13. Sam

I'm meticulously folding t-shirts, perfectly aligning the Costa Rica logo on each. If only arranging my emotions was as easy, but no, that's more like trying to put a twin sheet on a king mattress after three glasses of wine.

Despite the soothing ocean breeze wafting through the door, my mind is elsewhere, tangled in the mess from last night with Greg. His aggressive posture towards Tommy... it was unsettling. It's too reminiscent of Kevin, the way he'd loom over me, controlling, threatening without laying a hand... until he did. And then, it was a cycle of apologies and empty promises. I was too young, too naive to see through it, trapped by his wealth and the expectations surrounding us. My mother's excitement over our relationship only sealed my fate faster, pushing me towards a marriage I wasn't ready for.

The plan to make Greg jealous had worked a little too well. I cast a concerned glance over to each of my friends.

Tilly is working behind the clean bar, drying some cups that have just come out of their dishwasher. Steam still lingered in the air from when it had been opened up. Tommy is absentmindedly sweeping the floor. All of us overdid it at the club. After the little excitement with Greg, we spent the night drinking and dancing, though I hardly saw my friends without their arms around each other.

The sight felt right, but the two are back to their old ways, or maybe even worse than before. As far as I've seen, they haven't said a single word to each other. It's almost as infuriating as my strange game with Greg.

As I slam another shirt down a bit harder than necessary, the memories continue to swirl, darkening my mood. On ‘Sam's Rage Scale' I'm far passed my typical ‘politely annoyed' and almost to the top at ‘throwing kitchen appliances'. If I don't do something, I'll end up taking it out on the first idiot that walks through the shop door. Tilly catches my frustration from behind the bar, her concern breaking through my reverie. "You good, Sam?"

"Oh yes, I'm just fucking peachy. Fantastic even," I snap. Both my friends wince at my terse tone, but I'm already moving to the backroom of the bar.

"Where are you going?" Tilly asks. I'm surprised she was brave enough to say anything.

"I need to clear my head," I say, already to the back store room.

In tandem, my friends groan. Clearing my head has consisted of one thing over the last few years, and one thing only. Neither Tilly nor Tommy are fans of the habit.

Seconds later, I reemerge, my hair pulled back into a low ponytail and covered in a bandana. Dragging my electrician's tool kit, I'm determined to fix that stubborn pinball machine.

"Sammy," Tommy starts in, laughing as he does. "No good can come from you poking around that thing again."

I whip around, a pair of pliers in hand. With narrowed eyes, I point them at him. "At least when it shocks me, it's up front about why!"

Though I can see that Tommy wants to laugh, his typical reaction to any of my misplaced anger, he thankfully holds it in, keeping the pliers from being thrown at his forehead. Ignoring his protests, I slide under the pinball machine, my focus sharpened by the Arctic Monkeys thrumming through my earbuds.

The exposed wires from my last attempt are dangling down, and some of the rods have moved to the side. The circuit board has already been replaced twice. Though the second time wasn't my fault. Who knew you needed to ground a power supply? But the machine is still refusing to accept coins and actually start. Something is shorting out, and I know it must be crossed wires somewhere.

I'm deep into the guts of the machine, soldering away when a gentle tap on my calf pulls me back to reality. Sliding out, I'm greeted by Greg's face, which surprises me enough to bang my head against the machine. "Ow!" I mutter, yanking out my earbuds. "What're you doing here?"

Tilly chimes in from across the bar, "Yeah, I'm curious to know as well."

Greg shifts uncomfortably, "I erm, can we talk? Somewhere alone?" He casts a suspicious glance over his shoulder, where I can see both Tilly and Tommy watching us.

"I'm not going anywhere. You wanna talk? Talk."

His giant hand works through his hair, and I have to remind myself that his handsomeness doesn't affect me anymore. "I wanted to apologize for last night," he says softly.

I can't help but roll my eyes as I stand. "Obviously." I start walking towards the surfboards, Greg trailing me like a lost puppy. But I'm not standing around listening to his pathetic attempts to reconcile. I've dealt with half-ass apologies before. Kevin's favorite line, ‘I didn't want to,' is repeating in my head.

"Seriously Sam, that's not me. I wouldn't have hurt him. I've never hit someone. Not even when I was a cop, not even when someone deserved it."

