Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Tess
Thirty minutes later we’re loaded into the back of a ski boat by a guy named Jimmy and his teenaged son. The sun is blistering overhead, and with every wave the boat hits, Kit and I rock into one another, bouncing like pendulum balls. Sticky skin meets sticky skin. His black board shorts brush my exposed thigh, and I jerk away. He glances toward me, smirking, but I avoid his gaze.
Being here was my one concession. He’s not off the hook just yet.
My mind drifts to the sand dollar sitting on the desk in my room back at the Carmen. A perfectly whole one, with nary a crack and a smooth, water-worn surface to boot. I spotted it in the soft sand just past Kit as he asked me for a chance to make things right. It was too much of a coincidence not to be a sign, like Dad himself was sending me some kind of message. So I agreed to spend the day with the guy, because it seemed like I should. And because it’s the least I could do after he broke my fall with his own body, saving me from a face-plant of epic proportions. I can’t say I’d have been as kind had the situations been reversed.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Dad.
Sand dollars were our thing. Mom was never an early riser, but he and I always woke up at the crack of dawn, even on vacation. It was as if someone had injected our veins with espresso while we slept. We’d spend those early mornings strolling the beach together in search of cool shells to show Mom. Once every few years, a whole sand dollar would appear like magic, and our entire day would be better because of it. The weather perfect, the food extra delicious. Dad called them our lucky charms, and he kept every single one. I still have his stash in a box back home, including a shell no bigger than a quarter that he found the year they discovered they were pregnant with me.
Every year since they passed, I’ve scoured the beach, but not a single one has made an appearance. It was as if Dad took them all with him when he went.
I smile softly. If spending time with Kit brings the sand dollars back, then so be it.
A particularly rough wave knocks our shoulders together. I pull back, attempting to rub the sore spot, though my life jacket makes it difficult. Kit studies me, gaze roaming from the crown of my head to the tip of my lavender-painted toes. Somewhere in the middle, his face falls a bit. “You changed.”
“You’re just now noticing?” I glance down at my black one-piece—a little sturdier than a bikini, should things get squirrely up there—and denim shorts, all covered by a bright red life jacket. Then I narrow my eyes at Kit. “What? Are you disappointed?”
He inflates his cheeks, then slowly lets the air out while shaking his head. “Nope. You look amazing in blue, that's all.”
I choose to ignore the butterflies taking flight in my abdomen. They’ve been hanging around since he appeared on the shoreline this morning, skin slick with sweat and face flushed from exertion. I can’t think about it too much without things turning into a frenzy.
“Are you saying I look bad in black?”
His answering sigh is two parts exacerbation to one part… nerves? I think? “Tess, you’d look good in a trash bag.”
“A black one, specifically?” I’m picking, but it’s too fun not to when his reactions are written so plainly on his face. I can only hope I have a better hold on my expressions.
The skin between his dark brows folds. “Yes? No? I have no clue what the right answer is to that.” The sunlight glints off his watch face when he flips his wrist and grimaces, then turns to face the back of the boat. His leg starts bouncing. “Is now a bad time to mention that I’m terrified of heights?”
We both watch as Jimmy and his son shake out our sail, prepping it for takeoff. Kit’s biting his bottom lip, and upon further inspection, sweat is beading on his forehead that apparently has nothing to do with the unbearable humidity.
“You do realize you picked this activity, right?”
He mutters something like, “I panicked,” but doesn’t reply otherwise.
I place a hand on his knee and squeeze. His skin is hot to the touch, with flecks of sand still stuck in his leg hair. He changed, too, and likely showered, based on how good he smells. But I know better than anyone that it’s nearly impossible to get every granule off, no matter how thorough a scrubber you are.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” I keep my voice low and steady. Rub my thumb in slow circles on the side of his knee. “I’ll tell them I got seasick.”
“We’re ready for you!” Jimmy hollers.
Kit sighs, and I swear every ounce of oxygen leaves his body. He’s that deflated. “It’s fine. It was a childhood fear. I’m sure I’m over it by now.”
