Page 3 of Husband Material
Finally inside my car, I closed my eyes and pictured the beckoning vista of blue that awaited me to help me calm down before I started driving. When I opened them a minute later, I wasted no time in heading out. It was a twenty-minute drive to Folly Beach in low traffic, and no way did I want to be thinking of my dearly departed, bitchy ex for the duration.
That was harder than it should be, though. This whole area was haunted by her to some degree—because we'd lived here together for two years.
And yet, Charleston wasmy place, had been since I was a kid. As easy as it would have been to leave, it felt like there was something wordless tying me here—something like unfinished business. Or maybe it was because this was the only home I'd known, and that I'd designed the beach house I now lived in. Or rather in my ex's words:this godforsaken beach shithole.Again, I should be offended, but what-the-fuck-ever.
Its location right on Folly Beach was perfect for surfing when I wasn't working. No way would I give that up because the woman I'd made the mistake of trying to build a life with had decided I wasn't husband material. She hadn't minded my money though. Cassidy had liked to spend it with gusto, so I hoped that fucker Parker was up to the challenge of credit limit increases on his Amex. I think the real beginning-of-the-end came when I asked her to sign the prenup. I'm not that dumb. I wouldn't have married her without it, and she must have known it.
It was time to quit fucking crying over a girl that probably never even loved me anyway.Had I ever loved her, though?
No, was the honest answer to that question.
Iwasbetter off without her. Gray was right. I didn't miss Cassidy as much as I was furious about how she'd left me standing at the proverbial altar with my dick hanging out and thirty thousand dollars of non-refundable wedding cancellations. The blow to my ego in being dumped still stung, but I'd have to get over my butt hurt with that. I hadn't loved her any more than she'd loved me. Honestly, I doubted I’d ever fall in love. Maybe I was broken when it came to loving someone.
Sometimes we all needed a sharp kick in the balls to move on, I thought as the water came into view. Taking my own sharp kick from the waves would do me the most good. And then?Forget the bitch, pay the debts, and move the fuck on with my life.
Luckily, I'd been prepared when I'd met Gray at Jazz Street by wearing board shorts to our late lunch and taking my surfboard with me. As close a friend as Gray was, instinct had told me that our meal wouldn't go well. Probably because every time I met up with anyone these days, my failed wedding disaster cast an impossible-to-escape shadow over it.
It cast a shadow over my thoughts these days, too. By now, thanks to Cassidy, I knew more about the dark side of women than I cared to.
Ah yes,women.
Why did we chase after them? Barely memorable sex? I couldn't remember the last time my cock had been in her mouth for longer than two seconds. Or the cordial treatment in public that was probably all an act in the first place. Her BFF girlfriends tittering as they shopped away our joint finances, in on the big bad secret—that they didn't need us as much as we needed them.Lies.This was all a bored game for them, a hopeless clash of make-believe with reality. And, in the end, everyone lost. Their Disney Princess bubble view of men was burst, as was our hope for any companionship or comfort. I'd seen them, the longtime "tamed" husbands with the already-dead eyes. The last thing I wanted was to become one. She was right.I'm not husband material, and I never fucking will be.But I hoped she was wrong about the "being alone forever" thing. Wasn't it possible to have enough in a long-term relationship to keep me from being alone?
Once I finally arrived at my house, I sat for a minute, taking a breath. Mental rants like this—against Cassidy and women in general—were happening more often than I'd like. It wasn't good for me. MaybeIneeded to go on a vacation somewhere…Costa Rica, Bermuda…somewhere hot and sleepy where I could drink away my problems for a good week or three on a beach with some waves.
Going on vacation right now wasn't an option with work. No, the closest thing I had to an escape was surfing, and I took it every chance I got.
I made a beeline for my house, tossed my shirt and shoes inside, tucked my beloved Hypto Krypto under my arm, and I was good to go.
Sinking my toes in the warm sand, my eyes closed with gratification.
Yes.
No matter what had happened before, things were going to be okay now. The ocean sent a beckoning finger of sea air up my nostrils. My eyes snapped open.
It's time.
Since it was the middle of a Wednesday afternoon, the beach was empty—just how I liked it. Perfect for how I surfed.
Being out there alone with no one to be seen for miles made me feel like a king, one who tempted fate. Like a fearless explorer or adventurer. I'd loved Indiana Jones as a kid, and riding waves, which were as untamed a beast as Mother Nature gave us, was the closest I could get to my own modern-day adventure.
Sucking in a deep breath, I strode into the water.
Unhalting. The very best way to bear the uncomfortable cold shock of the water.
As it mercilessly encased my legs in its icy tendrils, I soldiered ahead. This was how you dealt with the cold, literally and figuratively. The same way I'd been dealing with the separation. One day after the next, hurling myself into work with a more determined, single-minded drive than I'd ever had.
Once the waves reached my waist, I clambered onto my board and started paddling to the approaching swells.
And then suddenly, I was there. As I was lifted, I arched my back, hyper-focused on popping up. This was it. If I wasn't focused, the unsympathetic wave’s strength would slam me back down, mocking my paltry attempt.
My squint of focus relaxed only slightly with the realization that I'd done it. I was riding the sea.
Not conquering it, but moving with it—in a synchronized dance between wave and man. Saltwater hung from my face and a far-off gull cry echoed in my ears, and yet none of it mattered in this, this single, perfect instant when I was immortal. When the mirage of life opened its shaded doors to me.
And then the wave crashed, and I was freed, spewed out, to chase the next one. The next fleeting escape.
The next hour was more of the same. The wash of water over my eyes and ears. The dives, the falls, the bravery. My head resting on my board. My feet held fast on my board, sailing on pure liquid rush. The closest I could get to walking on water.
