Chapter 2
Chapter two
Yosh
The first rays of sunlight brush over the peak of Mount Camelot, highlighting the beach at Playa Tortuga.
Fishermen haul in their catch. A bunch of cheeky pelicans are waiting for scraps on the pillars of the pier.
They fight each other, but I’m pretty sure they also have to compete with the local sea turtle population.
I take a sip of water and clip the bottle back onto my belt.
My back is straight, legs folded in the lotus position.
It’s just me and the view over the bay in these early morning hours.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath of salty ocean air.
The world begins to fade away as I exhale.
The noises in my head quiet, leaving only the soothing rhythm of the waves rolling in.
This is my reset button, my way of finding clarity before my day starts.
It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly four years since I arrived in Avalon.
Those first few weeks? I don't remember much. Only the horrors of the night. The hours after midnight when the sound of the waves had felt suffocating instead of calming. Inside me, a storm had raged. Dark waves in my head were drowning me, sunlight burning my eyes, salty wind stinging my skin, and I hadn’t been able to tell day from night.
It was just one big fever dream. I’d been fighting until I had reached a point where I no longer knew what I was fighting for.
So I gave up and let the storm in my head take over.
Then one day the sun had rissen and the sea was calm. The waves had lost their anger, and the water was glistening in the morning light.
For the first time I had felt a strange kind of silence. Not the kind that suffocates, but the kind that brings peace. With that calmness had come an unexpected realization: the worst of the storm was over and this was my chance to start over.
Erin, who had been my psychiatrist back then and is now my supervisor, saw my potential and took me under her wing.
After an intensive internship where I’d worked my ass off, Arcadia offered me a position as a therapist specializing in alternative healing.
Luckily my medical degrees worked in my favor, and I’d quickly become one of their most valued assets.
The work I do now feels right, and helping others gives my life purpose.
I actually want to settle down, stop running, and start building something that’s mine on this island.
Far away and safe from everything I’ve walked away from.
I take a deep breath, hold it for seven seconds, and slowly let it out. The end of my meditation.
When I open my eyes, the water is waiting. Turquoise, clear enough to recognize the shapes of fan coral, and a school of colorful blue-pink fish swimming by.
I unfold my legs and stand. The cliff is warm under my bare feet, rough stones biting into my soles as I walk toward the drop.
This is my morning now. Salt on my lips, sun on my face. No desert dust in my throat, no blood on my hands.
I curl my toes over the edge and look down at the water shimmering below. It’s beautiful. It’s a second chance.
“More than I deserve.”
With those words I dive into the blue.
People are so predictable. If humans weren’t as smart as we are, we’d rank way lower on the food chain.
Our repetitive habits make us easy prey.
Take this meeting, for example. It’s always the same therapists asking the same stupid questions, dragging everything out because they love the sound of their own voices.
They make themselves sound important and mark their territory with pointless comments, like dogs pissing against trees.
All that nonsense makes my job impossible. The back-and-forth pulling, the posturing, it’s enough to drive anyone nuts.
Still, I always volunteer to take notes.
Not because I’m aiming for Employee of the Month. No. I want to lead the department of alternative healing. That’s the only way I can do what I do best: heal my patients.
The thing is, as just a therapist, I don’t have the freedom to fully develop my own treatment plans. It makes me constantly fight with my colleagues over patients.
Some say my methods are too weak; others call them controversial. Most of these criticisms come from people who feel threatened by me. They are the type who only care about their title and the salary that comes with it. They’re the same ones who make these meetings twice as grueling.
Fun, right?
As I jot down the chairman’s final words, I tuck a strand of my long black hair behind my ear, still damp from my morning swim.
I hate being predictable, so I tend to switch up my morning work out. Some days it’s a run, some days it’s the gym. My favorite is swimming down here at Playa Arcadia. And if it’s not one of those three, I visit Deep Diver for… well, let’s say, a different kind of workout.
I don’t even know his real name. Just that he knows how to explore my depths with maddening precision.
Okay, fine, I lied. That workout is my favorite.
“What’re you smiling about?” Erin’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I glance up. It's just the two of us left in the auditorium.
“Nothing… just the notes.”
“Do those notes contain smut?”
I close my notebook and let my lips curve into a small grin. Erin’s heels click against the floor as I follow her out of the auditorium.
“Erin, do you have a minute? I would like to discuss something.”
“Fine, but I need a cigarette first. That meeting was hell, and I need my nicotine fix,”
I get it. I was two seconds away from losing it myself in there.
Smoking is forbidden in guest areas because of the triggers.
And even Erin, who has her own rules inside these gates, respects that one.
So I follow her as we head toward the staff residences.
Gravel crunches under our feet as we walk past the meditation garden.
The sound of waving palm trees is almost equal to the sound of the ocean waves.
Gentle, but a slightly different rhythm.
It’s the perfect white noise for the yoga classes I teach in the garden.
When we reach the terrace, I wave at Anya, a patient of mine doing her therapy in the infinity pool.
“How’s she doing?” Erin asks.
“She’s walking.”
“Walking isn’t enough. Anya needs to be ready for the Olympics next year.”