My lips flatten. “Not sure that’s how fears work.”
But it doesn’t matter, because he’s already on his feet and striding toward the end of the boat. It takes a few minutes to get strapped into the harness, but they feel like hours when all I can do is study Kit’s gorgeous face for hints of green. His hair is gel-free today, and I think I prefer it like this. The fluff softens his angular features, reminding me of the boy band crushes of my youth. If we’d met as teenagers, I imagine he would’ve been the quarterback to my cheerleading captain. What a pair we’d have made.
It’s very rare these days that I wish for my life before the accident. I gave up the fruitless practice years ago in exchange for running so fast that the feelings couldn’t catch me. But for a moment, as Jimmy flashes us a thumbs-up and Kit turns to me, seeking comfort, I let myself long for it. That other life, where we met while I still knew who I wanted to be, before circumstances decided who I had to become.
I offer my hand, palm up, to Kit. He grabs on tight without hesitation.
A mechanical whir overtakes the sound of surf and seagulls calling overhead. Soon air replaces the hard surface of the boat beneath our feet. A laugh bursts from my lungs. My hair whips hard and fast around my face, too short after my latest cut for a pony to contain it well. The boat grows smaller and smaller, while the world seemingly expands around us. Or maybe being above it all is the only way to realize we’re not actually the center of the universe. Not even close.
“This is incredible!” I yell. When Kit hasn’t responded after a few pounding heartbeats, I tear my gaze from the ant-size people on the beach. I find him with his eyes closed sucking in lungfuls of air like he might be plunged underwater at any second and need the reserves. “I take it you’re not over the fear?”
He shakes his head. Possibly gags.
I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. It feels awful to be grateful for a moment like this when he feels so absolutely ill, but I am. I’m glad I said yes, so I could see all this. Glad, even, that I’m here to hold his hand.
Would you look at that? Turn me into a balloon and apparently I’ll float away from all my resentment, if only temporarily.
“What would help?”
One eye cracks. Just enough for a flash of hazel to peek through. “Just talk to me. Distract me.”
I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Tell me about your parents. Why don’t you visit them?”
He snorts, which feels like a good sign. “Your idea of a distraction is dredging up my family trauma?”
I wince. “Is there trauma?” Of all people, I should’ve known better. It’s just hard for me to fathom having parents out there in the world, living and breathing, but never seeing them. No matter how busy, which honestly sounded like a cop-out the minute he said it.
A strong gust catches the parasail, yanking us higher so quickly it’s like God himself plucked us up with his giant forefinger. I let out an involuntary whoop. Kit groans.
“Okay, not trauma, per se.” He’s pale as can be, dark eyelashes standing in stark contrast to his sullen cheekbones as he squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Just… I haven’t really gone back since my divorce.”
“You’re divorced? ”
He releases my hand to wipe his palm on his shorts. If he was sweaty, I hadn’t noticed. But the absence of his touch? Now that grabs my attention.
“I think this is my worst nightmare.”
“Being divorced?” I can’t help how squeaky my voice is. Is this jealousy? Why the fuck am I jealous of a woman he’s not even with anymore?
“Discussing it with you,” he grumbles. “While hovering one hundred feet above the ocean.”
“Technically that’s not the ocean. It’s the Gulf of Mexico.” That earns an almost smile. “And besides, weren’t you in the Air Force? This is literally your area of expertise, no?”
“I worked on base. Which is on the ground. ”
Oh. I swallow against a dry throat. The boat is getting close, which means they’re reeling us in. And while a part of me is hoping that being back on steady footing will cure whatever momentary insanity this is, another part wants to remain suspended in the air with Kit awhile longer.
Though, by the looks of it, much longer and he’d be emptying his stomach.
“So I get that this whole thing is miserable for you, but it’s almost over. They’re pulling us in. And it’d be a damn shame if you didn’t open your eyes long enough to see how freaking beautiful this view is, Kit.”
