Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

I start the day with a burst of inspiration from Mr. Longfellow, this time the middle stanza of his poem, "The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls" with its glorious depiction of the sea at night.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,

but the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;

the little waves, with their soft, white hands,

efface the footprints in the sands,

and the tide rises, the tide falls.

Which leads to my plan of the day to work an opening shift, go home to an empty house (Aunt Mari is on a weekend trip to Santa Barbara), have some ice cream, and take a late-night walk on the beach to watch the soft, white hands of the little waves in the darkness.

And that's how I find myself sitting under the stars in wet sand, whimpering, with a massive sting from a freaking stingray wrapped across my foot. I rescue my phone from my damp shorts and try to think of what to do. I clench my jaw and try to breathe evenly through my teeth while I google if stingray stings are fatal. They burn like they should be fatal. Why did I decide it would be a good idea to wade through the tide at night? Who does that? You know what, I blame global warming for a stingray showing up on this beach. There weren't stingrays here when I was a kid.

Great, Google says it's not usually fatal unless you have an allergic reaction, but stings can cause all sorts of nasty side effects if not treated, including seizures. And I have to remove the spikes with pliers? I might throw up.

The options for getting home are limited. The lifeguard shack was closed up long ago, and of course Aunt Mari is gone. I'm going to have to suck it up and hobble across the sand. But wow, this thing hurts so, so bad.

I do have one lifeline, my last resort—I know a corpsman. I dial Cole's number. I need to know how bad this is and what I need to do next.

"This is Cole Slaeden."

"Hey, it's Tia," I say through clenched teeth.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice calm, but commanding. "You okay?"

There's jazz music filtering through as a feminine voice in the background demands to know who's on the phone. He's on a date. With Ripley. Of course he is.

I hang up and groan, half out of frustration with Cole and half out of pain. I'm going to have to figure this out on my own. I'll make it work somehow.

My phone lights up with an incoming call from Cole. I hesitate, but he is a medical professional and I don't know what else to do. I swipe to answer.

"Tell me what's going on, right now," he says.

I throw myself on the mercy of the corpsman. "Well, I was wondering how much you know about stingray stings?"

"Seriously?"

"I'm on the beach, on Crown Island, and I'm almost positive I just got stung by one. I was walking in the water and then there was this smack and a sharp pain, like stepping on a ton of nails." I fight back tears.

"Okay, first of all, it's probably going to be okay. Where are you?"

"Probably?!"

"I never promise, just in case. How are you?" he asks. "Are you dizzy, nauseous, feeling faint?" I definitely can hear the hum of a restaurant and a band. But it's fading away, and judging by Cole's breathlessness, he's walking or even running. "Where are you? Tell me where you are."

"Are you on a date right now? You can hang up," I say, equally demanding.

"I was," he admits. "It's over now."

It's over? Like the date or the relationship? It feels wrong to be holding out hope it's the latter, but oh man, how great would it be if Ripley was out of his life forever?

My silence asks the questions, and he starts talking, explaining everything. "I got dumped." He clears his throat. "Freakin' tired of hoping I've found true love and being disappointed every time. What a joke." His breath starts to pick up, the sound of the ocean becoming more prominent in the background.

"Are you running?" I ask. "Are you okay?"

"Tia, you're the one who got stung by a stingray. How far from the lifeguard shack are you?"

"It's closed. There are no lights on."

"No, I'm coming to you. Where are you?"

"You're on the beach?"

"Yeah, my date was at the resort. Lucky I'm close."

I look down the beach, at the lights of the resort at the far end, about a quarter mile away. And sure enough, between here and the resort I can just make out the backlit form of a man running towards me.

No way. No freakin' way.

I stick my phone in the air, so he can see the lit-up screen.

"I see you."

He hangs up, and it's only a few more paces until he drops down to one knee next to me.

"Okay, the sting is where?" he asks.

"On my foot," I say, pointing down my left leg.

Cole turns on the flashlight on his phone and sticks the phone between his teeth, gently using both hands to turn my leg side to side and check out my injury under the light. He's gone full corpsman mode, calm and in control. Letting him take charge of the situation is a relief.

The flashlight illuminates an inflamed ugly mess that wraps from the sole of my foot near my heel to the top of my foot near my toes. He grabs his phone from his mouth and navigates to the stopwatch.

"Little sucker really didn't like you," he says. "I'm going to check your heart rate."

He presses three warm fingers to the side of my throat, sliding them back and forth and gently putting pressure until he finds my carotid artery. He starts the timer and counts my pulse, quietly whispering the numbers to himself.

Cole Slaeden is touching my neck. Very professionally, very caring. Be cool.

The timer rings. He nods, seeming content, and slides his phone back in his pocket. "Your BPM is in the normal range for being in pain. How far are we from your house?"

"About a ten-minute walk."

"It's about the same to my car. What do you want to do? I can carry you home or carry you to my car."

He's really about to pick me up in his arms? My brain trips over itself trying to put it all together.

"Tia? We need to get this foot soaking in hot water and check for spines."

"I feel bad," I admit.

"Bad how? Nauseous, dizzy, hot?"

