5. Tilly

Chapter five

Tilly

S tanding on the rocky shoreline, the tide low, I find myself surrounded not by sand but by smooth stones of various sizes, typical of this stretch of the west coast. Despite promising myself I'd leave first thing in the morning, the moment I saw him shirtless and looking so damn good, that plan went out the window.

And the looks. Um, hello, how can I resist that? Tommy has been throwing lustful looks my way all day. He's always been a flirt, always checking me out when he thought I wasn't looking. So nothing's changed, right? I try to dismiss the thought, convincing myself he invited me along for the sheer pleasure of attention. The man does love showing off. And I, all too willing to give it, find myself content just to watch him surf. He's incredible out there, and I can't deny the joy it brings me to be a part of his cheer squad.

The beach, the waves, they feel like home. I've always loved surfing here at San Onofre, though today isn't about me. I didn't even bring my wetsuit. Instead, I'm captivated by the sight of Tommy out in the water, his muscles defined beneath the tightness of his wetsuit. Watching him wrestle into it earlier was a highlight—somehow managing to be both adorable and irresistibly sexy. Tommy has been able to toe that line for as long as I can remember.

As he starts to paddle out, my heart races in anticipation of the incoming wave. It's a big one, about eight feet, and I know it's going to break right, just how he likes. He pops up, executes a flawless bottom turn, and then shoots back up the wave's face, cutting back with a spray of water that glistens in the sunlight. The small crowd gathered here bursts into cheers, and I join in, shouting encouragements.

"Come on, Tommy!" I yell as he gains speed, watching in awe as he carves at the wave's base before launching into a 360-degree turn, effortlessly riding the foam. It's like a scene straight out of our movie night, only Tommy surfs with a finesse those '60s surfers could only dream of. As he raises his hands triumphantly before letting himself fall back into the water, I scream along with the crowd, my heart swelling with pride.

He paddles back out, his heat not yet over, but the announcers are already calling out his score from the last run—a 9.2? I shoot a glare over my shoulder, convinced the judges must be blind not to score him higher. Fuck them. I'll be happy to find those old salty surf bums in the parking lot later and toss some seaweed at them. If they want to act like disparaging monsters of the deep, the least I can do is help their appearance match their jilted judgments. At least it put him in first place. He's good enough to place in most tournaments, but I know that he hasn't had a win in a while. Not that I've been following his career or anything.

Yeah, okay, that's a lie. My phone is set up to alert me every time his name is mentioned on all the social media platforms.

The next surfer, some unknown from Australia, attempts a few turns but hardly compares. None of the competitors that follow manage anything close to Tommy's aerial or 360, leaving the impression that today, the beach belongs to him.

Tommy is up again, and as I stare at him, he scans the crowd. Stepping into the water with my sandals still on, I can't contain myself.

"Tommy!" I scream at the top of my lungs. He quickly turns his head toward me, and even from this distance, I see his smile. Instead of waving back, he flexes his arms theatrically, prompting a giggle from me as he begins paddling for a wave.

But something feels off. The wave looming ahead of him is going to close out, and it is massive, possibly a ten-footer. I almost yell for him to back off, but I know he won't listen. In his mind, catching and riding this wave, even if just on the foam, will score better than ditching it.

While my heart jumps into my throat, he manages to stand up. I clutch both hands to my chest, my breathing shallow. When he loses his balance momentarily, I gasp. He's too close to shore to fall off safely now. For a moment, I get relief. He's regained his footing, turning just as the wave crashes down behind him, the foam exploding into a tumultuous roar that's head high and churning angrily. He peeks over his shoulder just as the remnants of the massive wave overtake him. His face pales and at the last second, he dives off his board.

My heart seizes. Fuck, Tommy. No! The rocky bottom of San Onofre is too shallow for that. I step into the water, my chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Helplessness washes over me like the waves I'm watching. There's nothing I can do. Getting in will mean being in the way. Still, my toes itch to sprint into the ocean, to swim to him, and pull him to the beach. Seconds go by, each one feeling heavier than the last. Tommy hasn't surfaced. His board shoots up to the sky after tumbling through the white wash, the leash unattached to his ankle. That's really not good. Getting tumbled in the ocean can leave a person disoriented. One time, I had to follow my leash to know which way was up. Both hands fly to my mouth. "Come on, Tommy," I whisper into them. "Swim, you stupid bastard!"

