Tempest Unleashed
Page 42
My dad and I sat by Moku’s bed all morning, talking to him about anything and everything we could think of. My dad told him about the vacation he had planned for the three of them next month. They were going to Australia to visit Sergio, my dad’s best friend and surfing buddy. Moku adored him, followed him around like a puppy dog whenever we saw him.
When even the mention of “Uncle” Sergio didn’t rouse him, I decided to tell stories that focused on my underwater exploits. I told the best, most exciting ones I could come up with, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t stir, didn’t squeeze my hand. Didn’t so much as flutter his eyelashes.
At one point Rio texted my dad. He and Kona were coming by the hospital around two thirty to relieve us—not that I actually thought anything could do that, except Moku’s full recovery. For the moment, however, I’d settle for a little of that peace of mind I’d tried to give to my father.
“I’m going to go stretch my legs for a few minutes,” I told my dad before letting myself out of Moku’s room.
I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to move. It was hard to breathe in Moku’s hospital room, or up here in Linda Vista at all. I was too far away from the beach, from the ocean, and I swear I could practically feel my skin drying out the longer I stayed here. Already the soft cotton of my jeans and T-shirt chafed painfully.
There was a garden area on nearly every floor, filled with flowers and trees and play equipment for the kids who got tired of sitting in their rooms all day. I found the one on this floor, spent a few minutes walking around it.
There was a little boy, no more than three, toddling back and forth with a huge red four-square ball. His mom kept asking him to throw it to her, but he wouldn’t let go. He just held on to it and ran around in circles as she laughed and tried to keep him from getting tangled up in his IV.
He charmed me with the mischievous smile he shot his mother every time she got a little exasperated with him. The way he held his hand up to her face and patted her cheeks. He was adorable, and I couldn’t help wondering why he was in the hospital.
I ended up settling near the basketball hoop, a large, orange ball in my hands. I dribbled a little, made a couple baskets, but it wasn’t exactly exciting to do it on my own. Still, I needed to move, to exercise. I’d spent the last eight months in an almost constant state of motion. Sitting around doing nothing for the last twenty-four hours actually physically hurt.
“I’ll play you. Whoever gets to fifteen first, wins.”
I turned around at the familiar voice, and there he was. Mark. My powers sparked to life inside me.
“I think I should get a handicap. You were MVP of the team two years in a row.”
“Three,” he said, his smile dimming a little as we both realized how much I’d missed.
“Right. Three. Congratulations.”
He held out his hands for the ball. “I’ll spot you three points.”
“Four points. And I start.” I whirled around, dribbled a couple of times, then threw the ball at the basket. It went straight in.
I whooped. “Did you see that, baby? Nothing but net.”
“Should I rethink your handicap?” Mark asked, rebounding the ball and then dribbling it up the half court and back.
“Not on your life.” I threw myself in his way and shoulder bumped him. It was a total foul, but he didn’t call me on it. And he made the basket anyway.
I ran for the ball, tried to take it up the court, but he was right there, arms spread wide, body bumping against and tangling with mine.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was so much like the old days when we’d played—no rules, no called fouls, just a driving desire to win coupled with the joys of friendship and so much more.
I ducked around him, deliberately brushing my body against his the way I used to. It still worked like a charm. He stumbled, his beautiful brown eyes going dark and molten.
I ran down the court, but he was with me every step of the way, his arms caging me, his forearms brushing softly against my ribs.
My powers exploded through me, shocking me. I fumbled, dropped the ball, and he laughed, a low, wicked sound that sent chills up and down my spine. Then he picked up the ball and ran it back.
I cursed, took off after him, and this time it was I who twined myself around him, trying to reach the ball. My hands skimmed his sides, his lower back, his flat, well-muscled stomach as I attempted to pry the ball away from him. It wasn’t working until I leaned forward to get that extra inch of reach, and pressed my breasts tight against his back.
