The Moment of Letting Go

“Let’s be real here,” he said. “I’m afraid to go through with it—it’s a big jump—but I think you, me, Seth, anyone would be stupid to not be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid of it,” I told him, but then backtracked. “I mean, yeah, I’ve got the natural fear, but if you think I’m doing all of this stuff”—I waved my hand at the desk and the laptop—“just to get out of China, you’re wrong. It has nothing to do with it.”

  He looked disappointed.

  Silence ensued.

  “What?” I finally asked, growing confused. And irritated.

  He shook his head.

  “I guess I was kind of hoping that’s all it was,” he said, “that you were just afraid and didn’t know how to deal with it.” He sighed heavily and rose into a stand, giving the chair on wheels a gentle push out of his way. “But if that’s not the case, then I guess I really am losing my brother.” He started to walk away, and just as he made it to the door, he turned and said, “I’ve never known you to run away from anything, Luke, not since you got over your fears. And I never thought I’d see you throw away the things that make you happy for things that only pretend to make you happy—it’s bullshit, bro,” and he walked out, leaving me with my thoughts.

  A minute later, I was right back to scrolling through important business emails. And two minutes later, I’d forgotten everything my brother said.

  I stopped on the trail on the way to meet up with Seth and Kendra and looked up at the blue sky peeking through the thick canopy of trees, thinking about Landon’s accusation.

  He was right—I never ran away from anything. I was unstoppable. But then the business came along and I was so afraid of losing what we’d accomplished that I ran from everything else—including my brother and the free-spirited life we had shared for so long. I pushed away anything that had the potential to make me happy, anything that could take me away from our business—family, love, everything.

  But I don’t want to do that anymore; I don’t want to be that guy—it’s slowly killing me inside. Maybe meeting Sienna was the push I needed to heed my brother’s words; maybe I’ve been waiting around all this time for someone like her to come along—who I can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard I try—to finally make that change in my life; to get back to being … me, the guy that got lost somewhere along the road to success; the guy who my brother noticed was lost before I even did.

  I eventually went back the way I came, hoping Sienna hadn’t already left for the airport. And on the way, there were two things I couldn’t escape: Landon’s voice. And Sienna’s face.

  When I finally met up with Sienna, I really had been running a little. I was so sure I was already too late, but I picked up the pace when I got closer to the resort, not wanting to end up one of the unlucky dumbasses who misses the girl by merely seconds. I was surprised by how hugely I was smiling when I saw her—I don’t even know the girl, so my reaction to knowing I made it in time confused me.

  But this feels right. I’m not exactly sure why yet, but it does, and despite what my conscience is telling me, that she might not be able to handle my lifestyle, I’m not going to run away.

  I’ll never know unless I try.

  After I borrow two boards from the school—and have Allan in the gift shop put a new pair of swim trunks on my tab—I take Sienna farther down the beach, away from the hotel and most of the tourists. I’ve been trying not to check out her body in that pink bikini top and tight shorts too obviously, but when she starts to peel the shorts down over the bikini bottom, I find it much harder to pull off.

  I turn away and pretend to be checking out the waves, skirting her a little with a sideways glimpse, because, well, I just can’t help it.

  “So I take it you’ve never been surfing before?” I ask, just to be sure.

  “Nope,” she says with a little squeamish expression that I find extremely cute. “And I’ve not spent much time in the ocean, if you wanna know the truth.”

  “Really?” I say, surprised. “You live in San Diego and you’ve not been in the ocean much?” I prop the surfboard in the sand, keeping it upright and balanced with one hand.

  She picks hers up and does the same; her fingers fidget nervously around the edge of the board; her lips are drawn in on one side as she nibbles on the corner of her mouth. I would like to nibble on the corner of her mouth.

  “Wait, just how old are you, anyway?” I joke.

  “Twenty-two,” she says. “And I guess I just never cared much for swimming in the ocean.”

