Vain: A Stepbrother Romance (11 page)

Chapter 19 Recovery - Mick

The
next few months are very hard. Slowly, but surely, I fight my way back to
health. With the support of my physiotherapist, and of course, Sam, I am able
to make it. I walk with a limp and lost a lot of mobility in my leg, but I just
keep reminding myself that I was alive. One thing’s for sure, though: I will
never again step into the ocean.

         
The relationship that Sam and I share has grown a great deal, and though we
never really talk about the fact that Sam is pregnant, I’m ready to be a dad.
Sam starts to teach at the surf school again, and I have a lot of unanswered
emails and questions from fans and sponsors that need to be addressed. I’m
procrastinating and not wanting to have those conversations. It’s too painful
to think that the thing I loved most is over. I have not even been back to my
house since the incident in the water. I wonder how bad it is.

         
Sam walks into the kitchen where I am sitting. “Mick, can we talk?” I know what
this is going to be about. I’m not ready for it, but if my life is going to move
forward, it needs come out.

         
“Sure, Sam. What’s up?”

         
“What are you going to do?” As she asks the question, I realize there is no way
I can deal with this.

         
“What can I do, Sam? I am half of a man now. I have no plans, nothing to fall
back on—all I have ever done is surf.”

         
“I’m not saying you have to get back into the water again. I know you don’t
want to.”

         
“It is not that I don’t want to. I
can’t!”

         
“Okay, Mick. I’m not looking to make you upset. At some point, you are going to
have to face the world and make a decision about your future. I don’t care what
you do. I just want you to be prepared. Make the decision yourself before
someone makes it for you.” Her words enrage me. To think that someone else
would decide my future!

         
“I want to go home, that is what I want! I can’t stand this constant
pestering!”

         
“Don’t be like that, Mick. You know that isn’t fair. I am just trying to help.”

         
Without another word, I storm out of her house. Sam chases me down the street,
due to my now gimpy leg t doesn’t take her long to catch me. Now she is begging
me to come back, but I am leaving. I feel hurt and betrayed, but mostly, I felt
worried about my future. This is not about me and Sam—it’s about my inability
to know how I am going to support myself and my impending child.

         
I take a cab back to my house and I’m shocked to see that it was vandalized. I
slowly get out of the cab and survey the damage as I make my way inside. All
along the floor are empty bottles of beer. The windows are smashed and the
walls spray painted with graffiti. I feel very taken advantage of. Sick to my
stomach and weak. The way I feel about my career is now echoed in the halls of
my home.

         
From the depths of my stomach comes a guttural scream. I have had enough! I am
sick and tired of feeling afraid. I am sick and tired of feeling like I have
been taken advantage of. Mostly I was sick and tired of being a passenger in my
life. It is time to take control.

Over
the next few hours, I make calls to disaster recovery companies to come and
seal my property. I still have lots of money and they are not going to take my
home. Then I dial my father’s number.

         
“Hi, Dad. It’s Mick.”

         
“Mick, how are you? How’s the leg?”

         
“It’s all good. Listen, can I stay with you a while?”

         
“You know you are always welcome here. What happened to Sam?”

         
“Things are just complicated right now. I don’t want to talk about it.”

         
“Yeah, no problem. Come over anytime.”

         
“Thanks, Dad.”

         
I go into the garage and get out my old beater that I love so much. In the back
are a few surf boards staring at me, waiting for some type of response. I get
out of the car, rip the boards out, and smash them into as many pieces as I
can. My fit of rage has all but exhausted me. My injuries have left me in a
shape that was less than ideal. Any type of physical activity exhausts me. As I
stand over the pile of Styrofoam and shards of epoxy, I breathe heavily. I’m
not sure why I needed to do that, but part of me feels better that I did.

         
I wait impatiently by the door for the disaster recovery team to come by and I
throw the supervisor the keys while rolling out of the driveway. I don’t even
stop to talk to him. He looks at me in disbelief.

         
“You have my number, call me and tell me what it has to cost.”

He
blinks. “Uh… okay.”

I
speed out of my driveway with a full mind. How did my life get to this point,
all because of one shark? My phone begins to ring and as I look down I notice
its Jaime. Jaime has been calling me nonstop for the past few months and I
still have not responded to him. I also have not responded to my sponsors, or
the rest of the world. I have become a complete recluse.

Pulling into the San
Onofre parking lot, I roll slowly in so I can spot my father’s “house.” This is
no house—it’s a beat-up old mobile home. I love my dad, but the way he chooses
to live does not resonate with me. I park right beside his old Junker as he
comes out to greet me.

