Page 15 of Second Tide's the Charm
This is far worse than a prank. My ex-boyfriend is an actual celebrity.
eight
adrian
Hope didn’t know. Her fingers are tight around the phone, knuckles showing through her skin. The towel around her shoulders reminds me of the time we went camping in South Haven, with Lake Michigan a short hike from our campsite. Beach towels tucked over our shoulders as defense against mosquitos, we’d snuggled together by the fire, making wishes for the future on sparks like shooting stars.
If she’s got a wish now, it’s probably to be anywhere but here with me. She’s silent, and her shocked expression guts me. Looks like she really did stop thinking about me after we broke up, just like I feared. Out of sight, out of mind. Free to live her life without the burden of a relationship.
The only good news is I won’t have to convince her to leave. Hope deleted her social media accounts years ago, and I can’t imagine her being comfortable with this, and Marissa must agree since she kept the details hidden.
Hope passes Marissa’s phone back, hands trembling, and I ball my fists against the urge to gather her close and kiss her cheek. Hold her steady against my side. Not my place. Not anymore.
A truth confirmed when she says, “Okay, so Adrian is famous. What does that have to do with me?”
Pushing aside the hurt from her words, I jump in before Marissa can reply. “Nothing, if you don’t want it to.” Now is my chance to convince Hope to leave. For her sake, as well as mine. “We use our platform for public outreach. This isn’t typical fieldwork. I’m sure you could find something more suited to your preferences.”
She turns toward me, but focuses on a spot over my shoulder, refusing to connect. “Are you conducting shark studies?” she asks.
“Yes, but—”
“Then this matches my interests.” She dodges her eyes toward mine, a flash of copper, daring, but wary. “I don’t mind you sharing photos of me on social media.”
This is so much bigger than that, and I’m mad at Marissa all over again for not being up front with her. “We have a YouTube channel, Hope. We film all our work, and a lot of people watch our videos.”
“Millions,” Gabe adds, unhelpfully.
“Millions of people.” Hope nods slowly, taking that in. She keeps nodding for a solid five seconds, and I can tell she’s completely thrown. Then she stops abruptly and raises her chin to face me. “You’re worried I’ll make you look bad.”
Actually, that never crossed my mind. Hope isn’t attention-seeking, nor is she vindictive, and our relationship didn’t even end in an emotional confrontation. But now I’m imagining yet another complication from her joining the crew. “Is that why you came?”
Her eyes narrow, copper glinting in a warning flash. “I came here to work. To do a job, to get experience, and to help a friend.” Her voice wobbles on the last word, and a flash of regret crosses Marissa’s face. “But I was also under the assumption that you were okay with my presence, and clearly, you’re not.”
There’s an accusation in her tone that I don’t appreciate. “I haven’t had time to process. There are a lot of variables to consider.” Calculating the potential fallout doesn’t make me a worrier. Risk-averse isn’t the insult she makes it out to be. “And being in YouTube videos doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“Would’ve said the same about you.”
She’s got me there. I never would’ve chosen this for myself, yet despite the exposure, this work fulfills me in a way I never would’ve expected. “Maybe you don’t know anything more about me than I did about you,” she says.
I’m not sure whether that’s a dig on present me or past me, but either way, it rankles. We always talked about spending our lives together. She told me she was excited to start the next chapter. Then she expected me to not be upset when she hesitated, and ended up making a one-eighty that left us further apart than ever.
“You’re right, I don’t know you.” We haven’t spoken in years. Years that have stretched and frayed our bond like a worn anchor line. “You left social media and quit replying to my texts. The Hope I knew would’ve been brave enough to at least break up with me over the phone.” I never meant to say this, but all the effort I’ve put in to move past the hurt was demolished the moment I saw her again.
She steps closer, into my space, heat and steam radiating off her like a kettle about to go off. “The Adrian I knew would’ve called me every night instead of sending texts so generic they’d pass for appointment reminders from a doctor’s office.”
“I was giving you space.”
The word echoes in the scant inches between us, and her eyes narrow. “I didn’t come here to fight. Or to talk about the past. I wanted a fresh start.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why she stayed away from shark research for so long, but I glance over to find Marissa and Gabe watching us so closely they may as well have popcorn, like our argument is the latest blockbuster.
This is why she can’t stay. I won’t let us—her—be exposed like this.
A featherlight touch on my knuckles draws my attention. Hope. She jerks her hand away, like I burned her, but the remnant heat on my own hand feels more like a glow, warm and tender.
“I know Marissa wanted to be the one to tell me but honestly, I think it’s better I hear about...” She twists her lips, as if searching for the right words. “Whatever this is, from you.”
For once, my cousin doesn’t argue. She stoops to grab her bag, looping it across her chest. “I know my tactics weren’t forthright, but this could be a really good thing, and I didn’t think either of you would’ve given it the chance if I told you everything up front.”
