Chapter 41
Forty-One
Ileave the marina buoyant as the new addition to the maintenance crew at High Tide Charter Co.
They hired me part-time, with both of us eager to transition that to full-time as soon as possible.
I’ll be responsible for preventative maintenance, fixing machinery, and working with equipment, boats, pumps, and more.
The gig includes learning how to operate their fleet of fishing and recreation boats, yachts, and cabin cruisers, and eventually, earning my captain’s license.
The thought of being at the marina, in and around watercraft, learning the ropes after years of dreaming about it, sticks a colossal, unfettered grin on my face.
It doesn’t change everything, but it’s a hell of a lot better than caring for my asshole father every day.
And once he dies…
A harsh breath escapes. It’s not helpful to dwell on that part of my reality.
Besides, this calls for a celebration. Maybe Jax can come over.
I’ve never invited her here for good reason, but I’ve only got nursing support for a few hours tonight, which means I can’t drive to San Jose, and damn it, this is worth a drink or two—and getting out of this oppressive house.
She agrees to come without hesitation. Of course she does. She’s my champion and cheerleader, and I fucking love that about her.
Later that evening when I recognize the puttering idle of her Beetle out front, I walk out to greet her. She’s sitting in the front seat, as if frozen. Hope she’s not freaking out now that she’s here.
I flash her a friendly smile. “You coming in—or are you going to sit here and look pretty?” She looks gorgeous tonight.
“Both?”
I chuckle and extend my hand. “We won’t eat you.” Between her expression and those vivid memories, a knowing laugh leaves my lips. “Hmm, obviously that’s not happening.” Which is a crying shame.
She takes my hand, and I help her from the car, her familiar touch equally soothing and digging a cavern in my chest.
I prepare her for my father’s current state and let her have a look at the old man since he’s asleep. My skin crawls having the most beautiful, caring person in my life under the same roof as the most ugly and abusive one.
She flings her arms around me afterward, and I stiffen.
I don’t want her pity. But she persists, once again forcing her kindness on me.
For a minute, I sink into her embrace, cling to her, lose myself in everything Jax and her ability to make me forget almost anything but her.
She’s the only one who seems to give a shit about my predicament, and for this brief moment, I let her.
Jerry—my favorite nurse—arrives, serving as a lucid reminder to stop touching Jacqui and put some physical distance between us.
The genie’s already out of the bottle though, and that fucker doesn’t want to go back in.
I’m hyper aware of Jax’s presence. The rightness of her in my passenger seat.
How my entire body responds when she licks the goddamned ketchup off her wrist while eating a burger.
That we’re alone and effectively unchaperoned.
I take her to Tiki-Tavi’s, an over-the-top tiki bar, and we share a Sidewinder’s Fang, an utterly ridiculous, very boozy, enormously sized drink for two that meets the celebratory bill.
A laugh spills from her when the waitress sets it down. “What on God’s green earth is in this?”
I shrug. “A lot of alcohol and a little fruit.”
“It’s nutritious? Bonus.”
We lean in to sample it at the same time, a strong hit of rum burning down my throat chased by lime, orange, and passion fruit.
Jacqui sputters out a cough. “This might put hair on my chest.”
My tsk escapes. “That would ruin a good thing.”
She glances away for a beat then hovers her mouth over the straw, poised to take another sip. I’m staring at those flawless lips when she chooses to speak instead. “Congratulations. Since we’re officially celebrating now.”
“Thanks. And thanks…for coming.”
Her head bobs, and I can tell by her expression she’s going to ask about my current circumstances. “Mick…”
“Let’s not talk about me, okay? Tell me about you. Are you stoked about school?”
Her golden eyes search mine, then flicker with surrender before giving in to my request. “Totally. I’m hoping to learn how to earn a living from writing. You know, so I don’t wind up a pathetic starving artist working in a tiki bar or something my whole life, waiting for the magic to happen.”
My lips curve into a lopsided smile. “Believe you can and you’re halfway there.”
“Philosopher Mick is back!”
That gets an eyeroll. “Can’t take the credit. Teddy Roosevelt said it. He was big on action, trying instead of fearing failure. You’re already there, so you’re way ahead.”
“Jas is a journalism major, and after talking with her, I switched my minor to that because it’s bankable—and opens the door to other types of writing gigs.
I’m stoked about starting. Maybe I’ll need to interview a boat captain one day.
” She raises a brow. “Better expect my call, because I’m coming to you, buddy. ”
I chuckle. “If that day comes, I’ll be happy to accommodate you.”
As we talk and laugh through this monstrous drink, and then another, I soak up every tidbit she shares.
My pride swells as she inches closer to her degree and chasing her dream to become a writer.
Even though traditional college wasn’t my thing, it makes sense for her—and she’s owning it, putting in the work, making the grades.
Hopefully it translates to the job she wants later.
