Shark Out of Water (Grab Your Pole, #3) (5 page)

“Livid,” I admitted and groaned again with the single piercing word.

“You know, I think there’s something wrong with your radio…I can’t seem to get any reception from it,” he said, straight faced, picking up my trashed stereo off the floorboards from the mangle of wires that were spilling out the back of it.

“Whatever…radio stations suck anyway,” I grumbled and went to roll onto my back and found that my arm wouldn’t cooperate. “What the fu—was this really necessary?” I asked when I saw that I was handcuffed to the handle of a cupboard.

“Sorry, buddy, but yeah. I took the bungee cords off when I got back from the store last night though, so you’re welcome,” Pete answered, dropping the stereo back to the floor while he tossed me the key to the cuffs.

“Thanks…what are you doin’ here, man?” I asked, freeing myself and finally making it onto my back to futilely try rubbing the pain from my head.

“I thought it might be fun to try my hand at bringing Lazarus back from the dead. So! Let’s get down to doing that, shall we? What do you want?”

My first instinct was to immediately answer, “Camie,” so I clamped my mouth shut when I realized that wasn’t what he meant. “Aw, Pete man, you’re a good friend,” I told him and looked over the plethora of pharmaceutical options he presented me with. Gotta love having a buddy who’s willing to share his prescriptions… Not that I’d wish the trauma and surgery he went through to make having them necessary on him or anyone else, but still. Oh and look at what we have here; welcome to California, where the weather is always great and the medical marijuana is abundant. “Okay, let’s see…you got Valium, Flexeril, Percocet, Vicodin, Tramadol, Oxycontin…Jesus, this is tough…umm…
fuck
, just give me the damned Aleve and some Excedrin.”

“Really? I kinda thought you’d take me up on the weed,” he said and shook out four or five capsules for me and handed them over with a cup of orange juice. I’ll be honest; I was about to take him up on that
and
possibly the Percocet… I fuckin’ hurt everywhere.

“Yeah, it’s really tempting, but I swore it off back in October.” It was easy to give up in comparison to what I was getting in return though. I made a vow to myself that if I got her back, I’d never touch it again and I haven’t. I might have to consider making a new vow now. “You seen her?”

He just looked at me and nodded his head. “But
ahh
…before we get into that, let’s get you some food.”

“What do you have in mind?” I asked as I followed him out of the bus, squinting and cringing like a vampire who’s risking spontaneous combustion by coming out in the light of day.

“Carne Asada and rolled tacos.”

“You’re seriously the best boyfriend in the world,” I joked when he handed me my shades. “Hey man, I don’t have a ring on me, but you wanna get married?”

“I don’t need a ring but we’d have to move to Vermont,” he answered seriously and then started laughing when I gave his reply a look of consideration.

Pete’s a good guy; he’s constant and dependable. Even though I’m surprised Jeff isn’t with him and I can plainly see that his current lightheartedness is entirely phony, I’m glad it’s just Pete. I don’t know how much of Jeff’s “nurturing” I could take right now.

We climbed into his truck and I hunched down as far as I could in the passenger seat. As if keeping a low profile would actually protect me from the furious sentiments of my head, third degree burns,
or
the answer to the question I was about to ask. “She okay?”

“Food first.”

I sighed. “Yeah okay, you’re right. Food first.”

Like me, Lazarus was dead for four days before Jesus raised him and I imagine he probably needed to eat, too, before he could deal with any of the shit he woke up to.

Pulling the trigger ~ Pete

“Sorry for hitting you, man,” Tristan apologized after he’d caught me working my jaw. It’s still a little sore but at least it’s not black and blue. Normally I wouldn’t really care if it were, but in the interest of keeping what happened yesterday between Tristan and me, I’m glad I don’t have to worry about explaining a bruise to anyone. Or, you know, giving him a visual reminder of what he almost did.

“Don’t worry about it, but I gotta know, dude…why were you so hell-bent on drowning?” I know he wasn’t actually trying to commit suicide because I played a very short game of Magic 8 Ball with him after he passed out, but he didn’t give me much more than a slurred and fuzzy, “Not kill myself, just drown.”

