“Dad.” I look at him and suck in a breath. He looks trapped—reliving the memory through red-rimmed eyes. “You can’t always protect me. Life is a game of risk.”
“As a dad, I’m supposed to protect you.”
I lean on his arm to comfort him, to show I understand. I’m not just his only child, but also his baby girl. “You have. And you still do.”
“You hardly ever did what you were told. I don’t know why I thought you’d give up surfing.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
He’s quiet. I’m quiet. Until he says, “You were right, Em. Saltwater runs deep in our veins.”
“We belong to the ocean.”
He nods. “We belong to the ocean.”
Dad pulls me into his side and we sit on the beach, staring out at the horizon. It’s been a while since we’ve been at the beach together, another thing we avoided for years, and it’s nice to have the little moments back.
Or it is until Ren Lawson starts the conversation I’ve been dreading since he told me I wasn’t allowed to date until thirty-five. “So about the boy.”
“Yes?” Inwardly I groan, but physically keep my face blank.
“He’s too old for you.”
I can’t stop the rolling of my eyes. “He’s not even five years older than me.”
He grunts. “He doesn’t have a stable career.”
“They say he’s a better surfer than you were.”
“Emery.” He narrows his eyes.
“Dad.” I narrow mine back.
“Shit,” he mumbles. “He likes you and I hate him for it. He symbolizes everything I’ve been trying to ignore.”
“And what’s that?” Curiosity is a cat of mine.
“That you’re no longer my baby girl. You’re a woman.”
I grimace at his words. “Please don’t ever say that again.” I shudder again before telling him, “I’ll always be your baby girl.”
“Remember that when you get married and you’re dancing an arm’s length away from your husband and you’re shaking his hand after the priest pronounces you man and wife.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Daddy-O.” I bump my shoulder into his before he stands up and helps me to my feet.
We’re walking up the beach, back toward the house, when my phone goes off in my pocket.
Bash’s name is on the screen.
“Hey, babe.” There’s a smile in my voice and I feel lighter than I did when he dropped me off earlier this morning. “Do you have a sixth sense for—”
“Emery.”
I stop walking and Dad gives me a look. I don’t give him a glance. Bash doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds tense and anxious. My name quivers on his lips.
“I need you to come back to my place.” There’s a pause before he whispers, “I need you.”
THE PLAN AFTER DROPPING EMERY off is to pass out.
The sexfest from earlier really drained most of my energy. All I want to do is sleep for the rest of the day. If I could be a professional napper instead of a surfer, I’d change careers in seconds.
Turning onto my street and nearing the house, I see an unfamiliar car parked in front of the garage.
Black paint, tinted windows, and a woman next to it.
I slam on the brakes in the middle of the street and look in the rearview mirror, wondering if I could reverse down it and get the hell away. I hesitate too long and another car heads in my direction.
I have no choice now but to go home.
The house I’m renting is on a dead-end street, naturally. Just my luck.
Standing in the driveway, with her arms crossed over her chest and a foot rhythmically tapping the cement, is my mother.
Behind her is my father, looking down at the ground.
Typical.
My thoughts are muddled as I pull into the drive. The front end of the truck stops within a few inches of my mother. I’d never, ever hurt the woman, but the driveway is a half-circle and she isn’t moving.
We stare at each other, both pairs of eyes hiding behind sunglasses. My fists clench around the wheel and I grit my teeth. Molars grind.
Without getting out of the truck, I reach for the phone in the cup holder. It feels as if someone else is in control of my body as the screen unlocks and I open my text messages, opening to the name on the top of the list and hitting the small phone symbol.
Slowly, the device rises to my ear.
And rings, rings, rings, until it doesn’t and the voice on the other end is the comfort I need to soothe the burning anger in my chest.
“I need you to come back to my place—I need you.” I can hardly tell if I’m actually speaking or if I’m just making noises.
“I’ll be right there,” she promises. “What’s going on?”
I don’t want to talk, but I don’t want to be alone. My parents are watching me through the window. The hand that isn’t holding the phone is white-knuckling the steering wheel to the point of no circulation.
On the other end, I hear an engine starting.
“Bash!” Emery sounds as frantic as I feel.
“I’m here. Where are you?”
“Five minutes, babe. Five minutes. Tell me what’s going on.”
My parents haven’t moved. My mother keeps tapping her foot, refusing to concede first. Her stance is a message. She’s not going to leave here until she gets what she wants.
And what she wants is my money.
“My parents.”
Emery curses and I hope she’s speeding now. If she gets a ticket, I’ll pay for it.
She stays on the phone with me even though no words are being exchanged. It’s enough though, to not feel so alone as I refuse to leave the truck.
I’m a grown-ass man who doesn’t want to face his parents by himself. Pathetic.
But my mom likes to remind me she’s in charge of controlling my whole career and can destroy me just as easily as she created me.
A car parks on the side of the road and I’m out the door before Emery can whisper that she’s here.
My mother calls my name, but I ignore it as Emery steps out of her car.
