Read Online Beyond the Rising Tide by Sarah Beard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Beard
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soft too, and I brace my hands on the counter to steady myself. He hasn’t been in here since we broke up, and I wonder what he’s doing here now. He lingers at the front of the shop, studying a display of chocolate-covered mangos, but from the way he keeps casting glances my way, I know he’s here to see me.
The lady I’m ringing up is asking something, but I don’t know what, because all I can think is that maybe my appearance at the beach last night had a bigger effect on Tyler than I thought, and he’s here to reconcile.
“Miss?” the lady asks.
“Sorry, what?”
“What time do you close? I’d like to bring my granddaughter back tomorrow night.”
“Oh. We close at seven.”
She nods and takes her box of assorted chocolates out the door, stepping carefully around Dad, who’s still kneeling on the floor tinkering with the hinge. Now that I’m free, Tyler approaches me with slow, measured steps as if he’s deciding what to say on his way. I grip the edge of the counter for added support, like a feeble old lady leaning on a walker.
He comes up and spreads his hands on the counter. He’s wearing a black wetsuit, and his dark hair is still damp, like he just waded out of the sea. His jade-green eyes look right into mine, and I think my heart might beat right out of my chest.
“Hey,” he says in a gentle voice that makes me feel even weaker. “How you doing?”
“Fine.”
He tilts his head and knits his brows, like he’s eager to know what I’m thinking. But it’s more than an expression. It’s a hundred memories. A hundred times I’ve seen that exact look, when he’s broken down my walls and gotten me to confide in him. He leans closer. “You know what I mean. I want to make sure you’re okay … after last night.”
The truth is I’m feeling rather discarded. Like a broken toy tossed in the recycle bin. But I don’t want to get into that, so I slide my hands up on the counter and say, “Really. I’m fine.”
He looks down at our fingers, at the small space between them. Maybe he’s wishing he could touch my hand the way he used to. Or maybe he’s thinking I need to scrub out the cocoa under my nails. “So we’re back to barriers, huh?”
“You’re the one who put them back up, remember?”
He lets out a long sigh, and his cool breath touches my cheeks. It smells like peppermint bark. “Avery,” he says, his tapping index finger betraying how bothered he is. “There’s something I need to say.”
For a second, I think he’s going to lean closer and tell me, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I regret ending things between us. I want to be here for you while you’re going through all this, and I love you for so many more reasons than just your mad surfing skills.” That’s all it would take for me to throw myself into his arms and tell him all was forgiven. But the words I want him to say don’t come.
Instead, he says, “You don’t have to prove anything to me. If you don’t feel comfortable going in the water, then don’t. I want you to take as much time as you need to get better.” His hands slide toward mine until our fingertips touch. “I meant what I said last night. I care about you. I still have feelings for you, and they’re not going away anytime soon. So do what you need to heal completely, and when you’re okay, I’ll be here waiting.”
“What if I’m never okay?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I know you. You’re fearless and strong. You’ll be okay.”
I almost ask why he can’t be with me now, the way I am. Why I have to be fixed before we can get back together. But I already know the answer. He told me himself the day we broke up. It was too hard for him. Too emotionally exhausting to deal with a grieving girlfriend. I didn’t blame him then, and I don’t blame him now. I saw the effort he made when we were still together. Coming to my house when I didn’t want to go out, trying to comfort me when I couldn’t be comforted. He tried
The lady I’m ringing up is asking something, but I don’t know what, because all I can think is that maybe my appearance at the beach last night had a bigger effect on Tyler than I thought, and he’s here to reconcile.
“Miss?” the lady asks.
“Sorry, what?”
“What time do you close? I’d like to bring my granddaughter back tomorrow night.”
“Oh. We close at seven.”
She nods and takes her box of assorted chocolates out the door, stepping carefully around Dad, who’s still kneeling on the floor tinkering with the hinge. Now that I’m free, Tyler approaches me with slow, measured steps as if he’s deciding what to say on his way. I grip the edge of the counter for added support, like a feeble old lady leaning on a walker.
He comes up and spreads his hands on the counter. He’s wearing a black wetsuit, and his dark hair is still damp, like he just waded out of the sea. His jade-green eyes look right into mine, and I think my heart might beat right out of my chest.
“Hey,” he says in a gentle voice that makes me feel even weaker. “How you doing?”
“Fine.”
He tilts his head and knits his brows, like he’s eager to know what I’m thinking. But it’s more than an expression. It’s a hundred memories. A hundred times I’ve seen that exact look, when he’s broken down my walls and gotten me to confide in him. He leans closer. “You know what I mean. I want to make sure you’re okay … after last night.”
The truth is I’m feeling rather discarded. Like a broken toy tossed in the recycle bin. But I don’t want to get into that, so I slide my hands up on the counter and say, “Really. I’m fine.”
He looks down at our fingers, at the small space between them. Maybe he’s wishing he could touch my hand the way he used to. Or maybe he’s thinking I need to scrub out the cocoa under my nails. “So we’re back to barriers, huh?”
“You’re the one who put them back up, remember?”
He lets out a long sigh, and his cool breath touches my cheeks. It smells like peppermint bark. “Avery,” he says, his tapping index finger betraying how bothered he is. “There’s something I need to say.”
For a second, I think he’s going to lean closer and tell me, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I regret ending things between us. I want to be here for you while you’re going through all this, and I love you for so many more reasons than just your mad surfing skills.” That’s all it would take for me to throw myself into his arms and tell him all was forgiven. But the words I want him to say don’t come.
Instead, he says, “You don’t have to prove anything to me. If you don’t feel comfortable going in the water, then don’t. I want you to take as much time as you need to get better.” His hands slide toward mine until our fingertips touch. “I meant what I said last night. I care about you. I still have feelings for you, and they’re not going away anytime soon. So do what you need to heal completely, and when you’re okay, I’ll be here waiting.”
“What if I’m never okay?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I know you. You’re fearless and strong. You’ll be okay.”
I almost ask why he can’t be with me now, the way I am. Why I have to be fixed before we can get back together. But I already know the answer. He told me himself the day we broke up. It was too hard for him. Too emotionally exhausting to deal with a grieving girlfriend. I didn’t blame him then, and I don’t blame him now. I saw the effort he made when we were still together. Coming to my house when I didn’t want to go out, trying to comfort me when I couldn’t be comforted. He tried
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