Lawless (5 page)

I have to expand my job search to Santa Barbara and Malibu. The drive will suck and I’m not so sure my leg can take it for the first couple weeks, but I have to try. I can’t just sit in the house on my ass watching the summer tick away as my bank account dwindles with every copay. As I ingest it with every antibiotic and painkiller.

I make the Isla Azul paper again. This time my dad doesn’t frame it. The article goes out as a warning to everyone in the area to stay vigilant, to be careful, and to not do the dumb things I did. They’re trying to be helpful to others but it’s insulting when they’re quick to point out that if I’d been in a group or if I’d avoided the sandbar that I wasn’t even aware I was swimming near, I probably wouldn’t have been bit.

Go ahead and educate others on how to avoid an attack – I’m a
huge
advocate for that – but maybe don’t print my picture next to it like I’m the author of the
Complete Idiot’s Guide on How to be Bitten by a Damn Shark.

Not only does the entire town know about the attack, they also know Lawson Daniel saved my life. Twice. That’s in the paper too, along with a not so subtle insinuation that we’re dating.

The same night the article comes out, my phone beeps with a new message from an unknown number.

did you know we’re dating?

I glare at my phone, stunned and confused.
Lawson?

most people call me Law, you know that right?

How did you get my number?

wyatt. you applied for a job at the FF. it was on your resume.

“I hate living in a small town,” I grumble.

Dad looks over at me from where he’s lying on the couch watching TV. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Who’s texting you?”

“Katy.”

He snorts, turning back to the TV. “Try again. Katy is at the movies.”

“How do you know that?”

“We’re buddies online. I saw her post it twenty minutes ago.”

“Unreal.”

“I told her to bring me back popcorn.”

“You get mad at the microwave and yet you’re socially networking?”

He shakes his head in disgust. “That thing. Why have a potato button dedicated entirely to undercooking my potato?”

“It’s a conspiracy,” I reply absently as my phone beeps again.

“So who is it?” Dad asks.

if you still need a job I know of one.

“It’s Lawson,” I mutter to my dad.

Are you serious?
I text Lawson.

“He’s trouble. Please tell me you know that.”

completely. its out of town tho.

“Everyone knows that, Dad. I’ve known that since Kindergarten.”

How far out of town?

“Try and remember it when you’re about to sleep with him.”

malibu

“Ugh,” I groan, imagining the hour long drive. Then I frown, glancing at my dad. “Wait, what did you say?”

you interested?

I look down at Lawson’s message, my frown deepening. “Dad, what did you say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies, flipping through channels. “A person’s got to make their own mistakes in life.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

My phone beeps.

rachel?

Dad sighs as he turns off the TV and hoists himself off the couch. “It means you better answer him. That boy is relentless.”

you with me?

I watch my dad leave the room, heading for the kitchen, probably toward a cold beer, and I let my phone sit heavy and silent in my hand. Malibu is a long drive. It’s a lot of miles, a lot of gas. It will be a lot of pain. By the end of the summer will it be worth it? Will it have been enough to get me back on track?

I’ll never know unless I try.

Yeah,
I finally text back, a sinking feeling in my stomach,
I’m with you, Lawson.

***

Katy goes with me a week later when I drive to Santa Barbara to get my stiches removed. I insist on driving, and even though my leg is aching when we get there twenty minutes later, I’m proud of myself. I’ve been off my crutches all week, pushing myself to the edge trying to get back to normal. Back to fighting form where I can live my life, get a job, and pretend this all never happened to me. Not the attack, not the injury, and definitely not Lawson Daniel.

“He got you a job in a surf shop in Malibu,” Katy reminds me, sitting on a spinning stool at my feet and rotating back and forth. “One he goes to
all
the time. It’s gonna be hard to pretend he doesn’t exist when you see him every other day.”

I purse my lips in annoyance. “I know. He’s a hard one to ignore.”

“Well, he’s Lawson,” she says, as though she’s reminding me he’s some mythical creature. Like a unicorn or a leprechaun. A different species all together, enchanted and strange.

Sad thing is she’s not wrong.

He got me the interview at Ambrose Surf within an hour of telling me about it. He even offered to drive me down and go in with me. I told him thanks, but no thanks and that was the end of that conversation. Katy drove me instead. It didn’t matter, though. The second I walked in and told them my name, I was ushered to the back with the manager who called me ‘Law’s friend’, never referring me to me by my actual name. I had the job before I even showed up, and even though that bothered me I wasn’t in any position to be choosy. Indignant, sure, but not choosy. When they asked me if I could start the next week, I said I could start that day if they wanted me to.

I texted Lawson to thank him, but I didn’t get a reply.

“How are you going to get down there four days a week?” Katy asks. “I have day shift at the grocery store. I can’t drive you.”

“I know. I’ll drive myself.”

