She isn’t sober. She’s strung out.
The pain blooming over my heart pushes me to end this conversation before it gets worse. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“God, I forgot what a coldhearted bitch you can be. No wonder men are always running far away from you.” Her words penetrate with the power of a missile, blowing through my last bit of restraint.
“Bye, Anto.” I end the call and tuck my phone into the bottom drawer of my desk. My eyes prick, and I do everything in my power to hold the tears back. Rapid blinking. Not blinking at all. Fanning my eyes with my hands and then holding my head back to prevent them from falling.
Despite all my attempts, a single tear escapes in an act of betrayal. I swipe it away with angry fingers.
You will not shed another tear for her.
The chant seems to center me. I take a few deep breaths, lessening some of the weight pressing against my chest.
You made the right choice.
Yet no matter how many times I tell myself, it never feels like I did. And that’s what hurts me the most.
On sucky days like today, once Cami falls asleep, I hang out on the dock by myself. Ever since I was a kid, I found something calming about lying out on the planks and listening to the water slapping against the wood poles.
One of the wood planks underneath my sandals creaks, and a large shadow the size of a black bear moves at the end of the dock, striking the fear of God into me. I stumble, and the tip of my shoe catches on a half-exposed nail.
I go down hard. The baby monitor flies out of my hand and lands with a plop somewhere in the water. My palms slam into the wood, saving my fall, although the momentum from my landing pushes them forward. A piercing sensation of splinters breaking through my skin makes my eyes water.
“Ow.” Just when you thought today couldn’t get any worse.
“Shit! Are you okay?” Cal bolts from his spot, and I internally groan.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I remain in the same position, too afraid to check out the damage on my palms. Thankfully, the leggings I chose prevent my knees from suffering a similar fate, although they ache from the blow.
The old planks creak under his heavy footsteps. He stops in front of me, and I look up at him from my position on my hands and knees.
Well, of all the positions to be caught in, this might be the worst.
The flush of my cheeks is hidden by the limited lighting.
“Do you plan on getting up or…？” Humor seeps into his voice. Shadows cling to the sharp edges of his jaw, drawing my eyes toward them.
“I think I’m good here. Feel free to head back to the guesthouse after giving me a heart attack.”
His raspy chuckle makes my stomach flutter.
You’re hopeless, Alana. Absolutely hopeless.
“Sorry for scaring you.”
“I thought you were a bear,” I hiss through clenched teeth as I sit back on my heels. I’m not sure how many splinters I have pressing into my palms, but it feels like hundreds.
“What’s wrong with your hands?”
Damn Cal and his ability to notice everything about me.
“Nothing. Just a couple of splinters.”
“A couple?” He grabs my hand and flips it palm side up.
I snatch it back. “Stop!”
“I’m just trying to check out the damage.”
I can either choose to be difficult or allow him to help me, solely because I have no chance of pulling the splinters out without any assistance.
“Fine.” I hold out my hand for him to assess the splinters.
He pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight. “Hmm.” He delicately traces over the soft skin of my palm, sending a wave of goose bumps across my arms. At least ten splinters are poking through my skin at different angles.
He accidentally brushes over a splinter, and I suck in a breath.
“Sorry. What did your mom used to say? Sana, sana, colita de rana?”
“Si no sanas hoy, sanarás ma?ana,” I finish for him with a small smile.
My mom always made any injury feel ten times better with a single little song. Cal remembering that…
It makes my chest feel all warm and tingly.
He looks up from my hand. “Do you have tweezers and a needle inside?”
I do not like the sound of that whatsoever. “Nope.”
He grins as his hand reaches out to trace the slope of my scrunched nose, drawing a sharp breath from me. “Liar,” he whispers close enough for me to smell his aftershave. His proximity sends my every cell into hyperdrive, making me feel as if my body was plugged into an electric socket.
He gives his head a shake and pulls away. “Let’s get those splinters out before you chicken out and end up with an infection.”
I cross my arms and lift my chin. “I’m not a chicken.”
“You cried once because of a papercut.”
The tips of my ears heat. “To be fair, it was a really deep cut.”
“You’re right. It was nearly fatal, if my memory serves me right. I’m almost positive if it weren’t for that Hello Kitty Band-Aid, you might have not made it.”
I flip him off, although my lower belly warms at him remembering the tiniest details like what kind of Band-Aid I had on.
“Does that count for the swear jar?” His wide grin makes my heart jolt in my chest.
“Jerk,” I mutter under my breath as I walk around Cal and into the house.
“I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” He disappears around the corner, leaving me to gather the supplies. I find everything I need in my bathroom. My mom took enough splinters out of my hands for me to know the drill.
I return to the kitchen to find Cal sitting at the island, completely unaware of my presence as he watches a YouTube video describing how to remove splinters as painlessly as possible. He pauses and replays a specific part twice before moving on with a satisfied nod.
My chest clenches at the intense look of concentration on his face. This is the reason why I want to create distance between us. Because it’s the little things Cal does—the things that most people might not even notice or care much about—that get me every single time.
Sober Cal is a dream. He is witty, charming, and nearly impossible to resist. It’s the drunk version of himself that I have a hard time accepting. That version is depressing, angry, and extremely difficult to love.
And it’s the version of him that I still resent years later.
I drop all the supplies on the counter.
“Ready?” He looks up with a smile.
I frown. “Please try to look a little less excited about torturing me.”
“There are plenty of ways I’d enjoy torturing you—all of which you would be excited for.”
My head empties of any coherent thoughts.
Are you surprised? You always knew he was a flirt.
Knowing and experiencing are two very different situations. My heart rate skyrockets as he taps the barstool next to him, and I fall into it with the grace of a newborn foal.
Cal gets up and washes his hands like a doctor prepping for surgery before returning to clean the tweezers and needle with rubbing alcohol. I shut my eyes as I place my hands palms-up on the counter.
The first prick of the tweezers picking at my skin makes me wince.
“You still like sitting out on the dock at night?” Cal asks.