         
“My boy! Come on in.”

         
“Hey, Dad.”

         
          I feel like his child
again as I walk into his mobile home that he affectionately refers to as his
wife, and he gives me the tour as he always does. I will never understand why
he wants to show me around. It’s like it gives him a sense of pride.

         
Above our heads is my board, strapped to the ceiling. That board means so much
to me, but now it feels like it means nothing at all.

         
“Have you been riding it, Dad?”

         
“That board? No, the only feet that should ever touch that board are yours. Do
you remember your first ride?”

         
“Not really Dad, no.”

         
“Let me tell you about it.” I’m not in the mood to hear it, but as he continues
to talk, it makes me very sentimental. “You were here, at San Onofre. You
wanted nothing more than to surf. It was all you talked about. The only problem
was you couldn’t be out there alone. So every morning, you had to wait for me
to get up, take your board out, and help you surf.

         
“The first time though, was something special. I woke up, only to find that you
were gone. Scared as any parent would be, I woke your mother to tell her. She
frantically ran out of the motorhome to find you with your board in tow. You
were dragging this very board to the water—you must’ve been five years old.
Your mother was about to yell at you when I stopped her. I told her to wait and
see, you knew how to swim, and maybe this was your time. She watched you while
biting her fingernails as you made your way to the surf. You never noticed—you
were too focused on your goal. You have always been that way.

“Once
in the water, you continued to drag the board out, fighting the small waves,
that were so big to you. You were so tiny. When you got to the spot you wanted,
you hopped on the board and waited. That board was more like a boat to you. A
wave came and caught your board. Just like that, you were off. You stood up on
the board with a smile on your face the likes of which I have never seen since.
As you caught a glimpse of us, you started to cheer and yell. Your mother, with
her hands over her face, began to cry. So did I. That is my fondest memory of
you, boy, and I will never forget it.”

         
“You never told me that story before. How come?”

         
“You never needed to hear it until now. It’s not the shark in the water that
you’re afraid of, son. It’s the sharks on land. Don’t make the same mistakes I
made. Go live your life. It is, after all,
your
life.”

         
          My father has never
confessed a fear to me before. He must have been afraid of the corporate world,
so this is his escape. He’s right. I’m not afraid of surfing. I just don’t want
to deal with the backlash, or not be as good as I used to be. I love to surf. I
need to get back in the water.

         
We leave the motorhome and walk down the beach to the water. This is as close
to the water as I’ve been since the attack. It feels like it’s time to do
something, I just don’t know what. My heart pounds the closer I get to the
water. I look over at my father and his expression doesn’t waver. He keeps the
proud smile on his face the whole time.

         
I creep to the edge of the water, the waves gently licking my toes. The water
is cold and refreshing. My heartbeat slows and I close my eyes, just enjoying
the sounds, the smells, and the sensations all around me. Something feels very
right about this. This is where I’m supposed to be.

         
A voice rings out from behind us. “Is this a party for just the boys?”

         
It’s Sam. I’m happy she’s here, and as I turn to see her, she smiles. In her
hand is my board. Decision time has arrived.

Chapter 20 – Learning to Fly - Mick

Sam
has a wicked smile on her face, and I know what she wants. She wants me to get
into the water. As she holds out the board for me to take, fear overtakes me. A
kneejerk statement ricochets out of my mouth,

         
“I am not going back into the water.”

         
“No one said that you have to go back in the water, Mick,” she replies. “Don’t
go if you don’t want to, but at least leave on your own terms. If you never
want to surf again, I’m fine with that. All of those years, though. You put in
all of those years, only to leave because of what happened. Surf one more time,
Mick. Not for your fans or sponsors or me. Not for your father, but for you.
Make it your last surf, celebrate your life of surfing, and then put it to bed
forever.”

         
That sense of finality is something I never thought about. I don’t want to be
done with surfing. I want to be done with the business of surfing. I hate that
part of it, and this is just an excuse for me to get out.

         
I snatch the board out of Sam’s hand and limp my way out to the water. It feels
good to be in the water—in fact, it feels great. As I paddle into my first
wave, I realize I no longer have the strength in my back leg to get up. I
stumble and fall.
Okay, okay. That’s okay. It was my first attempt.
I
try again to get up on the next wave, and I can’t. I try the next four waves to
get myself up, and I can’t do it. Storming out of the water, I toss my board
down and walk past Sam and my father. I am embarrassed and angry and want to be
left alone.

“Mick,
it’s going to take some time. Let me teach you.”

