Chapter Eleven
The midday crowd grew as the clouds dispersed, but at least the water was uncharacteristically calm. Standing in the back of a buggy, leaning on the crossbar, Lachlan scanned.
In the back of his mind, he ruminated on his latest encounter with Tim.
It had been nothing—he’d been back in the tower after a rescue where a man who couldn’t swim a stroke had really been panicking only meters from shore.
Fairly routine aside from the panic, which could lead to rescues going sideways in a blink.
As Lachlan had arrived by the windows, Baz had offered his fist, and Tim had said simply, “Nice one.”
Two words he’d say to any of the guys after a rescue. Two words that didn’t mean anything beyond approval from his boss on a job well done. Two words he heard echo on a loop that made him want to grin like an idiot.
In the month since they’d spoken on the phone, they’d had no further contact aside from perfunctory exchanges at work. No acknowledgment of Lachlan’s last text. Lachlan had opened the text thread a hundred times to check, but his bare words still sat there, left on read.
Tim split his time between the office and the beach and there was zero evidence that he’d given Lachlan a second thought after that night. It was over—whatever it was.
A meaningless, regrettable hookup. That’s what it was.
So why did it feel so meaningful to Lachlan? Why couldn’t he be like everyone else in the world and shake it off? Go hook up with other guys and cleanse his palate? Why was he so weird?
Around Tim, he felt like his skin was tissue, lust simmering below the surface ready to burst up.
He’d been the same way around Jules all those years ago, and during the brief relationship with Patrick. Otherwise, he was chill. He’d jerk off, sure, but…
With Tim, he craved him. Not just his body but his attention. His approval.
He was so strong and competent, a truly excellent waterman and lifeguard. The way he’d ordered Lachlan to go to sleep on the phone had been strangely hot.
Lachlan had jerked off fiercely, coming hard in the empty house, not needing to keep quiet. He knew he just had to get over this crush already and stop daydreaming that Tim could want him back now that he knew who he was.
Even though Tim had been the one to call that night.
“Doesn’t matter, you knob. He’s Ryan’s dad,” he muttered to himself.
Tim hadn’t laughed at him or judged. Hadn’t told him he was an idiot for throwing away that job for Doris the nonagenarian and her apartment building that would surely be torn down anyway once the developer made another application to council.
It wasn’t as if Lachlan not doing his job had done anything more than delay the inevitable. Yet Tim hadn’t said that. He’d validated him. He hadn’t made him feel like a fool.
Bel and Ryan would surely understand too, but Lachlan still didn’t want to tell them. Partly because now he and Tim had another secret that was just theirs.
“Which is not helpful, you wanker,” he muttered to himself.
A red and yellow uniform caught the corner of his eye. When the volunteer lifesavers, the clubbies, were on duty, they patrolled the flagged area—and one of them raced into the water.
Lachlan’s heart jumped. In a few seconds, he clocked the growing crowd and hopped down behind the wheel, laying on the horn as he pinned it.
“Pink Buggy to Central, looks like the clubbies are pulling someone out between the flags.” He slowed and shouted, “Move, move!” to the oblivious beachgoers.
“Copy that, Lachie. Need the defib?”
Through a throng of onlookers, he glimpsed the clubbies carrying a lifeless woman. “Ambo and defib, Central.”
He slammed the buggy into park and leapt out as people shuffled aside. One of the clubbies was Damo’s partner, Blake. He was rolling the middle-aged woman into the recovery position as another clubbie, Kat, supported her head.
“Breathing?” Lachlan asked as he dropped to his knees.
“Yeah, but shallow,” Blake said. “She was face down in the water when I spotted her.”
Lachlan pressed his fingers to the woman’s carotid pulse just below the angle of her jaw. The beat was faint and thready.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Kat cajoled. “Open your eyes for us.” They glanced up at Lachlan, concern in their brown eyes. “Ambo’s on the way?”
The walkie-talkie clipped to Lachlan’s waist squawked. “Central to Lachie. Ambo’s five minutes out.”
“Copy that, Central. She’s breathing with a weak pulse, but still unconscious. Might’ve had a seizure or head injury. She’s not coming round.”
He rubbed her sternum, but the woman’s eyes barely flickered. He almost wished she didn’t have a pulse since he’d know exactly what to do—start CPR.
With Blake supporting her, they waited, Lachlan’s fingers pressed to her pulse.
“Come on, come on,” Blake murmured. “Wake up.”
“Can you all move away?” Lachlan called to the circle of onlookers. The circle of death, they called it. “She doesn’t need you watching right now. It’s not helping anyone.”
The people ignored him.
“Oi!” Kat shouted, then whistled with their fingers in the corners of their mouth. “Bugger off!”