My gaze shoots to the lifeguards already speeding toward his crash on jet skis, circling the spot where he disappeared. The crowd has fallen deathly silent. The words of the announcer barely register. They're saying something about the dangers of surfing. Yeah, no shit assholes.

Then, suddenly, his head breaks the surface, streaked with blood. My stomach rolls, bile coating my throat. He's hurt. I'm frozen in place as the lifeguards reach him, hauling him from the water. Regaining control of my body, I sprint across the shore towards the incoming jet ski. Every fiber of my body is screaming to get to him. To touch him and make sure he's okay.

EMTs, already on standby, rush forward, medical kits in hand. As the lifeguards carry Tommy to the beach, I get a good look.

Oh lord, I roll my eyes, some of my concern immediately fleeing. His stupid, battered yet still handsome face is split by a grin wide enough to land a plane. I hurry over as they lay him down on a red board.

"Shit guys, I'm fine. Just a fin cut," he says, his tone as easy and dismissive as ever.

"Lay still, sir," one of the EMTs instructs firmly.

But Tommy is trying to push past them, eager to stand. That's it. With shaking hands, I close the last few feet between us.

"Thomas Hillcrest, you lie still right now and let these men fix you!" My voice is shaky. I might be able to see that he's fine, but for a second there, I let myself fear the worst.

Both the EMTs and Tommy turn to look at me, a silent moment passing before Tommy's sexy smirk is focused on me. "Relax, Til. I'm indestructible. You know that," he jokes.

I point a trembling finger at him, my anxiety giving way to a relieved smile. "You're an idiot. Sharks are gonna be up your ass if you don't let them bandage this." That comment draws laughter from everyone and despite myself, I'm chuckling with them.

But like the good listener he is, Tommy stops his protesting and they get to work. As they pour distilled water on the slash, it continues to ooze blood. "This will need stitches," one of the EMTs declares, his partner nodding in agreement before speaking into his walkie. A stretcher is quickly brought over, but when the EMTs attempt to lift Tommy onto it, he holds out a hand to stop them.

"I'll walk or I won't go," he says. The EMTs, clearly not thrilled, step aside to let him stand but hand one of the towels to him. Tommy presses it to his face with a hiss.

"You'll go or I'll hide every single one of your surfboards all over the country," I say. The threat is half-hearted and everyone around knows it but of course, Tommy's brow furrows dramatically. "You wouldn't," he says like I just threatened to kill his favorite dog.

My chin lifts. "I would. Paint them too. Pink flowers, and scribble ‘surf like a girl' all over it, too."

He tilts his head back and laughs. "Well that sounds kinda awesome now. Surfing like a girl is sexy as hell." He wiggles his bloody eyebrows. "Can I get that if I do go?"

My only response is to roll my eyes. Ugh, fuck him and his irresistible charm. He knows exactly what he's doing by calling me out. Simultaneously, he's calmed me down and managed to compliment me.

"Just get up," I say, holding out my hand. He grabs it and gets to his feet. Once up, I let go but hover nearby, anxious to support him if he gets woozy. The ambulance isn't far, just twenty feet away in the dirt parking lot, but each step he takes sends a fresh wave of worry through me. The cut is deep, and the amount of blood pooling on the towel is not a good sign.

As he stepped up on the ambulance's bumper, the announcer calls out his name, informing the crowd he is off to get checked. At that, Tommy's blood-streaked face breaks into a wide grin, the kind that warns he's about to do something reckless. A preface to an idiotic decision. My stomach knots as I shake my head. With a shaking finger, I point at him, but his smile only widens.

"Tommy, don't…" My warning is too late. With a defiant grip, he hoists himself onto the roof of the ambulance, raising his fist in triumph a few times to the cheering crowd. Despite my frustration at his antics, I can't help but smile along with them. So stupid, so cute. It's a dangerous combination for any person in his radius of charisma.

"Okay, Kelly Slater, can we fix your face now?" I call up to him.

He glances down at me, his face softening with affection, making my heart skip. Gracefully, he slides off the roof on his stomach and onto the stretcher inside the ambulance. "All right, boys, quit slacking off," he jokes as the EMTs give him a fresh towel.

