Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Iarrive to a packed Surfer’s Beach on Saturday, graced with premium surf conditions this late September morning. I normally hate crowds, but I’ll share the waves when the sets look like this.
After running some wax across my board, I make quick work of getting out there, losing myself in the rhythm of the ocean, my body like one with my board. Surfing is largely instinctual. I don’t really have to think out here, and that’s a goddamned blessing.
I kick out of one ride and paddle seamlessly back into the lineup. Catch another. And another. And another.
Pop, glide, crouch, goofy foot. We’re even getting some primo barrels.
I’m in the zone, relaxed yet absorbed—exactly how I like it.
Every now and then I eat it, stashing into the dark aquamarine depths before climbing back on my longboard.
The salt is a balm to what ails me. Its tang, scent, and the way it infuses into my skin imbues some kind of calming, restorative voodoo. Some people hate saltwater seeping into their hair and pores. Not me. It reminds me I’m one with the earth.
I hang until it becomes too crowded to be enjoyable, especially with the amateurs that possess zero surf etiquette.
Clueless dipshits. I catch a decent wave and ride it all the way in.
Hauling my board out of the water, I note the muscle fatigue sweeping through my back, shoulders, and legs with satisfaction.
The sand clogs my feet in seconds as I walk toward the parking lot—and it’s a welcome surprise to find Jax sitting on the beach, amber eyes fixed on me. A grin stretches my cheeks stupidly wide…until her strained expression registers. Something’s wrong.
“What are you doing here? Everything okay?” I set my surfboard down, unzip my wetsuit, and peel it to my waist.
“Not happy to see me?” she says, a little zip in those fiery eyes.
My grin flashes again as I sink next to her. “I’m always stoked to see you, Jax.”
She gives me a small smile, but tension radiates from her. “I’m worried about Remy.”
“What’s the idiot doing now?”
Her fingers sift through the sand. “He’s partying way too much. Regular all-nighters. Tons of blow, drinking. Plenty of friends who want to do it all with him.”
“Who…Vin? Jeremy?”
She stares at the ocean, but my eyes stay pinned to her. “Yeah, but also some new guys who totally skeeve me out. I’m worried he’s in too deep.”
“And you want me to talk to him?”
She looks at me, misery varnishing those big eyes. “I don’t know, Mick. I guess I want you to help me figure out what to do…if there is anything to do. I can’t sit by and watch him do this shit.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You know he’s a hardhead, right? And reckless? And acts like a rich playboy?”
Her teeth rake over her bottom lip and damn if that isn’t fucking distracting. “I know.”
“I can try…but he’ll probably tell me to go fuck myself.” Not probably. Most definitely.
“Thanks—for trying.”
I nod, giving the Pacific another glance.
“How was the surf?”
I let out a gratifying sigh. “Superb.”
“Don’t you mean ripper?” she teases.
I shake my head. And what the hell, I’ll give her a taste of my Valley Girl impersonation. “Ohmigod, it was so totally gnarly, you know? Like, if ripper and rad had a baby, it would be so completely tubular. So choice. Like, no duh.”
Her mouth drops before breaking into a radiant smile. I wink at her and stare down the beach, a little too pleased I put that expression on her face, a warmth spreading behind my ribs.
Jax nudges my shoulder with hers. “Just when you think you know a guy…”
“You know me,” I say softly, seriously. She’s the only woman who does, the only one I’ve ever let in so deeply.
She’s quiet, and I wonder if I revealed too much. “How are things at home?” she finally says.
“Funny you should ask. We’re about to move the old man to a facility. He had another stroke.”
“That’s…a load off, isn’t it?”
I flip my damp hair out of my face. “A huge load off. He needs round-the-clock care now, so he’s parked at the hospital. The doctor said he doesn’t see him living out the year.”
“I guess that’s a blessing.”
“Goddamn right it is.” I desperately want a cigarette. And breakfast. Maybe Jax does too.
“I’m sorry,” she says, hugging her knees to her chest. “I shouldn’t be out here burdening you with my problems. You already have enough on your plate.”
“Jax.”
She glances over, and I wait for her to meet my gaze.
“I’m glad you’re here. You’re never a burden, so stop thinking it. I want to know if Remy’s fucking up and help if I can.”
Her head bobs but she seems on the verge of tears.
“Want to get some breakfast? There’s a great diner near here.”
A slow smile reverses her frown. “I’d love to.”
Over a hearty meal, I fill her in on how it’s going at the boatyard. On top of soaking up all the information and training I’ve received about my specific responsibilities, I’ve already learned to operate some of the boats, and one of the guys is showing me how to sail.
I prod Jax for updates about school and her new hostessing job at some restaurant.
“Everyone is really nice, and the food? Oh my god, it’s so good. Big heaping plates of Italian deliciousness. You should come. You won’t be sorry.”
“Sounds great. Written any more poems lately?” Cataloguing the flush on her cheeks, I think that flusters her.
“No, but I’m writing a short story. Not for class…for myself,” she admits.
“Do I get to read it?”
“You want to?”
“Hell yeah. I want to read everything you write.”
“Thanks,” she says softly.
Our eyes lock. “I’m proud of you. Not like my opinion counts for shit. You, on the other hand, should be proud of yourself…because that does count, that does mean something.”
Jax reaches across the table and covers my hand. “You always have something profound and wise to say.”
I bark out a laugh. “I don’t know about that.”