CHAPTER 14
After a brief stop at the cottage—luckily Siobhan is gone—to swap out paint supplies for surfing gear, we drive with the windows down, the sun out now, warm air blowing over my skin.
“So where are we going?” I ask. Out the window, my arm floats in the wind, the smell of ocean replaced, as we leave Waterville, with grass and manure.
“Inch Beach,” he says, his eyes on the narrow, windy road ahead, lined on both sides with green hedgerows.
“Is that close?”
Kieran glances at me with a smirk. “Close enough.”
It takes almost two hours. We drive through small towns, similar to Waterville, though not along the coast, and at one point get stuck in a traffic jam caused by sheep crossing the road. I don’t mind. The weight of the morning is gone, and when we finally pull into Inch Beach, where cars are allowed to park directly on the sand and surfboards pepper the ocean, I’m practically weightless.
A wide stretch of sand surrounds us, enclosed by rolling patchwork hills that gradually build into low mountains. Like in Waterville, the land here is bright green, the ocean a striking blue next to it. Surfers coast through the waves or lie on the beach, half-covered in wet suits and lounging on towels. A few pop-up stands advertise board rentals and food.
Kieran gets his surfboard out of the back of the truck and digs it into the sand.
“You need to change,” he says, casually.
“Into what?”
Kieran searches through his bag. He pulls out a bathing suit and holds it up. “This.”
“No,” I say emphatically. He holds the suit by its strings, because that’s all it’s made of. A string bikini.
He shrugs. “It’s all Siobhan had.”
“Didn’t she have something more . . . conservative?”
Kieran laughs. “I’m pretty sure Siobhan has never used that word before.” He gives me a taunting grin. “You’re not getting bashful on me, are you, Bunny? You proposed the dare. You can’t wimp out now.”
I snag the suit from him. “Where do I change?”
“Here.” Kieran gestures like we’re standing in a dressing room, with walls and doors and privacy, not on an open beach. He pats the truck. “You can change in here if that’s more comfortable.”
It’s not the bathing suit that makes me nervous. It’s being in a bikini in front of him. If it were Clive or Stephen, this wouldn’t be a big deal. Stephen’s seen all of me. He knows my bra size. But I need to keep control of myself around Kieran. To keep our boundaries in place. Yet there is no getting out of wearing this suit. I chose the dare after all.
I groan and climb into the truck to change as Kieran goes to the rental shop. With the suit on, the last item of clothing I need to part with gives me pause—my socks. Exposing my tattoo might lead to questions—questions I have no answers to.
He’s back with another surfboard and knocks on the truck. “Need help tying anything? You know me—always happy to help.”
I rip off my socks, knowing it’s better to do it swiftly, like a Band-Aid, than linger on the what-ifs. I step out of the car.
“I’m ready.” I put my hands on my hips, displaying myself proudly.
Kieran turns around, and we make eye contact. Time seems to move slowly, the heat in my cheeks betraying me, but he doesn’t give my body a glance. He hands me the surfboard. “Grand. Follow me.”
We approach the water’s edge, where Kieran sets down a bag filled with towels and wet suits. We prop our boards upright in the sand. Surfers ride the waves just off shore, gracefully turning back and forth, becoming one with the water. Occasionally they fall, and I hold my breath until they reappear on the surface.
“You need a suit, too,” I say.
Kieran pulls a towel from the bag and hands it to me. “Who said I wear a suit when I surf.”
“Pardon?”
“Too much bunching under the wet suit.” Kieran starts to undress—first his shirt, his chest exposed before I’ve had time to process what he’s doing. He has tan lines, and his chest is pale. It’s also just as defined as I remember. He goes to unbutton his pants.
“You’re just going to strip down right here?”
“I’m not the bashful one.” He winks.
“Clearly.” I swallow the dryness in my throat.
He laughs. “No one will see me if you hold up the towel, Bunny. Or should I just expose myself to the entire beach? I’m fine with either.”
Kieran’s pants are coming off quickly. I grab the towel and wrap it around his waist.
“Just in time.” He wiggles out of his jeans and kicks them away. His boxers come next. When he bends to slip into the wet suit, I worry I might drop the towel or faint.
When he’s done, Kieran takes the towel and casually says thanks, like it was no big deal. Like I didn’t just see him take off his clothes. Like he’s not now in a tight black wet suit that accentuates . . . everything.
I focus on the ocean. The waves are large, angry from the bad weather earlier.
“Bunny.”
“What?” I still can’t look at him.
“Your wet suit,” he says.
“Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t even know how to surf.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“What if I can’t do it? What if I fall? What if . . .”