One of the EMTs turns to me. "Miss, you comin'?"

Tommy props himself up on his elbows. "Yeah, Til, are you riding with me in this pimp mobile?"

I hesitate. It seems like something a girlfriend would do, or at least a friend that hasn't been avoiding him for the past year. Gesturing with my thumb behind me, I say, "Someone's gotta take your car there."

Tommy waves the suggestion off. "Nah, we'll Uber back. Come on."

"Now or never, miss," urges the EMT.

"Fine, but no more being an attention whore," I say. The EMTs all suppress a laugh but Tommy's beaming. "Change everything about myself, got it," he says with a wink.

I climb into the ambulance, the second EMT making room for me as the doors close behind us.

As the ambulance pulls away, Tommy holds out his hand. Looking at it, I feel a little foolish for all my earlier worry. Clearly, he is okay, but then he wiggles his fingers playfully. "I'm so hurt," he says, a tone of mock pain and sarcasm in his voice.

I laugh and slap his hand away. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

He nods, though a trace of disappointment flickered across his face. I wanted to reach out, to intertwine our fingers, especially seeing him hurt—it would've been a natural reaction. But to do so would mean more to me than perhaps to him, and I can't bear that.

Grateful for the interruption, I watch as one of the EMTs pulls out a pair of fabric scissors and approaches Tommy. "Woah, what're you doing?" I blurt out, panic edging my voice. Seeing Tommy naked is NOT a good idea. No matter how hurt he's pretending to be.

"We need to remove his wetsuit. He'll get a CAT scan for a possible concussion. He'll have to change into a gown," the EMT explains.

"No way. This is a $600 custom suit. Tilly, help me out here," Tommy's already sitting up, trying to grab the string attached to the zipper. I slap his hand away, unzipping it in a flash. His skin is shockingly cold, dotted with goosebumps. As I peel the neoprene from his broad shoulders, my thumb grazes his chilled skin, sending unexpected shivers catapulting through me. Despite the jolt of electricity, I focus on the task at hand. We manage to remove the wetsuit from his upper body, and I sit back, watching him attempt to stand for the rest.

The EMT insists he stays seated. Rolling his eyes, Tommy looks at me. "Til? I hate to ask, but could you...?"

I know he doesn't wear anything under his wetsuit. His ridiculous Spiderman swim trunks are in the rental car back at the beach.

My cheeks warm at the thought. I know from dancing that he has an impressive…ah hem…anatomy. But seeing it now would be wrong. Mostly because I wouldn't be able to stop myself from taking a peek at what I've only briefly felt before. "Yeah, give me a second." I'm already reaching for a towel from the shelf behind me. I drape it over his lap before tugging at the wetsuit with all my strength. It peels off, and I toss it aside, exhaling heavily. Not from exertion, but from the idea of his naked body so close to me.

I sit back down, consciously avoiding his gaze, my eyes fixed on the ambulance ceiling. The thought of looking his way, risking a glance at the towel barely covering him, is too much. That doesn't stop him from looking at me. His gaze feels heated, and I know if I turn, I'll see that warmth in his eyes that means he's probably thinking the same thing I am.

"Tilly? You okay?" he asks, concern lacing his voice.

"Fine," I reply too quickly. He chuckles, letting the subject drop. As the ambulance pulls away from the beach, I don't look at him. I can't. At least not without being a complete pervert. Instead, I think through the things I need to do when I get back home. Tommy lets the quiet air settle while the EMTs make quick work of fastening a temporary bandage. Only a half hour, I think to myself, just keep it in your pants until then. But I don't know if I'm reminding myself or him. Either way, by the time we pull onto the highway, I know I'm completely fucked.

***

When we arrive forty minutes later, Tommy is quickly taken inside on a stretcher, leaving me behind. I watch, feeling a twinge of unease at our separation.

A nurse approaches me. "Miss?" she calls out. "We'll need this filled out. He said you could do it," she explains, handing me a form. I nod, though I'm puzzled why I'm the one to fill it out.

As Tommy disappears into the back, I sit down with the form. To my surprise, I know all the answers—his uncle's diabetes, his allergy to pine nuts, the appendectomy at sixteen. But I pause at the question about his sexual activity. Is Tommy seeing someone? Are they intimate?

