41. Caden
Caden
Acar beeps at me as I run a stop sign, snapping me out of my depressive thoughts.
“Sorry!” I grimace, holding up a hand while the lady gives me the finger. I deserve that, and probably more.
I snag the first spot I see in the public beach access lot, haphazardly pulling my Jeep in and cutting the engine.
I’m grateful Matt bailed on me this morning. I need to surf alone.
Grabbing my new board from the top of the car, I march over the small dunes to the beach. Red riptide warning flags flap angrily in the wind, the ocean capped with white waves.
It doesn’t deter me though. I need rough waters, I need something to beat the shit out of me.
Just as I expected coming this early, there are few people in the water and barely anyone on the beach. Even the lifeguard stations are empty.
With my ankle strapped in, I grab my board and rush towards the blue-gray water without so much as a warmup. Not that it would make a difference, my body has been in knots for the last twenty-four hours, both inside and out.
The look on Fia’s face is burned into my skull, and it does nothing but make my stomach clench harder, my chest ache more.
I fucked up, doing what I thought was the right thing.
As the cool water hits my calves, sending a shock to my body, a guy a bit younger than me trudges out, breathing hard. He flips his hair back and nods at the turbulent waters in front of me.
“It’s fucking rough out there, man. Be careful.”
I wave my fingers with a tight smile.
“Perfect,” I mumble to myself and run straight into the cold water, hoping it consumes me fully. Hoping that for one hour I can stop thinking about how stupid I was to believe I could have it all.
Maybe everyone was right, maybe I am like my father in one way . . . a man who tries to use money to patch everything, placate people. A man who forgets about boundaries.
Is that who I led Fia to believe I was?
There’s no time to ruminate in self-loathing; the riptide yanks me out further. My knuckles are white against my brand-new surfboard, and I pull myself up, straddling it, trying to gain balance.
The four hours of sleep I got aren’t helping me, but nonetheless, I wipe the salt water from my face and paddle quickly, determined to catch this next wave.
Fuck being patient.
“Can you hear me, sir? Can you hear me?” A soft female voice rings in my ears.
I open my eyes, one at a time, but everything is blurry. Sand digs into my back, and my ankle pulses along with my face. I reach up to touch my throbbing head, and grimace, pulling my hand back quickly. There’s bright red blood on my fingers.
The girl kneeling next to me winces.
A red lifeguard jacket hangs loosely over her slender shoulders, and she stares at me with her brows pulled taut. “Sir, please don’t touch your face,” she begs, signaling to someone I can’t see.
I attempt to turn my head but she grabs my face. “No, don’t move, they are on their way.”
“What? Who?” I ask, but my voice is muffled like I’m underwater.
Two guys, appearing to be EMS, rush over with a neck brace in hand. My stomach drops and I sit up immediately, much to the distress of the young lifeguard next to me.
She shrieks.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I groan, though my face feels like it got smashed in by a brick, and the entire beach is spinning around me.
“Sir, we need you to remain calm,” one guy says as he kneels in the sand next to me. “We’re going to put this neck brace on you as a precaution.”
My vision goes in and out of focus as they wrap the brace around my neck. But then I notice the ambulance parked right over the dunes. Next to my Jeep. And of course, a bunch of people fucking watching me.
“Where’s my board?” I ask, my voice hoarse, head pounding.
“It washed up down the shore, but I’ll take it to the station and when you’re able to, you can come pick it up,” the lifeguard relays to me, but her eyes are wide.
I can’t even imagine how I look. I realize then that I can’t breathe out of my nose.
“My nose is broken, isn’t it?” I ask her, and she nods.
“I think so. I didn’t see it, but they said you got pulled under, and I’m assuming by the injury, your board and face collided.” She flashes a sympathetic smile. “Is it your first time surfing?”
EMS lifts me onto a stiff board, and I manage a croaky laugh. It hurts to move my face.
There’s nothing I can do but stare at the blue sky as they carry me into the back of the ambulance.
But three hours later, I’m waiting at the curb of the ER, a large discharge bill in hand, with a splint on my freaking nose and pain meds in my system.
A truck pulls up.
“Dude, what the fuck happened?” Matt jumps out, arms stretched wide, forehead scrunched in concern.
I hold up a hand, unable to return any type of facial expression.
“Let’s not talk about it.”
The whole drive back to my house, Matt keeps peeking at me.
“Please stop looking at me.”
“Your face is busted,” he says, running a hand over his mouth. “You going to tell me what the hell you were doing out there?”
“No.” I turn to look at him, but the pressure in my head makes it near damn impossible. “But take it from me, never buy a surfboard from Bali.”
It’s quiet in the truck’s cab, then Matt busts up laughing, and I shake my head gently, a semblance of a smirk on my lips.
Oh, and never fall in love.
When we get home, the first thing I notice is that Fia’s car is gone. Not that I’d want her to see me like this.
I toss my shit from the hospital on the kitchen counter, not bothering to turn on the lights.
“Hey, you sure you don’t want me to stay for a bit?” Matt taps the counter with his knuckles, worry creasing his face. “Make sure you’re good and stuff . . .”
“You’ve done enough already.” I hold up my bottle of meds. “I’m just going to take one of these painkillers and knock myself out. Again.”
He nods. “Alright, well, let me know if you need anything. I know you have Fia right there, but still, I’m around.”
I close my eyes and give him a thumbs-up. Right now is not the time to divulge my recent fuckup with Fia.
“Right.” I sigh, a wave of tiredness hitting me. “Thanks again.”
I want to text Fia, I want to rush over to the guesthouse the moment her car returns and talk to her, tell her I know I fucked up, but I’m in no state to grovel.
I would only make things worse. Maybe this is the universe forcing me to give her the space she asked for—the space I don’t want to give her.
When Matt leaves, I grab the painkillers, a water bottle, and head upstairs, leaving all the lights off.
The doctors ruled out a concussion, telling me I was lucky to walk away with a few scratches on my legs and a broken nose, but as I pull the blackout shades shut and lower myself into bed, I feel anything but lucky.