Deeper Than The Ocean by Julie Ann Walker

 

 

Chapter 30

 

12:01 AM…

 

The moon was a Cheshire cat smile hanging low in the diamond-studded sky. The sea breeze was a warm, soothing breath of air over bare skin. And the sound of the waves washing to shore was a quiet, rhythmic lullaby.

All told, Mia should be asleep.

She was usually asleep by this time of night. Weary after a day in the sun. Lulled by the slowness of life on the island. And feeling, perhaps for the first time ever, as if she were truly protected from the evils of the world.

In fact, she’d gotten better sleep in the month since she’d moved to Wayfarer Island than she had in…well…she supposed in the preceding twenty years. With no cell service keeping her tethered to family, no television keeping her abreast of the world news, and not even a radio to pump in the newest pop hits, she could finally disconnect. Be free.

Breathe.

But tonight she lay on the porch daybed—the one she inherited after Alex, it’s previous occupant, moved upstairs into Mason’s room—and no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she cajoled, she couldn’t convince the Sandman to visit her.

Blame it on Romeo.

Dinner had been an odd affair, with him conspicuously absent and Doc shooting her searching looks. At one point, Doc had leaned over to whisper, “In case you’re wondering, it’s hashtag Team Mia for me.”

She’d blinked at him, completely dumbfounded. But she hadn’t had time to question him before LT said something that drew his attention away.

After dinner, she’d made a quick escape, pleading exhaustion after the trip to Key West. But in the hours since she climbed into bed, she’d done nothing but toss and turn. Even Meat, who usually liked to sleep with her because the screened-in back porch was the coolest spot in the house, had gotten fed up with her constant agitation and taken himself off to find more peaceful accommodations.

“You’re nothing I need, and I’m nothing you should want.”

Those words kept echoing through her head, and each repetition rankled more than the one before.

The gall! The conceit! The…the…sheer arrogance of him assuming I wanted him for his body instead of his friendship! I mean, I’d like to have both, but I’m not stupid! Come on!

A rustle came from the forest growing at the back of the house. She bolted upright in bed, the light quilt held to her chest. Squinting her eyes, she tried to see what was headed her way, but even the bright, silvery moonlight wasn’t enough to cut through the eerie black shadows created by the tree canopy.

There are no predators on this island,she reminded herself. Even so, her heart beat against her ribs until they began to ache.

Snap! The sound of a twig breaking in two.

Crackle! Rattle! Someone or something had stumbled into a pile of dead palm fronds that’d fallen to the ground.

Thump! Whoever or whatever had tumbled into the sand.

Mia caught her bottom lip between her teeth and stared hard into the darkness, willing her pupils to expand and take in more light. Slowly, a form began to immerge at the edge of the tree line.

She released a shuddering breath. She would recognize those muscled shoulders anywhere. Could pick out that self-assured swagger from a hundred yards off.

Except…the swagger looked…unsteady.

No. No unsteady. Drunk.

A thousand childhood memories tried to claw their way to the surface. But she squared her jaw and beat them back.

Still, a headache began to throb behind her right eye, and she felt nauseous. It happened every time she was confronted with someone who was inebriated. For her, post-traumatic stress didn’t only manifest itself in mental anguish, it brought on a whole slew of physical symptoms.

She sat frozen while Romeo lurched his way across the narrow strip of sand that stood between the back of the house and the trees. She didn’t say a word as he stumbled up the steps, fumbled with the screen door, and then shuffled onto the porch. He glanced around, his head looking unsteady on the end of his neck.

Maybe he’ll go inside without stopping to talk, she thought hopefully.

A second later, her hopes were dashed when he headed her way and plopped down on the edge of the daybed. His weight depressed the mattress and had her sliding toward him until her thigh brushed his hip and made her belly flop. She scrambled away, pressing her back tight against the wrought iron railing that made up the back and the sides of the bed.

“Hello, Romeo.” She was careful to keep her voice neutral, neither wanting him to hear how his nearness affected her nor how his drunkeness hit her where she was most vulnerable. “Is there something I can do for you at…” She squinted down at her watch. “Three minutes past midnight?”

His breath smelled of whiskey when he sighed heavily. “Okay, I’m opening up my closhet…” He frowned and tried again. “My closet so you can see all my skeletons.”

“Huh?” She eyed him askance.