  I smile inwardly. Two years younger than me—perfect.

  “But you like to swim, right?” I hope it’s not that she can’t swim—I wouldn’t mind teaching her that either, but we’d need to skip the surfing lessons.

  She shrugs. “Well, yeah, I guess so. But I prefer pools.”

  “Is it the salt? Or maybe you’re afraid of sharks.” I point upward, believing I’m right. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Sienna looks downward and begins to shuffle her painted toes in the sand. “Jellyfish,” she says so quietly that I have to ask her to repeat it.

  “Sharks are pretty scary, but jellyfish freak me out,” she says in a more audible voice, looking right at me. “I got stung twice when I was a kid. Ever since then, I’ve always preferred pools.”

  “You’d rather swim through urine than get stung by a jellyfish?” I laugh under my breath.

  “Actually, I would,” she says matter-of-factly. “And people pee in the ocean just like they do in pools—I think they’d be more likely to pee in the ocean than a pool, if you really think about it.”

  “You have, haven’t you?” I ask, grinning at her.

  “I have what? Peed in a pool? No, that’s disgusting!”

  I laugh out loud.

  “No—thought about it,” I say, but I realize that still doesn’t sound right. “It just seems like you’ve given it a lot of thought, about pee versus jellyfish and all that.” I shrug and position the board underneath my arm, still with amusement on my face.

  She looks at me in a thoughtful manner for a moment—maybe she’s trying to figure me out.

  “And besides,” I go on, “if you got stung by a jellyfish I’d have to pee on you anyway.”

  She chokes out a laugh, cupping her long, delicate fingers over the top of her mouth.

  “OK, you got me there,” she says. “I just overthink things a lot, to be honest. It’s one of my many flaws.”

  “Oh?” I jerk my head back, indicating for her to follow. “What are some of your other flaws?”

  She steps up beside me. The smell of her freshly washed hair and lightly perfumed skin does something to me.

  “You want to know all of the many things that are wrong with me?” she asks with laughter.

  “Well, yeah,” I say. “Might as well get all of that stuff out of the way now so we won’t be disappointed later.” I don’t know why I said that, as if there will even be a later.

  Sienna smiles, her eyes drifting from mine and toward the sand again. The breeze catches her long brownish-red hair, pushing it against the front of her chest and crossing over her lips. Instinctively I want to reach out and move it away from her mouth with my fingers, but I don’t.

  “Oh, where do I start?” she finally answers dramatically. “I thought this was a surfing lesson?”

  “It is,” I say and drop my board carefully on the sand.

  She looks at it curiously for a moment and then at me.

  “Before we go out there,” I say, “I’ll teach you a few things here.” I strip off my shirt and drop it next to her bag.

  “All right, you’re the trainer.” She smiles and drops her board the same as mine, and I catch her checking me out.

  “Fins go in the back.” I point, trying not to crack a smile. “Turn it around.” I move my finger around in a circular motion and the blush reddens in her cheeks. I crouch to bury the fins in the sand so they don’t get damaged.

  I show her a few basics on land: pa
ddling, how to pop up on her board, and the proper positioning of her body on the board. I help her with the leash around her ankle, not because it’s difficult, but because like taking it upon myself to help her with her shoes yesterday, I want to—and just like yesterday, she doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Remember your feet,” I tell her when she lies flat across it again. “Your toes need to be at the edge of the board, but don’t hang your feet off like that.”

  She scoots up a little, wincing when her skin makes a squeaking noise as it scrapes across the board. For the next several minutes we go through the basic steps and she does really well, except for that feet thing. Twice I have to tell her not to hang her feet off the back of the board.

  Once the quick lessons on land are over, we head for the ocean.

  “Your turn.” Sienna looks at me with a cute lopsided smile, holding her board underneath her arm. “What’s one of your flaws?”

