Break Line

by Sarah E. Green

  I’m standing near the built-in shelving. One that is full of trophies, shot glasses from his travels, and other knick-knacks. In the midst of packing all of it, I find something that has me laughing at the weird kismet energy of the universe.

  When he sees I’m fine, laughing instead of crying or panicking, he stalks further into the room, leaving the entryway and shaking his head. “Damn it, Emery. I thought I had to kill a spider again.”

  “Excuse me, that was a big-ass spider that fell from the ceiling. I don’t think it was asking too much of you to kill it while I freaked out.” I shudder at the memory.

  “You took off your shirt in the process.” His lips twitch at the memory of events earlier today.

  “I had to make sure nothing got in the actual shirt.”

  “Uh-huh,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. His bare chest. “So, what had you screaming this time?”

  I hold out the framed photo in my hands.

  He takes it, features pinched in confusion as he studies it. “It’s me at a surf competition years ago. I don’t get why you screamed though.” He holds it out for me, not sure why he has it. “Is it because I’m shirtless? Does younger me do something to you?”

  “Look closer, in the background.” I laugh, because really, while he looks good in the picture, really good, I’m not freaking out to stroke his ego. The background is the real prize.

  “I don’t get—” he pauses, squinting his eyes and pulling the picture closer to his face. Nose to frame. “Is that you?”

  I nod, not even bothering to stop my grin. “Don’t I look cute?”

  “How old were you?” He looks at me briefly before going back to the picture.

  I move closer to look at the picture. I vaguely remember the event. It was here in California. “Thirteen or fourteen. I don’t remember exactly.”

  In the picture, Bash is standing with his surfboard and trophy, smiling at the camera. It’s not a magazine photo; it looks like it was taken on an old, crappy cell phone camera.

  Maybe his mom took it. Before she became a momster.

  Behind him, a little to the left, stands a little me. My hair is a tangled, wet mess from the saltwater and my body is facing directly toward the camera. But I’m not smiling. Instead, the photo catches me mid-sneeze. My face is all scrunched up with my nose pulled back like a pug’s while my mouth looks like invisible hooks are pulling at my skin.

  Really, I couldn’t look any better.

  “I could say something cheesy right now, but I’m resisting.” I lean into him, looking at the picture with a smile. “But, aw, look at our first picture together.”

  He hooks his arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his side and nuzzling my neck. “I love it. I wonder if we can blow it up bigger.”

  I hold onto him, closing my eyes when I feel his lips brush the side of my head. His chest bounces off my cheek as he chuckles.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I tell him, hoping he’s not serious. That picture should stay the size it is.

  “You appreciate it,” he reminds me.

  I do and wouldn’t have him any other way—look at me being all cheesy.

  I have to get out of California.

  “I DON’T WANT TO DO it.” Emery moans, her head falling back and hitting my shoulder. “Why are you making me?”

  I’m kneading into her shoulders, massaging her stiff muscles. We’ve been back in Florida for a few days. Only staying in California long enough to pack up my stuff so the movers could bring everything here.

  I thought I was going to feel a little something about leaving, but after the boxes were cleared and my place was barren, I felt as empty as the house looked. As we were leaving, almost out the door, I turned off the light in the foyer and when the room went dark, my time there was over.

  Since coming back, I’ve upped my workout routine in the mornings, logging in countless hours, more than I had been, staying in the water until my skin prunes.

  And Emery, since she wants to get back on the scene and truly be ready for it, has been working out with me. No more surfing in secret for her.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t as in shape as we thought.

  She’s been sore and aching and doesn’t stop complaining until I get to work on her muscles. An activity she takes great pleasure in.

  My girl likes having me at her mercy.

  “I’m not making you do anything, I’m just telling you that it’s probably better if you told your parents today, you know, since they think you’re going back to school tomorrow.”

  “They’ve been out of town since the day after New Year’s. I can’t ruin their first day back in town,” she argues. Her mom had a conference to go to and Ren went along now that Emery isn’t on lock-down.

  Things still aren’t the best between them, but she’s been talking to them every day and that’s been an improvement.

  “Emery,” I say, digging my elbow into one of the tighter muscles on her back.

  She’s been using the same excuse all day, hiding behind it and pushing the issue away. But since she’s not going back to college, she’ll be living with her parents and they’re going to notice that their daughter is at home and not in Orlando like her best friend. They’re not dense. So she’s going to have to suck it up and stop with her avoidance.

  “I know, I know, Surfer Boy.” Her sigh quickly turns into a moan from my elbow. “I just don’t want them to be mad at me.”

  “They’ll be more mad at you tomorrow when you don’t actually go to school.”

  “What if I tell them I’m doing online classes?”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh, shaking my head down at her. “Do I need to remind you of Christmas? When you didn’t tell them about surfing and they grounded you?”

  She grumbles something I can’t hear before saying, “I still can’t believe they grounded me at nineteen.”

  I can’t either, but then again, having parents who care and worry about their child is such a strange concept to me.

  But that’s the kind of parent I want to be. A parent who gives a double damn about his children.

  You know, one day in the far, far, way far off untouchable future.

