7. Now
NOW
“I had the worst dream,” I tell Luke.
He rolls toward me in the early morning light, smiling and sleepy, running a hand over the jaw he should’ve shaved yesterday. “Let’s hear it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to recall the details. My bad dreams never seem as terrifying in the light of day. “It was this whole thing,” I tell him. “I don’t even remember. I never left Rhodes, and I was going to marry Danny. It was like everything that could go wrong did go wrong.”
Luke runs a hand over my head. “I’ve gotta tell you, I don’t love waking up to discover you were dreaming about an ex.”
But he smiles like a man who is not at all concerned, and why would he be? The sun rises and sets with him for me.
I press my lips to his neck and breathe him in. Even after a night of sleep, Luke always smells like he’s fresh from the shower. “It’s just weird how real it all seemed.”
His hand slides over my hip and his breath quickens, his chest rising and falling as it presses to mine.
His smile grows sly. “Did it seem as real as this ?” It’s the kind of question that leads to sex, that has no purpose but to lead to sex, but something inside me says, “Make sure. Make sure it’s real. ”
I sit up and glance around me. The room is familiar, and yet it’s not, so I walk toward the balcony and throw open the curtains.
That’s when I see the cliff. Guys are jumping off it, trying to reach a wave far in the distance.
I snatch the curtains closed in a sudden panic. If Luke sees them jumping, he’ll want to try it, too, and he’ll never come back to me.
I turn, ready to beg him not to go out there, and realize where we are. This is the rundown house I visited during Pipeline Masters, where I watched him from the dunes, and then snuck away like a thief so he wouldn’t know I was there.
We weren’t together then. We aren’t together now.
I wake with a start, in the dark, staring at the bare walls of an unfamiliar room.
The truth trickles in and drowns me—the nightmare came true, and the things I wanted most did not.
I fall face down on my pillow and weep, wishing I could find a way back to him, to the version of Luke who doesn’t hate me. Who doesn’t believe all the terrible things other people said about me wound up being right.
* * *
There are no blinds on my windows yet. I’d forgotten how fucking bright the sun could get this early.
I drag myself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and bracing myself for another day of Luke’s well-deserved hatred and Donna’s undeserved adoration.
She’s just starting breakfast when I enter the kitchen. “Good morning, beautiful girl,” she says, pressing a kiss to my head. She should have had a whole village of children. I guess that’s what she’s creating with Danny’s House…only she won’t be alive to experience it for long.
I work on the eggs while she oversees the bacon, and Luke wanders in just as we finish, sleepy eyed and full lipped, running a hand through his messy hair.
I see of sliver of abs as his shirt rises and think of that dream I had.
His hand, possessive on my hip, his eyes so peaceful, so happy.
Could it have been like that with us? I’ll never know, and it’s the not knowing that tortures me.
For a half second my gaze lands on the cords of his neck, and I picture running my nose along the skin there, tasting it again.
My stomach flips so hard I find myself pressing a hand to it, willing it to stop.
I don’t eat breakfast, but I load my plate anyway and sit with them because this is what Donna wants: to pretend that the years haven’t passed. To sit around a big breakfast as if Luke and Danny will be heading out to surf the moment we’re done.
“Did I mention they finally tore down the diner?” Donna asks. “Put in some fancy place.”
An ache hits before I can stop it, as if some phantom has slid inside my chest to grab my heart and give it a hard squeeze. My eyes meet Luke’s, and just for a moment, before he looks away, I see a phantom in him too.
He turns to Donna. “You said you had a list of things for us to do?”
“The shrubs for the backyard were delivered yesterday,” she says. “I think we need to get those planted first, and then I’ll have the two of you finish the drywall in some of the back rooms.”
Luke’s raised brow implies I’m more likely to bring down the foundation of the house than I am to put up its walls, which is entirely accurate. And with the amount of money we provided, none of this is necessary. For two million, drywall should’ve been included.
“Donna,” I begin, “that sounds like something for professionals. If you guys need more money I can—”
She puts down her spoon and meets my eye. “No. I don't need money. I need you to be involved. I need you to feel like this place is as much yours as it is mine or the children’s.”