Lachlan had always liked Kat. Like him, they were one of the few clubbies or lifeguards who weren’t white, and they were queer to boot. Pale zinc sunscreen was stark on their nose in contrast to their dark brown skin.
“Always a way with words,” Blake said with a chuckle.
Damo rocked up with the defib and oxy, and they strapped the mask around the woman’s head gently.
Damo asked Blake, “You right?”
Blake nodded, holding the woman’s shoulder firmly, her back against his knees in the recovery position. He was white, solidly built, and had freckles dotted over his tanned skin. “At first, I thought maybe she had goggles on, looking at fish. But she was too still.”
“You saved her life,” Damo said with unmistakable pride, giving Blake’s hand a brief squeeze.
“Is anyone with her?” Lachlan glanced around at the too-many people remaining. He raised his voice. “Does anyone know her?”
Some people shook their heads solemnly while others just stared. He supposed he understood not being able to look away on one hand, but it was eerie.
The minutes dragged by interminably as they waited for her to either come around or crash. She looked about forty and had ginger hair that reminded him of his mum. Her bathers were a sensible navy one-piece, which reminded him even more of Mum.
“It’s all right,” he murmured to her. “You’re safe.” Her pulse was still weak against his fingertips, but it was there, and she was breathing. He couldn’t see any gashes or bumps on her head, and he skimmed over her skull gently, her wet hair tangled around his fingers.
Thankfully, the paramedics arrived, and he could hand over care. Once they were ready, he drove them and patient across the sand and up to the waiting ambulance with Damo and Kat beside him in the front. At the top of the ramp, Tim helped carry the stretcher the last steps.
“Think she’ll be right?” Blake asked.
“Yeah, she’s coming good,” one of the paramedics said. “Thanks for your help.”
They all breathed a sigh of relief. Then Kat asked Lachlan, “Hey, you want to come to Rodeo tonight? Eighties theme, so it’ll be a laugh.”
“Yes!” Damo exclaimed. “Blake and I’ll be there, and Cody. Liam’s not much for clubs. But there’ll be heaps of blokes if you’re lookin’ for one.”
Lachlan glanced at Tim, who turned away, his shoulders rigid. Or perhaps that was just in Lachlan’s imagination and he wasn’t even listening to them.
Though his first instinct was to decline, Lachlan said, “Sounds good. I could use a bloke. Or two.” If he wanted mates he had more in common with, here was an opportunity.
“Or three!” Damo and Kat chorused before laughing.
“Oi!” Tim barked, shooting them a glare. “Shouldn’t you all be watching the water?”
Kat winced. “Sorry, Bull!” They muttered to Lachlan, “Blake and I are off now, but point taken.” They gave Lachlan a grin. “See ya tonight, hey?”
“Absolutely,” he said with confidence he wished he felt.
“Oh, shit.”
Lachlan peered around the flashing lights of the club in dismay. Damo approached, smiling widely, and Lachlan shouted over the music, “You didn’t say it was fancy dress!”
Damo, who wore short shorts, a pink singlet, and mint green sweatbands around his head and wrists winced. “Didn’t I? Sorry, mate. But you look bloody great. Shark’s in the water, fellas!”
Lachlan had worn black leather loafers, tight black trousers, and a short-sleeved silk button-up shirt in deep burgundy.
He’d bought it after the first time he’d attended a casual work event at the law firm and realized that even when out of suits, everyone wore designer clothes. Spending two hundred bucks on a shirt—even if it was woven from “California cotton and mulberry silk” had been painful.
He remembered going back to the office after the birthday party to keep working on a brief even though it was a Saturday. Trying so hard to be a shark when he was really what? A dolphin? No, far too much intelligence.
Kat appeared wearing a dark suit and silver tie, and their hair was slicked back and dyed a brilliant orange. They said, “Annie Lennox,” in answer to Lachlan’s puzzled expression. “It’ll wash out in a few days.”
“Ah, right.” He motioned to himself. “I’m a wanker who didn’t know he should dress up.”
They grinned. “With that face and arse, no one cares.”
Blake was decked out in work boots, skintight jeans, and a shredded black singlet held together with safety pins. He also wore dark eyeliner and lipstick. “It’s not a requirement. I dress like this most nights here.” He motioned to the safety pins. “Added a bit of punk flair.”
“You look fantastic!” Lachlan shouted over the bass. He hadn’t imagined solid Blake being one to wear makeup, but it suited him.
Damo slid his arm around Blake’s waist. “The pins are sexy as. Almost as good as that black mesh the first time I met you here.” His eyes dipped. “Though I can see your nipples well with this look too.” He waggled his brows.