He rubbed a hand down his face, and then ran it back up and into his hair. When he dropped his hand, not only was his goatee all wild and ruffled-looking, so was his hair.

She blinked at the incongruent sight. Island living meant none of them were dressed for the catwalk. But even so, Romeo was usually so…tidy, she supposed was the word. Good haircut, clothes that fit his body to a tee, neatly trimmed facial hair.

It was strange to see him unkempt.

“Growing up in L.A. meant I was predish…predish…” He frowned.

“Predisposed?” she supplied helpfully.

He nodded his thanks. “Yes. I was predisposed to a certain lifestyle. No, wait.” He shook his head. “That’s not right. I wasn’t predish…predisposed to it. It was forced on me. Like, I didn’t have an option. It was either get on board or wind up in a pine box.”

He stopped to look at her, and the confusion on her face must’ve been obvious even to a man who was three sheets to the wind.

Okay, maybe not three. She’d come to discern the different levels of drunkenness from an early age. She’d guess he was…one sheet to the wind. Maybe one and a half.

“Sorry.” He scratched his head, which made his hair stand up higher. “I’m not explaining this very well, eh?” When she shook her head, he went on. “So here’s the deal. I, um, I joined a gang when I was seventeen. And my initiation prosh…prosh…” He growled in annoyance and slapped his cheek before shaking his head as if to jangle some sobriety into it. “Process,” he finally managed and then grinned in triumph, making his dimples wink. “Involved me gunning down another kid.”

Mia knew her eyes got huge when he blinked at her in confusion. Then it was almost like she saw the light bulb go on over his head. He hurriedly added, “Oh, I didn’t kill him. I told all the other homeboys I tried, but the truth is, I aimed for that dude’s leg.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it wheezed out of her. The headache was still stabbing her eye, but she’d stopped being nauseous. Progress.

“Anyway,” he went on, sounding slightly more sober, “I knew my clique would organize a jump on me since the kid lived, but I didn’t care. I figured I’d survive getting the shit kicked out of me, and then they’d make me a homeboy without me having to off anyone.”

He glanced into the darkness of the trees. The moonlight accentuated the firmness of his jaw, the thickness of his eyelashes. “For about six months after that, I sold a lot of pot. I smoked a lot of pot too,” he admitted with a rueful grin that was lopsided. Then his expression turned serious again. “I flunked out of school and my girlfriend got pregnant.”

He grimaced at her surprised expression. “Yeah. I was shaping up to be a real winner.” He rubbed his eyes. Eyes which, she was happy to say, were looking clearer and clearer with each passing minute.

“So Gina told me— Uh, that was my girlfriend. Gina,” he clarified. “Anyhow, so Gina told me she wanted an abortion. And, of course, she expected me to pay for it. I wanted her to keep the baby, but it was her choice and what the hell did I know about being a father, right? My old man was killed when I was six, and the only other father figure I had to look up to was my older brother, who was a top-ranking member of the gang, so…” He shrugged.

Mia opened her mouth, and then closed it again. What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t think. Her head was spinning.

“Unfortunately,” he continued. “I didn’t have the dough for the abortion, so I put on a ski mask like some Fargo shit and tried to rob the corner store. Which is how I got caught by the cops. Which is how I ended up in front of Judge Biltmore who gave me the choice between being tried as an adult or going to military school. And the rest, as they say, is hish…tory.”

That time he didn’t fix his mistake. He simply let it stand, although he did work his jaw like his tongue was numb.

She finally found her voice. “Why are you telling me all this, Romeo?”

He stared hard at her. She felt his eyes boring into hers as if he was trying to see inside her head. Then, he shrugged and looked away, which meant she had the opportunity to release a covert breath of relief.

To be the object of Romeo’s stark attention was a heady and disquieting experience.

“I guess because I respect you and admire you, and I hate that I hurt your feelings earlier.” He grimaced. “I guess because you said you wanted to be my friend, but I thought you should know the kind of man you wanted a friendship with.”

For a long time she was quiet, weighing her words carefully in her mind. Then, finally, “You know, I’ve heard it said we should never judge people by their pasts, especially if they don’t live there anymore. You say you were seventeen when all this happened?”

He nodded, looking like he was waiting for her to condemn him despite her words.

“And how old are you now?” she asked.

“Thirty-four.”

