Chapter 10 – “Tolerate It” - Taylor Swift
ELENA
“TOLERATE IT” - TAYLOR SWIFT
AGE TWENTY-ONE - OCTOBER
I watch the boats bob against the docks of the small harbor, floating above the evening fog so dense, I can’t see the horizon line beyond the marina.
It’s eerie, unlike the picturesque Pacific Shores that bring people in from all over the world, but it’s exactly the type of weather I’ve been craving after a long, hot summer.
Slipping my apron off my neck, I hang it on the hook behind the kitchen door before grabbing my purse, shouting a goodbye to the owner of Harbor Coffee, Jerry, and slipping out the front door.
The bells on the handle knob chime as the cool sea air crashes against my face, and I take a deep breath of it.
Zach’s crew won’t dock for another half hour or so, but that gives me enough time to get home, shower, pop some ibuprofen because my period cramps are getting progressively worse, and watch his boat roll into the marina from my balcony while I sip on my evening cup of coffee.
It has been my favorite routine of ours lately.
Leo and I rent an apartment right on the harbor.
It’s about a two-minute walk from our front door to the coffee shop, and our third-floor balcony overlooks the marina, which means I have a near twenty-four-seven view of sailboats and fishing charters.
My favorite part about living here, besides the view, is weekends, when I start my morning paddleboarding through the calm waters or writing on the docks.
The beach opposite the harbor has some of the best swells in the area, which is perfect for Leo when he’s training at home and perfect for me because he’s rarely home at all.
He has been traveling the world almost constantly, surfing during competition season and modeling in the off-season.
I’d fear him getting burnt out if I didn’t know he was doing it all because he’s constantly running away from something.
Running from the girl who ran from him.
Regardless, he makes a fuck ton of money, which means he pays our rent, and I get to live in a beautiful apartment mostly by myself.
The harbor is at the end of town, and while only blocks from our parents’ house and the neighborhood we grew up in, it feels like its own environment, since we didn’t spend much time down here as children. It feels like a little area that belongs to me, and I love it.
About six months ago, Zach began working on a crabbing rig.
I know he doesn’t love it, but it pays better than anything he has done before, and it lets him work out on the water, which I think he enjoys.
I like it because I get to watch him come and go each day, and most evenings, he winds up in my bed.
I know he’s lost right now. I know he struggles when he sees August and Leo following their dreams. I think he feels solidarity with Everett, who’s a little lost too, though it’s likely he’ll take over our dad’s garage when he’s ready to retire. Everett, at least, has a path lined out for him.
That leaves me. I took one year of community college before realizing it wasn’t the right fit for me, and I dropped out.
I’ve never done well in a structured educational environment.
I’ve always preferred to learn on my own.
I’m still working as a barista, and by all appearances, I’m as directionless as Zach.
Which makes me a little nervous about the conversation we’re going to have tonight.
I’ve been keeping a secret from him—from everyone except August—for years, and I’ve reached the point where I either need to give up on my own dreams or make them known to the entire world.
I’m terrified for so many reasons, but a good chunk of them lie with how Zach is going to react.
We broke up for a solid six months just after I finished high school.
Zach had moved out and was renting a house on the other side of town with friends.
I was trying to attend college. He thought I spent too much time with August, and he felt he spent too much time with us kids , that he needed to grow up and get his shit together.
Which isn’t entirely wrong, except none of us are the reason he’s so fucking lost.
After distancing himself for a while and realizing the friends he was living with were a worse influence on him than all his younger friends, he came back around.
I know he has always pressured himself to be the older, wiser, more mature, big-brother figure to Everett and Leo, but I think what he fails to understand is that they don’t care what he does for work or whether he went to college. He is and always has been that to them.
I know they idolize him, and so does August. I imagine the pressure of that is intense, but I think it took Zach some soul searching to realize they’re always going to look up to him no matter what he offers them, no matter how much money he makes, or what success looks like to him.
For all the shit Zach has put me through, he has been a good friend to my brothers, and a good brother to his own.
