’t personal. He doesn’t pry into my cagey attitude with my wetsuit and I never ask why he’s in this small town.

  I’m a creature of habit, so as hard as it for me to change said habits, when I start to get used to the changes, I don’t like when more changes occur.

  I’m sitting in the sand, my board next to me, while I stare at my phone’s lock screen. The time staring back at me.

  He’s late.

  Which isn’t that big of a deal, if the person waiting on him isn’t so crazy anal about her wave time.

  A fact Bash knows.

  The second day he met up with me, he was five minutes late and I didn’t talk to him until he flipped my board over and I went plunging into the water. I forgave him for flipping me—because that was fun—but not for being late.

  But today he’s pushing fifteen minutes. I get things happen and people aren’t as time conscious as I am, but still. I like to get places thirty minutes early when possible.

  Lateness is the work of demon spawn.

  The screen goes dark and I hit the lock button just as fast. Seventeen minutes late.

  Where the hell is he?

  After twenty-five minutes of sitting around, unable to wait any longer, I throw my phone on top of my bag and pick up my board.

  Approaching the water, I stop before the surf can caress the tips of my toes.

  The feeling of hesitation never lessens, but some days I charge the water, not allowing myself to think. Other days, like today, I need a moment.

  My dad taught me a surfer’s prayer he would say before a competition and I repeat it in my head, moving my feet in motion. I keep saying it until I’m on my board, paddling out.

  It’s a comfort as much as a distraction.

  You got this, Emery Marie.

  When I’m far enough out, my mind clicks off. Going on autopilot. I go through several sets of waves before I sit back and watch the sun fully rise—an activity I haven’t been doing this past week.

  A swelling in my chest rises and I ignore it. Nope. No negative thoughts for this moment. This is the moment where the slate is officially wiped clean and a new day begins.

  I stay on the beach until it’s way past time for me to be back home. Geer comes out at one point, bringing me a mug of coffee and ruffling my hair. As I smack his hands away, I can’t bring myself to laugh.

  I wait on the beach for a lot longer than I’m proud of.

  It’s not until I’m in my car in the bakery’s parking that I allow myself to check my phone. Nothing. No missed calls, no unopened texts. I hate the assault of feelings happening. Lonely. Forgotten.

  Ignoring them, I check my phone again.

  Yep. Still nothing.

  As I pay the cashier at the bakery, I allow myself to acknowledge the fact that Bash. Didn’t. Show.

  “You sure you’re okay, sweet pea?” My dad asks as we sip our drinks at our table. We’re attending a fundraiser down in Miami.

  “Yep.” I smile. Don’t mind me, Dad, I’m just angry at myself for getting attached to a person’s presence when I had no business doing so.

  It’s two days later and I’m not over the event of Bash not showing that morning. Mostly because he hasn’t shown up since.

  As angry as I am at Bash, I’m even angrier at myself for allowing his absence to bother me so much. It’s not even him I missed, but it’s him that I’m mad at. Is a simple text too much to ask for? I don’t fuck with people who make plans only to back out at the last second.

  Tonight I’m not thinking about it. Tonight is about having fun and raising money.

  “I fucking hate these things.” Dad pulls at his tie. “Damn monkey suits.”

  Dad really hates tuxedos. He really hates pants that go past his knees and closed toed shoes. Mom grabs his hands, pulling them away before he messes up her hard work.

  “Behave and I’ll help you take it off later tonight,” she tries to whisper. But fun fact about my mother, she is awful at talking quietly.

  “EWW!” I cover my ears as my face contorts in disgust. “Children in the room! Your child in the room. Please refrain from saying anything that will make me want to put my head through a food processor.”

  “Stop being dramatic, Emery.” My mom laughs, Dad joining her, and I am in desperate need of some bleach.

  “Stop being disgusting, Mother.”

  My words go unheard as Dad kisses Mom and she laughs in the process. It is a serious wonder that I am an only child. My parents have never gotten out of that young love, must-touch-constantly phase.

  It’s as gross as it is sweet.

  It doesn’t matter that we’re at an event raising money for a charity organization. My dad will never act his age. He’s a child in a grownup’s body.

  Much like me.

  Wonder who I get that from.

  We’ve been here for two hours and I’m bored out of my skull. I leave my parents by our table to get another drink from the open bar. I get water, which I’m sipping when someone grabs my shoulders, giving me a shake. “You can come to a party but not text me back?”

  I laugh at the familiar voice. Spinning around, a tall and gorgeous blonde towers over me with a smile that is full of excitement and mischief. Just the type of friend I like to have. “Things have been crazy lately, Sienna. You won’t even believe me.”

