Chapter 6
Ocean
“That’s it, yeah, keep kicking,” Ocean encouraged as he bounced alongside Roan as he kicked, arms churning, slapping the water more than letting his hands glide through it, but they would work on that in a bit
Right now, Roan was doing the best he’d done all morning, making slow, steady progress through the water without letting his legs trail beneath the water’s surface, ultimately dragging him down and making it harder for him to keep his head above water.
When Roan began to flounder and thrash, Ocean slid his arms beneath him and kept Roan from sinking.
“Relax,” Ocean encouraged over the sound of his arms and legs kicking up water. “You’re okay, remember what I told you. Anytime you feel panicked or uncertain, all you have to do is put your feet down.”
“Feet down, feet down,” Roan chirped, breathless and a bit frantic.
Ocean eased his hands away, allowing Roan to stand up, water streaming down his face as he stood there panting.
“Look how far you made it,” Ocean said, turning him so he could see where they’d left their tank tops behind on the beach.
They were little more than a speck of color on the sand now.
“Whoa. I didn’t think I was getting anywhere,” Roan admitted, wiping the water from his face.
“You did awesome,” Ocean insisted. “And the more you practice, the easier it will get. I’m going to show you how to angle your hand when it enters the water so it will cut instead of slap, because slapping, just like dragging your feet, will slow you down. Here, let me see your hand.”
When Roan held his hand out, Ocean turned it palm down over the water.
“Slap the surface and keep pushing your hand deeper until it reaches your side,” Ocean said, recalling the lesson his father had taught him when he was young.
He turned away, avoiding the spray of water Roan’s hand sent up, and noticed his eyebrows knitting together as he forced his hand through the water.
“Kinda hard, isn’t it?” Ocean said.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, now let me see your hand again.”
This time, when Roan offered it, Ocean rotated it until his pinky was directly above the surface of the water.
“Now, put your hand back at your side,” Ocean instructed.
This time, there was only a tiny splash when his hand broke the surface of the water, and Ocean could see the understanding dawning in his eyes.
“When you’re swimming, you want to rotate your hands, so what my dad called the blade of it cuts through the water, but not a full rotate, otherwise you’d be chopping at the water.
You want to angle and then pull your hand beneath your body.
Moving the water moves you, or so my dad explained.
Not only does it make it easier, but you’ll also be conserving energy,” Ocean explained.
“If something happens where you can’t get back to shore easily, you don’t want to flail around; you’ll just wind up exhausted.
Sometimes it’s better not to swim, which is why we worked on floating this morning. Tight muscles sink.”
“And when I get nervous, my muscles tighten,” Roan said. “Just like when I slap the water, I slow myself down.”
“Now you’re getting it,” Ocean replied, pleased to see Roan smiling and bright-eyed, instead of flailing and panicked the way he’d been at the start of their lesson, when they’d first waded out into chest-deep water.
“People’s first reaction to fear is panic,” Ocean said, reminded of another of his old man’s lessons, “but panic will get you killed. When we panic, we breathe faster, our muscles burn through sugar and calories quicker, and we immediately start weakening ourselves.”
Roan nodded, staring past him to the vast, endless sea. “Doesn’t it scare you, just a little?”
“I respect that there are things in here that can kill me,” Ocean admitted, “and I know that even the best swimmer can drown in the wrong conditions. But I was born in the water, literally. My mother, her doula, my old man, and the doula’s attendants aided her into the ocean when she was ready to have me, and she gave birth to me in the waves.
That’s why they named me after it and because they loved it so much.
The rhythm of the waves is in my blood, but I can teach you to feel it too and understand when it’s safe and when it’s time to get the fuck out. ”
“All I feel is the water trying to knock me off my feet,” Roan admitted.
“That’s it, that’s the rhythm,” Ocean explained. “Slow and lazy right now, all you have to do is plant your feet, bend your knees slightly, and rock with it. If you stand rigid like that...”
“It’s the same as if I tense up when I’m trying to swim,” Roan replied, his grin growing broader, even as the rigid set to his shoulders began to relax again.
“Have you ever skateboarded?” Ocean asked.
“Tried a couple friends’ boards, but my grandparents weren’t big on buying me stuff,” Roan explained.
“Their house wasn’t very big as it was, so adding a kid just made the place more cramped.
I had what I needed and spent most of my time outside when I wasn’t in school.