Jealousy pierces me, but then another thought invades—imagining Tommy in ecstasy above me. The feel of his lips on me, kissing, caressing as I writhe beneath him. I feel a flush spread across my face and down my body, until finally, I have to use the clipboard to fan myself.

"Tilly Jacobs?" A nurse calls by the double doors. I stand, though the last name isn't the one that I was born with, but even so, I made it legally mine a decade ago. Responding to it has become instinctive.

"They're going to stitch him up and he asked for you. Right this way," the curvy nurse says, leading me behind a curtain. There's Tommy, lying on a hospital bed, a thin blanket draped over his lap. My eyes dart downwards before I can stop them, noticing an impressive bulge outlined in the fabric. I swallow hard and take a seat next to him. "Miss me?" Tommy asks, his smile disarmingly charming.

He's playing with me again and God help me, I love it. "Ew, no. I was busy filling out your memoir," I say, holding up the clipboard and waving it around. The nurse quickly snatches it from me, noting, "The social security number's missing." Tommy grabs the pen she offers and jots down the number right as the doctor walks in, looking utterly exhausted with greasy hair and bags under his eyes. Clearly, he's at the tail end of a long shift.

"Thomas Hillcrest, the surfing sensation. What'd you do this time, Tommy?" the doctor says with a shake of his head. Tommy briefly explains his battle with his surfboard fin as the doctor pokes and prods at it. Once the story is over, he sits back and scrutinizes Tommy. "And how are you feeling?"

Tommy's gaze locks on mine. "Better now," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes warmth pool in my stomach, daring me to believe he means more by it than just casual flirtation.

"Uh, that's great. But I meant more like any nausea or double vision."

"Oh, erm, no. It's all good," he says, his cheeks growing rosy. It's all I can do not to laugh at his embarrassment.

"Good! 'Cause this next part's gonna hurt," the doctor warns, picking up a large needle. "You might wanna distract him, miss."

Tommy extends his hand towards me, palm up, and this time, I don't hesitate to take it. When I do, I have to steady myself with a deep breath. Where our palms touch, electricity snaps and crackles between our skin. He lays his head back, taking a deep breath like I did, with a broad smile playing on his lips. "Do your worst, Doc. I'm ready."

But I'm not. I close my eyes, squeezing his hand tightly, unable to bear the thought of watching the needle pierce his skin or the stitches being threaded through his forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, I hear the clink of instruments on the tray. "All set. You can look now, miss," the doctor announces.

I open my eyes to see Tommy grinning at me. "So brave," he teases, his forehead now sporting seven neat stitches amid traces of dried blood.

The doctor stands, removing his gloves. "He's got a mild concussion. Shouldn't be left alone or drive." Turning to me, he points a finger accusingly. "And absolutely no funny business. I know how you surfers like your whip-its and whiskey."

I bite back a laugh just as Tommy mouths, ‘whip-its?' Yeah, I have no idea either but clearly, Tommy is supposed to avoid them. The doctor nods as we both promise to avoid anything below board. The doctor walks out letting us know that the nurse will be by shortly with discharge papers.

Left alone, our hands still intertwined, I want to say something, anything to break the spell this whole day has put on us. But I don't do anything except remain silent and enjoy the tingles from where we're connected. Tommy's thumb gently strokes mine in a comforting motion before he takes a deep breath. "Thanks for coming, Tilly."

In that moment, with our hands linked and his gratitude hanging in the air, I feel an overwhelming mix of desire, affection, and something deeper I'm hesitant to name.

"No problem," I say, a lightness in my voice that I don't fully feel. Tommy starts laughing, and curiosity gets the better of me. "What's so funny?" I ask.

"Just the thought of us here, holding hands in a hospital. If someone had suggested this would happen even yesterday, I would've said they were crazy." I laugh too, but it's brief, and I let go of his hand. He looks down, his lips turning toward the ground. "I didn't say I didn't like it," he adds.

My heart skips a beat at his words, but I resist the urge to reach for his hand again. "You like me being here?"

