Page 25 of Wilder Love
The movie must have inspired Mom. She regaled us with tales of Christmases past, painting a Norman Rockwell-worthy picture of our happy holidays.
Mom was a liar.
She wanted to see the world through rose-tinted glasses. She actually believed that was the way it had been when I knew for a fact that the Christmas we were twelve was the shittiest Christmas ever. The heat had been turned off because Mom hadn’t paid the utilities. Detroit in the winter was fucking cold.
Mom had conveniently forgotten why we’d left Detroit. Dylan hadn’t. His hands were balled into fists, his eyes stormy, jaw clenched but he kept his mouth shut and didn’t say a word.
“Hey Rem,” Dylan said after Mom said goodnight and disappeared into her bedroom. I was headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and turned to look at him. If I had the money, I’d buy him a pull-out sofa. It still bothered me that he had to sleep on a shitty sofa that was too short for him. His clothes were in an old dresser we’d found at Goodwill. I’d tried to make it look better by painting it glossy black, his favorite color. It was a fail. The paint was chipping, the cheap wood veneer showing through. But he told me he appreciated the effort, so that was something, I guess.
“Yeah?”
“I like math.” He was staring at the Christmas tree again, hands locked behind his head, his long legs kicked out in front of him. “I love figuring out equations. That shit comes easily to me. It’s like a language I understand. And when I figure out a difficult problem that others struggle with, it feels good, you know? So, I don’t know…I guess that’s my thing. Math makes a hella lot more sense than people do. Numbers don’t lie. They don’t dick you around or make you feel like shit. And they don’t break your heart.” His voice was so low, the pain seeping out of every word, that it made me wonder if he’d ever had his heart broken. If he knew how that felt.
Of course, he did. He wasn’t talking about a girl breaking his heart. He was talking about Mom. She’d broken his heart and she kept on doing it. Her actions hurt him. We’d both become skilled liars, so good at hiding our feelings and making excuses for her that it had become second nature to keep it all inside.
Dylan didn’t share much but when he did, it felt like he’d given you a gift you should cherish. He’d given me a little piece of his soul, knowing he could trust me with it. My heart expanded in my chest until it was almost painful, a lump forming in my throat that made it impossible to speak.
I loved his guts.
I wanted to hug him, reassure him that everything would be okay, but we didn’t do that anymore. We’d gotten too jaded and too old to hug and it was just awkward now, so I forced a smile and said goodnight, leaving him in the living room that doubled as his bedroom.
On Christmas Eve morning,I woke up to gray skies and rain, a text from Shane, and a gift outside the front door. It was wrapped in blue snowflake paper and the card had my name on it. I looked across the street just in time to see Shane leaving, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, the ends of his hair sticking out of a slouchy gray beanie. He was wearing a blue hoodie, and gray sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips. He looked effortlessly cool and gorgeous and it was easy to see why girls would throw themselves at him. I’d heard Travis talking about all the girls on tour. Bikini-clad groupies who followed the surfers around to events. They even had a name – pro ho. I was under no illusion that Shane lived like a monk but whenever he left to go anywhere, I always felt a pang of jealousy.
What if he met someone his own age, fell madly in love, and forgot all about me? I was pretty sure this infatuation was one-sided. Unrequited love. God, that was sad.
Before he got into his dad’s surf van, he looked up at my apartment as if he sensed me watching him. I smiled, and he returned it, and for a few seconds, our eyes locked. He was sunshine on a rainy day. Summertime in December. And I was the stupid girl foolish enough to fall in love with him.
Then, just like that, he was gone.
Five months ago, I didn’t even know he existed. And now… I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it. I knew it was dangerous to think like that. Nothing in this world was permanent. How long would he stay in my life before he decided it wasn’t worth the hassle?
10
Shane
“You’re playing with fire, dude,” Travis said.
I ignored him, my eyes on Remy as she paddled out to us, battling the waves in the impact zone, that determined look on her face that I’d come to know so well.
“Duckdive,” I yelled, motioning with my hand as she faced a set of waves. Shit. I raked my hands through my hair as I watched her get pushed back and then I lost sight of her in the white water. Worry and panic swirled in my gut. Finally, she emerged, shaking her head and retrieving her board, getting it underneath her in time to tackle the next set of waves before she got slammed.
Jesus Christ.
There was a solid six-foot swell today with gaping barrels breaking on the shore. After last night’s storm, the waves were big and consistent. The stuff of my wet dreams. But I shouldn’t have let her come out with me. Now I felt responsible for her safety.
“I don’t get it,” Travis said, watching me watch Remy fight to paddle out to us. “You’ve got chicks throwing themselves at you, and you’re hung up on this one? I get it. She’s hot. But she’ssixteen.”
“Are you here to give me shit or to surf?” I asked, a bite to my tone that I’d chalk up to jet lag after our flight from Australia if it wasn’t for the fact that he was right.
Remy joined us in the lineup, looking slightly worse for the wear, but she gave us a little smile.
“How are you holding up?” I asked. “You sure you’re okay to surf this?”
“I’m great. It’s all good.”
“You’re still a beginner.”
She arched a brow. “Your dad said you were a storm chaser when you were just a grom. I’m sure I can handle it. Besides, the best way to learn anything is baptism by fire.”
