LYRA
07.10.15
“Is this high enough?” My voice trembles as I peer over the side of the rocky cliff, straight down into the depths of the blue-green waters below. The view is both awe-inspiring and bone-chilling. Why anyone would want to dive off this is beyond me, but Tavian promises I’ll understand better once I witness it firsthand. I think he’s crazy, but because I already know it’s not life threatening—at least not for him today—I’m excited to be able to capture it on film for him.
He hikes up a few more feet and scans the area, then points at a flat space near the edge. “There. That’s a good place for you to set up. The angle is perfect for where I’ll be jumping from the top of the calanque.”
A calanque, Tavian taught me this morning on the bus ride from our Marseille hotel to the coast, is a steep-walled inlet, naturally carved out of limestone or dolomite, found all along the French Mediterranean shoreline. The cliffs are popular for thrill seekers around the world, providing some of the most spectacular diving vistas known to man. Now that I see it up close and personal, I can appreciate the draw to the jaw-dropping setting, but I still have no desire to jump off one of those peaks like a lunatic.
I shuffle my feet over to the clearing Tavian’s pointing at and set my backpack down on a small patch of grass, immediately digging for my camera. Within seconds, I’m snapping pictures like a mad woman. I’ve never seen anything like this place. White-and-gray marbled cliffs reaching up into the clouds, dotted with shrubs and trees greener than the most vibrant of emeralds, all of it surrounded by calm, crystal clear water below. Raw, uninhabited beauty, one of Mother Nature’s hidden gems. It’s a complete contrast to the war zone I was in three days ago.
I don’t want to forget a thing.
“You’re gonna be cool here, yeah, buttercup?” he confirms, playfully pulling on my ponytail to get my attention. “I’m heading up to that point right up there.”
I pull the viewfinder away from my eye and glance over at him, a wide smile stretched across my face, my soul soaring in the other worldly surroundings. “Yeah, I’m good. Wait for me to wave at you before you jump, so you know I’m ready.”
With a wink, he gives my hair one last tug then lifts his T-shirt—one that involves a pickle and the words “I’m a Big Dill”—over his head and tosses it at me. The calm I felt seconds ago evaporates as my body reacts to the sight of Tavian’s bare chest and abs. I’ve seen him shirtless a handful of times now, and I still can’t get used to it. I shiver with all over body tingles, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies take flight in my ovaries.
Stop gawking, Lyra. You’re embarrassing yourself again.
“After a few dives, we can go down and swim for a bit before we head back for lunch. You’re gonna love the water, just wait,” he announces before pivoting on his heel and bounding up the path that leads to the highest point of the massive rock formation.
It takes me a few seconds to snap out of my lustful stupor, but once I do, I shove his shirt in my bag and then fine-tune the settings on my camera, adjusting the aperture and shutter speed for the early morning light. After we drove from Barcelona to Marseilles yesterday, taking our time to stop at random places along the way to explore the coastline of western France, Tavian insisted we go to bed early so we could be up before dawn and ready to hike by daybreak. He wanted to beat other divers out for the best photo ops. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but when the alarm went off two hours ago at the preposterous time of 4:00 a.m., I wished I’d not been so quick to agree.
A high-pitched whistle pierces through the cool, salty breeze and I snap my attention up to where Tavian is perched high atop a nearby cliff. I hiss nervously, suddenly questioning whether this is such a great idea with just the two of us here. If something goes wrong, God forbid if he gets hurt, all I’m good for is taking pictures. Even if I were able to figure out how to call local authorities, I wouldn’t know how to tell them where we are.
Stop worrying. He’s going to be fine—you know this. Today isn’t his day.
He waves and I push my concerns to the back of my mind, trying to keep a positive outlook. Learning about his dad and brothers only solidified the importance of me documenting this trip—especially for his poor mom. I don’t even know her, but my heart breaks every time I think about what she’s been through… and what’s to come.
Lifting the camera up, I zoom in on him, focusing the long-range lens in directly on the dimple on his chin. Damn that dimple and its panty-melting superpowers. Waving back, I let him know I’m ready when he is, and I watch as he does a few stretches before getting in position. Okay, so I’m totally taking pictures while he’s stretching… to properly document the entire experience, of course.