Gramps had a big trike he and my grandmother loved to ride around on, so on nice days, we just did our own thing.
I tried not to ask them for shit or get them called in to the school, and they pretty much left me alone to raise myself. ”
“O-oh,” Ocean stammered, thrown more by the note of wistfulness and vulnerability in Roan’s voice than the story he’d told.
“I mean, whatever, right?” Roan said, shoulders resuming the same rigid posture as before, until a wave rocked him and sent him face-first into the water.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect to end a moment that threatened to wreck the vibe of their morning.
He checked his watch as Roan came up, sputtering and shaking the water from his hair, and realized that it was about time that they headed back anyway, since Roan was supposed to report to Danger at noon.
“Come on,” Ocean said, headed for shore. “I won’t make you swim back. This time.”
“That sounded like a threat right there,” Roan replied, wading after him.
“Nah, more like a warning,” Ocean replied. “That way you practice that blading technique, so you don’t show up late and dripping to Danger’s office. Something tells me he’s not the kind of guy you want to piss off.”
Roan’s hand latching around his wrist startled him, but not enough for Ocean to force him to break the hold.
Instead, he turned slowly and saw that there were only a few inches between them.
Sunlight glittered in Roan’s brown eyes, making them shimmer brighter, then one of them reached for the other.
He really couldn’t say which of them moved first, but Roan’s fingers tangled in his hair while he crushed the wet strands of Roan’s in his fist.
No hesitation, their lips connected, and they devoured each other’s moans as they deepened the kiss, hungry and inching towards desperate.
All morning long Ocean had been hyperaware of the way the water droplets shimmered on Roan’s skin, at times wanting to lick the saltiness away just to see if he could taste what lay underneath.
Now, as they slowly drew away from one another, panting, with the surf lapping around their ankles, all he could think about was the contrast of his tattoos against Roan’s unmarked skin.
It shocked him not to see any hidden beneath Roan’s tank top when just about every other member of the club he’d met so far had at least two.
Prospect meant he was new, though; he’d learned that, among other things, when he’d gotten old enough to research what a motorcycle club was and how they operated.
Ocean wondered how long he’d had to hang around the club before he’d earned that rocker and the chance to earn his full colors.
“You’re gonna be late,” Ocean murmured. “Want me to tell Danger it’s my fault?”
“Nah, if we hurry, and I show up dripping, I won’t be.”
“Guess we’d better go then,” Ocean replied, not that either of them moved.
The urge to kiss him again pushed Ocean to close the distance between them, only this time, he stopped after a brief brush of lips.
“Are you going to be around tonight?” Roan asked.
“Should be,” Ocean replied. “I’m driving up to see Dalton later this afternoon, but I’ll be back tonight.”
“I’ll look for you.”
“I’m never hard to spot,” Ocean replied, chuckling, “just look for the guy at the center of a circle of leather, telling surfer stories.”
“Did they really ask you to get up on a table and demonstrate a technique?” Roan asked as they walked along the beach to collect their clothes.
“Twice now.”
“I’m still blown away by how many of these guys spend as much time on the backs of boards as they do their bikes,” Roan admitted.
“I’ve been on the back of a lot of bikes, and a lot of boards,” Ocean replied. “It’s the rush that’s addictive. Feeling the wind on your face. Not being boxed in. When I’m on my board, it’s not me and the board; it’s us, ya know.”
“I-I guess,” Roan stammered, letting that edge of his slip, vulnerability peeking out again.
“Don’t you feel the same way about your bike?” Ocean asked.
He sighed, their paces picking up when Ocean’s waterproof watch chirped the ten-minute warning alarm he’d set.
“Most days. It’s freedom, but I’m used to having nobody to answer to. I love my bike, but I always liked riding behind someone better,” Roan admitted.
“All those folks up there, I’m sure you can find someone to take you on a ride if you don’t feel like driving,” Ocean said. “I’ve had like seven offers to ride with people, and I haven’t been here half as long as you have.”
“You also haven’t pissed off half as many people as I have either,” Roan remarked. “Mark’s favorite thing to call me is a thorn in his ass, and that’s on a good day.”
“Know how to fix that, right?”
“Stop pissing people off,” Roan grumbled. “Yeah, well, never thought so many of them would be so touchy and easy to antagonize.”
“Everyone’s got that one button,” Ocean replied. “And something tells me that you’re an expert at sussing them out so you can tap dance all over them.”