“An hour each way?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t do that.”

I laugh, scooting back on the long exam table to give my leg some relief, the paper crinkling loudly under my hands. “Why not?”

“Because you barely got us here and it’s not even half that distance. You’re still in a lot of pain, Rach. You keep trying to act like you’re not, but you totally are.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her lightly, waving away her concerns.

“Yeah, that right there,” she says seriously, not dissuaded by my indifference. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

The door to the exam room opens, letting in a familiar face. Dr. Shinn was there when I was brought into the hospital. He was called in to perform my surgery. To make sure my artery was fully closed and I didn’t bleed out in the night from a slow leak.

He’s tall and wire thin, of Asian descent with short black hair and almond eyes that show wrinkles at the edges when he smiles. So basically never.

“Rachel,” he greets me with a curt nod. His eyes fall on Katy for a brief second before he ignores her entirely. “How are you feeling?”

“Great,” I answer quickly.

Katy glares at me.

“No fever symptoms? Inflammation? Swelling? Tenderness?”

“Nope.”

“Yes,” Katy argues.

“I’m sorry?” Dr. Shinn asks her. He looks down his nose at her, not because he’s an asshole but because he’s that tall. He looks down at pretty much everyone.

Katy glances quickly between him and me. No one is exactly looking at her warmly. “She’s still in pain when she walks,” she tells Dr. Shinn, her voice quiet but resolved. “She has tenderness.”

“Some amount of discomfort is to be expected. She’s still healing.”

I swat Katy on the shoulder. “See? It’s normal.”

Katy ignores me. “She bumped it on a chair back yesterday and couldn’t breathe for three seconds.”

“Jesus, are you counting my breaths?” I demand.

“No, I’m counting the seconds when you
don’t
breathe,” she replies hotly. “Like when you went under, I was counting and I was freaking out because I was sure you were never coming back up again and I would be counting for the rest of my life.”

“Katy,” I say weakly. “I made it. I’m okay.”

Dr. Shinn sighs. “Let’s try again. Any signs of infection? Tenderness?”

Katy looks at me hard, her mouth tight at the corners.

“Yes,” I reply reluctantly.

“Fever?”

“No. I mean, I’m always hot but who isn’t? This summer is a killer.”

“Are you hot now?’

“Yeah.”

“Have you been taking your temperature?”

“No.”

He reaches into a cupboard behind him and pulls out a thermometer. He slips a plastic cover over it, then gestures for me to open up so he can put it under my tongue.

We’re all oddly silent as we wait. Dr. Shinn touches my forehead at one point, frowning at the feel of my sweat slicked skin. When the time is up he pulls the thermometer out, reads it without reaction, and promptly scribbles a series of notes on my chart.

When he’s done writing he looks at me seriously. “You’re running a mild fever. Your skin is clammy. I’m going to remove the bandages and take a look at the incision but I’m fairly certain that from what you’re both telling me that you have an infection.”

“What will that mean?”

He pulls on a pair of gloves. “If the infection was severe you’d know it. Your fever would be through the roof, you’d be faint, and you’d be able to smell it through the bandage. Have you noticed an odd smell?”

“No.”

“Good.” He cuts the tape holding my bandages in place and methodically begins to unroll them. “Let’s see what you have going on.”

It’s red and puffy, the stitches nearly engulfed in my skin. Dr. Shinn breaks his veneer when he sees it, clicking his tongue and shaking his head slightly.

“Have you been taking your antibiotics?” he asks me when he finishes his examination.

“Yeah, of course. Exactly as it says to on the bottle.”

“I’ll write you a prescription for something stronger. If that doesn’t help we might need to reopen the wounds. There could be more debris inside.”

“
More
debris?” Katy asks, her eyes wide. “What was in there to start with?”

“Shark’s mouths are filthy places. A bite can transfer sand, shell, and gore.”

“Gore?”

“It’s nothing we can’t manage, but we need to be careful until the infection is gone. I wish I hadn’t had to put stitches in the wounds. It opened you up further to infection, but several of the bite wounds were too large to heal on their own. They’d never granulate.” He clicks his pen sharply, pulling out a prescription pad. “Get this filled immediately. I’m going to send in a nurse with a shot of a strong antibiotic to get you going now and I want you to continue taking this prescription until they’re gone completely. We’ll reschedule an exam for a week from today.”

“What about the stitches?”

“I’m going to remove them now. With the irritation on the skin it’s going to hurt.”

“Fun,” I say drolly.

“I can prescribe you more Percocet if you’re afraid of the pain.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Good. Afterward you need to take it easy. The wounds aren’t totally healed but the sutures have brought them close enough to finish the process on their own. Be careful, rest, stay off that leg. You don’t want to reopen them and undo all of the healing you’ve managed to do. Keep your thigh covered in clean bandages. Give your body time to right itself.”

