Ripped

  It’s about one a.m. when the cab drops Lena off first. I help carry her suitcase up the porch steps, then I stand there for a moment, waiting for her to go inside.

  She glances at the cab, then back to me. “I won’t pretend to know how you feel, but I know that you can still fight this and you can still come out on top. Hey, don’t make me touch your butt to get your attention,” she says, reaching toward me.

  I shake my head. “I fucked up,” I reply. “It’s as simple as that. But that’s not what I’m worried about. Whatever kind of disciplinary action the committee hands down to me, I can deal with. What I can’t deal with…”

  I pause as I consider telling her how Lindsay wants me to retire after this year. I should tell her, since her job depends on me not retiring. But I can’t. If I say it aloud, that will make it real. And I’ve already made my mind up. I’m not quitting.

  Lena’s eyes search mine for the words I’m holding back. “You can’t deal with what?”

  I shake my head again. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll hit you up later. Get some rest.” Before I can stop myself, I plant a kiss on her forehead. “Shit. Sorry. I don’t know… Forget it. I gotta go. Good night.”

  She laughs as she opens her front door. I jog back to the cab, eager to get away from that awkwardness. But the instant I’m in the backseat, I’m dreading the awkwardness that’s sure to come when I tell Lindsay I’m not retiring.

  Fuck. In less than two days, my life has become a giant clusterfuck of bad decisions.

  The moment I step inside the dark house, I smell something I’ve never smelled before in this house: baby powder. The soft, powdery scent pulls at my insides and I realize I can’t lay this news on Lindsay tonight. Not after she’s spent the past ten days taking care of two children while she’s almost eight months pregnant with twins. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? It’s like I’ve completely lost my ability to make sound decisions. I’m so fucking confused.

  I turn on the light in the kitchen and head for the cupboard to grab a tumbler. Lindsay walks in as I’m pouring myself a glass of water from the pitcher. She squints at the lights as she makes her way toward me. Her golden-blonde hair is sticking out on one side, and just the sight of her makes me feel better than I did before I walked into this house.

  I set my glass down on the counter as I reach for her, placing one hand on each side of her belly. “Hey, baby. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “You didn’t wake me. I was just lying down waiting for you. Are you okay?”

  I stare into her blue eyes. “You’re carrying a litter of humans inside your stomach and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

  She flashes me a lopsided grin. “I’m serious. You don’t look good.”

  “Thanks,” I reply with a laugh as I step around her so I can brush her hair aside and lay a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “You, on the other hand, look good enough to eat.”

  She lets out a puff of laughter. “I don’t think so. I’m ready to pop. I don’t think I’m going to make it the full thirty-seven weeks.”

  Thirty-seven weeks is considered full-term in most twin pregnancies. I was a little unnerved when Dr. Billings revealed this fact to us, but I figure he’s done this a few times. He must know what he’s doing.

  I slide my hands forward, one of them cupping her breast while the other rubs her belly. “Billings said the babies should be perfectly healthy if they’re born up to six weeks early. You’re in the clear.”

  She sucks in a sharp breath as my hand slides down the front of her panties. “There’s something I have to show you upstairs,” she murmurs.

  “Can it wait?” I whisper in her ear as I find her hot button.

  She reaches forward, grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter for support. “The nursery is finished,” she pants.

  I swirl my finger around her clit as my other hand pulls her panties down and unzips my jeans. “Did you get the ultrasound while I was gone?” I ask as my pants fall down around my ankles.

  She gasps as I rub the tip of my cock along her swollen folds, using it to massage her clit. “I did, but I told them I didn’t want to know the sex.”

  Once she’s good and wet, I drag my cock up her slit and glide into her. “Oh, fuck,” I grunt as I slowly bury myself deep inside her. “You’re so fucking tight right now.”

  She whimpers as I slide my hand back between her legs. “I can’t,” she begs, moving my hand away. “I can’t orgasm standing up like this. I’m afraid I’ll collapse. Just fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

  I grab her hips and dig deep into her. “Oh, fuck. Is that… Is that your cervix or something else?”

