Yours: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (3 page)

It’s only late evening, but it’s been a long day, so I let myself slide under the veil of sleep.

At some point, Astrid wakes me up, and we go another round.

When I wake up again, it’s dawn, and she’s gone.

She left a note:
You are wrong about one thing, Lock: the only true measure of a person is what they do with their life.
 

Ouch, that’s a little rough, Astrid.
 

But goddamn if she isn’t right. The problem is, it takes time to accomplish anything worthwhile.

And time is the one luxury I do not possess.
 

*
 
*
 
*

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Four weeks later

Funny how things work out. Leanne and Carlos are, as Astrid would have put it, a thing. And they’re both aboard the
Vagabond
with me. Astrid left after that first night and I haven’t seen her since. Leanne is now with Carlos. Which leaves me…with Mel.

We hit St. Thomas for a while, but that played out pretty quick, so we decided to head for Rio to see if we could find a good berth for Carnival. I’m not exactly jealous of Carlos and Leanne, but it’s not what I expected. I’d thought things with Astrid would run their course, and the thing with Leanne and Carlos would do the same, and then things would go back to the way they were: me and Leanne, sailing and fucking.
 

It was a good system.
 

But, like I told Astrid, I can’t be jealous since Leanne and I had agreed we didn’t have a thing going, that we had an understanding.

I’m not jealous, because we didn’t have a thing, and now she and Carlos do.

They have a really good thing, actually. And that’s what pisses me off.
 

Leanne told me, back in South Africa, that she was running away from her old life, from everyone, from a good thing gone bad. She didn’t want to take anything seriously. Just take me wherever you go, she’d said. We’ll have a good time and eventually I’ll find somewhere to be, or I’ll head back to Jo-burg.
 

Leanne is a hell of a bartender, so she can find work anywhere. Carlos is—I don’t know. Someone with his own money and plenty of time to kill. He’s cool, he’s suave, and he’s got good stories.
 

And shit, man, that was my role.
 

But I ain’t mad at the guy. Apparently he’s got good game, landing a running-wild chick like Leanne. They’re talking about staying in Rio after Carnival, since
of course
Carlos has a line on a good place for lease right near the beach, close to all the bars where Leanne can get a job, and he can work from anywhere.

I can only watch them make plans, watch them solidify the good-thing status of what they’ve got going on.
 

Mel and I aren’t really a thing. We kick it, but she’s only in it for the temporary pleasure. Once the golden sheen of fresh sex fades to a patina, she’ll go her own way.
 

And I’ll be alone.

Which is cool.
 

Totally cool.

Right now, we’re hiking in the rain forest outside Rio. Not a real hike, just sort of walking around. Carlos knows the area well enough to not get lost, so he’s in the lead, Lee tagging behind him. Mel is with me and we are a few paces behind them. It’s slow going for me. Hiking is hard with my condition. I can do it, but I have to be careful. If I’m going to buy the farm, I don’t want it to be all sweaty and gasping on a hillside. If it’s gonna happen, I want to be doing something cool and badass, like on top of a mountain, or cliff diving, or in bed with a hot chick. You gotta make the risks worth taking; that’s the secret to living the way I do. Go big or don’t do it. Hiking? Meh. I’d rather sit on the beach, drink whisky, and watch the honeys sashay on the Copacabana.
 

Or…

“Hey, Carlos.” I jog to catch up. “You said you went hang gliding around here, didn’t you?”

He pauses, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Yeah, it was a long time ago but, yes, I did.”
 

“That sounds like fun. You want to try it again?”

He hesitates long enough that I wonder about the veracity of the story. “Sure. Why not?”

Leanne shoots me a look. “Hang gliding? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“A little, sure. But that’s the fun of it.” I wink at her—why does she care?
 

