4. Caleb
FOUR
Caleb
“ W atch out!”
“Caleb, move!”
The flames roared as high as my head. I stared into the blaze, as it flickered and licked the driftwood we had propped up like a pyramid.
I felt the violent impact as I was hurled from the fire and into the sand with a thud that trembled through my muscles. My beer flew out of my hand and into the surf. I didn’t see it disappear when the sea folded it into a wave.
“What the fuck, man?” I flipped over and stared at Gabe from the ground. The logs crashed over the perimeter of rocks.
“You didn’t see that five-foot log about to land on your shoulder? Where’s your head lately?” he barked.
I didn’t answer.
“It was one mistake, man. When are you going to let it go?”
My jaw stiffened. The answer was never.
“Fine. But you should let it go,” he said. Gabe shook his head and walked off like I was a lost cause.
Two other guys used a shovel and rake to prop the driftwood back into the center of the circle. Neither said a word to me. I sat, brushing the sand from my arms and legs. I didn’t want to know how much was sifted into my dark head of hair.
I sat forward. The new ring of flames moved together, giving off the illusion there was a wall you couldn’t pass through. There was something eerie about the darkness on the beach at night. If you stepped outside the light the fire cast, it was like being swallowed by total darkness. I was in that patch of darkness thanks to Gabe.
I shoved off the ground. Every muscle in my 6’5” frame ached, but it wasn’t from being tackled. The surf had been rough today. The boat had taken a pounding and so had my body. I headed to the cooler. I waited for more people to move on before I grabbed the first beer under the lid.
I took a swig. Damn it. It was warm. I should have grabbed one from the bottom of the cooler. I thought better of draining it into the sand, suffering through the tepid sips.
I didn’t notice the brunette who had sashayed up to me until her long fingers trailed against my forearm.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hi.” I looked down at her. She was cute. Most of the girls who came to the parties were. I chugged the warm beer trying to get it over with.
“This is my first time here. It’s a good party.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m Abby.”
“Caleb.”
Her eyes flickered against the light from the bonfire. “How long have you been in?”
I had to keep that laugh down in my chest. The way she phrased the question sounded as if she was asking about my prison sentence. If I wanted to go home with this girl, I couldn’t make fun of her. I hadn’t decided I wanted to hook up tonight, either.
“I take it you know everyone here is in the Coast Guard?”
She nodded. “I heard it’s a locals’ party. Did I get it right?”
“Seven years,” I answered.
“You must be a good swimmer.”
I had to hold the bottle away to keep from choking on the last swallow. “I can swim.”
“Is it dangerous what you do?” she asked. Her eyelashes batted. She licked her bottom lip.
I turned to answer Abby. “Maybe. Some days.” She wanted a story about a heroic storm rescue or a capsized boat. She wasn’t the first girl to hang on to my every word. The problem for Abby and me was that I wasn’t in the mood for this shit tonight.
She should talk to Gabe or one of the other guys. They loved to tell stories. They would probably tell mine for me. Telling a tourist I was a rescue swimmer was almost a guarantee they would throw themselves in the deep end of the pool or wade into choppy surf to test my skills. I didn’t do that. I didn’t play their games.
It was only the beginning of summer. Usually my favorite season. Days on the water that were hot and beautiful instead of cold and frigid. It was what I always loved about growing up on Marshoak Island. This summer felt different. There was a restlessness under my skin. Something stirring in me I hadn’t had before. Something that made me want to ignore girls like Abby.
“Want another beer?” she asked.
“I can get it.” The truth was I did want another beer. A cold beer. But I didn’t want to drink it with her, or her best friend or her roommate, or whoever she had dragged to the bonfire. “Thanks, though.” It was all I could think of to say to soften the blow as I drifted away from her and headed to the cooler.
“Not interested in her?” Gabe had his hand on the lid of the cooler at the same time I did. “I was eyeing her the minute I got here. She came with a big group.”
I plunged my hand into the ice water. “She’s all yours.” I cracked the beer open. “I hope you two live happily ever after,” I teased.
“I don’t care about anything after tonight. These girls never stick around.”
“No, they don’t,” I admitted. Maybe that’s why I had lost interest in Abby before she even spoke. I was tired of the gone-before-fall girls. Tired of summer romances. Tired of getting my hopes up that long-distance shit had a shot in hell of working. I’d made that mistake before. I blamed it on being too young to accept reality. Or did I blame it on the girl who put my heart in a blender? Didn’t matter. She left and she never came back to Marshoak. She never would.
He slapped me on the back. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” I toasted him in the air and watched Gabe walk through the sand toward Abby, still pouting that I had left her abruptly.
He didn’t need luck. Gabe was confident and good-looking. What he needed was the inability to fall for tourists. A hard shell around his emotions. The stomach to do it over and over and over. He had to forget their names, the softness of their lips, and the long tan legs. Before he knew it, Abby would be on the ferry and never travel back to Marshoak Island.