Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
YURI
“Holy shit,” I mutter, slumping forward dramatically onto the squeaky-clean section of the bar top I just finished wiping down. My ears are still ringing even though the last customer stumbled out about twenty minutes ago.
“Tell me about it,” Bird says, and I can hear him flipping the chairs upside down onto the tables. “Looks like we cleaned up on tips though.”
I lift my head and glance at the overflowing tip jar.
Truth be told, money isn’t all that tight for me, but it’s pretty awesome to see such tangible fruits of my labors.
It’s a simple validation, but it gives me a little bit of my energy back; enough that I manage to smile and push myself upright again.
All I want to do is go home to my wonderfully silent house and sit in complete sensory deprivation for twelve hours or so.
There’s still work to be done here though, so I drag myself towards the back room so I can grab the broom.
“You know what?” Bird calls after me. “Forget the floors, I want to get down to the beach while the night’s still young.
” Still young? I’m glad he can’t see my face because I’m sure the shock and horror of hearing someone imply that two a.m. is “still young” would absolutely give me away as the lame-ass nerd I secretly am.
“Boston won’t mind if we show up half an hour early tomorrow to finish cleaning up. ”
It makes me feel itchy thinking about leaving the closing checklist un-checked. I shuffle my feet and weigh my options.
“Why don’t you go? I’ll finish up here,” I offer. Honestly, the quiet, repetitive work of sweeping and mopping the floors and counting out the cash register sounds relaxing. Almost as good as my sensory deprivation plan.
“No way, I’m not saddling you with closing all by yourself. Either you come with me to the beach to enjoy a few hours of booze and beach sex or we both stay stuck here doing mind-numbing work until the sun comes up.”
I snort a laugh. “You know, you’re really twisting my arm here because the only thing that makes me more uncomfortable than breaking the rules is letting someone else down.”
He gives me an exaggerated pouty look. “Does that mean we can go?”
I chuckle again and throw up my hands, then untie my apron and drop it on the bar. “I’m not your boss. Fuck it, if you want to leave, let’s leave.”
“Hell yeah.” He fist-pumps.
I grab the keys from under the counter and toss them to Bird so he can lock the front door, then we both head out the back.
The humidity is oppressive, even in the middle of the night like this, but I think it’s starting to grow on me.
I change my clothes three times a day on average because I can’t stand the damp, sweaty feeling of the fabric clinging to my skin, and I’m sure I’ve lost at least ten pounds in water weight since I’ve been here, but it’s not so bad.
It’s kind of like living in a sauna. Main street is quiet, with everything closed down for the night, but laughter and music echo from the beach half a mile away.
I have zero intention of partying tonight, but I’m going to have to walk past the main beach to get home anyway, so I fall into step with Bird.
“Boston told me he has a hell of a time keeping bartenders, I think he was hinting around trying to find out if we’re planning to stay past this summer,” he says while we walk.
“I can see why. He’s a great boss, and like you said, the tips are good, but it’s a lot busier than I was expecting.
I don’t know how you’re still standing when you go out and party every night after your shift.
I need a full twelve hours of sleep and silence to recover before I’m back at it again. ”
Bird chuckles. “It’s the partying that makes it all worth it. You’re missing out, man. You should swing by the beach tonight. I guarantee the guys will be all over you.”
My cheeks heat and my stomach does a little flip. As enticing as that sounds, there’s only one guy I can’t stop thinking about.
“Maybe another night.” It’s not a lie, but the maybe is doing a lot of load bearing. “What about you? You seem like you’re having a good time; you think you’ll stay past the summer?”
“I think so. This place feels homey, doesn’t it?
Plus, all the sex.” He waggles his eyebrows, and I laugh again.
“And it feels like there’s a lot more to Palm Island than you can really appreciate in just six months or so, you know?
Like, that goth hottie, Raven, was telling me about some magic, broken carousel out in the woods on the mountain. ”
“I’m sorry, a what?”
“The guy who owned this island and set up the resort, Harold, built a carousel for his partner, George,” he explains.
“That’s really sweet, but what makes it magic?”
“Raven said it only runs if the people on it are soulmates or something.”
“Bird,” I scoff, “that sounds completely ridiculous. How would that even work? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of love, but I don’t think we’re going to be using it to replace fossil fuels or wind turbines as an energy source anytime soon.”
“Yeah, I guess. Even if it’s not true, it’s cool, right? Living somewhere that makes it feel like magic could exist.”
Yeah, I suppose he’s not wrong about that.
It’s a nice thought, even if it’s nonsense.
All the logic in the world doesn’t stop the soft feeling in my chest at the idea that something like that could be real.
That people could really be meant for each other somehow and that it could be so powerful that it could have a tangible effect on something.
If love could power a carousel, then there’s nothing it couldn’t overcome.
The beach comes into view, and I start to wave goodbye to Bird, but my steps stutter and my gaze zeroes in on Cooper, sitting by the bonfire, strumming his guitar with a joint between his lips. A smile tugs at my mouth and Bird bumps his shoulder against mine.
“You got a crush on Lyric? Come on down. I bet he wouldn’t be mad to have the second cutest bartender on Palm Island join him by the bonfire.”