I hold my breath as Tavian inches forward and his toes curl over the rocky lip, ignoring the clamminess of my palms while snapping shot after shot of him. When he reaches his hands high above his head, sheer determination etched into the fine lines near his eyes and pursed lips, my heartbeat stalls out. In the blink of an eye, he pushes off and flies through the air, arms stretched out to the sides, body arched like an Olympic diver. I don’t take my finger off the shutter as he abruptly tucks his chin to his knees and grabs hold of his calves, somersaulting through the air at least twice before straightening out and plunging into the sea headfirst.
The second his head pops up in the water, I exhale on a whoosh and my pulse jumpstarts with a bang, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Squealing like a teenage girl meeting her favorite boy-band, I set my camera down on my bag then jump up and down—at a safe distance from the ledge—elated for this man who has exploded into my life and, in just a few days, made an impact like I never thought possible.
“Hell yeah!” Tavian shouts while pumping a victorious fist in the air. “That was fucking awesome!”
He swims over to the side and uses his arms to push himself out of the water and up onto the rock surface, smoothed out by years upon years of weathering. I wait eagerly as he bounds up the path, and as soon as he reaches me, he circles his strong arms around me, lifting me off the ground in a big bear hug. I haven’t hugged anyone since the day Granny Gina died over eight years ago. After the initial shock of what he’s doing wears off, I wrap my own arms around Tavian’s neck and squeeze him back, getting completely soaked from his drenched body in the process, but not minding even a little bit.
I could get used to this.
“You have to jump with me this time, Lyra. It’s… it’ll take your breath away,” he gushes as he sets my feet back on the earth.
“Yeah,” I chuckle, clumsily backpedaling a couple feet away from him, “and possibly my life, too.”
His focus drops down to my chest where my thin, white, now-wet tank is virtually translucent, revealing the basic triangle-top bikini underneath, and one corner of his mouth hikes up into a cocky smirk. “I thought you were gonna buy the black one-piece?”
Instinctively, I cross my arms over my breasts and look down at the ground while I chew timidly on my bottom lip. My cheeks flame with humiliation, more because of how my entire body is buzzing with electricity under his assessing stare than over him actually seeing my swimsuit top.
“I, uh… I changed it to, uh… to this one at the last minute,” I mumble, picking at the frayed threads of my cutoff jean shorts. God, why didn’t I just stick with the conservative one I originally chose? And why do I even care what he thinks of me?
In a single stride, Tavian closes the gap between us and cups my chin with his hand, coercing me to peer up into his intense sky-blue eyes. “None of that. There’s no reason to be embarrassed in front of me,” he rasps, his warm breath floating across my face. I hold his gaze, trying my best to ignore the way my pebbled nipples are pressed hard against his chest. “I don’t give a shit what you have on or if you do your hair or put on makeup. This trip is about letting go, learning more about who you are and experiencing new things. And I promise if you dive with me, you won’t be able to wipe off one of those smiles you’re so stingy with for the rest of the day.”
Naturally, my mouth curls up into a small grin with his words. His husky voice is soothing, and his touch, tender yet firm, makes me feel safe and secure.
“There’s not a single sweet thing you can say to get me to jump off that cliff, Tavian West from Philadelphia,” I retort lightheartedly. “You should count your blessings you got me to agree to climb this high. And remember, I’m not the daredevil here. You are. I’m just tagging along to document your craziness.”
“Come on, buttercup. For me?” His full lower lip juts out in a teasing pout, and an overwhelming desire to lift on my tiptoes and kiss him washes over me. He briefly glances down at my mouth, too, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
I don’t know how to classify our relationship exactly. It clearly shifted after the night he told me about Annie, his mom, and losing his dad and brothers. We’ve established a solid friendship—it would be a pretty miserable trip if we didn’t at least enjoy each other’s company—but there’s something else.
Something more.