  We get closer to the water until finally making it to where the sand is wet and more compact beneath our feet. I stop and turn to look at her as a small wave pushes ashore and crawls up our calves before retreating back into the ocean.

  Looking upward in thought, I rub the tips of my fingers around my chin for added effect.

  “I’m a backseat driver.”

  “Really?” she says. “Backseat drivers drive me nuts.”

  “Yep, that’s me.” I smile with a shrug. “I don’t trust anyone’s driving but my own.”

  “So you’re a control freak,” she says, grinning under that sun-kissed skin.

  “Nah—it’s just a trust thing is all.”

  “So then you have trust issues.”

  I blink back the surprise and grin at her.

  “I guess another one of your flaws is that you’re quick to judge,” I say in jest.

  Her face falls.

  “No, no, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Just when I think I’ve offended her, a grin sneaks up at one corner of her mouth.

  “Ah, I see.” I start to walk into the water and she follows. “So we’re the Overthinking Manipulator and the Control Freak with trust issues.”

  “I guess so,” she agrees without argument.

  “Well, I hope we can stand to be around each other for three whole hours,” I say. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  Neither of us comments on the likelihood of that, I guess because we both already know that, well, three hours together isn’t going to be enough.

  “What else?” she asks, and I get the sense that maybe she’s looking for something a little more serious. “I mean, surely there’s something about you that you, or someone you know, might consider a real flaw?”

  Now I’m the one chewing on the inside of my mouth.

  Sienna tilts her head to one side thoughtfully, waiting.

  “Well, sure there is,” I say, though I find myself trying to word it right. “I’ve known a few … people … in my lifetime who think I’m too much of a risk-taker.” When I say people, I mean girls, but at the last second I thought it might be better not to bring up my past girlfriends and failed relationships.

  Her ears perk up and she looks at me contemplatively. “Oh? A risk-taker, huh? In what way?”

  I take a deep, but unnoticeable, breath.

  Then I point out at the waves and say, “Like with my surfing, for example.” I laugh lightly. “Even you seemed a little anxious when I brought up the whole surfing in stormy weather.”

  She smiles, drawing her petite shoulders up around her. Then she shrugs.

  “OK, yeah, I guess I didn’t hide that too well,” she admits. “But what else do you do that people consider risky?”

  Hmm, did she catch onto the hidden meaning behind that, or was she just reiterating?

  I shrug, too. “A few things: rock-climbing, cliff-diving, hang gliding, skydiving—I love the thrill, the sense of freedom.” Quietly I search her face and her eyes and her posture for any signs of retreating, but all I see is interest and maybe a bit of confusion. But so far, she doesn’t seem put off by the things I do.

  Of course, that never means anything right away—my ex hung around for nearly six months before she decided the stuff I was into was just too much for her.

  Maybe that’s why I’m not telling Sienna everything yet. Then again, she’s only here for a short while, so why worry about even getting into it?

  “What about you?” I ask. “Anything worse than overthinking, and manipulating poor unsuspecting guys?”

  She reaches out and gently hits me on the arm; the playful gesture and red in her face give me the urge to grab her around the waist—this holding back shit for the sake of being a gentleman is excruciating work.

  Sienna looks up at the sky, pursing her lips contemplatively, and then she says, “I’m kind of a neat freak, and I tend to overdo things because I don’t like to be caught off guard.”

  “Hmm,” I hum through my closed lips, nodding. “I dunno; I don’t think that’s much of a flaw.”

  “Well, neither do I!” She laughs. “It’s something Paige apparently thinks is a flaw—she reminds me on a daily basis. But I like being neat and in control and prepared.”

  “And I like doing ‘risky’ things,” I say, our smiles matching.

  We head out into the waves and all I can think about anymore is how short three hours really is.

  EIGHT

  Sienna

  Rock climbing. Hang gliding. Cliff-diving. Skydiving. These are things I know I could never do—my fear of heights pretty much makes it impossible—but there’s nothing wrong with someone else doing things like that. It seems dangerous, sure, but most people probably wouldn’t do it if it was too dangerous.

