Twelve #2
‘We’ll be there too, y’know. If you wanna sit with us.’
‘I’ll look for you. If I have time.’
‘Find some. Heath’ll put on a real good show if he knows you’re in the stands watching.’
My mouth quirks against my will.
‘You’ve seen him swim before, right?’
I nod again. At least that I remember. One time specifically rather vividly.
Because, God, did I get in trouble when Ben, in all his jealous glory, scoffed that his rival wasn’t nearly as good as him, and I, without thinking, laughed so very loud.
And then, thinking very clearly, snickered, in your dreams, maybe.
He didn’t speak to me for a week after that.
I’m pretty sure that was the week he started boning Sienna behind my back.
And there’s something kinda serendipitous about that, I think.
‘You seen Heath surf before?’
At that, I shake my head.
‘He’s probably embarrassed,’ Kai calls out, one arm stretched behind him as he tugs up the zip of his wetsuit, ‘because he’s really not as good at me.’
‘Gotta let you have something.’
‘Your boyfriend, the white knight.’ All conspiratorial, Kai nudges me. ‘You joining us?’
I barely even shake my head before he groans, head thrown back dramatically. ‘Oh, c’mon. Might even have some fun, Elsa.’
‘Don’t call her that.’
As Heath’s fist connects with his best friend’s shoulder a little too hard to be considered friendly, a memory comes to mind.
Being at some party that Ben dragged me to, and a group of Cove College dipshits crooning the lyrics to that song from Frozen when I walked past. Heath socking the ringleader in the gut, telling him to shut the fuck up.
Cold, they were calling me.
Frigid, Ben called me.
Knowing is how Heath looks at me, like he’s remembering the same thing, and it has a familiar vein of frustration bubbling and building and threatening to spill over. And while my favorite avenue of venting is undoubtedly submerging myself in a body of water, the ocean is not my body of choice.
The ocean makes me shiver and squirm and shake my head emphatically, brows pulling together as I curl my fingertips around the lip of the truck bed and hoist myself up onto it. ‘I’m good right here, Kiki.’
Chimes of laughter ring out across the lot, whipped up by the wind so it’s almost dancing around me.
Flipping me off with one hand, Kai picks up his board with the other and jogs toward the shoreline.
Brendan, ever the silent introvert, bids me the same head tilt goodbye he used as a greeting before following his friend.
Heath, however, lingers. Sidles closer until my knees press against the wetsuit he wriggled into at some point during the chatter. Crooks a finger beneath my chin and lifts, guiding my face to where he wants it so he can drop a kiss to the corner of my mouth. ‘Okay?’
I nod, resisting the urge to bat his hand away because I don’t like how my mind stills at the contact. How some of that frustration eases. How I fucking yearn to lean into his touch.
Eyes almost exactly the same shade as where the dim sun catches the shallower water and turns it a little green search my face for a long second before Heath rises again.
He looks like he wants to say something, but he must decide against it, it must not be important, because, without another word – with another ruffle of my goddamn hair – he follows the boys into the water.
Refusing to watch him go like some pathetic romantic, I stare at my swinging feet instead as I wait for the girls to do the same.
I frown something fierce when, instead, metal creaks as two bodies hoist themselves up to sit on either side of me. ‘You guys don’t surf?’
Matilda hums as she shifts to get comfortable, a freckled shoulder nudging mine. ‘We like to let the boys get out some of their testosterone before we go in and show them up.’
‘Exactly,’ Imani agrees, shivering as a particularly strong gust of wind assaults us. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Heath is, like, dangerously competitive.’
At that, I frown. Internally, at least. Externally, I nod as if I can imagine Heath being dangerous in any capacity.
As if I can imagine him being really, truly competitive.
Yeah, he competes. He likes winning. Obviously, he likes competing with Ben.
But it’s not, like . . . urgent. Not like me.
Not like a lot of other swimmers, like most of the other swimmers on my team, and on his.
I’ve always gotten the impression he does it for fun, not because he wants to be the best, or beat the best. ‘Right.’
‘Besides.’ Leaning back on her hands, Imani cocks her head as she gazes toward the water, at the three bodies quickly getting lost in the big, blue swells. ‘It’s kinda fun to watch.’
In the moment, I scoff quietly. I can’t imagine how it could be fun to sit on cold metal in a cold parking lot, and feel all the colder just for looking at the crashing waves.
