Page 70 of Wilder Love

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“Why are you doing a job like this? There must be something else, something better…” I let my voice trail off. His eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. The absolutely worst thing I could have said.

“Not fancy enough for you, Rem? A little different from your glamorous life, huh?”

I let out a breath. “Shane. I didn’t mean it like—”

“Thanks for lunch.”

He stalked away, and I stood there, watching him go, my feet glued to the sidewalk.

“Show’s over,” he told a couple guys who were still watching, more out of interest now, trying to figure out what was going on. Good luck, boys. If you figure it out, clue me in.

“Hey Miguel,” he said to a big Hispanic guy.

“Yeah, man?”

“Here you go. Lunch is on me today.” He shoved the paper bag into the guy’s hands and kept walking. He knew that I was still watching him. He wanted me to see that. Yet another offer of help he refused. It was just lunch but even that had been a mistake.

I climbed into the silver Range Rover I bought yesterday. It looked too new and flashy in this neighborhood. Like me.

I gritted my teeth in frustration and blasted my music as I drove away, the A/C on full-blast and Alice in Chains singing “Man in the Box.” My taste in music hadn’t changed.

For a guy who claimed he didn’t hate me, he sure as hell acted like he did. Come to think of it, he’d never directly answered the question. I didn’t blame him. I’d hate me too. But for a moment back there, I had seen something else in his eyes, a spark of the old Shane. Until I went and opened my big fat mouth and dissed the job he was doing.

Smart move, Remy.

What had I expected? That I’d waltz back into his life and he’d profess his undying love for me?

It didn’t have to be like this. I could make his life better. But I knew he wouldn’t accept any money from me. His pride wouldn’t allow it. I’d just have to find another way to help him.

When I pulled into Jimmy’s driveway, I sat in my car for a while, not moving. I’d always loved this weathered-gray shingled house. It had a good vibe. I took a few deep breaths, gearing up to face Shane’s dad. It seemed that my life was just one long series of deep breaths, gearing up to tackle another one of life’s problems, some I’d created myself and others that had been thrust upon me.

When I had seen Jimmy down at the marina, we hadn’t really talked. He’d been hanging out with his buddy Sam and I’d been with Dylan on the way to lunch. He’d given me his usual smile. No judgment on his face. And had pulled me into a hug like he was happy to see me. But how would it be when it was just the two of us face to face?

Of all the people in Shane’s life, Jimmy had the biggest reason to hate me. To blame me for what had happened to his son. No matter how laid back Jimmy was, there must be a part of him that wished Shane had never met me. I closed my eyes and took yet another deep breath before I grabbed the bags with our lunch and rounded the side of the house. Nobody ever used the front door.

Jimmy was in the backyard, waxing a board, and Jack Johnson was singing about home, the music coming from speakers on the patio. It felt like old times. Same music. Same Jimmy, barefoot in a faded raspberry Jimmy’s Surf Shack T-shirt and Hawaiian flowered board shorts. He still looked like the quintessential surfer dude.

“Hey Jimmy. I brought lunch,” I called.

“Did you now?” he asked with a grin that still looked the same. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“I’ll grab some plates from the kitchen.”

“Good deal,” he said absently, continuing with his task, like his mind was elsewhere.

It’s nothing personal, I told myself as I carried the food inside.

The house hadn’t changed much, and I took comfort in that. The wood-paneled walls were still painted white. A braided rug sat on the honey-wood floors, a blue and white striped sofa and two overstuffed chairs grouped around a driftwood coffee table. The photos of Shane surfing I’d had enlarged for Jimmy still hung in frames on the wall, but new ones had been added. I moved closer to inspect them, immediately recognizing them as my own. The pier at dusk. The In-and-Out. The sun sinking into the ocean.

My pulse quickened as memories assaulted me, my mind going back to another time. I wondered if Jimmy had made this gallery wall. Or if Shane had. My bet was that it had been Jimmy. If he was displaying the photos I’d taken, maybe that meant he didn’t hate me.

I set my bags on the kitchen counter and took down plates from the kitchen cabinet. As I transferred the salads into serving bowls, my eye caught on a stack of bills on the counter, the top envelope from Jackson Memorial Hospital. I glanced out at the backyard through the sliding glass door. Jimmy was still waxing a board, his eyes on his work. I picked up the envelope and flipped it over. It had been opened. Reading someone’s mail was illegal and wrong on so many levels. I went to return it to the stack when I saw the one under it. This one was from Dr. Bell, an oncologist.

They were addressed to Shane Wilder. They were none of my business. And yet, despite the voice in my head telling me this was all kinds of wrong, I read Shane’s mail. There weren’t enough deep breaths in the world to make this better. The words and the dollar figures blurred on the page.

I steadied myself, gripping the counter, Travis’s words playing in my head.

“…especially now, he’s going through a tough time.”