  Looking down at Emery, I see my exhaustion reflected in her. These past few weeks have been hard and I can’t help but push her to face one more hardship.

  “Sure you don’t want me to go with you?” I ask for the third or fourth time. So far, her answer hasn’t changed.

  She needs to do it by herself. Just like with her surfing, this conversation is between her and her parents.

  Em shakes her head, confirming what I already know. “I’m sure.”

  Conceding, I remind her. “You can come back over after and I’ll have sushi waiting for you.”

  She pulls away, peering up at me, interest showing on her face.

  I smile. She’ll agree to pretty much anything for food, especially if it’s one of her favorites.

  “And a movie?”

  “All the movies you added to my movie queue.” There’s over ten that she added on the flight home from California. She gave me shit for not seeing any of them. God forbid I haven’t seen any cheesy romantic movies from the early 2000s.

  “Will you drop me off?” she concedes.

  “Nah,” I tell her. “Since your car’s not here I thought I’d just let you walk.”

  She backhands my chest, softly. “Ass.”

  I laugh, squeezing one of her ass cheeks.

  She pulls away from me with a glare. “No, no, no!” Her glare is coupled with head shaking. “You don’t get to go from talking me into telling my parents to feeling me up. Do you want me to get this done or not?”

  “I’d rather be doing you right now, but sometimes we have to be adults.”

  “Ha-ha, aren’t you funny,” she deadpans.

  “You think I’m pretty funny.” I try to reach for her, but she moves further away and out of my reach.

  “You think you’re funny. I provide
pity laughs.” She folds her arms over her chest as she stands above me, her glare firmly in place.

  “Did you also give me a pity orgasm this morning?” I grin.

  She’s not amused as she turns around, walking down the hallway to the garage. As she goes, she calls over her shoulder, “Grab your keys, Bash. And I want sushi on your naked body when I come back.”

  SADLY, I DO NOT GET served sushi on my boyfriend when I get back to his place later that night.

  Instead, I’m greeted with a frazzled Bash. I’m barely up the driveway when his door swings open and he says, “We have a problem.”

  “Damn right we do. You’re supposed to be completely naked covered in artfully prepared fish rolls.” I eye his naked chest before putting my palms on his abs. They slide over the ridges and tight muscle as they make their way down to his athletic shorts’ waistline. “These need to come off.”

  “Not that kind of problem.” He smiles at me, but it’s defensive. “Dez is here.”

  I’m not seeing the connection between company and his weird attitude. Dez is with Bash most of the time.

  Dez being here doesn’t really scream problem, ignoring the fact that I’m not his biggest fan. Or a fan of his at all.

  “What’s he doing?” I raise a brow. “Streaking in the backyard?”

  “Negative. He’s being a drunken mess on my couch.” Bash comes outside, easing the door closed behind him. “How did things go with your parents?”

  I narrow my eyes. I can smell a subject change like a bloodhound.

  He’s hiding something.

  If it’s about Dez that means it’s probably about Brit.

  A surge of protectiveness toward my best friend surfaces and I try to move past Bash to storm into the house with fire in my eyes and nails as knives.

  Bash catches the murder on my face and grabs me around my waist. He brings our bodies together, my back to his chest, and I squirm in the embrace. Legs leaving the ground and flailing about.

  “Oh no,” he tells me. “You’re not going in there until you calm down.”

  “I am calm.” My tone is anything but calm and I’m struggling in Bash’s hold even more. Wiggling isn’t getting me anywhere, so I aim my heel for his knee. He barely flinches.

  “Calm as an angered bumble bee,” he deadpans.

  I’m squirming like a crazed animal and he doesn’t sound like he’s struggling at all. Holding onto me with ease.

  The bastard.

  “Put me down, Sebastian.” I try a new form of attack, digging my nails into his skin.

  Bash hisses in pain the deeper I go, but he still holds on, keeping my feet from touching the ground.

  “Not until you’re calm and you tell me how it went with your parents.”

  “I refuse to talk to you rationally while you hold me like a monkey.”

  “You’re the one flinging your limbs around like one,” he argues, lips brushing the shell of my ear. The kiss contrasts with the strength of his hold.

  “Bash,” I say.

  “Emery,” he counters.

  “If you put me back on my feet, I’ll tell you what happened.”

  He does, only to keep his hands on my waist. His grip is tight, anchoring me to the spot.

  He’s a good friend for trying to protect Dez, but he’s only delaying what will happen. I’m imagining nails to the eyeballs or suffocation by a pillow over his face.

  I need a release after what went down with my parents.

  “What happened, Em?” Bash pulls me from my torture plans.

  “They weren’t mad,” I whisper, hoping the wind, which is barely at a breeze, catches my words, blowing them away before he hears. But he does and I watch as his face compresses into confusion.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  I nod, shake my head, and nod again. Confusing not only him, but also myself.

  I’ve been confused since I left my house though, so it’s not really saying much.

  “I thought that they would be pissed, like they were on Christmas, but they got really quiet instead,” I tell him, remembering the looks on my parents’ faces. It was like masks were being placed over them, covering their real feelings and hiding them behind something fake.