But the longer my gaze tracks the boards bobbing on the horizon, the more the girls tell me about different tricks and rules and a million other things that have nothing to do with surfing, the less I think about anything else but this exact moment with these specific people . . .
Well, shit. I kind of fucking agree.
I spend the morning on the beach, the afternoon in classes, and most of the evening trying my best to do my homework while Heath tries his best to distract me.
The next day starts with the same ambush, and with take-out, face masks, and How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days with the volume down low because God forbid anyone actually wants to watch instead of chatter.
By Thursday, I’ve caught on – keep Dani so busy, she doesn’t think about the missed practices.
Distract me so thoroughly that I forget that this is the longest I’ve gone without submerging myself in a chlorinated body of water since I first started swimming.
Do such a good job that I wake up on Friday morning in a cold, concerned sweat because I had a dream.
A vision, really. A fucking apparition of my dad, screaming at me from beyond the grave, berating my laziness.
My carelessness. His disappointment is palpable.
It still lingers hours later when Heath appears on my doorstep; it must be pretty damn visceral, because he’s frowning before I even get in the car.
‘Can you just drive me to the pool today, please?’ I ask, before I’ve even settled in the passenger seat, before he can spit out any question of his own. The dark cloud above my head must be worse than I thought, because he agrees without a word.
Cranking the radio up as loud as it’ll go in the hopes that’ll keep the thoughts out of my head, I slump with a sigh and close my eyes. A second later, they fly open again.
My dad. My fucking dad, and his disappointed face.
I think decades, centuries could pass and I wouldn’t forget that specific twist of his expression.
It’s pretty fucking terrible that I can’t conjure him up any other way.
That that’s my lasting image. That everything good about him is just .
. . not forgotten, but vague and kind of nonsensical, like my few-and-far-between memories of my mom.
My parents are just bedtime stories and pressure.
Fuck, that’s depressing.
As that tell-tale itch sparks beneath my skin, it hits me that me and my stress rashes have been estranged for the past week.
They haven’t cropped up once. I haven’t been stressed.
I wouldn’t dare to call my demeanor happy, but I’ve been .
. . good. Better than I should’ve been, given the circumstances.
An odd, concerning thought that deserves more attention, that I really should analyze more thoroughly, that might—
I jolt when a hand catches my wrist; again, at the intensity of the frown I find when I glance to the side; and a third time as Heath rasps, ‘You’re bleeding.’
Glancing down, I swallow. Sure enough, tiny scarlet drops well where my nails have dug in. ‘Oh.’
His concern is so tangible I can taste it, but he doesn’t voice any of it. He only squeezes my wrist gently before letting me go and getting out of the truck. It’s only as I silently follow, right as I’m about to insist that I don’t need a lifeguard, that I realize we aren’t at the public pool.
Brow furrowing, I peer at the side entrance of the Haven Cove University pool complex. ‘Why are we here?’
‘You wanted a pool.’
‘I’ve been banished, remember?’
‘From team practice. Your team—’ he snorts the word like it’s the punchline to a joke, ‘—won’t be here for another hour.’
‘I don’t have my keycard.’
With a flick of his fingers, Heath produces his own, tapping it to the electronic reader beside the door. When it unlocks with an audible click, he hauls it open and sweeps a dramatic arm through the air. ‘After you, honey.’
The smell of chlorine hits me the second I step inside.
It doesn’t soothe me like I thought it would, but I guess that’s just a testament to how dark and deep-rooted my mood is.
Instead of dithering about what I do or don’t feel, I focus on going through the motions that are like second-nature to me.
Dropping my gym bag, kicking off my shoes, shedding my clothes to reveal the swimsuit beneath.
I move toward the pool, toes curling around the edge as I drop to my haunches.
Tucking my swim cap under a swimsuit strap for safe-keeping, I lean down to wet my goggles, splash my face.
I already slicked my hair with coconut oil earlier; I just have to pin dual tight braids to my scalp before slipping on my cap, but I don’t rise to grab the hair pins from my bag just yet.
I stay where I am. Spine rounded, forearms braced against my straining thighs, staring at the water, and thinking .
. . well, I don’t really know what I’m thinking.
What I’m feeling. Something’s wrong, but I can’t pinpoint what.
It’s like my brain and my body have switched frequency, and I’m not privy to the new channel.