I snort and start to shake my head. Like he can hear us talking about him or feel my eyes on him, Cooper looks up and meets my gaze. He strums for another second and then waves at me.
I guess a few minutes couldn’t hurt.
LYRIC
I wasn’t expecting to see Yuri around tonight.
Not after I popped into the bar earlier and saw how packed the place was.
I figured he’d be desperate to get home so he could sit in the dark silence and decompress until morning.
He used to joke that sensory deprivation was the only way to recharge his battery.
As he gets closer, I can tell how tired he is, but fuck, he still looks good.
Yuri always looks good. One time he had the stomach flu and he ended up in the hospital on IV fluids, and even then he was still the most beautiful person I’d ever laid eyes on.
A smile flickers on his lips and I grin back, holding out my hand with the smoldering joint stuck between two fingers to offer it to him.
He waves it off, then lowers himself into the sand next to me.
“Hey, Yuri, good to see you down here,” Boston says.
Even in the firelight, I can tell he’s blushing. I grin and take another drag to finish off my joint before I stub it out on the driftwood log behind me.
“Why haven’t we found a nickname for you yet? You’ve been here, what, four months now?” Trick asks.
“Just about,” Yuri says, and I can see a little twitch in the muscle right next to his eye. I grin to myself and wait for it. “Actually, I think it’s been three and a half months.” There it is.
I don’t know why it’s cute, but it is. Maybe it’s the way I can see his shoulders relax a fraction after he gives the more accurate answer that makes it so damn endearing.
Or maybe it’s just because I knew he was going to do it and it feels good to know that even after all these years, he hasn’t really changed.
“Right, so why are we still calling you by your normie name? You need a Palm Island name,” Trick insists.
“Oh, that’s okay. I actually kind of like just being ‘Yuri.’” He taps his fingers rhythmically against his thigh and I fight the urge to reach over and hold his hand.
Damn, there must be something up with this new batch I just finished drying today and rolled into a joint. I’m usually not this sentimental. Or maybe it was seeing him clearly struggling in line at the café the other morning that dredged up all these soft, protective feelings for him.
“That’s kind of cool actually. I guess we can accept that,” Trick says, and then he and Boston go back to arguing about something that I’m sure doesn’t really matter to either of them, they just love to irritate the shit out of each other as foreplay.
“I’ll allow it.” The words jump to my lips before they actually connect inside my brain, and they come out in a silly voice that’s a terrible impersonation of Yuri.
He throws his head back and laughs.
“I can’t believe you remember that silly inside joke.” He shakes his head.
I used to tease him with that phrase all the time after I pointed out to him that it was what he always said with a cute little huff whenever I’d prove him wrong on something or win a fight.
After that, it became the thing that usually ended our fights.
He would say it and then we’d both laugh and no one would be annoyed anymore.
“Why wouldn’t I remember it?” I start strumming my guitar again without really thinking about it, finding a mellow rhythm that fits the middle-of-the-night beach vibes, everyone around us at least half-drunk or stoned, swaying to the sound of the ocean or the music in their own heads.
“Well, you said…” He bites his lip and shakes his head again. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yur, I don’t remember half the shit I say. If it was something stupid, just tell me. I probably didn’t mean it however it came out.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says again, and then he sighs. “It’s just that on that first night when I bumped into you on my way back from the shop, I asked if you ever thought about me and you said ‘no.’”
I frown. I remember the night he’s talking about, but not that conversation. I’m sure he’s right, but I’m also sure that I didn’t mean it the way he took it.
“Sweetness,” I say, dropping my voice a little lower, even though I doubt anyone is bored enough to bother listening in on our conversation, “do you know how much weed I smoke every day to make sure I don’t think about a damn thing?”
He sputters a laugh. “Does that actually work for you?”
“Mostly.” I shrug. “I know you’re different and you’ve always had your own ways of coping with your shit, but I don’t like to think about things that hurt. Especially things I can’t change. So, no, I didn’t think about you, but that doesn’t mean I forgot what we had.”
I can tell by the way he tilts his head just a little and starts tapping his fingers on his thigh again that he’s processing that, so I focus on my guitar again and let his big brain do its thing.
As much as I hate thinking about shit, he’s always seemed to love it.
He can think about one thing for hours, days even, and come up with ideas and solutions I couldn’t manage in a million years.
I’m skimming the surface of the water while he’s in a submarine.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says quietly after a few minutes.
“Psh.” I playfully bump my shoulder against his. “You did what you were supposed to do. You had to take that research opportunity, and I had to start living my best beach bum life.”
Yuri laughs again, leaning into my shoulder and looking around at the party raging around us. People are dancing in the flickering firelight, making out (or hooking up) in the shadows, drinking, and a few who are close by even start making up lyrics to the song I’m still absently playing.
“I think you were smarter than I was on that one,” he says.
“Oh yeah? Are you sold on the island life?” I tease.
He waffles his head back and forth and something squeezes behind my sternum. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and worries it for a second before he seems to make a decision about whatever he’s wrestling around with in his head.
“Walk me home?” he asks.
I grin and the heavy feeling in my chest evaporates. Why waste time worrying about what might happen later when there’s so much to enjoy about right now?