Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Teddy
The sound of the door buzzer slices through the quiet. It’s my second week at Helen’s. Another Thursday night, she’s at ballet, and I’ve been dozing, half-asleep on the couch with my bad leg elevated.
I groan, roll to one side, and yell, “It’s open!”
The door swings wide without hesitation. Not surprising. Jamie’s never been one for boundaries. He walks in, with Anthony right behind him.
“Bro,” Anthony calls out. “This place is way too clean. Are you sure you live here?”
“Yeah,” Jamie joins in. “This can’t be your place, Teddy. Where’s all the sand on the floor?” Jamie’s got a paper shopping bag swinging from one hand and sunglasses pushed to the top of his head. His golden surfer hair is damp, like he just came from a beach photo shoot.
“Nice robe,” says Anthony with a grin, nodding toward the purple fluff wrapped around my body.
They’re near opposites of each other, my closest friends.
Jamie is blond and blue-eyed. Anthony is all dark hair, eyes, tan skin with olive undertones.
Jamie and I met him back in freshman year of high school on the basketball court.
He was quick on his feet and quicker with his fists.
Smart, too. It didn’t take long for us all to become friends.
Jamie drops the bag on the table. “I brought the clothing you wanted.” He glances around, taking in the place. His eyes linger on the kitchen, the way Helen’s things are lined up in a neat row on the counter, before swinging back to me.
“Appreciate it. I’m hoping I can wrangle one of these button-ups on without passing out.” I pull the duffel bag closer, sifting through shirts, a couple pairs of shorts, and hell yes, a pair of sunglasses I thought I lost months ago.
“Little early for a Christmas tree, isn’t it?
” Anthony says, eyeing the live, seven-foot behemoth that now dominates the corner of the living room.
The smell of pine is overwhelming in a festive, borderline aggressive way.
He steps back out the door, muttering something about holiday madness and how no one respects Thanksgiving anymore.
Helen had said the same thing yesterday when the tree arrived out of nowhere, delivered straight to the condo like it had RSVP’d for an extended stay. Her mom’s note called it a “gift” and said the place could use some “brightening up.”
Helen didn’t seem thrilled. Living together, I’ve learned she’s someone who thrives on stability and routine.
Surprises, especially big ones that shed dry needles on her spotless floor, aren’t really her thing.
Still, she humored her mom, calling to offer a polite but stiff, “Thank you.” That phone call stretched into a long discussion about her mom’s latest lab results.
By the slump of Helen’s shoulders when she hung up, I knew the news wasn’t good.
Anthony strolls back into the condo a minute later, dragging my surfboard behind him.
The second I see it, something in me unclenches. I reach for it without thinking, my hand skimming the familiar bumps and grooves along the waxed deck. Of all the crap I own, this board is the most precious.
Jamie and Anthony watch with bemused expressions as I stroke the board like a long-lost pet.
“I missed you,” I croon lovingly.
Anthony snorts. “Jeez. Marry it, why don’t you.”
“Can I?” I joke, but the truth is that this board’s been with me through everything. After my dad died, surfing was the only thing that made sense. The only place I found peace. The ocean never asked me about my feelings. It just let me float.
“Glad to know where we rank, right, Anthony?” Jamie teases, dropping into the armchair.
“Seriously.” Anthony laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Jamie shakes his head at me. “You owe me, man. That thing was a beast to strap to the top of my car. Think I scratched the paint.”
Jamie gets a new car each year, a Christmas gift from his parents, which means he’ll get a different one next month, so I don’t feel too guilty about the paint job.
Once I’m done oohing and aahing over the board, I ask Anthony to take it out to the balcony since I doubt Helen wants it as her new living room decoration.
As Anthony grabs the board to take it outside, his hand lingers on the waxed surface. “Didn’t think you’d ever leave this behind,” he says, almost casually. “Guess you’ve had other priorities lately.”
“It’s not like I could carry it.” I point at my cast, irritated by the implication that I’ve forgotten what matters. Jamie’s watching him, steady and unblinking. Anthony moves outside with the board.
“Hey, guys,” Anthony calls from the balcony, his tone pitched high and tight. “Come out here. Something’s going down on the beach.”
I pry myself off the couch, grab my crutches, and stumble toward the balcony.
I nod to Sam the Seagull, who’s now my regular breakfast companion.
He sits in his usual spot by the corner.