"Til, I've missed you like crazy," he confesses. Those words, so straightforward and sincere, send my heart racing. Our eyes lock and again, I see something written on his face that makes my chest squeeze. I'm still processing his admission when my phone rings, pulling me back to reality. It's Sam.

I tilt my screen so he can see, and he motions for me to answer. "Tilly, oh my God," Sam's voice comes through, panicked. She yells for Greg before continuing, "I got your message this morning and then your phone was dead so we rushed back. I show up at your place and find it all messed up! What the hell happened to your couch? Or your room?" Oof. I forgot about that message. I must have sounded more upset than I realized if she ended her babymoon early. Guilt courses through me as I pinch the bridge of my nose. That call was a mistake. Especially since my phone died sometime in the middle of the night. Thank God Tommy had a charger in his rental.

"It's a long story. But everything's fine, I swear."

"Well, where are you? Rick said you didn't show up and I came here to find this," she says, her voice laced with concern. In the background, I can hear Greg trying to calm her down.

"I just needed some time alone. I'll be home later," I assure her, trying to sound more composed than I feel.

"Okay…" She doesn't sound sure at all and my heart sputters. Meeting Tommy's eyes, I see his expression matches my own. We're both feeling guilty over today now. Great.

Trying to put a little more pep in my voice, I say, "Seriously, it's okay. I'll explain when I see you."

Greg's begging her to relax and she snaps at him to shut up. "Tilly, I'm worried about you. Lately, you've been distant, and now all this."

Guess I wasn't hiding my loneliness as well as I thought. "I really don't know how else to tell you I'm fine. Go. Let your baby daddy run you a bath. As soon as I'm home, we're kicking him out and I'll spill."

"Fine," she clips. "But I want to know everything."

"You will," I promise. Still, it takes another five times of me repeating that I'm fine before we say our goodbyes.

Tommy has been watching me, a question in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell her you were with me?"

"She was already freaking out. Telling her you were hurt would only make things worse. She's too pregnant for this kind of stress." But that's only half the truth. Really, I want to avoid mentioning Tommy because I'm afraid it will ruin whatever's going on. If I keep it a secret, maybe the moment between us will last just a bit longer. Besides, I have no idea what's going on, but it's definitely something.

For a moment, he scrutinizes me with narrowed eyes. "Alright, I guess." I let out a breath at his words. At least I'm not fighting with him. "Now, go find me some pants so we can get out of here."

"I'm not your mother!" I yell out, a little too loudly. But there's so much going on in my mind, that it has to find an outlet somewhere. A few nurses look our way.

"Of course not, but if I walk around looking for clothes, I'll leave a trail of fainted nurses in my wake."

I want to give him an ego check but he's not wrong. Even in the gown he changed into, he'll turn heads. He's a very fit, very attractive man. Before I can stop myself, my eyes drift down to his lap. "Earth to the pervert," he says waving a hand in front of my face. Warmth flushes up my neck and he laughs. "See? That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid." He's laughing at me, but there's a smile on my face.

"Whatever, Sharkbait, I'll find you some clothes, but I want tacos on the ride home."

Standing up, I step into the hall and pause at the nurses' station. "Excuse me?" I ask one of them. The two women are whispering and pointing towards Tommy's bed.

"Did you just say he was attacked by a shark?" the taller redhead asks.

A shark? It takes a moment for the words to register, they're so unexpected. "Uh, no. I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of some clothes for him?"

The smaller curvy nurse nods and rushes away but the redhead is still looking at me. "Is there a problem?" I ask, nearly touching my face to see if there's something stuck to it.

She scoffs. "No. Just don't appreciate your boyfriend staring at my ass before you got here."

That hits me square in the chest, like a gut check to what's really going on between me and Tommy. Nothing, that's what. He's just a flirt with everyone and I find myself nervously laughing at the realization. "Oh, no. Um, he's just a friend."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say, lady." She hands over some papers before flouncing away.

Taking a deep breath as she leaves, I whisper aloud, "Just a friend. He can stare at any ass he wants to." It's a futile attempt to quell the tumult of emotions inside me. As I do, I catch sight of the nurse's retreating form. A wide smile spreads across my face as I realize why Tommy was staring at her butt. There on the left cheek is a smear of something yellow. Is that mustard? I grab the papers and go back into Tommy's room, still laughing as I do.