After about a year of distance, he slowly came back to us. He started helping Leo train when he was in town, going out with Everett on the weekends. I know he helped August through his final year of high school by studying with him.
Throughout all of that, he kept his distance from me.
Until he began working in crabbing and we ran into each other on a few early mornings when he’d grab a coffee before his shift.
Small talk turned into deep conversation, which turned into him showing up at my door one late night after work.
Some kind of current runs between us, something that dims with distance, but when sparked by the smallest connection—a glance, a brush of his hand against mine, the sound of his laugh—it’s like kindling.
It takes very little to reignite our flame, and even less to have it blaze out of control, destroying everything around us.
I read enough to often find love compared to flame in the pages of my favorite romance novels.
Burning, bright, warm. While all of that is beautiful, I think sometimes, we forget how destructive fire can be, how deeply a burn can scar, and how long it takes to recover when you’ve been turned to cinders.
Zach’s love is fire. His flames turned me to ash, because I think I’m more like the Earth. I’m not meant to bear his destruction, yet despite it, I can’t seem to snuff out those embers. When he’s near, all it takes is one touch to reignite that spark, and suddenly, my world is erupting again.
The worst part of it all is that I love the burn.
I climb the stairs to the third floor of our building, letting myself inside the apartment.
The first thing I do is search for something to help my cramps, but I come up short when—we’re out of painkillers.
Fuck . I sigh, stripping off my clothes and running into the kitchen to throw a kettle on the stove so I can at least brew some tea while I take a shower.
I ensure the water is extra hot as it pounds against my skin, quickly washing my face and hair.
I get out and dry off before putting on my comfiest pair of sweats and my “Slut for Smut” crewneck—the one I’m no longer allowed to wear outside the house after a neighbor complained about me to my mother at the grocery store.
I heat up Rice Sock—Leo’s appropriately named rice-filled sock, which he turned into a makeshift heating pad after mine exploded—in the microwave as I pour my tea, then make my way out to the balcony to settle in and wait for Zach.
Our balcony is by far my favorite aspect of the apartment.
The unit is spacious, with a large living room, two massive bedrooms, each with its own ensuite, a modern kitchen, and a formal dining room Leo has allowed me to repurpose as a workspace.
The windows in that room overlook the harbor.
I decorated our balcony with plush loungers and ivy that crawls up the railing.
Edison lights hang from the ceiling, and dark plum, black, and cream rugs and throw pillows accent the space.
It’s the perfect place to escape reality, which is exactly what I do as I settle in with the new thriller I’ve been dying to read.
A while later, I’m snapped out of the story by a distinct laugh ringing out in the distance. I stand, leaning over the railing. Zach is walking up the docks alongside a few of his crewmates. His head lifts, and a smile tugs at on his mouth when his eyes land on me.
“Fancy meetin’ you here!” he calls out from below. “Gotta shower I can borrow? I smell like crab.”
“That’s just your natural musk,” I snipe back, smirking at him.
His coworkers laugh, patting him on the back as they head through the dock gate and out into the parking lot. Zach shakes his head, shoulders bouncing with laughter. “Good thing you love my musk then, huh?”
I roll my eyes, knowing a blush is creeping up my cheeks as I step inside the apartment and shut the door behind me.
A moment later, there’s a knock at the front, and I pad across the linoleum floor and through the kitchen to throw the door open.
Before I have a chance to greet him, Zach’s shoving over the threshold and grasping my face, dragging his lips across my jaw and down my neck.
“What are you doing?” I damn near squeal. “I just showered!”
“Covering you in my musk, Elena.” He laughs against my throat. “I have to mark my territory, so all the other fishermen know you’re claimed.”
“You’re gross.” I laugh, shoving him off me. “Go take a shower—I need to talk to you afterward.”
Zach steps back, tilting his head at me. His brown eyes blaze with familiarity and allure—and also with curiosity and concern. “Good or bad?”
I smile, but it feels forced. “Good, I think.”
His brows narrow, but he only nods as he begins to unbuckle his waders and kick off his boots before disappearing into my bedroom.