I shake my head. “I’ve seen her scans, Erin. It’s bad. I won’t touch anything near her spine.”
Erin hums with a little frustration.
“She mentioned getting a second opinion. What do you think?”
Is this a sincere question or a test?
“I don’t think it will make a difference. What we need to do is guide her toward acceptance. It’s harsh, I mean, imagine dedicating your entire life to a single dream, the Olympics, and then losing it all after one fall.”
That hits close to home. I realize it the moment the words leave my mouth.
“Poor girl,” Erin murmurs, pulling out her cigarette pack. Within seconds she’s got one lit. I step back to avoid standing in the haze.
After her first inhale, Erin turns to me.
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“Nils is leaving, and I want his position.” Blunt and to the point.
Erin laughs but says nothing.
Her silence starts a little vortex in my head.
Not ready. Can’t handle it. Not good enough.
“I know I can do it,” I push on. “Over the past few years, I’ve completed three specializations. I’m always going the extra mile for my patients. I take notes at meetings, cover night shifts, pick up extra hours for colleagues—”
She raises her hand to stop me mid-sentence.
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. You’re always here. When’s the last time you went surfing at Starlight Beach?”
Not exactly the words I wanted to hear, but she’s right. I can’t remember the last time I took some time off. But stopping now feels impossible. I’ve worked too hard to build something meaningful here. Plus, they need me. We’re always short-staffed.
Yes. I’m exhausted from years of putting my career first, but I need to keep going. Just a little bit more to get there.
“I can handle it, Erin.”
She nods, taking another drag of her cigarette.
“Let me be real with you, Yosh. If it were up to me, you’d already be head of department. You’ve got the work ethic, and I believe in your methods. You’ve come a long way since you started here, and I see that. But there are other candidates who’ve been around a lot longer.”
She pulls a file out of her bag and hands it to me.
“Here. I was going to take on this guest myself, but if you can make this work, the board won’t be able to ignore you.”
I take the file, and the moment my fingers touch the paper, a strange wave of nausea twists my stomach.
Is this a favor? Or is it another test? Either way, it doesn’t feel right.
“I don’t think I can do this.” I let out a long breath as I try to calm that fluttering feeling in my gut. “It feels… wrong. Like cheating. I want to earn this position the right way, not by playing games.”
She gives me an intense, piercing look, like she’s seeing right through me. Just like when I was on the other side of her desk. And shit, did I just question her work ethics? Accuse her of cheating? This is what happens when I don’t think three or four times about my words.
“Yosh, you know I always assign you cases that match your skills, right? This is no exception. Whether it’s luck or timing, it’s yours. Take a look and tell me what you think.”
I open the file and skim through the pages.
“Thomas James McKenna, recovering from a cardiac arrest after cocaine and alcohol abuse. Addiction not yet confirmed. Family describes substance use as problematic.”
I lower the file. “This is heavy, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for Arcadia. What’s the catch?”
Erin lights a second cigarette, inhaling twice before answering.
“I talked to his brother, Jay. He thinks Tom’s dealing with some unresolved trauma from his past. I did a little digging online, but I couldn’t find anything that really pointed to that.”
“Couldn’t find anything?” I raise a brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t know him?”
“No. Should I?”
Erin flicks the ash off her cigarette and waves her hand.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s mostly known in Britain and Europe.”
A rustling noise draws our attention to the bushes. An iguana slowly crawls out and finds a spot on the sun-warmed limestone in front of us.
Erin grips my arm.
“You do know Calvin, right? Calvin Smith?”
“You mean Callie Coconut, the DJ? Yeah, I know him.”
How could I possibly forget. I’ll never forgive him for cheating on my best friend Tiffy. He’s also friends with Erin and her husband, Laurent. Which means I run into him at SeaBreeze whenever Erin invites me to their beach club for dinner.
He’s usually drunk when he begs me to ‘put in a good word’ with Tiffy, followed by the inevitable bribery attempt to ‘push a few hot gay boys’ my way.
The audacity. I’ve never needed help with that.
“Here’s the situation,” Erin says. “About fifteen years ago, Calvin played bass in a band called Half Moon Wolves. Tom McKenna was the guitarist, and his brother Jay was the lead singer.”
When Tom was hospitalized a couple of months ago, Calvin recommended our resort to Jay. Now Jay wants me to personally oversee Tom’s care, but I’m assigning him to my best protégé instead.”
Me?
“Am I really your best protégé?”
We head back toward the terrace. In the distance, the church bells of West Cove strike noon.
“Who else would I recommend? Let’s be real, we’ve got solid therapists on our team, but with something this complicated… they’re missing that extra bit of empathy.” She narrows her eyes, holding my gaze.
I get it, Erin. No need to point out my past like you always do.
“Tom arrives in two days. You’ll be working with him one-on-one.
The entire treatment is your responsibility as you’ve got the most extensive expertise.
Give him what he needs. Detox, needles, or someone who listens and talks with him.
Keep me posted on his progress and consult me if you think he needs psychiatric evaluation. ”
Erin turns.
“Oh, and Yosh,” she adds with a sly smile. “Good luck. They say he’s a headache.”