“Isn’t that what the drugs are for?” I ask glumly.

“No.” He rips the top slip off the pad and hands it to me. “That’s what you’re for. Be good to your body and it will be good to you. Push it past its limits and it will shit all over you.”

My jaw goes slack in surprise as he swears.

I almost pass out when he smiles.

I think about texting Lawson. It seems like the easy way out of what I’ve gotta say but he’s ignored me the last two times I sent him a message and I have no idea what that means, but I know it bugs me. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s one of his things that he does with women. Gives radio silence to make you come to him.

If it’s a tactic, it totally works. I’m at the beach the same day I get my stitches out, waiting in the parking lot next to his car, and as I stand there watching him walk out of the sea at sunset like a god descending to the earth, I think Lawson Daniel is smarter than anyone gives him credit for.

When he sees me he stops, a slow smile forming on his lips. He nods his head toward the beach where his boys are drinking beer and starting a fire. Wyatt and Xavier. Baker with a brunette from the hair salon at the end of the strip.

The sight gives me so much déjà vu that it starts me shivering, my head shaking with the convulsions.

Unfazed, Lawson carries his board up the beach to the parking lot.

“You sure you don’t want a beer?” he asks, still smiling. “We’re about to roast some brats.”

“No, I’m not hungry. Thanks.”

He chuckles, lifting his board onto the roof of his car. “You don’t learn, do you?”

“Learn what?”

“Or maybe your memory is just shit.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, getting impatient.

He finishes with his board and comes to stand next to me, his hand on the car beside my shoulder. His eyes boring down deep into mine. “I told you not to thank me again.”

“Yeah, for saving my life,” I scoff. “Wait, is that why you didn’t answer my texts? Because I thanked you for the job?”

“Twice.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say sarcastically. “What a bitch. I thanked you for being nice.”

“You shouldn’t have to thank a person for being decent.”

I smirk up at him. “What if that person is indecent? Shouldn’t you thank them for acting outside the norm?”

He laughs, running his free hand over his short hair. “Yeah, you’ve got a point.”

“Don’t ignore my texts.”

“You gonna keep sending them?”

“I was going to send you one tonight but I figured you weren’t going to answer.”

He lets his arm go slack, slipping closer until his weight is resting on his elbow and his body is so close to mine his swim trunks are dripping cold salt water on my feet. “What was your text going to say?” he asks, his voice lower than before.

I smile, sidestepping away from him. But I’ve forgotten myself and I wince as my weight shifts. As my leg catches fire.

His brow creases in concern. “What’s wrong? Your leg still?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, smoothing my hand gently over my thigh as it throbs. “I had the stitches out today. Turns out I have an infection.”

“How bad?”

“It’s not bad, I’m fine.”

“Did they put you back on antibiotics?”

“Yeah. Stronger ones this time.”

“Did they flush the wound again? Was there something stuck inside?”

My hand freezes on my leg as I frown up at him. “How do you know all this stuff?”

He gestures to his own leg. “The coral, remember?”

“You had an infection too? Was some stuck inside?”

“It’s pretty common. The ocean isn’t a great place to get hurt. She’s a dirty girl.” He opens his passenger door, gesturing for me to get inside. “Sit down. You shouldn’t be standing on it.”

I don’t fight him because he’s right. Because just four hours ago a very stern man was very clear with me about taking it easy and I need to heed that advice, no matter how much I hate it.

I sit down inside Lawson’s car, getting all of my appendages inside and feeling crazy weird when he closes the door for me like a gentleman. He goes around the back of the car, messes around in the trunk, and finally climbs inside behind the wheel.

“Here,” he hands me a bottled water, dripping wet and freezing cold, “you look like you could use this.”

“Thanks.”

He pauses with his own drink a moment from his lips. His eyes are on me, hard and impatient.

“Seriously?” I laugh. “I can’t thank you for anything?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He smiles before taking a drink. “In the hospital it was because I have a problem with being thanked for things like that.”

“Save lives a lot, do you?”

“But now I’m giving you crap about it because it’s fun.”

“For you, maybe.”

He chuckles as he reaches into the backseat. The movement brings him over the center consul and into my space. His chest brushes against my shoulder and I take a sip of my water to appear casual when what I really am is twitchy.

Lawson sits back in his seat before yanking a T-shirt over his head and pulling it down his torso. The shade is familiar and it takes me a second to realize the logo on the front is the same one painted on the window at Ambrose Surf.

“So,” he begins, “what was the text going to say?”

I point to his shirt. “That I can’t work there after all. My doctor wants me to take it easy and rest so I need to keep trying to find something here in town. I can’t drive an hour and back to work.”

“Your doctor said you could work but not drive?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“I told you. He wants me to rest.”

“And you think ‘rest’ means work?”