  Like remember that time we
met at a surf competition and bonded over our adolescent crush on Sebastian Cleaton? Well, I know what his abs feel like and what his lips taste like.

  “Try me, girlie.” Sienna takes my glass, drinking half of it before handing it back with a face. “That’s not a vodka tonic.”

  “No, this is a water.” I jingle the glass, making the ice rattle. “It’s what people drink to stay hydrated.”

  “What a waste of an open bar choice.” She shakes her head. “I need a real drink.” Sienna grabs my hand, pulling us over to the bar where she leans over the counter, asking for a vodka tonic. The bartender makes speedy work of her order. With a smile and thanks, Sienna repeats what she did with my glass, this time coming away satisfied. “Now that’s a drink.”

  I roll my eyes, taking a sip of water. “Excuse me for not being legal and having people here actually know that.”

  “Aw, look at little Emery Marie being responsible,” she teases and we laugh.

  “Well someone has to be. I think last time we hung out it was you, so now it’s my turn.”

  I met Sienna when I was thirteen and she was sixteen on the surf circuit. She was standing with a group of girls, laughing, as I was walking by with my board tucked under my arm, and one of the girls in the group stretched out her leg and our ankles locked, sending me down—face first into the sand. Some girls felt like I had an unfair advantage because of my dad, that the judges went easy on my scores. It didn’t happen often, but when the taunting and bullying occurred it was from jealousy.

  The other girls laughed while Sienna’s shadow fell over me. I still remember the metallic taste in my mouth from biting the inside of my cheek. Keeping my head pressed to the sand, I waited for the next blow that never came. She just stood over there, and while the laughter trickled off I convinced myself it was safe.

  Sienna stood with her hand stretched out, waiting to help me up. We’ve been friends since.

  Sienna has a twin, Xavier, who is very much a charmer and very much a traveling man. They’re Brazilian-American and can speak at least four languages. Portuguese, English, Spanish, and French. I’ve never asked if they can speak more.

  They’ve also traveled the world, from America to Fiji to Brazil, where they stayed with their family for a few years before moving back to Florida. They now live in a town not even a forty-five minute drive from my parents’ house, and I’ve been a sucky friend who hasn’t gone to see them since the start of winter break.

  “So where’s that charming brother of yours?”

  “Did you just admit your love for me?” Arms wrap around my waist while a chin rests on my shoulder. Xavier Santos is a closer friend than even his sister is to me. “After all these years?”

  He’s dressed in a suit with a pinstriped tie and has a freshly shaven face. The stark white of his shirt makes the green flecks in his eyes pop. The only part of him that is unkempt, and is always unkempt, is his thick curly hair that constantly looks like he’s been running his fingers through it. Twenty-two years and he still doesn’t know what a hairbrush is.

  “Ugh.” My head lulls back onto his chest. He’s a tall guy. Probably as tall, if not a few inches taller, than Bash. “Can you stop being a flirt for one point three seconds, please? Maybe I’d actually miss you then.”

  “You miss me anyways,” he tells me and I don’t deny it. I see Xavier more than his sister. He’s been up to Orlando a few times to see me and Brit, and is the fifth member of our squad—the squad consisting of Brit, Nori, Geer, and me.

  “Omigod,” Sienna whisper-yells, grabbing my arm. “Don’t look now, but Sebastian Cleaton is here and won’t stop looking at you.”

  I’ve never understood why someone says don’t look before telling you something that will obviously make you look. Like telling me Bash is here. Clearly, I am going to look.

  Untangling from Xavier’s arms, I look around the giant ballroom until I find the face that is starting to take up more and more time in my mind.

  And he looks angry—pissed.

  BASH IS STANDING WITH A group of people, dressed in a tux like every other man here, but his is fitted to his body perfectly. His tie hangs loosely around his neck with the knot sitting further down his chest, like he couldn’t be bothered to tie it securely.

  His tie is a deep violet color, the same shade as my dress. Oh, great. We’re matching.

  I focus on his tie. It’s easier than focusing on his face. His face is compressed with so much anger toward me; I couldn’t breathe when I first saw him.

  Why is he so angry with me? I’m not the one who left him hanging the past couple of days.

  Unless—I’m known for putting my foot in my mouth. The whole no filter thing really is a struggle sometimes. I’ve offended my share of people, not on purpose, but sensitive people just don’t gel with me.

  Xavier and Sienna both try to get my attention but they get ignored as I muster up the courage to look back at Bash.