I’ve wondered often about her writing, and whether she’d ever share it with me.
We head back, and I’m worried Jacqui’s too tipsy to drive home. I’m drunk too…on her. I’ll make her some coffee and hope that sobers her up.
The wind stirs my hair through the open window. In my periphery, Jax angles her body toward mine, her cheek resting against the leather seat. She’s staring right at me.
Why does that throw me off my axis even further?
“Want to hear my poem about you?” she asks.
My surprised eyes catch hers briefly. She wrote a poem about me. Me. “I don’t know…do I?”
She giggles. “It’s not, like, a hate poem.”
Thank God for that. It would be well within her rights. Of course, I want to hear it—as if it’s even debatable. “Knock yourself out, Jax.”
She clears her throat, almost theatrically, and one side of my mouth lifts. But also…she doesn’t go fishing in her purse for where this might be scrawled on a piece of paper. She memorized it?
“‘My Ocean,’ by Jacqueline Hall.
“Cloudy gray clashes with the night,
“He comes in mighty waves, stealing all the light.
“Lapping and receding, I tumble in his wake,
“I give him all of me, uncaring what’s at stake.
“But he’s a tsunami in disguise,
“The danger a warning in his eyes.
“I can’t avoid the storm, even if I should go,
“Forever trapped in his compelling undertow.
“Like the sand beneath my feet as tides begin to shift,
“He disintegrates, pulls away, until I am adrift.
“Yet I feel his strength…his pulse…his love,
“No matter how intently he tries to shove.
“I wait at the ocean’s edge, hoping he’ll return,
“Never knowing if my heart is destined just to yearn.”
I’m fucking floored. It’s beautiful, sad, haunting, true. It guts me even while filling me with some warped satisfaction.
After I swing into the driveway and shut off the ignition, I struggle with what to say. She just shared something intensely personal, vulnerable—and painfully accurate—and is waiting for a response. As I sit here speechless.
“Goddamn,” I finally manage.
“Hmm?” she says, her golden hair catching the moonlight.
“Your poem is beautiful, Jacqueline Hall.” I scrub my jaw, my eyes darting away from her. “And reminds me I never deserved you.”
She takes my hand in hers, and I’m flooded with sensations. “Yes, you did,” she whispers. “You deserve all good things.”
A rueful laugh erupts. “You’re nothing but good.”
“I thought I was heroin.”
“Straight-up. It’s been hard to kick the habit.”
That garners me a small smile.
“C’mon, let’s sober you up or else you need to crash here.” I positively don’t choose option number two. Between the effort it requires to resist this woman on a minute-to-minute basis and the risk of exposing her to my father’s ugliness, she needs to head home.
“Okie dokey.”
When she’s too tipsy to drive, I’m forced to tuck her into my bed, fully clothed…
and alone. It takes an exacting level of fortitude not to join her.
I’m not a total saint—I watch her sleep, let my fingers smooth the hair from her face, thoughts churning, emotion pulsing through my veins, my body remembering hers and clamoring loudly for a fix.
The morning turns into my worst nightmare when my father spews his spiteful venom, yelling it loud enough to wake Jax, which I predict correctly when I find her in my room, frozen in place like a spooked doe.
“Welcome to club paradise,” I deadpan.
“Mick…”
“I assume you’re ready to split…unless you want to stick around and join the old man for breakfast? He’s in rare form today.” How I wish that were true.
“Except he’s not, is he? This is what it’s like for you all the time.”
“Does it fucking matter?”
She steps forward. “It matters to me.”
I inwardly flinch, parts of me instantly shuttering. “Just go, Jax.”
“Fine.”
Another round of adrenaline spikes, flashes, untethered. “Are you really copping an attitude?”
“I only want to help!”
“You can’t! No one can!” My arms fling into the air and my frustrated stare pins hers.
Her eyes shimmer and well.
Goddamn it. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” I grit out. “This is exactly why I left and didn’t put you through this bullshit. Isn’t it bad enough one of us has to deal?”
The tears spill down her cheeks, and I’m fucking flayed open.
I bridge the gap between us, cradle her face with both hands, my eyes imploring.
“You are a kind, beautiful, special person. I’m talking about how you are on the inside.
I know you want to help, to be there for me, to shoulder the burden, but I’ve never wanted any of this ugliness to touch any part of you.
If you love me, you’ll understand.” Before I can think better of it, I press my lips to hers, expressing everything I can’t say.
She kisses me back—unconditionally, unreserved, undiluted—and the way her body arches wholly into mine reinforces our connection and undoes me further.
I shouldn’t be feeding off it, but I am. Selfishly. I desperately want her to know my heart belongs to her without saying it…and this is the way I choose. Again, selfish.
Why does the wrong thing feel so damn right?
My selfishness backfires anyway. All I got was a nice long hit of what’s no longer mine.
And it’s all I can think about.