I’m not naïve enough to think the situation we met in isn’t a factor in the bond we share. If it hadn’t been for the attack, there’s no way I would’ve ever even made eye contact with him, much less started a conversation. But there’s still more to it than that. Flirting, maybe? Since I’ve never experienced this, I’m not really sure.
What I am sure of, however, is that he has a girlfriend, no matter if their relationship is rocky or close to ending. Or that he only has a little over nine months to live.
The sobering thought slams me back into reality, and I tense at the onslaught of emotions flooding through me. “No way in hell. I’m not doing that,” I insist as I step back again, this time spinning away from him and getting back in position. “But head up there and I’ll be ready… as many times as you want.”
Keeping my back to him, I pretend to mess with the camera, flipping through some of the photos I caught on his first jump. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “Too fast, asshole,” but I don’t turn around to confirm. I listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps, and a dark cloud floats in front of the sun and blocks the bright, warm rays—Mother Nature mimicking my mood.
Get a grip, Lyra. The more attached you get, the more it’s going to hurt. You know better.
Tavian proceeds to hurl himself off the side of the cliff another six times while I snap away wildly on the camera, an internal struggle between my rational, sensible side and my reckless, selfish one—a part of my identity I didn’t know still existed—taking place the entire time. After his best dive of the day, a group of a few dozen people show up all at once, a guided tour of some sort, so we leave to grab some lunch and clean up before our planned afternoon of sightseeing around the city.
I’ve chewed off half my fingernails during the bus ride back to the hotel, when Tavian’s large hand covers mine and nudges it away from my mouth. After I turned cold and walked away from him earlier, the vibe between us has been polite but strained, and this is the first time he’s even attempted to touch me since. I want to apologize, but I don’t even know how to begin.
Sorry I was a bitch earlier, but it’s the only way I can control myself around you.
“Stop, you’re making me nervous, and I don’t even know what we’re nervous about.” He laughs, and then lifts my fingers up and plants a soft kiss on my jagged nails. “You need to relax, buttercup. We’re good. I shouldn’t have pushed. I just want to help you open up and try new things… to seize the day, ya know? Plus, it’s not your poor fingers’ fault I made you mad.”
My shoulders slump back against the tattered leather seat and my eyelids flutter closed as I nod. Once again, with just his words and his touch, everything is smoothed out, making it easy to forget why I shouldn’t allow myself to become more attached to the sexy man next to me.
“So we’re exploring the city the rest of the day, but what’s on the agenda tomorrow?” I ask, opening my eyes and peering over at him.
It’s a standard attempt to distract and redirect from the issue, and it seems to work as his handsome face lights up and he rubs his hands together excitedly. “Driving a Formula 1 car in Monaco, home of the famous Grand Prix. It’s something I’ve dreamed of since I was a little boy, when I would watch the races on TV with my dad. There’s a class first that lasts a couple hours, and then I get to take a car out on the track for thirty minutes. You wanna learn with me? I can call and add you to the class.”
“Hell no.” I snort and look at him like he’s lost his mind. “Just to set the record straight, much like cliff diving, I don’t drive race cars. I take pictures of you doing these things.”
He grins mischievously and twists slightly on the bench seat to face me, his hand keeping hold of my fingers. “Are there other things on this official record that you don’t do?”
“I don’t paraglide, or bungee jump, or swim with sharks, or rock climb, or skydive, or wrestle alligators…”
Or cheat with another woman’s man, I add silently.
“Zip-lining? White-water rafting? Wind surfing? Mountain biking?” he counters.
I laugh dryly. “Negative on all four. I read, I take pictures and listen to music, I binge-watch documentaries, and I do yoga—all things that are the exact opposite of daring and adventurous. I’m boring on an exciting day.”
His left brow curves into a cocky arch as he shakes his head. “Oh, my sweet Lyra, how I love a challenge. I promise you by the end of the trip I’ll get you to do at least two of the things we just listed, and I’m gonna show you how unboring you are.”
“Yeah, when pigs fly,” I retort with a roll of my eyes.
“I hope you like your bacon with wings, ‘cause this is happening, buttercup. Just wait and see.”
And I don’t know if his words excite me or terrify me more.