It was his turn to fumble, to drop the ball, but when I reached for it, he grabbed on to my forearms, turned me until we were facing each other. I tried to duck my head, to look away, but he wouldn’t let me. He followed, his eyes burning right through me.
It was one of the most intense moments of my life. Standing there in the empty garden, Mark’s body inches from mine. A current of awareness rippling between us, dark, powerful, undeniable. And so overwhelming that I could feel it swamping me, pulling me under. Dragging me back to the way things had always been between us despite the distance of the last few months.
“What are you trying to do to me?” he demanded hoarsely. “Are you trying to drive me completely insane?”
“No. Of course not. I—”
“I see you everywhere. In the water, on the street, in the halls at school. Even when I know it isn’t you, I still think, maybe …”
His hands tightened on my arms and he pulled me closer, until our faces were only an inch or two apart. “I see you every time I close my eyes. I dream about you, about what it was like when you were mine. That’s the only time I’m happy anymore, those moments when I’m half-asleep, when you’re right there, so real that I can practically touch you.
“And then I wake up and remember that you’re gone, and it nearly kills me. Every goddamn morning, I get to relive losing you all over again.”
“I’m so sorry, Mark. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears were running down my face. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. Not now, not with him.
“When I saw you in the water, I really thought I was going crazy. And I didn’t even care if it meant I got to talk to you, to hold you. But you were real and you kissed me blind, then you just disappeared again, like it was nothing. Like we were nothing.”
“No!”
“Yes. I went back every day at the same time and waited for you for hours, even after the good waves were gone. I was sure you’d come back, sure you couldn’t just kiss me like that and leave again. But you did. If Moku hadn’t gotten hurt, you never would have come back. I would have been out there waiting for you forever.” He let me go so quickly that I stumbled. He caught me, steadied me, but then turned away, shoulders bowed, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts.
“And then, when you finally do come back, you bring him. Kona.” He all but snarled as he said the name. “Every time I think about the fact that I introduced you two eight months ago—”
“But you didn’t.”
“What?” He turned back to look at me.
“I’d met him before, a few days earlier. He came to our beach looking for me—that’s when he met you.”
When even the mention of “Uncle” Sergio didn’t rouse him, I decided to tell stories that focused on my underwater exploits. I told the best, most exciting ones I could come up with, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t stir, didn’t squeeze my hand. Didn’t so much as flutter his eyelashes.
At one point Rio texted my dad. He and Kona were coming by the hospital around two thirty to relieve us—not that I actually thought anything could do that, except Moku’s full recovery. For the moment, however, I’d settle for a little of that peace of mind I’d tried to give to my father.
“I’m going to go stretch my legs for a few minutes,” I told my dad before letting myself out of Moku’s room.
I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to move. It was hard to breathe in Moku’s hospital room, or up here in Linda Vista at all. I was too far away from the beach, from the ocean, and I swear I could practically feel my skin drying out the longer I stayed here. Already the soft cotton of my jeans and T-shirt chafed painfully.
There was a garden area on nearly every floor, filled with flowers and trees and play equipment for the kids who got tired of sitting in their rooms all day. I found the one on this floor, spent a few minutes walking around it.
There was a little boy, no more than three, toddling back and forth with a huge red four-square ball. His mom kept asking him to throw it to her, but he wouldn’t let go. He just held on to it and ran around in circles as she laughed and tried to keep him from getting tangled up in his IV.
He charmed me with the mischievous smile he shot his mother every time she got a little exasperated with him. The way he held his hand up to her face and patted her cheeks. He was adorable, and I couldn’t help wondering why he was in the hospital.
I ended up settling near the basketball hoop, a large, orange ball in my hands. I dribbled a little, made a couple baskets, but it wasn’t exactly exciting to do it on my own. Still, I needed to move, to exercise. I’d spent the last eight months in an almost constant state of motion. Sitting around doing nothing for the last twenty-four hours actually physically hurt.
