Page 6 of Bring You Back

You mean,I think,I can’t feel for you what I want to, so I’m taking it out on you.When I’m not taking it out on me.

I rub my hands down my face. “So you’re sayingagain.”

“Well, when are you going to get it and stop?”

“When are you going to get it?” I fire back. “I’m an asshole now.”

“Whatever,” she huffs. She reaches for the door handle, whipping me a hard stare. “I know you, and you can’t pretend like I don’t.” Then she’s vacating my Jeep.

I don’t want her to leave this way. It’ll give us an extra hurdle to jump before coming back together. I jump now.

“Hey.”

I catch her eyes when she leans down, her hand ready to slam the door on me if I say the wrong thing. “I’ll be there.”

When her dimple makes another appearance, I grin. I really do love bringing that out. Fuck, why can’t I fall for her?

The door shuts, a normal slam that doesn’t rock my car, and I’m finally alone.

I am my father’s lie.

Reyna Stokes is mine.

My head flops to the headrest and I watch her walk the street toward home until she disappears behind some trees and I can’t see her anymore.

I’m out of the car and checking to see if anyone is around to sneak a peek before I change into my wetsuit, using the doors for cover as much as possible. I’ve just been surfing for under a year, so I’m not as freeing with my ass and dick as some of the other surfers are around here. The locals are used to the brief flashes, but you have to be careful around the tourists; a couple of guys got called in for indecent exposure recently. Maybe next year I’ll show off. For now, I prefer to show off in the water.

I grab my board off the top of my Jeep and freeze, the second thoughts hitting me like they have every morning I’ve come out here since—

I shake my head and start through the sand, the breeze encouraging me forward as I repeat the promise I make every morning to prevent myself from getting back in the car.I won’t let my dad ruin this.

The water pulses against my body, and I stay with my board out here as long as I can, which is right up until a crowd starts. I ride enough waves until I feel the peace, the renewal, until I feel as powerful as the swells beneath me.

I’ve gone through a second banana and a shower, and my mom has yet to come out of her and Dad’s room.

It’s not his room anymore,and I have to stop thinking of Brent as my father. It doesn’t matter that he’s the only dad I’ve known. It doesn’t matter that I have his last name. It doesn’t matter that if you look upDad, his face is the definition.

As of a few weeks ago, I don’t have a father.

I glare at the teal door—the same shade that matches every other door in this house. My dad’s—Brent’s idea. Since we live near the beach, my parents wanted the place to be crisp and clean with all the beach vibes. Teal and white color scheme with a sprinkling of gray and black. Hardwood floors for easy cleaning of the sand tracked in. All that’s missing is the seashells.Too tacky, Mom said. But my room is my own.

I love this house, even with it tainted, and I love my mom … my dad. I swallow and rest my knuckles against the wood. I’ve had six favorite people throughout my life and I’ve lost four of them all in one year. I want to pull my mother out, at least get her back, but I can’t bring myself to knock. I grind my knuckles into the door and slide them down, the skin catching a piece of loose wood. The sting reaches my chest, and the glare returns.

Why is my mother still doing this? I still have to get up and live my life. What right does she have to stay in bed? She’s the reason our lives are fucked up now.

Her voice carries to the hall, muffled behind the wood. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard her on the phone behind closed doors. Who she talks to? Fuck if I know. She can keep her secrets.

I leave the splinter in my finger. It’ll come out on its own. When it does, I’ll knock, or just get another one trying.

I’m at the kitchen island, halfway through a chicken sandwich when Tommy comes barreling through the front door. He and his shaggy blond hair are winded, his chest rising and falling behind his gray T-shirt. Tommy is one of my oldest friends. We hit it off first, a short time before Reyna joined our group that was once a strong five before dwindling back to just the three of us. I don’t look or act happy to see him. If anything, I appear more annoyed. And that’s me lately: annoyed. I don’t know why he, or Reyna, is still putting up with me.

“You all right?” I ask around a mouthful of sandwich and through the concern my eyes are showing when he steps up to me.

“Did you know?” He sounds frantic. “About Caleb?”

I cough and shove the last chunk of sandwich into my mouth. That’s a name I haven’t heard since last year. I’ve blocked it out, along with another name, even though the face behind it still pops up when I’m alone with my thoughts. Whatever the hell Tommy is trying to say already isn’t sitting right with me, so I dismiss this potential conversation with a simple, “Yeah.”

He stares at me with a look of skepticism, waiting for me to elaborate. I slide the container of chicken strips and bag of bread closer to us and make another sandwich.

---