Page 29 of Finish Line

Nick: This is Cin. I want a Proof of Life photo.

I take a picture from the bedroom with the water in the shot behind me.

Nick: Where are you? It looks gorgeous.

Shit, of course, they would want to know where I am.

Me: I’m safe. Give me some time to deal, and I’ll keep you updated.

Nick: I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to what you were saying. I thought what I was doing was going to help you.

Me: I understand. I still love you. Get some sleep.

Nick: It’s me again. If you need anything, call. I’ll tell Dad and Patty you got in touch and are safe.

Me: Thanks, Nick.

Once I’m done messaging with them, I decide to go to the beach. I put on a bikini top and shorts.

While I don’t like the way they show off my bruises, Frank mentioned this beach is private, so I only risk bumping into my neighbors, and luckily, these houses are pretty far apart.

After I apply sunscreen and grab sunglasses, I step out of the bedroom’s patio door and follow a small lava stone pathway down a slight slope from the bottom of the deck. Plumeria bushes are interspersed with other foliage along either side of the walkway. I reach out and pluck one of the fragrant blooms, inhaling its rich scent before tucking it behind my left ear.

Continuing, the sound of rushing water echoes from below. I round a slight bend, dip behind what looks like just another pile of lava rock, and find a pool with a sauna. A waterfall spills from the top of the piles of lava rocks, rumbling down its surface before splashing into the pool.

Following the theme of the landscaping, lava rock boulders circle the pool. A beautiful teak driftwood fence closes the space in. Pausing to take my sandals off—because only a complete psycho wears shoes on the beach—I step through the gate, and my feet sink into the soft, warm sand.

I dig my toes deep, wiggling them around before I walk farther onto the beach, where I sit near the water’s edge, watching the tide.

It’s so peaceful.

For a while, I sit like that before I raise my head and gaze out over the water. Boats bob along the surface, and farther out, a jet ski flies around, hopping over waves. A little way down the beach from me is a group of people who appear to be having fun surfing. One guy can’t balance on the board to save his life.

I go back to staring at the water lapping along the beach. It’s almost hypnotic.

That thought jolts me. How did my life become so screwed up?

That’s an easy answer: my mom. She couldn’t be bothered to stay drug-free. I shouldn’t blame her, but moms are supposed to be there for their kids. I wouldn’t have ended up in Ashland if she wasn’t in rehab for the umpteenth time. And then, I never would have crossed paths with Roger.

The only downside to this line of thinking is she would never have met Peter while in rehab. She only got clean and sober because of him. The Lord knows I was never enough to convince her to stay that way.

After my accident, she wouldn’t have been contacted by the hospital. I wouldn’t have been forced to move in with her and Peter. I wouldn’t have met Nick or the guys. I wouldn’t have fallen in love. And my heart wouldn’t have been broken by the guys, either.

However, Roger’s to blame for that.

Would my life be better off without the guys? That question hurts. I’ve grown so close to them. Can I forgive them for having doubts about our relationship? Can I forgive them for whatever they did with their exes?

I know what it’s like to do something you don’t want to do. But are they unwilling if they were having doubts? I run my hand through my hair. My thoughts circle around themselves, with no clear path forward.

I blink and glance around, noticing the deserted beach, everyone having returned inside. I’ve been out here longer than I realized, and the sun now dips toward the horizon.

When I stand, my stiff muscles make me feel a decade older than I am. I follow the pathway back up to the house, where I drag the chair up to the porch.

The rest of the evening is spent watching movies while having the sliding doors open to the warm Pacific breeze.

CHAPTER NINE

CAM

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