“I’ll play you. Whoever gets to fifteen first, wins.”
I turned around at the familiar voice, and there he was. Mark. My powers sparked to life inside me.
“I think I should get a handicap. You were MVP of the team two years in a row.”
“Three,” he said, his smile dimming a little as we both realized how much I’d missed.
“Right. Three. Congratulations.”
He held out his hands for the ball. “I’ll spot you three points.”
“Four points. And I start.” I whirled around, dribbled a couple of times, then threw the ball at the basket. It went straight in.
I whooped. “Did you see that, baby? Nothing but net.”
“Should I rethink your handicap?” Mark asked, rebounding the ball and then dribbling it up the half court and back.
“Not on your life.” I threw myself in his way and shoulder bumped him. It was a total foul, but he didn’t call me on it. And he made the basket anyway.
I ran for the ball, tried to take it up the court, but he was right there, arms spread wide, body bumping against and tangling with mine.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was so much like the old days when we’d played—no rules, no called fouls, just a driving desire to win coupled with the joys of friendship and so much more.
I ducked around him, deliberately brushing my body against his the way I used to. It still worked like a charm. He stumbled, his beautiful brown eyes going dark and molten.
I ran down the court, but he was with me every step of the way, his arms caging me, his forearms brushing softly against my ribs.
My powers exploded through me, shocking me. I fumbled, dropped the ball, and he laughed, a low, wicked sound that sent chills up and down my spine. Then he picked up the ball and ran it back.
I cursed, took off after him, and this time it was I who twined myself around him, trying to reach the ball. My hands skimmed his sides, his lower back, his flat, well-muscled stomach as I attempted to pry the ball away from him. It wasn’t working until I leaned forward to get that extra inch of reach, and pressed my breasts tight against his back.
It was his turn to fumble, to drop the ball, but when I reached for it, he grabbed on to my forearms, turned me until we were facing each other. I tried to duck my head, to look away, but he wouldn’t let me. He followed, his eyes burning right through me.
It was one of the most intense moments of my life. Standing there in the empty garden, Mark’s body inches from mine. A current of awareness rippling between us, dark, powerful, undeniable. And so overwhelming that I could feel it swamping me, pulling me under. Dragging me back to the way things had always been between us despite the distance of the last few months.
“What are you trying to do to me?” he demanded hoarsely. “Are you trying to drive me completely insane?”
“No. Of course not. I—”
“I see you everywhere. In the water, on the street, in the halls at school. Even when I know it isn’t you, I still think, maybe …”
His hands tightened on my arms and he pulled me closer, until our faces were only an inch or two apart. “I see you every time I close my eyes. I dream about you, about what it was like when you were mine. That’s the only time I’m happy anymore, those moments when I’m half-asleep, when you’re right there, so real that I can practically touch you.
“And then I wake up and remember that you’re gone, and it nearly kills me. Every goddamn morning, I get to relive losing you all over again.”
“I’m so sorry, Mark. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears were running down my face. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. Not now, not with him.
“When I saw you in the water, I really thought I was going crazy. And I didn’t even care if it meant I got to talk to you, to hold you. But you were real and you kissed me blind, then you just disappeared again, like it was nothing. Like we were nothing.”
“No!”
“Yes. I went back every day at the same time and waited for you for hours, even after the good waves were gone. I was sure you’d come back, sure you couldn’t just kiss me like that and leave again. But you did. If Moku hadn’t gotten hurt, you never would have come back. I would have been out there waiting for you forever.” He let me go so quickly that I stumbled. He caught me, steadied me, but then turned away, shoulders bowed, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts.
“And then, when you finally do come back, you bring him. Kona.” He all but snarled as he said the name. “Every time I think about the fact that I introduced you two eight months ago—”
“But you didn’t.”
“What?” He turned back to look at me.
“I’d met him before, a few days earlier. He came to our beach looking for me—that’s when he met you.”
