Lachlan
The calming sounds of the ocean surrounded me as I bobbed on my surfboard, studying the swells for the right wave to ride to shore.
After Nikko’s phone call this morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d found out about that name — Lucretia. I didn’t want to believe the story about Lucretia being raped, then taking her own life had anything to do with what happened to Claire. It was bad enough I felt in my heart she’d been murdered and the police didn’t want to investigate. The idea she might have been assaulted, just like Piper, tore me apart, my anger overwhelming me.
So instead of doing something I knew I’d regret, I sought comfort on the ocean waves. Hoped being out here would give me some sort of clarity. Some sort of direction.
Spotting a wave forming in the distance, I readied myself, gripping the board. Just as it approached, I hoisted myself to my feet, fighting to keep my balance. As I caught the wave, leaning into it, instinct kicked in. Piper always said surfing was a lot like riding a bike. Once you learned, you never forgot how to do it. The memory brought a smile to my face, and for a split second, I almost felt her out here, reassuring me I was on the right path, as she often did during her life.
I would have been lying if I claimed things with her were always good. That her decision to cheat came out of left field.
But it didn’t.
We were so young. At the time of her death, I was only twenty-two, she a year younger. It didn’t help we were both stubborn and opinionated. Suffice it to say, we had our fair share of arguments.
But when things were good, they were great.
Then again, I wasn’t exactly around much. We’d only been dating six months when I received the phone call that changed the direction of my life. I’d planned to attend UCLA, so we already knew we’d have to deal with a long-distance relationship.
But signing with the Hawks meant being a nine-hour flight away instead of only five. Not to mention living in whatever housing the team put me up in.
So instead of having the summer to spend as much time together as we could before I moved into my dorm in Southern California, I had mere hours after my high school graduation before I had to board a plane to embark on my dream of playing professional baseball, even if it was only the minors. Everyone had to start somewhere.
In the beginning, we did everything to make it work. Since she was in her senior year of high school, our time together was limited. We FaceTimed as much as possible, though. And when she could, she came out to see me play. But considering I lived with five other players in a tiny apartment, anytime she contemplated coming out, we had to take into account the expense of getting a hotel room, something we weren’t always able to do, since minor league players didn’t exactly rake in the big bucks. The only reason I could support myself at all after my mum died less than a year into my career was because, thanks to Nikko’s advice, I invested my inheritance into a house with an in-law apartment I could turn into a beach rental. If I hadn’t, I doubted I would have been able to sustain playing in the minors and coming home to visit as often as I did.
But as time went on, the distance certainly took its toll. We fought more. FaceTimed less. I felt her slipping from me, yet did nothing to reel her back in. I guess I assumed she’d always be there.
I should have known better.
Should have tried harder.
Should have cared more.
Her cheating definitely wasn’t right. But I understood why she did it. I wasn’t there for her. Didn’t appreciate her.
Even when I was physically present, I wasn’t mentally present. I never gave her my full attention, every thought focused on advancing to the next level of my career.
Looking back on all the arguments and frustration, I realized our relationship actually ended the second I left Hawaii to pursue my baseball career. We just didn’t want to admit it to ourselves.
As I reached the shore, I hopped off my board, unclipping myself from the tether before wading through the shallows. The mid-morning sun beamed down on the sand, the beach becoming increasingly populated with tourists who hoped to find a more peaceful area than you’d typically find around Waikiki.
Board in hand, I jogged up the beach and toward my mum’s old house, resting the surfboard against the brick privacy wall. I unzipped my wetsuit as I continued toward the house, coming to an abrupt stop when I noticed a figure sitting on the bench in Claire’s garden.
Reacting quickly, I grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on — a baseball bat.
“You have exactly ten seconds to tell me who you are and what the fuck you’re doing on my property before I use your head for batting practice.”
The figure jumped to his feet, whirling around, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“My name’s… My name’s Ethan.”
“Okay, Ethan.” I gripped the bat, stepping toward him. He tensed even more, hands held in front of him in surrender.
Truth be told, he wasn’t even remotely intimidating. He was tall and lanky, his blond hair perfectly groomed. His pale skin made me question whether he’d been exposed to any sunlight recently. He had a youthful appearance and couldn’t have been any older than thirty.
“Tell me what you’re doing here. Unless you want the seagulls to feast on your brain for lunch.”