Chapter 32
Kellan
The sand felt good beneath my feet, a rare morning off after another long week of ferrying clients from the marina to the ocean and back again, happy and their coolers filled with fresh fish.
My body felt leaner from the physical labor of prepping the boat each morning, rigging the lines and helping customers reel in giant fish from the ocean, to say nothing of hauling, prepping and slicing them at the marina after their day long cruise.
My skin was bronzed from the sun, my hair a shade lighter as I gripped Carla’s hand and we walked, side by side, our feet in the sea foam as gentle waves crashed on the beach in front of my rented cottage.
While I felt invigorated and renewed by my new life on the sea, such a stark contrast to my old one as a male model, Carla seemed to be suffering by degrees. Still beautiful, still caring and conscientious, but her giving nature seemed to be taking a toll on her.
Ever since her stepfather, Roy, had been moved to a private facility for the physical rehab portion of his recovery, she’d been doing double time between visiting him and trying to get her mother’s house up to code for his inevitable return. There was a lot to do to accommodate Roy’s current, and even predicted, condition. A wheelchair ramp needed to be added to the front deck, resizing the doors inside to be handicap accessible, etc.
Frazzled and harried, I could feel the nervous energy coming off her in waves, her hand clenched tight in my own. “How long can you keep this up, Carla?” I asked her as we paused, the mid-morning sun soft on her tired face.
She chuckled dryly before squeezing my hand and letting it go to run her fingers through her long, red hair. “How long can you, captain?” she murmured, poking me in the belly as she turned and walked deeper into the sea.
“As long as you need me to,” I told her, following her deeper into the ocean as the morning’s warmth caught up to us and we sought relief in the gently lapping waves.
“You mean that?” she asked, pausing as a wave lapped at her shapely thighs. She’d worn her favorite bikini, brown bottom and blue top, for our morning walk.
I thought for a moment, then nodded, “I love South Beach, babe, but you and me here, in Siesta Key, has never felt more like home.”
“But your modeling career,” she murmured unconvincingly as we continued to tread gently through the rolling froth. “Your apartment.”
“I can always get back into modeling once Roy’s back up to running the boat,” I said cautiously. “But I think you and I both know that’s a year or more out, right?”
Our eyes met and she nodded. “I’m just worried he’ll never be able to captain a boat again.”
“I hope he can,” I said earnestly. Even my few weeks at the helm of his 36-foot fishing boat, Roy’s Retreat, had taught me how great life could be on the open water. I couldn’t imagine a man like Roy, who’d never known anything else, not being able to have the wheel in his hand, the salt spray in his face, the engine throttling as he opened her up and raced out to sea. “But I’m prepared to help out as long as it takes, Carla. One way or the other.”
She nodded again, the water up to our waists now, my favorite pair of orange and tan baggies damp and riding low on my waist as I enjoyed the best of both worlds—the warm sun on my back and the cool sea on my legs.
“I was hoping you’d say that, Kellan, but… I don’t want to hold you back if you’d rather return to South Beach and your old life.”
I held her close in the surf, the sun and salt spray mingling on our merged bodies. “My old life was incomplete without you, Carla,” I assured her, peppering her forehead gently with soft, salty kisses. “My home is wherever you are.”
She nodded and rested her head against my chest, crying softly as warm tears drizzled down her face and onto my skin. I let her, not drawing attention to the emotional display, just one of many in the past few weeks. And who could blame her? From her sunny, vibrant life in South Beach to caring for her mother and stepfather practically overnight, Carla was overworked and under-rested, running on fumes and emotionally and physically vulnerable.
“You need some sleep, babe,” I said, not for the first time, as we parted and she wiped her eyes with a humorless chortle.
“I might get some,” she huffed, urging me deeper into the ocean. “If I didn’t have Miami Models hanging over my head.”
“Get back there,” I urged her just before we sank down into the sea, dousing our bodies and heads in the gentle space between forming waves.
“I can’t,” she sputtered, brushing her hair back away from her face. “I’ve got too much going on here.”
I waved her concerns away. “Look, Carla, Roy is in a great facility where they care for him 24-hours a day. You’ve got your Mom in a place where her bills are current, her house is clean, her fridge is stocked—”
“But the ramp construction,” she whined, fingers trailing lightly in the water as we bobbed in the ocean’s gentle push and pull, feet trailing in the sand. “And Roy likes when I bring him lunch from Bubba’s Burgers.”
I smirked. “I think between Ryan and me running the charter fishing business, one or the other of us can oversee construction of a ramp on your mom’s house and bring Roy a sack lunch from Bubba’s Burgers every now and then, okay?”
She shook her head quickly, but slowly began to reconsider. “It would put my mind at ease, Kellan,” she finally said, apologetically.
“Of course it would,” I murmured, pulling her close. “You have to put your mind at ease or you’ll never be able to care for your mother and Roy the way I know you want to.”
She nodded, gently, eyes moist again. “It would just be for a few days,” she promised, almost sounding relieved. “And then I’d be back, Kellan. Back for good.”