  Xavier snaps his fingers in my face, which I swipe away, and my gaze shifts, getting ensnared by the deep, rich brown eyes of the man I’m currently troubled by.

  Putting on my best poker face, keeping the feelings closed off to use at another time, I raise my arm halfway in the air and give a little wave.

  Bash doesn’t return it.

  I lower my arm, feeling defeated. An extended olive branch that gets stepped on.

  If he wants to play games and ignore me like a child, then fine. I turn my back to him and look at my friends. What I thought Bash and I were becoming before now.

  “Vodka tonic. Stat,” I say and Sienna snaps into action, walking to the bar and ordering two.

  “You okay?” Xavier asks, hand on the crook of my elbow, gesturing to my recent rejection.

  “’Course.” I shrug, putting on a smile.

  His face pinches and his eyes narrow.

  The thing about knowing a person as long as I’ve known the Santos siblings is that they know when you’re lying, and Xavier is two seconds away from calling bullshit.

  He doesn’t get the chance. Right when Sienna is returning with the drinks, a hand lands on my waist and a voice is in my ear. “Walk with me.”

  I shiver, and it’s not from being cold.

  Bash is close, so close that I feel the heat of his body against mine. The subtle prick of his stubble against the shell of my ear. It’s a sensation overload I’m not expecting.

  Xavier looks like he’s ready to say something and Sienna looks like she’s in shock—mouth open and all.

  Bash doesn’t say anything to them. He’s standing there, his eyes drilling holes into Xavier’s hand. The one that is still on my arm.

  I shake Xavier off and take my drink from Sienna. She still hasn’t moved. We probably need to check for a pulse.

  I’m about to take a sip from my glass but Bash takes it and places it on the table.

  I don’t want to have this talk, but I know Bash won’t give up until we do, so it’s going to be done in private, away from prying eyes and ears.

  “Let’s go.” I push against him, trying to get him to move.

  He doesn’t.

  I push against his chest again and this time he relents back a step before walking toward an exit.

  My dad sees me walking out. He looks confused, but when he sees who I’m walking with, the confusion turns into concern as the recognition hits.

  Dad might be out of the competition circuit, but he’s not out of the surf game. He’s a sports commentator for a lot of the competitions, both big and small. I know for a fact that he’s been to more than two dozen competitions that Bash has competed in. He knows who he is. He can probably spew his stats faster than Bash can.

  I smile, despite the growing feeling of dread, to let him know everything is fine. He doesn’t look convinced and starts to follow until my mom sees what’s going on. She says something to him, shaking her head, and pulls him back.

  Go, Mom! For the win!

  Bash leads us down the hall and into a mor
e secluded area. I cross my arms over my dress and lean against the wall as Bash stands there. The look of anger hasn’t left his face, but he says, “You look beautiful.”

  He doesn’t sound as angry as he looks. He sounds frustrated.

  “Don’t,” I cut him off. I’m not here for bullshit. I’m here to know what the hell crawled up his ass and has him ignoring me. “You don’t get to show up here, look pissed at my presence in front of all those people, and then give me a compliment when you get me alone!”

  He’s never given me a compliment before and the first one that he gives me is now. When I’m pissed and he’s acting weird. No. Just no.

  “Emery.” He takes a step closer but thinks better of it. He goes to the opposite wall in the hallway and mimics my stance. “I’m sorry about all that. I just wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

  Standing with Xavier, is what he wants to add. I know jealousy when I see it and Bash doesn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous of Xavier.

  “So me being here is enough to anger you?”

  “No.” With a deep, heavy sigh Bash rubs at his chest, right over his heart. Where his tattoo is. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Well, surprise,” I say dryly, giving him spirit fingers that are full of sarcasm.

  “Don’t.” He throws my words back at me. Pushing off the wall, he comes closer. “Why are you here, Em?”

  My heart warms at the nickname until I make that feeling stop. He’s not buttering me up. Not until I have answers. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  I’m looking anywhere but at him. I’m looking for an escape.

  Bash grips my chin, tilting my face to look him in the eyes. “Before I went on vacation, I forgot about some of the obligations I committed to. My mother arranged this one without my knowledge, so here I am.”

  “I didn’t know you were a momma’s boy.” I try to grin, but stop. His face is still hard, and I’m still mad.

  I push off the wall, headed for the door, but he catches my elbow.

  “Why are you so angry at me?” His voice is full of irritation.

  “Because!” I poke his chest, but his body of muscle doesn’t budge.