"No, just about how your night is going. You don't need to rescue me, you can take me to urgent care."

"Urgent cares are closed, it's ER or nothing. You really want the bill for that?"

Pain radiates up my leg, and I clench my teeth, grabbing at my left thigh.

"Okay, let's go," he says. "On my back."

He does some cool maneuver they must teach in corpsman school that gets me on his back without jarring me too much, his arms looped around my thighs and my arms wrapped around his shoulders. But I can't hold back a groan when he does a little hop to adjust my weight and my foot shifts.

"You got this," he says. "We're going to walk now."

I'm not a light-framed woman, but he makes me feel weightless as he moves easily across the sand. When we get to the sidewalk and approach the steps up to the road, I'm ready to insist I can use the railing to hobble up. Like he's sensed my thoughts, Cole tightens his grip on my legs, his hands splaying out against my skin. I hope he can't tell that the pressure of his fingers is giving me goosebumps. I'll blame it on the night air.

Under the yellow glow of the streetlights, I can see now he's wearing a long-sleeved white button up dress shirt, navy chinos now dusted with sand at the knees, and brown Oxford dress shoes. I even pick up a hint of a masculine spiced vanilla cologne from his collar. It's a completely different look from his soccer uniform…the kind he wears for date night.

"I'm sorry about your breakup," I say, my mouth near his ear.

He sighs. "Yeah, I just feel stupid. Like…what a waste of time."

A waste of time…how aptly put. There is so much more that could have come from the past few years if I had known to avoid Bryce, to ignore him altogether.

"I understand. I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Cole murmurs. "Where to?"

"Right at the big white mansion."

"Which one?" he says with a laugh. I point out where the turn is.

The pain hits harder, making me nauseous as we walk, and I don't talk the rest of the way home, afraid I'm going to throw up all over Cole's neck.

We make it to the house, and I tell him the passcode to unlock the front door. He doesn't put me down until we're in the bathroom, then he sets me down with my feet in the tub, puts in the stopper and cranks the water on at the hottest setting. As the bathtub fills, I scoot down to the far end to rest my back against the wall. The hot water offers sweet relief and I can't hold back a deep sigh.

I can't believe he carried me home. I felt like a backpack, not a burden. He's not even breathing hard anymore.

Cole swipes the hand towel off the counter and gets down on one knee next to me, his thighs testing the stretch factor of his pants.

"All right, let me see that sting again," he says.

I wince as I put my foot in his hands and he props it up on his thigh to inspect it under the bright overhead lights. It's not pretty, and I don't mean the injured area. That'll teach me to skip pedicure day.

"I don't see anything that looks like spines. I'm going to turn down the water temperature, but go ahead and let your foot soak. I'll sit here for a bit and you tell me if you feel anything strange—your heart starts racing, you feel feverish, a little dizzy."

If he kneels down next to me again, I might feel all those things at once.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," I say, dunking my foot back in the tub. "Thank you."

Cole nods and smiles to me as he sits back against the cabinets with a sigh, extending his legs out in front of him, and brushing the sand off his pants.

It's not the first time we've been alone together, but the context is totally different. Now we're alone, in a narrow bathroom, showered and dressed, not sweating after a soccer game.

He carried me home. He's single. I'm relieved for him, but I know first-hand that getting dumped, even by an awful partner, still sucks.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine. No worries."

"No, I mean about…how your date went."

He runs both hands over his head, dragging them down his face, and his next breath is rough. "Ugh, not quite ready for all those thoughts. And there's a lot there. Like, why did I think the way she treated me was okay? Why was I with her for so long? What a joke."

All too familiar questions. "I hear you."

"I don't…I don't know. Like, it'll feel better to not have her voice in my head all the time, all negative and cutting. But then it's just me. It's not that I mind being single, I just…it's this sudden void. There's emptiness now."

"Yeah."

Cole leans his head back against the cabinets and closes his eyes with a deep sigh.

"It feels weird right now," I say gently. "But it does get better. I know you know that."

"Does it?" he asks, his eyes meeting mine with heart-wrenching sadness. I feel a sudden urge to hop over to his side and hug him. I hope he knows it's okay to cry if he needs to.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, echoing loudly against the tub and breaking up the moment. Who would be calling me right now?

"Oh, crap," I say, looking at the screen.

"What?" Cole asks.

"My ex."

"Bad dude?"

I nod, fixated on the name on the screen. Bryce McFourne. My stomach clenches. We still have not had the breakup conversation. I've been avoiding it for too long, I know I need to be brave and get it over with, once and for all. Just not right now. Cole doesn't need this right now.

"Why's he calling?"

"We never really had a final conversation. I left quickly and I don't think he's satisfied with that being the end of things," I say. I look over at Cole as a strange sense of panic rises in me the longer the call rings.

"Are you scared?" he asks, sitting up straighter, his brown eyes fixated on me.

"A little," I whisper.

It's not because I'm scared of Bryce. It's because once we talk, no matter how good or awful the conversation goes, it's over. The end. I'm moving forward, cutting the last remaining string to my old life. Change is scary, no matter how healthy it is.

My finger hovers, hesitating to swipe and answer it.