  “No,” she replies, shaking her head adamantly. “Don’t stop. Fuck me harder.”

  I swallow hard as I thrust into her. The sensation is a mixture of pleasure and confusion.

  “Are you sure I’m not hitting the babies?”

  “No, you’re not,” she replies, reaching back and pushing my chest to shove me away. “If you don’t want to have sex, that’s fine. I’m going to bed.”

  I watch her, unable to form a sentence, as she pulls her panties up and storms out of the kitchen, leaving me with my pants around my ankles and my dick in my hand. What the fuck just happened? It must be the pregnancy hormones. Either that, or this is turning into the weirdest week of my life.

  I pull up my pants and finish my glass of water before I grab my suitcase and head upstairs. But when I get to the master bedroom, I find it’s already been converted to Kaia’s room, and she’s sleeping peacefully in her canopy bed. I close the door softly and stop by her old bedroom. As Lindsay mentioned, Kaia’s room has been turned into a nursery.

  I flip the light switch and I get a pang of remorse in my gut when I see the neutral butter-yellow color palette Lindsay chose for the room. I know she did it for me, so I wouldn’t feel disappointed in case I found out I was having twin girls instead of twin boys. And now, the mere thought of this makes me feel like a supreme asshole. I should be so lucky as to have two more girls as amazing as the ones I already have.

  I leave my suitcase in the hallway, then I head downstairs to the master bedroom addition. When I enter the room, I’m surprised to see all our bedroom furniture in a new configuration. It looks sort of lifeless, with a large empty space in the corner because the new master is too big for the amount of furniture we had upstairs, and none of my surf awards or trophies are displayed on the walls. To be fair, there’s nothing on the walls yet, and Lindsay and I agreed that the awards would be moved into the workshop in the backyard where I keep my boards.

  Lindsay is lying down in bed, facing away from the door. I close the door behind me and turn off the light. Taking off my clothes before I get in bed, I slide in close to her and snuggle my face into her neck as I gently lay my hand on her belly.

  “The nursery looks good. You did a beautiful job.”

  She lays her hand on top of mine. “You mean it? You’re not disappointed that it’s not blue?”

  “Fuck, no,” I insist. “I’d be happy if we had ten pink bedrooms.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, I’m not doing this anymore. This is the last time. I’m closing up shop after this.”

  I kiss the back of her neck, savoring the clean flavor of her skin. “I bet I’ll be able to convince you to have another one.”

  “No. No way. This has been hell on my body and my hormones. Besides, why would you want another one? Four is enough.”

  I kiss the back of her ear and she sighs. “Is it? I was kind of thinking five kids sounds like a nice number. I like the number five.”

  Her fingertips brush over my knuckles. “Your hand is scraped. You should clean it up and wrap it so it doesn’t get infected.” She tosses the covers off and turns on the lamp on the bedside table. “Come on.”

  I roll my eyes as I follow her into the unfinished master bathroom. She reaches into the box of stuff from our old master bathroom and digs around a little, coming up with a roll of adhesive gauze, some
gauze squares, iodine, and cotton balls. It’s not uncommon to get banged up when I’m surfing, so we always have a full stock of first-aid supplies on hand. Sometimes I get scraped up from running into other surfers and sometimes it’s from being thrown against the rocks. Sometimes it’s my own board that bangs me up. I once got a broken nose when my board popped out from underneath me, flew into the air, and came down on my face.

  She sits on the toilet, which is still covered in construction dust, as she cleans my hand and wraps it with gauze. “You’re still getting in fistfights and you want to have five kids?” She looks up at me with disappointment in her eyes. “Maybe we should worry about taking care of the ones we already have first. Have you talked to Andy about retiring yet?”

  I pull my hand back, squeezing my fist tightly to stretch the gauze out. “Not yet.”

  “Why not? Surfline magazine is coming to do that interview in five weeks. Don’t you think you should talk to Andy before then? You know they’re going to ask you about it in the interview.”