For a moment it seems like he’s going to ignore my advice and keep his eyes plastered shut until he feels something other than air beneath his feet. But then, a little miracle. His eyes fly open, and our gazes meet for the first time since takeoff. I expect him to glance away. To take in the powdery strip of beach dotted with brightly colored umbrellas and the array of resorts visible from here to the pier. To land on the vast expanse of the ocean, so he could feel even a portion of what I’m feeling now. Like if we’re so small in the grand scheme of things, maybe something like being drawn to someone you shouldn’t be in the midst of your pain isn’t so big a deal after all.
But instead he holds my gaze the entire way down. And just before our feet hit the stern of the ski boat, he smiles. “You were right.”
I try to laugh, but the sound gets caught in my throat. “You didn’t even look.”
“I saw everything I wanted to see.”
My lips part, but without words to form, they stay that way. Agape and useless as my heart, which does a happy dance that resembles nothing of the pulse that’s meant to keep me alive.
“What’d you think, you two?” Jimmy’s son, who can’t be older than sixteen, holds out a hand to steady me as we touch down.
I take it, finding my legs surprisingly wobbly as they try to adjust to bearing my weight again. “Amazing!” I say, distinctly aware of how breathless I sound.
“It was…high,” is Kit’s answer.
After we’re both released from our harnesses, I lead the way back to where we sat before. My steps are still unsteady, though, and the water is choppier now. All it takes is one slick spot and suddenly the sky is beneath my feet and my head is connecting with the bench meant for my butt.
A solid thud reverberates through the chasm of my thoughts. The sun flares bright, and ringing fills my ears. I’m not sure if I’m upright, or even if I’m still on the boat. Not until the flash of light subsides and I see Kit’s face, concern lining every hard plane.
Calloused fingers smooth my cheeks more gently than should be possible. The sound of lapping water returns, and then his voice. “Are you okay?”
“Hm?” I hear myself mumble. I blink rapidly. Then the pain sets in. “Fucking ouch. ”
He chuckles, and it sounds a bit like relief. “Fucking ouch is right.”
I’m sitting on the floor of the boat, and when I glance around, Jimmy is speaking into a radio and his son is watching me like I might’ve just died and risen again all before his very eyes. I laugh nervously and try to stand, but Kit holds me still.
“Maybe just stay put until the EMT from the lifeguard stand can check you over.” He runs his fingers through my hair. I have to fight the moan of pleasure that hits the back of my throat. That is, until he touches the spot where my head made contact with the hard plastic seat. I swat his hand away on instinct and he scowls. “Hey, I’m just trying to make sure you’re not bleeding.”
“Yeah, well, it hurts.”
His lips are thin, but I still remember how warm and full they felt against mine. Now they’re a breath away. Turning down at the corners, like I’ve wounded him by admitting I’m in pain. “I’m so sorry, Tess.” His hand moves to cup my jaw instead, and he leans forward, brushing those lips against my forehead. “I’d take the hurt for you if I could.”
I melt faster than a dropped ice cream cone on the sidewalk. And I’m pretty sure I hurt less, too.
We make it back to the marina in record time. As father and son work to tie down the boat, Jimmy says, “Radioed the lifeguard station. EMT is en route.”
Kit glances over my shoulder. “I can see them coming down the dock.”
I try to look, but he pinches my chin and raises a brow at me.
“I already feel better.” The dizziness has subsided, and there’s just a knot on the back of my head that throbs dully, save for when I reach back to touch it and the pain grows sharp. Tongue to teeth, I suck in a breath.
Kit grimaces like he can’t believe I touched it after I chastised him for doing so. “That’s a good sign. Maybe don’t push it, though. I don’t think you’re concussed, but I’d appreciate a second opinion to be safe. Let’s just see what the EMT says.”
“Yes, sir.” I mock salute him.
He clicks his tongue. “Terrible form.”
I snort. “What are you going to do, punish me?”
His gaze darkens. A thick lock of black hair falls onto his forehead as his gaze drops to my lips and he swallows. Audibly. “On second thought, maybe you do have a concussion.”