“Honestly, Pete, all I really remember was lying here drunk out of my gourd, thinking about what drowning felt like and that it was really fuckin’ hard to do without water. I guess I just thought it would be easier to experience if I was actually
in
the water. I’m surprised I didn’t kill myself on those stairs though…” He told me, inspecting the nasty gash on his shin that I’d had quite the time cleaning last night. I should’ve waited until he was out to do that, though, because let me tell you, it’s really tricky to avoid being kicked in the ribs by a six-foot four, drunk baby when he’s trying to keep you from pouring hydrogen peroxide on his owie.

“I wish you hadn’t taken off…”

“Yeah, well, at least you saved me from myself…by the way, thanks for that,” Tristan said and his words may have sounded a little sarcastic, but his expression was as serious as the dead man he would’ve been had I not found him when I did.

“Yeah, that was fun…and, harrowing. I felt like I was a participant in the
Amazing Race
. You could’ve made it a little easier for me and left a note or something you know.”

“Alright, man, let’s get into it…I’m sorta trusting that if you were here to tell me that Ca—” he started to say Camie but it seemed like it caused him actual physical pain to speak her name out loud. “If something happened to her, you wouldn’t have waited this long to tell me, so, what are you doing here?”

I blew out a breath. Well, I’ve put it off as long as possible… “I’m here to make sure you come back and that you come back informed.”

“That’s a little too ambiguous for my liking…spill.” He’s right to be skeptical; at this point he doesn’t have a clue as to what’s been going on at home.

“It’s not good.”

“Goddamnit, Pete! Is she okay or not?!”
Like dynamite, he exploded at me. Shit, I didn’t mean to freak him out about her. It didn’t occur to me that he’d be thinking she might’ve had an episode similar to his and that’s
exactly
what he’s been trying to find out.

“Yeah, she’s good. Well, not good, but she’s okay…she thinks you broke up with her.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I might not remember dick from the last couple days, but
that
I do fucking remember, clear as goddamned day in fact.” I didn’t need to see Tristan’s face to recognize the hurt and anger that was welling up inside him again as he remembered Sunday.

“I know you bailed because you’re hurt and you feel guilty about something,” His eyes shot to mine while he tried to read whether I knew what that something was and when he decided I didn’t, he looked down in a meager attempt to hide the shame he felt. “But dude,
why
didn’t you tell her that wasn’t what you were doing?”

“Because it was so fuckin’
easy
for to her to believe that was what I was doing and then I just couldn’t bring myself to go through telling her the truth a—” he broke off suddenly and pierced me with his eyes again, searching. “Wait a minute…how the fuck do you know I wasn’t breaking up with her?”

Oooh. Okay, I’m gonna have to be careful with the answer to this one…

“Tristan dude, even in the off-season I can read you better than anyone on the planet…no way were you breaking up with her. You had self-reproach and loathing written all over you and you were attempting to atone for something you
already
did,
not
what you were about to do.”

“You were there?” He asked in confusion and when I barely shook my head, it hit him. “Oh fuck me…she didn’t.”

“I stayed the night in your stead and saw the video.” Both statements are absolutely true, so it can’t be said that I lied.

“Oh Christ, I’m a dead man…Jillian’s gonna eat me for breakfast,” Possibly, but I didn’t tell him that. “She’s the
last
goddamned person I need gunnin’ for me with all the ammunition I’ve given her lately.”

“Well, that’s sorta what you need to be informed of… she’s not the one you need to worry about because in this particular war, Jillian’s in
your
camp.”

“Come again? If
she
isn’t, then who—” I watched his face as he put it together and I’m not exaggerating when I say it was worse than watching Travis shoot his own dog in
Old Yeller
.

It was more than clear before, he’d been guilt ridden and in immense pain, both physically and emotionally, and it was as if he was struggling for life, but after that, it was like he wasn’t sure if it was even worth the fight anymore. After throwing up again, all he could manage was the very basic level of communication; nodding and barely speaking as I told him how everything got to the point it was at.

*****

The cry of a gull brought me back to the present, sitting on the beach and staring at the water. I rubbed my face with my free hand and tried to focus on her words rather than the memory of Tristan’s tortured expression when I handed him the gun and he metaphorically pulled the trigger on Yeller. It was even worse because he felt responsible for giving the dog rabies in the first place.