  I stare at the teak bathroom vanity, which is missing the granite countertop we ordered. It seems like everything in my life is either unfinished or in upheaval. Is it so wrong if I want this one thing, this major part of my life—my career—to stay the same?

  “Maybe I don’t want to retire yet,” I reply, my gaze still focused on the vanity.

  “Oh, my God,” she replies, and I finally look up to see her eyes wide with horror. “I can’t believe this. You’re actually considering leaving me alone with four kids. I can’t fucking believe this.” She stands up to leave and I grab her arm, but she shakes my hand off roughly. “I trusted you to do the right thing and now you’re backing out on me?”

  “I’m not changing my mind, I’m just… I’m thinking about alternatives to retirement.”

  She shakes her head as she moves around me and goes back to bed. As I come out of the bathroom, I get hit in the face with a pillow.

  “You can think about your alternatives on the sofa.”

  I sigh as I snatch up the pillow, gritting my teeth as I head out to the living room. What happens when your wife becomes pregnant with twins while your career is just starting to take off?

  Lost the event in Portugal. Lost my top CT ranking in the process. Pissed off the editor of one of the most influential surfing communities. Pissed off the commissioner of the World Surf League. Came home and pissed off my wife, ended up with blue balls and a night on the sofa.

  Well, it’s official. My shitty life has become a punch line to a very shitty joke.

  Thirteen

  I had the foresight to set my alarm for a few minutes before Lindsay and the girls wake up, so I can take the blanket and pillow I slept with back to the bedroom. Kaia and Mila don’t need to know that Lindsay and I are having problems. I don’t think Kaia has quite gotten over the fact that Jason Greene didn’t turn out to be the wonderful guy she thought he was. She doesn’t need to find out her parents also aren’t invincible.

  When I enter the bedroom, Lindsay is still asleep, on my side of the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. I set my pillow and blanket down on the cushioned trunk at the foot of the bed and make an effort not to wake her as I leave. I enter Kaia’s room and sit on the edge of her bed. The movement of the mattress wakes her. She smiles when she sees me, revealing that she lost another tooth while I was gone.

  “Hey, jack-o’-lantern, when did you lose that tooth?” I ask.

  She narrows her eyes at me as she sits up and touches her finger to the gap in her top teeth. “This? Two days ago, at Uncle Mark’s.”

  “You went to Uncle Mark’s?”

  She nods enthusiastically. “Mom and Grandma Margaret took us. We helped him sanding the canoe and he let us paint our names on it. Well, Mila can’t write her name, so Uncle Mark helped her. Then my tooth fell out when we were eating pizza.”

  I smile and pull her into a hug. “I’ll bet it takes half as long to brush your teeth now, right?”

  She laughs as she hugs me back. I get a pang of sadness in my belly as I imagine my girls having such a monumental experience without me. I remember the first time my mom took me to my uncle Mark’s workshop, where he makes custom sailboats, canoes, and surfboards by hand. I was dazzled by all the tools and shiny boats and boards. Uncle Mark gave me Ripped, my first surfboard, that day.

  After a very tense breakfast, I throw my wetsuit on underneath my clothes so I can go straight to the beach after I take Kaia to school. I slide my boards into the truck bed, but as I pull out of the garage, I notice a work truck parked next to our curb. I get out of the truck to head inside and get Kaia, when the driver’s side door opens and out comes a dark-haired guy who’s wearing a T-shirt in fifty-degree weather. I guess that’s not so uncommon, and it probably wouldn’t bother me in the least if I didn’t get the feeling he was only doing it to show off his arms, which are completely covered in tattoos.

  He spots me staring at him and he smiles as he nods at me. “Hey, what’s up, man? I’m here to drill the new hole in your bathroom.”

  “You’re what?” I reply, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

  He loses his smile as he walks around the back of the white work truck toward me. “The hole for the drain in your bathroom, your… uh… your dad told me to come and drill a hole to tie into the new plumbing… for your bathroom sink.”