The other day, when Helen was out here gardening, she’d complained about the bird droppings on that side of the balcony and asked if I’d noticed a seagull roosting there.
I’d feigned ignorance, not wanting to lose my favorite confidante, then apologized to Sam profusely after she left.
“You understand, buddy,” I’d told my feathered friend. “Most women aren’t impressed when your bestie is a bird.”
Sam’s cool. He probably doesn’t brag to his lady friends about me either.
Anthony leans on the railing a little too close to Sam, who flies off squawking angrily.
“What’d you drag us out here for?” asks Jamie.
“Look,” Anthony says, pointing to the ocean. “Coast Guard. There’s a boat dead in the water.”
The sky is dimming but not yet dark so I can easily follow the line of his finger.
Sure enough, a small motorboat is being pushed in by the waves.
It’s sideways, clearly rudderless, and heading straight for a cluster of surfers out past the breakwater.
Lifeguards rush from the beach into the surf, waving their hands and probably shouting, but we can’t hear much this far away.
A Coast Guard vessel, gray with bright orange sides, circles from the far end, trying to intercept.
“Looks kinda like your boat,” I say to Jamie, thinking about the eighteen-footer he keeps over at a slip in Marina del Rey.
We take it out a lot on the weekends. He jokes it’s really my boat, since I’m the one who always ends up driving it.
I love that boat, just as much as my surfboard.
I know it inside and out, but the truth is that I could never be its real owner.
Can’t afford something like that. Hell, I can’t even afford my own place. I sigh, my spirits dropping low.
A particularly big wave hits the side of the struggling boat, and it lists dangerously. I’m picturing it’s us in there—my housemates, Jamie, Anthony, and Gina—which makes it even more terrifying when a person, tiny from our vantage point, topples out and into the water.
My heart kicks into overdrive. I find myself clutching Jamie’s shirt with no memory of reaching out. “Did you see that?!”
“The guy in the water? Yeah,” he says, his usual composure slipping as he keeps his eyes trained on the drama playing out before us. His voice sharpens. “Shit. He’s going to get run over.”
Jamie’s right. The man or woman—I can’t tell from this far away—fell into the water on the beach-facing side. The same direction the boat is drifting. My gut twists.
“Hurry,” I say in a strained whisper as I mentally urge the Coast Guard to move faster. I have no desire to see a drowning today, not with the knowledge that I almost died in that same ocean a few weeks ago.
The boat drifts closer to its owner and to the surfers, who are turning now, noticing the threat behind them.
They lay down on their boards and try to paddle away, but they’re moving too slow.
The boat is going to overtake them and the man overboard.
I close my eyes, squeezing them shut so I don’t have to witness the massacre.
I know that feeling.
Powerless. Drifting. Drowning.
“Wait,” says Jamie, an edge to his voice. “They’re catching up.”
I force my eyes open. The Coast Guard boat surges forward and makes contact with the drifting vessel. Ropes fly to the people who remain onboard. They loop them over the cleats.
The Coast Guard boat, which looks small but I know contains a powerful engine, tugs the boat back out into the ocean, just before it crushes the swimming man and surfers.
There’s a few tense minutes of suspended animation when the Coast Guard boat fights the waves and the weight of the boat it’s towing.
Then they must put on another burst of power because it breaks free and with steady momentum drags the broken boat farther into the ocean, away from danger.
“Wow.” Awe deepens my voice. “That Coast Guard crew saved them.”
You used to talk about saving people, Gwen’s voice whispers in my ear.
“I know. Serious hero material,” replies Jamie.
Jamie, Anthony, and I haven’t been the only ones watching the tense situation.
Now that it’s clear the good guys are the victors, a ragged cheer erupts from the beach and from balconies lining the street.
We linger to watch a surfer pull the swimmer onto their board and a lifeguard to reach them before we finally head back inside the condo.
“Man, that was intense,” I tell my friends, trying to calm my racing heart as I sag back onto my favorite spot on the couch. It’s getting a Teddy-shaped divot in the cushions. That’s how much time I spend in this position.
“It really was. After that I could use a drink.” Anthony surveys the kitchen. “You got any beer?”
The thought of alcohol sours my stomach. “Nah, I’m off the stuff for now.”
Anthony lifts a doubtful eyebrow. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Nothing like almost dying to convince me that sobriety might be the way to go.”
“Jeez. Buzzkill,” Jamie says, but he smiles, and there’s no bite in his words.