I suppress a sigh. “I’m happy to be here, and I want to be able to spend time with you, but…why risk me putting a hammer through the drywall and ruining someone’s room?”
“You need to get your hands dirty, Juliet. The way you live now isn’t healthy for anyone. It separates you from your actual life. When was last time you did your own laundry? Or dishes?”
I press the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.
It’s just like Donna to believe that a little bit of good, honest work will turn me back into the eager teenager who first arrived in her home.
And even if she’s right, why does Luke need to be here?
He’s making money, sure, but no matter how much he makes, I guarantee he’s living in some tiny place with no help whatsoever—his hands are plenty dirty.
Her gaze follows mine. “Yes, I know he does his own laundry. You’ve both made so much of yourselves over the past seven years, but I can’t help but feel your lives have gotten off track somehow and I want to fix it before I’m gone.”
There’s so much pain and rage in Luke’s gaze that I have to look away. “She can’t fix this,” his face says, “and she shouldn’t have to.” Because I did this to him and I did this to myself. Every problem either of us has…it all started with me.
His jaw shifts before he glances at her, stoic as ever. “So, where do you want these shrubs?”
“I think along the back fence. Evenly spaced. And I’m making a list of things we need to buy for the addition, so if anything comes to mind, let me know. You guys can go pick it up later.”
“Blinds,” I say. “But maybe one of us could dig in the backyard while the other one shops? Just to save time?”
By which I mean Luke will dig and I will shop, of course.
“No,” she says. “You need to do it together.”
“Donna—” he starts.
She sets her fork down, staring at her lap. “There’s a reason they disqualified you in Australia, and if you don’t figure out what’s eating you, I’m worried you won’t survive the next competition.”
My chest constricts. I’ve tried very, very hard not to think about what he does for a living.
I’ve told myself that he is too big, too smart, too fierce to get hurt.
But big and smart and fierce…none of these are a match for the ocean.
And he was reckless in Australia—he took risks he shouldn’t have and got in a fight in the line-up. It could have all ended very badly.
The idea of him dying causes a pain so sharp that I’d reach into my chest and rip it out if I could.
She looks at me. “And you let a man you’re dating shove you out of an elevator so hard you hit the floor, and then you let him drag you out by your hair.
Something has gone wrong, and whatever it is the two of you need, please find it here and figure it out together so I can go on to the next life certain you’re okay. ”
My eyes close. I really wish she hadn’t seen that video, and what she’s hoping for…
it’s a lost cause. If I’m dating an asshole, a morning spent planting shrubs isn’t going to fix me, and I can’t imagine why she thinks it would.
But if I’ve got to spend three weeks pretending to be a changed person, so be it.
I head out back once breakfast is cleaned up.
Luke’s already digging, the shirt clinging to his broad back and shoulders, his muscles delineated with each strike into the soil.
He looks like he was made to do this, but that’s the thing about Luke: he looks like he was made to do every damn thing he attempts.
He glances at me from head to toe before shaking his head.
“You can plant the bulbs.” He nods at the boxes on the corner of the new flagstone patio.
It’s a generous offer. I don’t know why I’m so hell-bent on refusing it.
I’ve never planted a tree in my life, and I assume none of the skills I’ve acquired over the past couple of years will be helpful.
I’m good at singing, diverting reporters when they ask about what appears to be an abusive relationship, and flirting with other guys to regain Cash’s wavering attention.
These are skills with limited application.
“You realize I work out almost every day,” I say. “I'm just as capable of digging as you.”
He hands me the shovel. “Go ahead then. Show me how fit you are.”
Well played, Juliet . Now you’re doing the digging, and no matter how hard it is, you can’t admit you’re not up to the job.
For the next thirty minutes I slam the shovel into the ground, making only a fraction of the progress he did.
My arms are shaking and my hands are blistered, and when his shadow finally looms over me, he takes the shovel without a word.
It was like him to be a dick about it when I suggested I could shovel, but this is like him too: letting me off the hook when I probably don’t deserve it.
Taking pity on me when he could simply sit back and relish yet another of my failures.
“I had it,” I mutter. We both know I didn't.
“Those foster kids would have grandchildren by the time you were done.”
Stop being kind, Luke. Stop protecting me.
It’s never gotten either of us anywhere.