I ignore him, pulling Ruby from her spot. "You ditched me, remember? We were having a nice time, and you just… ghosted. You don't get to care who I dance with, especially if it's Tommy." I throw a glance at Tommy, who awkwardly waves back, Tilly's stern face backing him up.

Greg's jaw tightens, but it looks more desperation than anger. "I... I thought you were done with me!" He stutters, but his tone's off, ringing false to my ears.

Damn liar. Damn, men. Always damn lying.

"I asked to come home with you!" My frustration boils over into a yell.

Greg buries his face in his hands, groaning. "The date… it just…" He's shaking his head, and my patience is wearing even thinner.

I watch Greg struggle to find the word for another two seconds. "It what?" I press, my curiosity piqued despite the uneasy twist in my stomach.

"It scared me!" he confesses, the words tumbling out in a rush.

"Dating me scares you?" I can't hide my incredulity. Considering my own turbulent past, I would have thought I'd be the one wary of dating, yet here he is, visibly shaken by the concept. He nods and I fling my hands over my head. "Well join the fucking club. We have jackets and patches for every time we make fools of ourselves. Oh look at that, you'd probably already be our Troop Dad."

Greg's shoulders droop as he admits, "Yeah, alright. I'm a tool. But look, I just got divorced nine months ago. Okay? It was brutal. So yeah, dating scares me." Divorce—a word that resonates too closely with my own past.

I had danced around the idea of forever with Kevin. We weren't even that close before he proposed. Getting married should have been the happiest day of my life, but the nerves and second-guessing ruined that. Not to mention that only a few months after I walked down the aisle, my mother passed. A part of me knows I did it for her; it gave her the satisfaction of knowing that at least one of her daughters would be taken care of after she was gone.

But if my mother had known the truth, she would have never encouraged the engagement. Kevin's affection dwindled rapidly after our wedding, his possessiveness and controlling nature emerging as he joined his father's business as a lawyer.

Greg, however, in the brief yet profound moments we've shared, has never made me feel constrained or belittled. His approach is gentle, seeking my consent for every step closer, patient even in my hesitance.

But there's more lingering under his eyes. Something else he's not telling me. My scrutiny is not missed, and he sighs. "I thought he was hurting you, and I can't… fuck." He shakes his head and then meets my gaze. "If you got hurt and I could stop it, I never would have forgiven myself."

Despite the wisdom that screams caution, the sight of Greg's desolation and the earnestness in his gaze compels me to act. I unfasten the bandana from my hair, tossing it aside. "Come on," I invite, extending my hand towards him.

Without a moment's delay, he takes it. "Where are we going?" Greg's curiosity mirrors the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You need to surf," I declare, guiding him toward the changing rooms. "Tilly, toss him some trunks," I call out, fetching Big Blue from its spot on the wall. Tilly's skepticism is evident in her furrowed brow as she brings me a set of borrowed shorts and gives them to me.

Her voice lowers to a whisper, laden with doubt. "You don't believe him, do you? It's clearly a line."

But I find myself defending him. "I do. He didn't hit anyone, even though he'd clearly been drinking and was furious. He's three times the size of Tommy, and he never lifted a finger."

Before I can say anything else, Tilly has a hand on my arm. "Sammy, think about this."

I pat her fingers and smile. "I'm not afraid of him, Til. You're the first person I would tell if I was. I swear." Her eyes meet mine, and we have one of our patented silent conversations.

‘Men are dumb.' Her eyes say.

‘Completely.' I agree with a roll of my eyes.

Her gaze narrows, fire burning in her look before she flicks her eyes toward the changing room. But before she can say anything else, Greg emerges, decked in his shorts and brimming with energy. Though there is something else there too. His eyes are puffy and shining like just maybe, more went on in the changing room than putting on shorts.

He sucks in a long breath and raises both eyebrows before slapping his hands together. "Ready?"

"Yeah, hold on Cassanova. I need another sec," Tilly says. She rushes over to my side and grabs me by the wrist. With more strength than I knew she had, she yanks me into the back hall. "Sam, you can't be serious with this. He threatened Tommy. That's like holding a knife at the Easter Bunny's neck."

That brings out a chuckle. "That's quite the visual, Til." But her face remains serious.

