Summer's Last Breath

Part 19

Tomorrow wasn't better. It sucked. Again. I was so far out of the zone, I might as well have been in outer space. I was mad at my dad. I was mad at myself. I was disappointed in Jamie for not answering my texts. I understood he was upset, and he had a right to be. He didn't have the right to ignore me. 


While taking a shower after practice, I'd decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. What irritated me the most was that I'd thought Jamie and I were in this together. But one talk with my dad had sent him running. Well, I wouldn't let him. I would sit in this very spot where we'd shared a picnic behind his house and wait for him. I'd wait all night if I had to.


I'd expected Jamie to come striding out of the surf—his place of refuge. Didn't matter if he was happy or sad or angry, all things led to the Deep for Jamie, the one place I couldn't go. 


When he finally showed up, he was running up the beach, the sun setting at his back. His quadriceps bunched with every long stride as he tracked over the sand, his jaw set and eyes hard with concentration. I'd seen that look so many times over the last few months, the look he got when he was determined to prove something.


His head jerked up when he spotted me and he slowed to a walk, putting his hands on his lean hips without a single tell in his expression. Was he happy to see me? Was he mad? Either way, I had to resist the urge to run and throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest. He stopped before he reached me and turned to face the Gulf, breathing deeply, sweat glistening over his bare chest and back. 


"Jamie," I said, pushing to my feet. A wave of guilt overcame me. I blamed myself for this mess with one thought, and prepared to fight for him with the next. I walked toward him, wary, as though I were approaching an injured or captured animal and didn't want to spook him. 


A trickle of sweat dangled on the end of his nose. He didn't smell like the guys at school after P.E. Even hot and sweaty, all I wanted was to snuggle up to him. And when he finally fixed his troubled green eyes on me, all my trepidation evaporated on the slight breeze. He looked about as miserable as I felt, and I was afraid there wasn't anything I could say or do to change that. Why did this suddenly feel so impossible?


"Erin, you shouldn't be here."


"Why? What's changed?" I grabbed his wrist and attempted to tug him around to face me. He didn't budge, holding himself deliberately aloof, shutting me out. "Why won't you answer my texts? Two days ago you said you couldn't stay away from me and now you won't even answer a text?"


And still he didn't say a word. Time passed with only the sound of the waves splashing on the shore and the thud of my heart. Why wouldn't he say anything?


"I'm sorry," I said. "This is all my fault."


"No, it's mine." He turned his head toward me, eyes set in defeat as they searched my face as though he were committing it to memory. "I knew better, and..."


"And what?" I asked, afraid, so afraid this was it. 


"It doesn't matter," he said, dropping his gaze. "Maybe your dad will cool off in a few weeks, but until then..."


"What?"


"I have to respect the suspension. And you're part of it." He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up. "Maybe we aren't such a good idea right now."


"You don't think we're a good idea?" I parroted, confused. "I thought we'd decided to stick together. Convince my dad together. I'm sorry you were suspended from the team. I really am. But he'll come around."


"It's not that simple. If this were just about the suspension, I could live with that. I don't need permission from Marshall to be what I am. I don't need his approval."