“So, for a few months during your seventeenth year of life you did some bad stuff. And that’s supposed to count for more than what you’ve done for the last seventeen years?”

He cocked his head, considering the possibility.

She didn’t know if it was the whiskey keeping his synapses from firing, or if he really was being that hard on himself.

“Let me answer that for you since you seem to be having trouble. No.” She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t count for more. You were young, dumb, a product of your environment, and making choices that didn’t even feel like choices at the time. You’re not that kid anymore, Romeo. And the man you are…the man you’ve become issomeone I would like to have as a friend. Just as soon as you pull your head out of your ass and stop thinking I’m only after your hot bod.”

That he ever thought otherwise broke her heart and had all her previous ire draining out of her like she was a human sieve. Her headache went with it.

Tentatively, she smoothed the tuft of hair at his temple. Then she gently tamed his goatee, loving the coarse feel of his facial hair against the sensitive pads of her fingers. He sat perfectly still, watching her with those melting, dark eyes.

A trill of attraction vibrated low in her stomach, but she ignored it. “And FYI,” she added, “shitfaced isn’t a good look on you. It’s not a good look on anyone, actually. But I swear, you look like a before picture.”

That seemed to bring him up short. “Fuck,” he hissed. “I shouldn’t have…your mom…she was a… I should’ve—” He realized he was stumbling over himself and finished with, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I mean, my lizard brain still goes into fight, flight, or freeze mode whenever I’m around someone who’s had too much. But my rational brain knows not everyone who gets drunk does it on the daily, and simply because someone overindulges around me, that doesn’t mean something bad is bound to happen.”

“Is that why you didn’t ask Doc to join you for a drink? Because alcohol is such a sore subject?”

“More like I realized I wanted to use it as a drug to make myself feel better after our talk,” she admitted with a grimace. “And given my family history, that’s a slippery slope. Too slippery. I don’t want to come anywhere near it.”

Silence descended on the porch then. The only sounds were the call of insects and the distance shush of the waves lapping at the beach.

She’d revealed too much. A sickly panic began to set in, so she quipped, “Anyway, all that to say I forgive you for stumbling up here with bacon for brains.”

She could tell he didn’t want to, but he let her change the subject. “Bacon for brains, huh?” He shot her an amused glance. “You’re one surprise after another.”

“Yes. I contain multitudes.”

“And so you know, I hardly ever drink this much. I needed some liquid courage to…to tell you—”

“Forget about it.” She waved away his explanation. “All’s well that ends well.” Then a thought occurred. “Hey, whatever happened to the baby?”

He frowned. “What baby?”

“The one your girlfriend was carrying when you were arrested.”

“Oh.” He sighed. “Turns out Gina wasn’t pregnant. She only wanted me to give her the money so she could buy a new phone.”

Mia blinked. “You’re not serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am.” Then he looked at her imploringly. “So, can we forget about earlier in the plane when I was a total dickwad and agree to be friends?”

Friends with Romeo…

It would be difficult given how attracted to him she was. But more than attraction, she liked him. And more than liking him, she felt safe around him.

She rarely felt safe around anyone.

“Friends.” She nodded, extending her hand so they could shake on it.

The moment his warm, dry palm engulfed hers, goose bumps broke out across the back of her neck.

“So…” he said slowly. “Is there anything you’ve ever done that you’re not proud of? Something you’d be willing to share with me so I don’t feel like such an idiot for stumbling up here and whipping open my raincoat? Great friendships should begin on equal footing, don’t you think?”

Oh, there was definitely a skeleton in her closet. A huge one. But it would stay there.

“Well…” She stuck her tongue in her cheek to distract him from what she knew was all the blood leaching from her face. “There was this one time when this drunk guy woke me up to tell me about his high school gang affiliation and pot habit, and I was really cranky because I needed my beauty sleep, so I ended up punching him in the throat to get him to leave.”

His lips twitched. “Copy that. Message received. Good night, Mia.”

“Good night, Romeo.” She watched him walk to the back door, and then urged him, “Be careful on those stairs. They’re rickety even when your footing is sure.”

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then closed it and simply nodded.

After he disappeared inside, she flopped back against the mattress, willing her heart rate to settle. This could be good, she thought. This will be good.

When a frisson of apprehension ran through her, she studiously ignored it.