  I don’t think too much more about it—I’m having too much fun surfing—but it lingers quietly in the back of my mind.

  After two and a half hours of failing miserably at my first time surfing, I’m already beginning to dread the last thirty minutes before I have to leave. I don’t want to go. I want to stay with Luke. I want to run back to the hotel and grab my camera and snap so many shots of this beautiful island that it makes my head spin and drains my battery. I want to see waterfalls and whales and professional surfers ride big waves and I want to lie against the sand and look up at the stars when night falls.

  I don’t want to go home. Not yet.

  But I have to.

  I fall off my board again, sinking beneath the water and sucking more saltwater into my nose.

  Luke’s strong arm hooks around my waist from beneath the water as he helps me to the surface. My eyes have been stinging for the past hour and I know they must be red-rimmed and bloodshot.

  “You’re doing awesome¸” he lies, but I think it’s adorable.

  “Thanks!” I yell over the sound of a few crashing waves around us. “But I think I could do better.”

  “You’ve done better than a lot of people their first time,” he says, steadying himself back on his board in an upright sitting position. “Caught six small waves—that’s pretty good.”

  “But I still fell.” I laugh and crawl on top of my board to sit like him, straddling my legs on either side.

  “Falling is inevitable for beginners,” he says, “but catching six waves isn’t—give yourself some credit.” He smiles, the sun beaming off the droplets of water lingering on his tanned face and dripping from the hair pushed back away from his forehead.

  He looks incredible, I can’t stop myself from glimpsing him when he’s not looking. My stomach flip-flops every time he touches me, whether to help me get back on my board, or to pull me from underneath the water, when he places his hands on my hips, gently helping me with my form—all things that I can really do myself for the most part, but couldn’t bring myself to protest. I actually look forward to it each time.

  And sometimes I find myself instigating it.

  Gah! I’m like a little girl with a crush!

  Once again, reality rears its ugly head and ruins the moment. “I?
??m not looking forward to going back to work,” I say, gazing across the water at the hotel a pretty good distance away.

  Luke paddles over a little closer to where the sides of our boards touch.

  “You don’t seem happy with your job,” he says.

  I shake my head slightly, still looking toward the hotel. Flashes of the wedding ceremony and of Mrs. Dennings and her evil spawn of a daughter dance through my mind.

  “It’s a good job,” I say distantly.

  “What’s so good about it?” Luke asks, and I finally turn away from the hotel to look at him sitting on his board right next to me.

  “It pays great,” I answer.

  “Is that all?”

  I think on his question a moment, digging inside myself for his reasoning behind it, because I get the distinct feeling there is one.

  “I guess that’s the most important thing,” I say. “I mean, I love the creative side of my job, but the money is why we work to begin with.”

  Luke smiles softly and gazes across the water. He says, “A wise man once said, Why work for a living if you kill yourself working?”

  I purse my lips thoughtfully and nod. “Pretty sound advice, I guess. Who’s the wise man?”

  “Clint Eastwood,” Luke answers.

  I chuckle. “He said that, did he?”

  “Yep. He did—well, it went something like that, anyway.”

  “Good advice,” I repeat, “but not exactly advice half of the working population can heed, unfortunately.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “I think it can be done.”

  A wave pushes us forward, almost knocking me off my board, but I manage to hold on and stay upright. We’ve been drifting closer to the shore for the past few minutes.

  Once the water calms again, I look back over at him and say, “I’m all ears.”

  Another wave comes toward us, and this time Luke gives me that look, telling me I should try to catch this one. With only a little time to spare, I lie forward across the center of my board and start to paddle until the wave comes quickly up from behind. I brace myself, popping my body into a near-perfect stance. The wave carries me nearly all the way to the shore, where I finally jump off one side into shallow water. Luke is right behind me.