I set my drink down in the cup holder hard, the cold water sloshing dangerously close to the open top.

He holds up his hand. “Before you go off on me, can I tell you something?”

“What?”

“You’re hot.”

I sigh. “Are you kidding me, dude? Are you ever not
on
?”

“I’m not hitting on you,” he promises with a grin. “I’m telling you that that’s why they hired you at Ambrose. It’s a sausage fest down there. They were looking for a hot beach girl to spice things up. Pull in the high school guys. I told them I knew a beautiful girl with basic knowledge about boards who could count correct change. The second they saw you, you had the job.”

“That is…not that much worse than how I thought I got the job anyway,” I reply unhappily.

“You didn’t blow Don, did you? ‘Cause you did not need to do that.”

“You’re gross.”

“I’m not. A blowjob is a beautiful thing.”

“Yeah, if you’re not the one with a nose full of ball hair.”

“You’re blowing some unkempt bros.”

“I’m not blowing anybody,” I groan. “Least of all the bald old guy with the ugly Hawaiian shirt in the back of a surf shop.”

“You could do worse.”

I ignore that entirely. “It doesn’t matter why they hired me. I can’t stand there at the register for an entire shift.”

“Wear V-necks. They’ll let you sit on a stool and the guys can look down your shirt.”

“Even if I were okay with that, I can’t make the drive. It’s too long.”

“How many days a week?”

“Four.”

“I’ll drive you.”

I stare straight ahead at the darkening horizon, my heart slowly rising in my throat. The blue-black water rolls toward the shore with glowing white tips that form and fade so slowly it’s like sleeping. It’s like a dream you can’t get your head around before it’s gone and you’re on to the next. It’s a dream I thought I understood.

Then one day I woke up and it turned out to be a nightmare.

“Rachel?”

I jerk my head around to look at him. He’s concerned again, his eyes electric and strange in the low light. “Yeah?”

“You spaced out there for a second.”

“Sorry,” I laugh nervously. “I’m tired. Long day.”

He reaches out and starts the engine. “Buckle up.”

“What? No. Where are we going?”

“To your house.” He pulls his seatbelt into place, snapping it securely. “I’m driving you home.”

“Lawson, no, you can’t. My car is here.”

“Give me your keys. I’ll get one of the guys to help me drive it back to your place later.”

“I can drive.”

“You shouldn’t have been doing it before and I’m sure you’re not supposed to be doing it now.”

“It doesn’t mean I can’t,” I protest, bristling as he puts the car in reverse. I reach for the door but he’s already moving. “Stop, seriously.”

“Buckle up, seriously.”

“Stop the car.”

“No.”

“Lawson Daniel,” I snap, irritated.

He grins. “I know you’re mad but I’m not watching you hobble across this lot to your car and drive home in pain.”

“Everyone needs to calm down. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He slams on the brakes. The car jolts, throwing me toward the dash. I brace myself with my hands and my feet, crying out in uncontrollably when a band of pain wraps around my thigh and clenches it tightly.

“You asshole,” I gasp, my throat closing tightly against the pain.

“How big of a deal is it now?” he asks dispassionately.

I turn my head to glare at him, stunned by his empty tone. When I see his face it’s even worse. It’s blank, all concern gone. “What is your problem?”

“Quit acting like it didn’t happen,” he tells me firmly. “Quit acting like it’s no big deal. You could have died, Rachel. You could have drowned, you could have been eaten, you could have lost your entire fucking leg in the mouth of a shark.”

“Shut up!” I shout, the words exploding out of me in a roll of rage I didn’t know I had in me.

Lawson isn’t impressed by it. “It’s okay to be hurt and it’s okay to be scared, but you gotta get over it. You’re hurt in your head as much as you are in your leg and you can’t just act like it’s not happening and expect it to go away.”

“What do you want me to do? Cry about it?”

“Have you? Since it happened, have you cried?”

“No.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Who are you to tell me how to feel?”

That gets him.

He hesitates, his eyes on mine but his thoughts are a million miles away. A million minutes to another time and another moment that I don’t understand because I can’t see it. Not the way he does.

“You’re right,” he eventually answers quietly. “It’s not my business. But let me drive you home tonight at least.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

That’s all the answer he gives me and as it turns out it’s all the answer I need. If he’d said it was because I’m hurt and that I can’t drive myself, I would be out of that car so fast his head would swim. But he makes it so it’s not about me. He’s not doing me a favor so I don’t have to thank him – not that he’d let me anyway – but it saves my pride. That’s something I’m starting to realize is important to me. Something I’m pretty sure Lawson already knew.

And for the second time that day it occurs to me that Lawson Daniel is more clever than anyone suspects.

I sit back, buckle my seatbelt, and even though we don’t speak on the drive home, he convinces me to take him up on his offer. I agree to let him drive me to Malibu.