Chapter 33
I ran along sand, my stride used to the give, my speed even as I dug through deep places and pounded wet footprints through receding surf. The beach was smoother than home, less rocks, more picturesque. At this time of morning, I was alone. A few towel boys, setting up chairs, nothing else. Solitude. The wash of water cleansing my thoughts.
I was lost. It was official. Turned around to the point where I didn’t know if I was climbing uphill or down. My obsession, my game with Lee? It was a losing, impossible direction. I knew that. I knew that the smartest thing, the safest thing to do, would be to ignore him. Let him live his life. And stay on my side of town. With Brant. I didn’t love Lee. I loved Brant. Lee was… a distraction. A distraction that fucked me as if he was created to do it. A distraction that gave me another side of life, away from the finery, a side of life filled with impulse and fun. A distraction that I needed to keep the seesaw of my relationship with Brant level.
I pushed harder, my breath ragged as I took out my frustration on my muscles. Pumped my arms and gasped as I took my run faster, slipping in the sand at times, my calves burning as I sprinted through the sand.
Faster. Faster. I ran until my heart hurt and my lungs broke. Until I sank in the sand, my knees hitting the wet suck, my chest heaving as I flopped on my back. Closed my eyes and wished for California sand underneath my back.
It didn’t work. I stayed in that place until my heart rate calmed, my chest stilled. Then I rolled over, tried my best to brush the sand from my back, and headed home. To Brant. To the life I should be living.
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“Would you live here?”
I glanced up and shot Brant a quizzical look.
He shrugged. Sat back in his chair, the Hawaiian coastline painting an impressive backdrop behind him. “I was just thinking, maybe we should spend a few months here. Maybe half the year, spend the winters here.”
“What about the company?”
He shrugged. “I could work from here. Convert the garage into a workshop. Maybe hire a few locals to help during project times.”
I grinned. “A few locals? It took you five years to find Frank.” Frank, the only BSX tech who had survived Brant’s idiosyncrasies long enough to learn how to not piss him off.
“Then we could bring Frank.” He smirked, reached over and grabbed my hand. “I like vacation Layana.”
I rolled my eyes. Let him pull my hand to his lips. “What is vacation Layana like?”
He pursed his lips. Tilted his head as if to think. “Carefree.”
“Carefree? What am I, a Teletubby?” I threw the remaining piece of my muffin in his direction.
“Fine. Not carefree. Less uptight.” He raised his eyebrows at me.
“Everyone’s less uptight on an island. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m a thousand miles from Jillian.” I stuck out my tongue at him.
“Oooh… easy now. She’s probably got this place wired.” He looked at the closest plant as if it might harbor a bomb.
I stood, wiping my hand on a napkin and tossed it down. Sauntered over and pushed at the arms of his chair, separating him from the table. Straddled his body and ran my hands through his hair. “In that case,” I whispered, nipping his ear playfully. “We should put on a show.”
“I’m in,” he growled, peeling off my robe and taking any more words out of my mouth with his kiss.
There, under the glow of the morning sun, we thoroughly ruined the moral compass of anyone who might be listening in.
The jet takeoff was smooth, a thousand parts of machinery working in perfect synchronization to bring us back home. I moved to the back of the plane, to the bedroom, and pulled back the sheets. Fluffed pillows and called Brant back.
“What do you want to watch?” I flipped through the options on the touch screen, jumping when Brant’s hand snaked through the open door and pulled me back, dragging us both toward the bed, his foot kicking the door somewhat closed.
“I want to watch you come,” he whispered, grabbing the tablet and tossing it aside, his fingers pulling at my pants and dragging the material over my hips.
“Fine,” I scoffed, pushing at his shoulders, until his mouth skimmed the line of my hip, my head dropping back when hot wet heat closed over my skin. “Go do what you do best.”
A half hour later, we turned down the lights, Brant’s fingers rolling my lazy body over until we both laid sideways, his body cupped around mine, and watched Gene Hackman and John Cusack battle it out on the big screen. By the time the end credits rolled, Brant was asleep, heavy breathing regular against my neck.
I reached up. Fumbled around the bedside table until my hand hit my cell. I turned it on and sent a short email to Don:
ON WAY BACK FROM HAWAII. PLEASE MAKE SURE FINAL COPY IS READY FOR PICKUP.
Then I rolled over, into his body, and closed my eyes. Tried to sleep. Tried to appreciate this moment with him. I lay there, my eyes closed, breath matching rhythm with his, but sleep wouldn’t come.
In a few hours, I’d be home. Would swing by the printers, pick up the papers and make sure they were perfect. Then hit the sack and catch up on sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day. A relationship-ending one.