She hasn’t changed out of the clothes I dropped her off in, my t-shirt pooling around her thighs and over her leggings. Her arms wrap around my waist and she places her head on my chest. “You’re shaking.”
I run my hand down her hair before wrapping my arm around her neck. “I’m angry.” The basic definition for the complicated mess that is me.
“Bash.” Emery tries to pull back, but I don’t let her go. I hold her tighter to me. She sighs. “You’re her boss, remember? You make the rules. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
I know. I know. But when I try to do that, the guilt sets in.
My parents gave up their dreams and sacrificed so much when I was younger and just getting started. And when I try to stand firmer with them, I’m reminded of that. Every. Single. Time.
Emery sees it all on my face.
“I’m not leaving,” I reassure her as she looks around me with unease. “That’s not why they’re here, anyway. They don’t care where I live as long as they keep getting money.” I grab her hand, pulling her toward the house. “Let’s just get this over with.”
With Emery’s hand in mine, we walk past my parents and into the house. Without looking to confirm, I know they’re behind us.
I lead everyone into the living room and stand in front of the TV with my arms crossed over my chest. I tilt my chin at Emery, letting her know I’m okay for now, and she settles into the corner of the couch, curling her legs under her butt. No matter where she is in the room, she’s on my side.
My parents stand on the opposite end of the couch and my mother looks ready for a fight.
She barely spares Emery a glance before her laser-focused eyes target me. “Sebastian.”
“Mother,” I say, nodding toward my father. He’s like my mother’s bodyguard, not saying anything,
not engaging in anything. His presence is to be seen and not heard.
“When are you going to be done with this fit of yours?” Her arms cross over her chest.
“I’m not having a fit.” It takes all the control I have, but I don’t roll my eyes or throw in a curse word.
“You have commitments—”
“Commitments I can do from wherever I live.” Airplanes and cars are such nifty little inventions.
“The waves here are not going to be enough to keep up at your level. They’re nothing.”
This time I do roll my eyes. “Then I’ll go back to California or Hawaii and train there every other month. It’s not like I’m living in the desert. I have an ocean.”
She wants to fight me more. I can see it in the way she presses her lips together. And she probably would’ve if Emery didn’t jump up and offer to order some lunch.
I watch as my mother moves her attention away from me and finds her new target. I move closer to my girlfriend.
“Are you staying because of her?”
Lunch is forgotten.
I don’t get a chance to answer before Emery says, “So what if he is? Don’t you want your son to be happy?”
“Of course, but I also want him successful and that’s not going to happen living here.”
“He’s already more successful than a lot of people his age. While some are just graduating college, up to their necks in student loans, your son is one of the best surfers in the world.” The best, but now isn’t the time for interruption. My girl is on a roll. “He has a ton of sponsors who throw enough money his way. He can retire from surfing before he has to.”
They both stare at Emery in silence, no doubt trying to figure out why she’s speaking. Mom’s used to being the loudest voice in the room. But she can roar as much as she wants—Emery’s words will still be more powerful.
“His entire life is in California,” Mom tries to argue, but right now she’s pulling at strings. Emery has her caught in a place she’s not used to being—against a corner. She’s used to doing the backing.
Emery leaves my side and moves closer to Mom, and lowers her voice. Dad and I watch frozen, but tightly coiled, ready to jump in to pull away the claws. “He’s happier here. Can’t you see that? Don’t you want him to be happy?”
I should step in, handle my mom myself, but I hear something in Emery’s words that she might not even be aware of. This is how she’s wanted to talk to her parents, but Emery likes being the shield for other people rather than a sword for her own battles.
Mom doesn’t answer. Her mouth is twisted to the side as she looks lost in thought. But I know that look. She’s trying to keep herself from saying shit she doesn’t want other people to hear.
She should care that I’m happier here, but she doesn’t.
Knowing what needs to be done, I brace for the outcome as I step behind Emery.
She’s the silent reassurance that I can do this. She’s the support beam holding me in place. My hands rest on Emery’s shoulders. She crosses her arms over her chest and we both stare at my parents.
Standing in a room shrouded in silence, the cold, narrow gaze of my mother becomes even harder. As if she can see into my mind, knowing the path it’s traveling down.
She starts to warn me, but I’m quicker. “You’re fired.”
Not the most eloquently put or how I wanted to handle it, but Carpe fucking Diem and all that shit. Why put off something that can be solved with two little words?
Two words that go over as smoothly as chipped glass being dragged down a mirror.
Mom moves closer and I make sure Emery’s out of the way before Mom’s palm collides with my cheek. I don’t look away from my mother. The only reaction she gets out of me is the lock in my jaw and the fire in my brown eyes.
I don’t touch the mark that feels like fire as it wells up on my cheek. Emery stands where I pushed her, to the side, looking at the scene that just unfolded. Her green eyes wide and hands pressed over her mouth.
Mom looks stunned. Dad closes his eyes.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been smacked by her. This is just the first time that she’s done it in front of someone she’s not married to.