She’s watched me do some crazy shit in the months we’ve been sailing together, so she knows my penchant for adrenaline-rush activities. She watched me jump off cliffs, watched me swim with sharks, watched me windsurf in some crazy-ass weather—if it’s crazy and dangerous, I’ve done it. And she’s hated it every single time. She doesn’t get my addiction to the thrill, and I’ve never bothered to explain to her. She’d just try to mother me, worry about me, tell me to take it easy and remind me to take my pills and not drink so much. She’s got the worry-gene, and I don’t need that shit. We do not have an exclusive, committed thing. We’re friends, sometimes with benefits, and nothing more. So I keep her in the dark as much as I can.
 

She knows something’s up, though, and I let her wonder. I don’t need the pity, don’t need the compassion, and don’t need the added worry.

The next day I talk Carlos into taking me somewhere where they rent hang gliders. We get set up and then it’s a long drive up a fucking massive hill, hang gliders strapped to the roof of the ancient SUV. Lee and Mel are with us in the SUV, but they’re not flying with us. The driver will take them back down the mountain, and we’ll all meet back at the condo Carlos and Lee are renting.
 

The drive takes a long-ass time, but we finally reach the summit where the hang gliding company has a sort of runway set up on a cliff overlooking the rain forest. The forest is a wide green rolling crescent spreading in every direction, huge hills jutting up around us, the city itself perched on the edge of the beach, inching up into the hills and following the curve of the bay. I’m only half-listening to the safety instructions—I’m fixated on the sights below.
 

The view is glorious, and that’s what this is all about. It’s what my entire life is about. Take it in. Memorize the beauty, absorb it. Let it fill the spaces in my heart, let it coat the cracks in my soul.
 

Behind me, Carlos is hemming and hawing at the pointed questioning of the driver.
 

“You’ve never been hang gliding have you?” I say, not looking at him.

 
He grins sheepishly. “I did, but it scared me shitless.”
 

“That’s when you know you’re alive,” I say.
 

The driver pulls into the parking area and helps us get the gliders off the SUV. He does a credibly thorough safety check and then he gestures to me and Carlos, indicating he’s ready when we are.

We get strapped in and I squeeze the handle hard with both hands. Then I run to the edge of the cliff and jump off like someone with something to prove. I kick off hard and immediately feel the wind catch the wings of the hang glider, lifting me up, up, up. The ground falls away, and I see the forest way down below, hundreds of feet beneath me, and I’m howling at the sky like a fucking wolf, feeling the wind in my face and freedom all around. I push one side of the handle a little to angle downward, and my stomach lurches into my throat as I dip and soar. I bring it around, lift up, catch the wind and rise. Rise. Rise.
 

The bright sun is blinding, but once in a while I can see people like dots way down below. No one around me up here. No condition. No mountain of pills. No deadlines. Just me, the hang glider, the wind, the sun…freedom. The fear in my veins reminds me I’m alive. Knowing the wind could smash me down into the forest tells me this is crazy, this is dangerous. I could die any second. But fuck it, I’d rather die happy, soaring wild and free like a hawk, like an eagle, soaring above everything.

This is everything to me. The rush. The freedom. Nothing else matters in this moment.
 

I’m
alive
, at this moment.

*
 
*
 
*

I skipped the meet-up at the condo and went back to the
Vagabond
.
 

Alone.

Shit with Mel had run its course anyway and we both knew it. It had been a short course, and not all that great to begin with, since our chemistry was only marginal at best.
 

My plan now is to go for a swim, get wasted, and then head south in the morning. Maybe see if I can hit the Straits of Magellan, make the long as fuck trip north to Cali. I’ll pick up a temporary crew somewhere along the way.
 

I shower after my swim and then hop out, toweling off.
 

I go to take my pills and there she is, just sitting on my bed, staring at me, watching me pop one pill after another, washing them down with Perrier.

“Lee—Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” I take the last pill; cinch the towel around my waist.
 

Not out of modesty, since Leanne and I have spent plenty of time together naked; it’s more because I sense she wants to
talk
. Which is hard to do with any seriousness when one is buck-ass naked.

“What’s up, buttercup?” I run my hands through my short blond hair so it’s spiked up and messy.

“You’re an idiot.”
 