“Melissa’s neutral and Mike has requested that he not be given any information whatsoever, although I get the feeling that if push comes to shove, his allegiance will be with Tristan.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. What about MaryAnn?” I asked, thinking that she could be volatile, with her being captain of the varsity cheerleading squad and maybe
the
most dialed in person at school, plus she’s really good friends with Tristan too, but she’s also going out with Camie’s cousin. Oh shit…Derek. He’ll side with Camie no question, but apparently Melissa has chosen neutrality so where does that put Brandon? See? I
knew
this was gonna turn into a giant cluster…

“Well, that’s the interesting thing…she doesn’t know.”

“What do you mean? Like she hasn’t made up her mind?”

“No, like she literally hasn’t heard. Actually, no one has. Well, I mean if they have, they’re not talking about it.”

“Huh. What’s that about?”

“Well, like I said, Mike came to me and said he knew something was up, but he doesn’t want to know what it is, so I’m thinking neither Camie
nor
Jeff have spouted their venom to anyone outside the circle which I find both interesting and hopeful.”

“It’s interesting for sure…” Huh. I’m gonna reserve my hopeful opinion until Tristan and I get back, but if they’re both keeping quiet to the masses? Well, I’m just not sure what to make of that. The fastest and easiest way for someone to come out ahead in a situation like this would be to gather as many supporters to their side by telling key people what happened, and you’d think Camie would wanna be doing that right about now, so, I don’t get it.

“Your turn…how’s he doing?”

“He’s…” I sighed and looked out at the water. He was there, just sitting on his surfboard where he’d been for almost two hours, alone and still unmoving. “…grieving.”

Chapter 4

Thursday, Week 1

The fine art of complete avoidance ~ Tristan

Walking onto campus Thursday morning, there were few things I knew for sure. One, I had two confirmed allies, neither of which was my best friend, the guy I’d always felt was closer to me than any brother who’s related by blood could be. That’s some serious shit for a guy who’s spent countless hours being lonely; wishing that just one of his parents’ other children had survived.

The fuckin’ shittiest part of all this is that Jeff
knows
. He knows what being alone is like for me and what it meant for me when I found Camie.

I love my parents. I truthfully really love them and I’m beyond grateful to them for giving me life. I know I can count on them, talk to them about anything, and that they will do or give me anything I need or ask of them if it’s within their power to give. But, it’s not within their power to give me someone who I can share myself with…someone who loves me for me. If you’re not an only child you might not understand this, but having Camie, being a part of her life is, for me, being a part of something bigger.

And you might ask why it isn’t the same for Jeff, why he doesn’t have this deep-seated
need
to be with someone. But in addition to me, Jeff’s always had the confidence of his relationship with Kate and an honest to God
future
with her, and I’ve watched him with envy be on track to build his life on that rock-solid foundation since we were little kids. I’ve always known that one day, the two of them will have a life together that I won’t fit into and if I don’t find my own “Kate,” I’ll be alone. The prospect of which is depressing and ultimately, scary as all hell.

That might sound funny coming from a guy who’s never even had a girlfriend up until a few months ago, but that wasn’t because I didn’t want one or for a lack of trying. But, here’s the thing; it’s really fuckin’ hard to grow up knowing that true love exists and seeing what it looks like in the faces of your parents and two best friends, which in turn means investing anything real in a relationship that you know has no potential for any kind of a future whatsoever is an unbelievably frustrating waste of time. However, when the occasional girl happens along and I think she and I might have the potential for something more than the shallow relationships most everyone around me is satisfied to have, I’ll venture a few real dates. Although when it becomes clear that for whatever reason she and I won’t work, I end it ASAP. I keep my options open, but that’s also the basic reason why I’ve contented myself with the superficiality of meaningless hook-ups and one-night stands, and I make no apologies for that. I’m a guy. There’s nothing deep or introspective about it…I like girls and I like sex. Period.

But for my entire life, Jeff has been there, like a surrogate sibling or a separated Siamese twin. Shit, we even have each other’s blood running through our veins. When he got chicken pox and was gonna be held back, we tried to infect me with regular exposure; it didn’t work so, we went a step further. In a ritual set to the song “Cowboys Like Us” by George Strait
and while drinking our stolen ceremonial Coronas, we cut ourselves open and swapped blood, vowing that we were brothers from another mother and we would always be together in sickness and health. I know, sounds a little gay but we were eight. The point is, we’ve always had each other’s back, even if one of us was in the wrong, and we’ve always known each other’s deepest desires and darkest secrets.