"I can stay or leave," Cole says as he gets to his feet. "Whatever will help you."

"Please stay," I say quickly.

Cole nods, standing in front of the sink in a wide stance. His shoulders are thick as he crosses his arms and his eyebrows pinch together with an unreadable emotion, possibly concern.

He looks intimidating, but he's on my side. He's here for me.

I answer the call on speaker phone. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Bryce's voice is strangely calm and non-threatening. Maybe I've worked myself up for nothing.

"I'm fine, thanks. I'm in California, spending some time with my great aunt."

"I heard you're not coming back. From Sutton. I'm disappointed I had to hear it from her."

There it is. My fingers massage my temple and I fight to remind myself that this is the last time, the last call, then it's over, no more.

Bryce takes my silence as consent to carry on. "I was worried about you, how come you didn't respond to my texts?"

"I needed some space," I say lamely.

"I lost sleep over you, which meant I wasn't on the ball at work. Your rashness affects other people, do you realize that?"

"Bryce—"

"You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if we're equally invested in this relationship. You really showed how little you value me when you didn't so much as reply to my texts and?—"

"Bryce—"

"I think we are incompatible in terms of diligence and maturity."

"Bryce!" I shout incredulously. How is he turning this into him breaking up with me?

"What are you going to do now? Ooh, let me guess, you're going to pursue your dreams, be all you can be, see the world. Tia, I'm honestly shocked you made it from D.C. to California without someone holding your hand and reading the signs for you."

I'm speechless. I look up at Cole, and he is waving his hand across his throat, mouthing the words, "Cut. Him. Off."

"We're over, Bryce. Done. Don't call me again. I look forward to having?—"

"Are you saying we're over as a couple?"

"Yes," I say with a harsh laugh and all the emphasis of my entire soul. Hallelujah.

Bryce scoffs and it's a loud whoosh of air through the airwaves. "Oh, boy, Tia. You think you're going to be anything without me? You're going to wake up tomorrow and be nobody with nothing. This is your biggest mistake yet. Don't come calling and crying, trying to beg me back, I'm not answering."

Cole shifts and seems like he wants to say something. I shoot him a quizzical look.

"Fight back," he mouths back. He shoves his fist against his palm for emphasis. "Don't take his crap."

I usually do what I can to make people feel as comfortable as possible. But Bryce doesn't deserve that. Digging deep, I give him my truest thoughts.

"Thanks for making things clear. I wish you the worst. You are a small, narcissistic, self-centered, mean, limp noodle of a man, and I hate that I wasted my time and energy on you. I look forward to having nothing to do with you for the rest of my life."

Bryce launches into a tirade, and I give him enough time to get going into a full meltdown before I hang up and immediately block his number.

"I hate that guy," Cole says, and when I glance up, his eyes are dark and furious, and he's clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You and me both," I mutter.

"Why did you ever let him into your life?" he asks.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you," I retort. Is he for real? I roll my eyes and pull my foot out of the water, grabbing a towel off the nearby rack to gingerly dry it off.

"Is that what it sounded like?" Cole asks, his tone much more humble.

"Yeah, maybe worse," I answer honestly. I swing my feet to the bathmat and ease myself upright.

As soon as I stand, Cole comes over and wraps his arms around me, hugging me tight. My hands are trapped against his wide chest as he squeezes the breath out of me. For a second, I'm shocked. But a hug is a good idea right now, especially with someone so warm and strong and safe.

"Don't let it happen again, being with a mean girl," I murmur, my cheek pressed against his dress shirt.

"I won't, I promise," he says, resting his head on top of mine. "Promise me you'll never let a guy treat you like that again."

"I won't," I say with a sigh. "One day, I'll be ready for love again, but I'm determined that the next guy I'm with will be the last. One more good guy, that's all I need."

Cole eases back and squeezes my shoulder. "Good for you. And if someone's mean to you, you don't have to let them be mean to you without standing up for yourself. I don't know if that's the grand life lesson here, I just want you to know it's not normal or okay for people to treat you like that."

I laugh in disbelief. "You talk a big game, buddy. But pot, meet kettle."

"No more," Cole says, shaking his head. "I swear. Also, I need to teach you some real insults."

"Yeah?"

"You want to comment on someone's looks? Tell them they look like the east end of a horse headed west."

My brain pieces the diss together, and I smile.

"Someone's in your face and you want to take them down a notch? Tell them to shut up ‘cause their breath smells like unsalted Wendy's fries. Someone's being a complete idiot? Tell them to apologize to nature for taking up its valuable oxygen."

"What in the world? That's so rude."

"Yeah, that's why they're called insults, Tia," Cole says with a smirk. "There's a lot more, but most of them involve foul language and even fouler sexual innuendo, so we'll leave it at that. But you have to go for the shock-and-awe factor."

"What's one of your go-tos?" I ask.

"You suck."

I chuckle and Cole eventually joins in, his face flushing red.

"Alright, you seem fine, I'm gonna go. I'll send you some articles on how to take care of that foot and hopefully you'll be back on defense by Saturday."

"Thanks, Cole, for everything. What a night."

"Yeah, what a night," he says, giving me one more lingering smile before he heads out.