“Well, let’s not beat around the bush, shall we?” I sit beside her and offer her the green glass bottle of sparkling water. “That’s not really news, babe. Hate to break it to you.”
 

She takes a sip, hands it back. “Not like that. I mean, yeah, you’re an idiot. You take too many risks. You obviously have a death wish. That’s not new, and that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what kind of idiot am I this time?”
 

She ducks her head and picks at a loose thread on the quilt. “You know I’m staying here, in Rio? With Carlos.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re fine with it?”

I sigh. “This is about Astrid, isn’t it?”

Leanne groans in frustration. “No, you douche. It’s not about fucking
Astrid
. Or the fact that you fucked Astrid. I fucked Carlos that night—we have an agreement. So no, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it? If you want to stay in Rio, stay in Rio. That was always the reality, Lee: you’d find somewhere that called to you, and sail with me until you found it. Seems you’ve found it. Carlos is a good dude.”

“You won’t even miss me? You don’t even care?”
 

“Fuck.” Now it’s my turn to give in to frustration—I drop the towel and reach into the closet where I find a pair of board shorts and step into them. “Just come out and say it.”

I turn around and Lee’s there. Right there. Inches away, staring up at me. God, she’s gorgeous. Medium height, hair dyed ombre, blonde near the roots and brunette at the bottom, cut shoulder-length to frame her heart-shaped face. Bright brown eyes. Skin tanned caramel by hours in the sun on a deck wearing nothing but a bikini—or nothing at all. Nice full hips, a juicy ass taut from plenty of yoga. Not overly big tits, but a decent handful each. She’s in shape, lithe, lovely. Sweet. Smart. She’s a lot of things.

I
am
an idiot.

Especially when she says her next piece. She says it facing me, looking up at me, hands on my chest. Eyes wide. Full of emotion, letting it all hang out. “I could have loved you, Lock.”
 

My heart squeezes. Aches. Fuck, I hate myself, my life, and the shitty goddamn hand Fate has dealt me. But she can’t know that.
 

Better that she think I’m a cold-hearted asshole.
 

I grab her wrists; keep my eyes hard and focused, keep my emotions caged way down deep, chained up where they belong. I force her hands off me. “I know you could have, Lee. I may be an idiot, but I’m not blind. That’s just…it’s not where I’m at.”

Anger suffuses her features. “Not where you’re at?” She slaps my chest, hard enough to leave a red handprint. “What the
fuck
does that mean? Is that the new asshole way of saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?”

I’m careful to keep cool, to keep my gaze steady, my expression neutral. “Basically, yeah. But it has the additional benefit of being true. I’m doing this for you, Leanne. Carlos is better for you than I am for more reasons than I care to go into. Please believe me when I tell you I’m doing you a favor.”

She’s disgusted, now. “God, you’re full of bullshit lines, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

She blinks back tears. “Any other lines you want to feed me?”

I think for a moment. “You’re gonna make some guy really happy. I just wish that guy could be me.”

A nod. “That one is nice and traditional. Any more?”
 

“I think that’s it.”
 

She takes a deep breath and I’m asshole enough to enjoy the way her breasts swell. “You’re unbelievable.” She turns away, takes a few steps across the room to the doorway leading to the rear deck. But then she stops. “You know, I really thought there was more to you than the rich adrenaline-junkie playboy. I really did. I hoped there was. Guess I was wrong.”

“Guess you were.”
 

I let her get off the boat and onto the pier before I stop her. “Lee?” She turns back, and fucking dammit if there isn’t still a glimmer of hope in those brown eyes. “You know what sucks?”

“That I always seem to fall for the asshole?”

“Well, yeah, that too. But no.”

“Then what?”

“They weren’t just lines. Every single word was true.”
 

She shakes her head, rolls her eyes, huffs, turns on a heel and flounces away. “Yeah, sure. I fucking bet they were.”

No point arguing. I let her go, and once she’s gone I throw myself onto the couch running along the outside of the stern deck. I crack open a brand new bottle of Lagavulin, and work on blacking out.
 

I’m not man enough to face the ghosts of all the things I regret.