Page 52 of On the Beat

Without warning, Ryder climbs halfway out of the water, and wraps his hand around my ankle, slowly but steadily dragging me toward him. “How about now?”

“I’m not getting in the pool and you can’t make me!” I yell, grabbing onto the beach chair, which only moves with me.

Ryder stops pulling me, but his hand doesn’t drop from my leg. “What is it about the pool that you find so scary?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and considering bending down and prying Ryder’s fingers off my ankle. The only problem is, I’m not sure I want his hands off of my skin. His grip feels kind of… nice. Comforting. “When I was eight, my brother almost drowned.”

“Gabriel?” He tilts his head to one side, his hair dripping into the pool.

I shake my head. “Francisco. Obviously, he’s fine now, but I just… I never got over seeing him like that, you know?”

He’s silent for a moment, seeming almost thoughtful. Then he speaks. “When I was nine, my older brother dared me to jump in the river. I broke my collarbone.”

I’m surprised that he would share this secret with me. It feels like a buried gem, something he pulled out of a musty treasure box and polished off and handed to me. “How did you get over it?”

“I swore my undying revenge on him,” he deadpans before letting go of me and swimming back to the other end of the pool, the shallow end. “Come on, Isla. I’m not going to force you to do anything. I was just playing, okay? You don’t have to get in if you don’t want to. I’m just giving you a chance to get over your fears. No one ever offered to help me get over mine.”

I suck in a shaky breath. Then I walk over to the side of the pool and take a few slow steps into the water.

* * *

An hour later, my fingers and toes are prunes and I’ve learned how to doggy paddle and backstroke.

The backstroke is admittedly more difficult since it involves staring at the blinding sun. Then, I start worrying about hitting my head on the edge of the pool, getting a concussion, leading to a brain bleed, and dying. Then again, maybe I’ve been watching too muchGrey’s Anatomy, to the point that I think every minor injury will end in death like the injury suffered by Patrick Dempsey’s character.

“Isla.”

I’m clinging to one end of the pool, head and shoulders above water with my forearms folded on the concrete, my hands splayed over my elbows. “What?”

“Get out of your head.”

“I could get out of my head more easily if I was allowed to get out of the pool.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

No, he’s not. He’s never really stopped me. Even when he tried to stop me from staying in El Nido, or now when he’s trying to get me to learn how to swim–he’s never stopped me. There’s something else that’s causing me to stay in the lukewarm, chlorinated water, something I can’t explain and don’t want to understand.

“Can we… take a break?” I rest my chin on my forearms.

“You’re not giving up on me, are you?” Ryder wades toward me, tall enough that in the shallow end of the pool, the water hits him mid-chest. “I don’t think I’d forgive you if you gave up.”

“Why?” I let go of the edge of the pool and turn my head towards him. Both of my feet touch the ground as I wrap my arms around myself like I’m cold. In reality, I wish the water were colder, instead of the sun beating down on me, likely bronzing my skin even more than the faint tan I’ve already acquired in my weeks here. “Why do you care whether I learn how to swim, Ryder?”

He shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t look away from me. “I…”

Instead of trying to read his words, I try to read his face. Blue eyes bore into mine, refusing to look away, and they’re filled with grief. Regret. Loss. The kind of deep pain that leaves a lasting mark, the kind that cripples you and forces you to keep going anyway; the kind that weighs you down and demands you crawl out from under it, dragging that wound with you for the rest of your life.

“What’s your reason?” My words ghost through the air between us, and I half-expect them to evaporate before they reach him. I expect him to say nothing in response, to do nothing, to give me no reply. We have spent this entire trip blocking each other out, giving and hiding pieces of ourselves, concealing and revealing ourselves at our own convenience. Not really sharing, not ever daring to be vulnerable. Why would we?

He’s a spoiled pop star.

I’m a celebrity journalist.

“You want to know why I care?” His tone is hoarse. Beneath the water, he is a hazy outline; above it, he’s more real than anyone I’ve ever known. “I care, because I care about Paulo. You’re his cousin.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what I expected from him. Of course, it’s a logical answer. He and Paulo are good friends. He cares about Paulo. Paulo cares about me because I’m his blood relative. Thus, Ryder cares about me, but it’s an extension for his affection for his best friend. The kiss in the recording studio may say otherwise, but…

It was a kiss. Only a kiss. A kiss followed by a moment that I ruined by bringing up my ex. So, Ryder doesn’t care about me in a romantic way.

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