  Something about this guy irks the fuck out of me. Maybe it’s the fact that even as a man, I can acknowledge that this guy is extremely good looking. Or maybe it’s the fact that his way of introducing himself is by offering to drill me a new hole. No, I know what it is. It’s the fact that he reminds me of someone: Chris Knight.

  It’s been more than two years since Lindsay and I had a perfectly pleasant dinner with Chris and Claire Knight. It’s been nine years since Claire left me for Chris. I harbor no ill feelings toward either of them. But for some reason, this guy, who could probably play Chris Knight the rock star—if they ever made a movie about him—is pissing me the fuck off just because of the way he looks. Fuck. I think it’s time to give up this abstinence shit and toke it up with Yuri pronto.

  Lindsay comes outside with Kaia, kissing her cheek as she sends her off. “Oh, are you Finn?” she says to the guy, not even looking at me. Not that I expect her to look at me when she’s carefully avoided acknowledging me all morning. And it only pisses me off more that she already knows his name.

  The guy looks at me before he addresses Lindsay. “Yeah, I’m here to drill—to fix the problem in the bathroom. Is that cool?” He looks back and forth between Lindsay and me, awaiting our answer.

  I nod at him as I put my arm on Kaia’s shoulder and lead her around to the passenger side to help her into the truck. “Watch out, baby,” I say when she almost steps on the hem of her dress while climbing in. I shut the passenger door and round the back of the truck so I can watch as Finn the plumber follows Lindsay into the house. I grit my teeth as the front door closes behind them.

  * * *

  I tell Lena to take the day off, that I feel like spending some time alone today, then I lay it all out. I give everything I have to those waves today. And as choppy and inconsistent as they are, the waves seem to give it back. The water opens up when I need it to, and curves around me, embracing me when it’s time to shut down. By the time I drag my ass out of the surf, the time on my phone tells me I surfed right through lunch and I have about twenty minutes to get to Kaia’s school and pick her up.

  I quickly strip out of my wetsuit, leaving on the wet board shorts I’m wearing underneath. Then I throw on a dry T-shirt and lay a towel down on the driver’s seat before I head off. When I pull into the line of cars in front of the school, I see Kaia getting into Lindsay’s mom’s Acura a few cars ahead of me. I turn out of the line of cars and roll down my passenger window as I pull up next to Lillian.

  “Lillian,” I call out, and Kaia’s face beams when she sees me.

  Lillian turns to me and rolls her eyes as her window sli
des down. “If you were going to pick her up, you could have at least answered your phone to let us know that.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t have any messages or missed calls from you or Lindsay.”

  She shakes her head and purses her lips as her window glides up to form a barrier between us. I draw in long, cleansing breaths as I wait for Kaia to get into the truck.

  “Guess what?” she says, her voice bright and hopeful like a child with big, exciting news to share.

  “What, baby?” I reply, trying to hide the frustration in my voice.

  “I got first place in the Community Credit Union art contest.” She pulls a blue ribbon and a white envelope out of her backpack. “See? And I won a Visa gift card,” she says, holding up the envelope.

  “Wow. That’s amazing, baby. Can I see the drawing you entered in the contest?”

  She shakes her head, still smiling. “You have to go to the credit union to see it. They have it on the wall.”

  I pull away from the school and head down College Road. “You know what? I think we should do that right now. What do you think?”

  Her eyes widen as she nods her head furiously. “Yes, please! You’re the best, Daddy.”

  I laugh as I set off toward the credit union. By the time we find a parking space in the lot, the sky has opened up and the rain is starting to pour in earnest. I pull Kaia close to me to shelter her a little from the water. We enter the credit union laughing hysterically and one of the tellers shoots us a nasty look.

  I ignore her when I immediately see the wall of art on my left. Hanging underneath the sign bearing the Community Credit Union logo are approximately twenty drawings of various quality. Under each drawing is a brief description—in third-grade handwriting—of what each image depicts.

  Kaia points to the drawing in the center of the top row. “That’s mine,” she says, her face looking both proud and hesitant as she prepares to be judged.