11. Matthias

11

MATTHIAS

I was already in a full-body wetsuit and out on my board in the water at Third Point before I released the tension flooding my veins. The ocean was my home, my haven. It could soothe even the most monstrous of moods.

Except today, it wasn't.

Truth was, I was irritated at myself and at Ciaran, who was as annoying as a gnat.

The ocean was choppy today, which felt fitting. The beach flags were yellow, which meant medium hazard. Sometimes, the worse the weather, the better the waves. You've got to ride the top of the wave to get over turmoil, otherwise it sucks you under, tumbling you at every side.

Why'd I let Ciaran get to me? I remember watching the way his mouth moved when he insulted me. It was perfect. Not the insult. His mouth. It was like I couldn't look away.

This brat—this young Adonis with piercing blue eyes—thought he was better than me, and I wasn't used to people treating me like that. I was a Vaulteneau, for fuck's sake.

Filipe was already paddling out toward me, diving under with his board each time a wave came through. Joan, who was still on the beach, was talking to a group of tourists. I saw her pointing this way and that, obviously giving directions or advice. Only locals were in the water today. The cloudy skies, a cool westward wind, and the chilly May water sent the tourists inland or over to the touristy parts of Malibu.

"Let me guess, you hate the little fucker already?" Filipe said once he reached me. "Was the photo a lie? Is he a bucktooth slob with large amounts of acne?"

"Am I that obvious?" I wasn't about to comment on Ciaran's physical appearance. Filipe would see for himself soon enough and if I lied, he'd see through it immediately.

"You had the same expression when the detailer scratched your Ferrari," Filipe said with a chuckle.

"Like I wanted to kill him?"

"Exactly. Just ignore the kid. How hard can it be?"

"Do you know that feeling when you hate someone so much you want to make their life miserable?"

"Uh, yeah," Filipe acknowledged. "That's how I felt about you when we first met. The feeling subsided once I got to know you, though."

"Say what now?" I jerked my head to him. "You were smitten the moment you met me, don't lie."

Filipe observed me quietly for a second.

"That's not true, Matty. You were swimming laps in your Olympic pool when Miss Paulina brought me downstairs to meet you. We were twelve. I can't remember what you said exactly, but you didn't have the time of day for me. When you got out of the water, I walked up to introduce myself, and you shoved me into the water without a backward glance as you went into the shower room."

"You must be remembering wrong," I countered. I watched as Joan paddled in our direction. There was no way I'd treat Filipe that way. "You're my best friend."

"We are now , but not back then." He arched an eyebrow.

A second later, Joan reached us.

"Are we talking about Ciaran?" she asked as she straddled her surfboard, each of us looking toward the horizon for the next approaching wave. Joan grabbed her wet hair and piled it atop her head in a bun.

"Filipe's claiming I was a dick to him when we first met."

Her eyes searched mine. "Weren't you? You're a dick to everyone you meet. When we were kids, I remember you complaining about Filipe, though I don't know what about. Filipe was as quiet as a church mouse in those days. It took me kissing him to get him to even talk to me." She gave Filipe a toothy smile. "For the record, he hasn't shut up since then."

"Babe, your kisses are that powerful."

I rolled my eyes at them but I wracked my brain to remember my earliest memories surrounding Filipe. I remember the pool, him attending school with me, his dad driving us around Malibu and Los Angeles to sporting events and swim meets, him joining us for family meals.

When you worked at the Vaulteneau estate, you were treated like family, with financial benefits to match. Their children's education were paid for, even college. Filipe went to the same private school as me even though I knew, later on at least, that his father's driver salary could not afford the steep tuition. When Filipe was accepted into USC, his college tuition was paid for by the Vaulteneau estate.

"Matty, you didn't talk to me for at least six months, especially when I started attending swim lessons with you. You were absolutely furious that I was faster than you in the water."

I was shocked into near silence. Not because I couldn't believe it, but because I had zero recollection of that interaction.

"Filipe, I'm sorry, man. I don't…" I stuttered. The sky was turning a darker gray and our smart watches started flashing, warning us about possible lightning. On the beach the lifeguard changed the yellow flag to red for pending strong currents. We'd need to head back to shore. "I don't remember and that's shitty unto itself."

"Nothing to forgive, my friend." He slapped my good shoulder affectionately, but his lips turned downward into a frown. "It was the same year that…um…well…"

I knew what he was trying to avoid saying aloud.

"The year my mom died," I added. The year I completely blacked out, apparently.

Filipe made the sign of the cross while Joan squeezed my hand before we grabbed the next wave and surfed from Third Point to First Point to exit the water completely.

I thought we'd part ways but Joan asked, "Can we meet Ciaran? Anyone who riles you up this much is worth meeting. He must be a monster. Did he eat all the couch cushions?"

"I didn't get a list of his dietary habits, Joan, but please, feel free to ask upon meeting him."

She was a little too excited in my opinion to meet a dumb brat with a perfect mouth, but who was I to dissuade her?