"I'm not joking around! I wanna nad-blast that guy into the next dimension," she says, and I can see her jaw flexing as she looks over at the two men.

"And I will totally let you." She claps her hands together, but I grab them and lower my brow. "If he does anything like this again."

She rolls her head back and groans. "Fine. But take Tommy with you."

I put my palm on my forehead. "Tilly—"

"No. I'm putting my foot down, Sam. Take him or I'll crack Ruby."

My eyebrows shoot up. "You wouldn't!" She gives me a look that clearly says, ‘try me'. "Ugh, yes, okay." Walking away from her, I point a finger at Tommy. "You're coming with."

With a roll of his head, he jogs our way. "Guess I could use some hang time." Before I know it, he's snatching a shorter board for himself and handing Greg Big Blue.

The three of us are quiet as we leave the surf shack. The tropical setting would be a perfect backdrop to our impromptu surf session. Should be. But it's not. It's tense and weird. Tommy keeps shooting Greg daggers, and I'm trying not to notice.

It's overkill to send along a bodyguard. Especially since Greg is so much bigger than Tommy. But it does feel nice to know both my friends care so much about me. I can't help but imagine if I had that when Kevin was still around. Greg might have scared me for a split second but comparing the two men otherwise suddenly doesn't seem fair. Not once, in all the times Kevin apologized, did I ever see his eyes red-rimmed and filled with regret.

Without a word, we jog across the hot pavement to the sand. My favorite wave is about a quarter mile south from the Surf Shack. It's a smooth and easy right, perfect for hanging toes off the front of the board and not quite big enough to scare me. After walking along the wet sand for a while, we all get into the ocean. But it feels all wrong. Surfing is my way of leaving everything behind. Because who needs therapy when you have a surfboard and a total disregard for personal safety?

But that's impossible to do when the issue at hand is literally surfing beside me. It's so tense between us that I decide to hang back a little. Because sometimes, you need literal oceans between you and your problems. Stretching my hands overhead, I let the tiny waves lap at my ankles. The water is warm as it tickles my toes and I smile. Before I jump on the board, I fall backward into a wave, smiling as I collapse into the foam. The water envelopes me like a hug from an old friend. Bubbles all around me, I let the soothing feeling of being where I belong wash away the past 24 hours.

The ocean is my first love. It never disappoints me, scares me at a bar, or breaks down in a changing room after apologizing to me. It never confuses me by ignoring my calls or acting tough around Tommy.

When I emerge from beneath the water, I smooth my hair, feeling a clarity that wasn't there before. The boys are already paddling out, but I catch sight of Greg looking over his shoulder at me.

For the first time in my life, I have a silent conversation with a man. ‘You good?' his eyes ask.

I smile. ‘Never better'

He purses his lips. ‘liar.' It seems to accuse, but his lips twist into a grin. Then he jerks his head out toward the ocean. ‘Come surf then.'

I laugh and jump on the board.

After getting my bearings, I paddle out behind Tommy and Greg. In the water, I keep close to Greg. Each of our exchanged glances seem filled with an unspoken yearning. But no matter how many longing looks I throw his way, Tommy is intent—no hell-bent—on keeping us separated.

Is Tommy my new dad? Is this a chaperoned date? Before I can ask the questions aloud or maybe just throw myself at Greg, Tommy grabs the front of my board. "Ope, big one, better grab it, Sam." He pushes me into the peak, and he's right. The wave is too perfect to pass up.

Glancing back as I gain speed on the wave face, I see the men already talking. Though it makes me cringe a little, I have to admit that perhaps it's time for the two men to sort things out, in whatever shape that takes. I pop to my feet, surrendering to the wave's embrace. As I speed right, my world narrows to the sheer thrill of the ride. The wind flows across my skin and through my hair, which streams out behind me like a banner. For a fleeting moment, I dare to close my eyes, basking in the sensation of soaring over the sea. But more importantly, I let myself forget about everything. No sick nephew, no confusing men, no overprotective friends. Just me, my beautiful Ruby surfboard, and the waves beneath me.

The ocean has always been my sanctuary, a place where all complexities fade into the background. The salt in the air, the soothing breeze, and even the seagulls' relentless cries serve as a form of meditation. My smile widens as I navigated the wave, a reminder that no matter the turmoil on land, the ever-changing sea will always be my grounding force.