“Ha!
You, teach me?! I am the best surfer in the world!”
Are you sure Mick? You
can’t even stand up on a board.

“You
could have fooled me.” Sam yells. I know Sam is just trying to get to me now,
and she is. I am so angry, I could spit.

“I am done, Sam! Done!”

I storm away and into my car, I need to get away from
that whole scene.
My life, my fucking life!
I have no idea where I’m
going, but I know I am going away from here.

I’m driving around town, going nowhere, continuing to
reflect on my first day back in the water.
Who does Sam think she is,
telling me she is going to teach me how to surf? I don’t think so.
Then I
realize, a possible solution.

Of course, I may need to change some things to relearn how to surf,
like my stance. I do have more strength in my other leg. I am going to have to
try that. I am going to have to try and surf the other way, but there is no
fucking way that she is going to teach me how to surf.

I
drive around town all day, searching for something. I have no idea what it is,
but it is something. I drive by my house to see how the work is coming along.
After talking with the contractor, I find out it is going to be a huge bill to
fix all that needs to be fixed. It needs to be done, I’m just not sure that
after not working for a few months, I still have enough money to cover it. I
am, after all, going to have to give up my career. I can’t even stand on a
board, never mind compete. If this reno is going to exhaust all my money, I’m
better off just to sell the place. I better call my accountant.

Sam was right. I’m going to have to figure out what to
do next with my life. As night falls, I make my way back to my father’s
motorhome. Parking my car, I see him sitting by the fire pit, beer in hand and
a bag of chips in the other.

“Hey,
Dad.”

         
“Hey, Mick. You all right? I was going to call, but I figured you just wanted
to be left alone.”

         
“Yeah, I guess I’m okay. Well, as okay as someone can be with everything in his
life ending.”

         
“Hm.”

         
I glare at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

         
“Ah, nothing, just thinking.”

         
“What are you thinking about? Spit it out!”

         
My father shakes his head. “Son, I have given you a lot of advice over the
years, though I have tried to stay out of your romantic relationships. This
woman, though, is different. Sam is special. She nursed you back to health, she
stayed with you when you were with someone else—she has tried to help you on
your feet in any and every way possible. Your response to her is essentially a
fuck-off. That woman is not deserving of that.”

         
“She doesn’t know me, Dad. She thinks she does because she’s my stepsister, or
whatever, but she doesn’t. What the hell am I supposed to do? How can I support
myself, or her?”

         
“A man always finds a way. We cannot always control the things that happen to
us, but we can control our reaction to them, and as far as I can see, you have
not done well at that.”

         
“Hm,” I mutter.

         
My father smiles. “I can say to you only this, for whatever reason, don’t let
the good ones walk away.”

         
I watched as my father dramatically got up and walked away. He was as always
right. Sam was a hell of a good woman and I was not treating her the right way.
If she wants to teach me how to surf, why should I not let her? She is a great
teacher and I can use the support now more than ever. What I needed was to
apologise to her, before it was too late.

“Don’t live your life with
regrets, son. It’s not what you do for a living. It’s how you do your living.”

         
Sometimes, I hated his wisdom, but there is no denying he’s right. I owe a debt
to Sam, and I need to repay that. I pick up the phone to text her.

         
“
Sam, meet me tomorrow for breakfast? I want and need to see you.”

         
         
The response comes swiftly.

         
“
OK”

         
I’m about to call it a night and go to bed when I
realize that
now
is the right time to see Sam. I walk to my car and
drive over to Sam’s house. All the way there, I think of her bright smile and
beautiful eyes. I feel like a heel for the way I treated her, and realize that
I never even thanked her for all of the help she had given me throughout this
whole ordeal. There’s much I have to be ashamed of, but the worst part is how
ungrateful I’ve been.

         
I pull up to Sam’s house rehearsing what it was I was going to say to her.
Sam,
I wanted to thank you… No, no. Sam, I think I am in love with you… Ugh. Forget
it. I’ll just wing it.

Slinging
myself out of the car isn’t as easy as it used to be due to my weak leg. I have
been able to stand with a little help from my arms, however. I walk up to the
door and ring the bell. Sam answers wearing a robe.

         
“Mick, what are you doing here?”

         
“I know it’s late, but I had to come and see you.”

         
“Well, now is not a really good time.”

         
“I know, but this won’t take long. I wanted to tell you…”

         
          A man’s voice rang out.
“Sam? Who is it? Who’s at the door?” He came up behind Sam, wearing nothing but
boxer shorts, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Can we help you?”