The first time she hit me, I was fourteen and she smacked my cheek so hard my head jerked to the side as tears burned, unshed, in my eyes. Now, my body is numb to the touch. The only reaction is from the physical mark of her fingers on my skin.
There’s a slight ringing in my ear, and Emery yells, but I can’t hear the words as she tries to move in front of me. I grab her and bring her to my side.
“Leave,” I growl. “You can’t stay here.”
My parents left with little resistance, especially after I handed them a check.
If they spend wisely, it should last a long time.
And it better ’cause that’s all they’re getting from me. Every cent was worth it to be done with them. Maybe one day we can try to rebuild our relationship, but I don’t know how much time will pass until any of us will want to attempt to be a family.
After I shut the door on their retreating forms, I walk up the stairs to find Emery sitting on my bed with her legs crossed. She’s changed from earlier, now wearing the one and only sweatshirt I brought with me. Her bare legs stick out from the material.
I stalk toward her, placing my hands on her upper thighs. “You’re amazing.”
“Duh.” She smiles, cupping my struck cheek, leaning in for a kiss. “You should let me fight all your battles for you.”
“Only if you let me help you fight yours.” I squeeze her thighs.
“This should be iced,” she says softly as the pad of her thumbs brushes against the red mark. There’s a heartbeat pounding in my cheek. Her hand stills when mine covers hers.
“Later.” I kiss her palm before putting both her arms around my neck. She kisses my neck and I push her down on the bed, placing my body on top of hers. Her breath hitches when I put more weight on her. “I’m sorry you had to meet them.”
The tips of her fingers brush the back of my neck. “I’m glad you called me.”
“It went well with your parents?” I smooth some fallen hair out of her face. I don’t want my problems to distract from what she needs to work on with her parents. She doesn’t need to be focusing on mine.
She nods before shaking her head. “I ran from them.” She gives me a look to not interrupt and I stay quiet as she explains. “But then my dad followed me out to the beach. I feel better after talking to him. He’s starting to get it. It’s just going to take some time for all of us. I haven’t asked them yet, but I’m going to see if they’ll help me find a new therapist.”
“Good.” She needs to address all the issues that she’s been repressing, but at a speed she’s comfortable with. “Maybe I’ll go see one here as well.”
With the move that I’ll be doing soon, I’ll need to find someone more local to talk to. Until then, I can still video chat with my current one.
“You should.” Her hands move up and down my arms. “You should look into them when you get back from packing up your stuff in Cali.”
My arms dig into the mattress on either side of her head, caging her in. “Given any thought about coming with me?”
“What?” She laughs. “You mean between your invitation that got lost in the mail and when your mother shed light on who she really is? No, I haven’t thought about it. Especially since this is the first you’ve offered.”
I want to show her a sliver of my life in Cali before I pack it all up in boxes. It’ll be a quick trip. One that will probably only take a few days. I’m not selling my place there, instead keeping it to rent out. According to Dez’s mom, it’s a good investment move.
She’s already looking to find me a place here to buy.
“I want you there with me.” I rest my forehead against Emery’s. “Let me show you my world before I completely join yours.”
Emery’s hands go to my shoulders, pushing on them and I
roll over onto my back, her body covering mine. With her head resting on my chest, I feel her nod before she agrees.
My arms drape over her back, keeping her close.
“You sure you want to do this?” she asks, and I hear the hesitation in her voice. She’s afraid I’m not ready, that this is going to blow up and we’re going to implode, but what Emery still hasn’t realized is that this is where I’m supposed to be. In this town. With her. Finding a new life.
Her weight is the security, holding me together as my foundation shifts, realigning to a new path, one that leads to many roads unknown. I hold her tighter. “I’m sure, Firecracker.”
A FEW DAYS AFTER NEW Year’s, we’re at Bash’s house in California. Officially moving him out. He hasn’t said it, but Bash is ready to cut ties with a lot of things here on the West Coast.
“OHMYGOD, BASH!” I scream.
We’re in separate rooms of his house. He’s packing his bedroom while I’m in one of the guest rooms. Which really is just a trophy room with a bed.
You know, for when he’s feeling braggy and wants his guests to know how talented he is. But in a subtle, décor way.
He also doesn’t have any kind of organizational packing methods. His exact words were, “Just throw shit in boxes.”
I try to be organized. I like order, but that takes a backseat to being lazy most days, and today happens to be one of them.
I’m exhausted. And sore.
So fucking sore.
Someone thought that it was a fun idea to give me a tour of his home by taking my naked body on at least two hard surfaces in each room. Fun in the moment, but oh does my body hate me now.
Anyway, Bash’s packing method is making the process easier, except when things need to be organized. Like breakables.
His trophies, for example.
This isn’t the only room storing his prizes. They are in every room and I can’t help but cringe as I hear him throwing items into the cardboard boxes we picked up last night.
The noises stop as Bash comes running into the room, looking around frantically. A shoe in hand. “What? What is it?”
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