  “At least I’m not grounded, right?” I shake my head again, laughing without humor. “Do you want to know what they said to me?” Pressing on without waiting for his reply, I tell him, “That they aren’t surprised. College isn’t for everyone. And it’s not. That’s what I’ve always said, but hearing it from my parents? It hurt.”

  The pain is still present in my chest from their words. They didn’t believe in me. At least, that’s what I first thought.

  Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I finish telling Bash what happened.

  The condensed version, anyway.

  “So, yeah.” I stall for a few more seconds. “We talked a little more and decided that I’m going to take this semester off since classes are probably full anyway, if I find that I miss it, I can just go back and start taking online classes in the summer.”

  He stares at me for a while after I finish explaining. I shift nervously from one foot to the other, waiting for him to say something.

  It’s a little awkward since Bash is still holding me by the waist.

  Finally, his face breaks out in a smile.

  He pulls me close, burying one of his hands into my hair so he can cradle the back of my head. “That’s great, Em.” His voice matches the excitement of his words. “Now we can get you ready for your comeback.”

  Like my mind isn’t in the water twenty-four seven already.

  “Yeah.” I nod, but pull away slightly so he’ll see my face for the next part. “On two conditions.” Well, just one condition that applies to two people. “I don’t want you or Dad to help me. Outside of training, that is.”

  I want to do this on my own. Achieve this on my own. I want to know if the track I was on when I was younger, before my accident, had anything to do with my dad or not. If I have the talent that I think I do. But there is only one way to tell.

  My way.

  “Deal, but you do know that once your name is out there it’s going to be associated with your dad and me.”

  I do know that and I hate that my success will be seen as a reflection of the men in my life. That my talent will be questioned because of who I go to bed with or who I’m related to. But I also know that if anyone tries to accuse me of skipping dues they had to pay and not working as hard, I can say that they’re wrong.

  That I climbed and fought to the top all on my own.

  No matter what men I associate with.

  “I’d like to see them try.” I push up on my toes, kissing his lips. He kisses me back, opening my mouth against his as he pushes his tongue to mine.

  As his hand leaves my waist, moving a little further down, I push away from him so fast I stumble backward.

  “What the fuck?” He looks at me, but I quickly turn around and run for the door. One problem taken care of and now it’s on to the main attraction of the night.

  “Never let your guard down, suckaaa!” I yell as I go into the house.

  “Emery, fucking don’t!” Bash moves to come after me, but I’m already through the door and slamming it closed.

  Right in my boyfriend’s face.

  Oops.

  I hear noises coming from the living room, groans and bottles hitting the floor.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell as I walk into the room.

  I see the backside of Dez’s body as he leans forward. Hunched shoulders that are folding into his body and his elbows are digging into his sweatpants-clad thighs.

  Dez doesn’t react to my words. He doesn’t even acknowledge that I spoke or that I’ve moved further into the room and am now standing in front of him.

  He looks miserable and smells like stale beer that’s been left in the sun for too long. And his hazel eyes are tinged with red with dark circles dragging down his cheek
bones, making his tanned skin look a shade or two lighter. He mumbles something in Spanish, the word harsh as it leaves his mouth. Probably something about me being here.

  I don’t care. I keep my glare firm as Bash comes into the room, looking at me standing over his miserable friend, who is clutching the bottleneck of a beer.

  Several empty bottles litter the floor around his feet.

  “Em, don’t,” Bash warns as he moves further into the room. No doubt to pull me away from Dez.

  Yeah, not happening, Surfer Boy.

  “I’m not doing anything,” I defend, looking at him with what I hope are innocent eyes. Hoping that he can’t read minds and see that I was, moments ago, thinking about taking one of the empty beer bottles that decorate the floor and smashing it over Dez’s head.

  “Leave him alone.” Bash walks toward me, carefully, like I’m a feral cat he’s trying not to spook. “You don’t know what happened.”

  “Yes, I do.” My voice rises, bordering on a shout, and I try to reign in. Try to focus on the calm. Except there is no fucking calm in my body at the moment. “Dez did what he’s always done and he fucked up. He did something to hurt my best friend and now he’s here feeling sorry for himself.”

  My words are cold and I don’t care. Because if he’s like this, then Brit is ten times worse. I know my best friend and she feels every single emotion, every fiber of feeling.

  Dez has had the power to destroy my best friend since we were growing up and he’s finally done it. Destroyed one of the sweetest people in our town.

  But Bash shakes his head at me. “That’s not what—“

  “I told her I didn’t want us to stop seeing each other after she goes back to school and she broke things off with me.”

  My brain does not compute. I hear his words, I understand what Dez is saying, but I refuse to accept the truth behind them. “Was there even anything to break up, Dez?” My tone isn’t any nicer than it was when I first came in. “You didn’t even want to date her.”

  “But we were,” he argues back, his voice soft. Like a blanket in the cold. “We were dating since two days before Christmas. We weren’t telling anyone because we both thought I’d fuck it up. But I didn’t. I didn’t,” he argues louder. “She ruined us. Ruined me.”