Kieran turns me toward him. He holds me and leans his face closer to mine. “I won’t let anything happen.” His blue eyes match the clear sky. Our faces are so close I can practically feel the heat coming off him. “You can’t be overwhelmed by the what-ifs, or you’ll miss out on the best part.” The rush he gets from a dare is evident. It’s practically tangible. “You didn’t leave your life behind just to come to Ireland to paint a house, did you?”
I’ve spent too much time thinking about a life that doesn’t exist. This is my chance to live. I work my way into the awkward wet suit without another thought.
We take our boards to the water, where the waves are just coming on shore. Kieran lays them both in the wet sand.
“We’re going to practice pop-ups. It’s how you go from lying down on your board to standing.” Kieran is all business, his demeanor cool. I try to reciprocate as he demonstrates pop-ups, lying on his stomach on the board and then pushing himself onto his feet in one smooth move. He makes it seem easy, even graceful, and I find myself mesmerized. “Now you try.”
Pop-ups are harder than they appear. I do it a few times, trying to be as effortless as Kieran and failing miserably. He critiques my technique. “Don’t look down . . . Keep your eyes forward . . . Try to land in the middle of the board.”
At one point, I fall off, rolling my ankle. It hurts my pride more than my foot. I’m exhausted before we’ve even been in the water.
“You see those tiny waves right there?” Kieran points just off shore. “That’s where we start. When you paddle out, try to stay centered on the board.”
“Paddle out?” I say. “But we just started. I fell off the board and it’s on the sand. I can’t be ready yet.”
“Some things have to be learned by experience, Bunny. You just need to do it.” My breath hitches. I’m not sure I’m wired the same way Kieran is, acting without thinking. “I’ll be right next to you. I promise.”
He picks up his board, and I try to shake off my nerves. Backing out of this dare isn’t an option, though. Worse comes to worst, I won’t stand up. I’ll stay on my stomach and just roll into shore.
“Hook the strap around your ankle,” Kieran instructs me. “That way you won’t lose your board.”
The cold water hits my feet, shivers covering my arms and legs. We walk out to the waist-deep waves.
“I’ll point at you when I see a good wave. You need to paddle quickly and try to catch it as it breaks. Go for it head on. If you catch it on the side, you’ll roll the board.”
I acknowledge what Kieran’s said, without really digesting everything. My ears are fuzzy with the sound of the ocean. I remind myself that this sound makes me calm at night.
Kieran hops onto his board and paddles out. I follow his lead, imitating his movements, pushing my hands through the small waves, trying to blink salt water from my eyes. When we’re out a bit farther, Kieran sits up and straddles his board. His legs hang in the water on either side. My arms are tired, my teeth are chattering, and I worry that if I make a sudden move, I’ll tip over.
“Don’t be afraid of the water, Bunny. If you feel like you’re going to fall, fall backward, not forward. Butt first, not head first. Got it?”
His words seem to go right through me, but I nod anyway.
“You can do this,” he says.
We’ve come this far. The only way I’m getting back to shore is on this board. The water will move me in that direction naturally.
A group of kids on the beach practices pop-ups. They don’t look scared. They seem excited, laughing, having fun. If they can do it, I can do it.
“Ready, Bunny?” Kieran yells. He points at a wave. “Remember, paddle fast and hit the wave head on!”
We take off. I push my arms speedily through the waves. I spit salt water and try to breathe evenly, my eyes on the shore. The current pushes my board, helping it to roll with the waves. When I feel one start to crest under me, it lifts me up, and the board gains speed. I grip the sides, trying to remember how to stand up.
Eyes forward.
Don’t look down.
With my chest lifted, my knees bent, the board teeters underneath me, but I stay in control and plant my feet. I hold myself in a squat and realize what I’ve done—I managed to pop up. It brings a wave of euphoria. The board rattles from side to side, but my feet control it, and it glides along the wave. With more confidence, I extend my arms out for balance.
The water that scared me is no longer angry. The sun plays on its surface, accentuating the blue. It’s mesmerizing. Even the cold doesn’t affect me. My day has turned around entirely. I could be on a bus headed for Limerick, but my decision to stay feels so right. I am more alive now than I have been in weeks. No more letting go, no more walking away when fear threatens to consume me. I’m stronger than I think.
The wave begins to slow, my board coasts, and I turn to find Kieran. My whole body is zinging.
“I did it!” I yell over my shoulder. “I did it!”
But Kieran isn’t there. Something unexpected is instead.
I forgot that waves keep coming. The whitecap of the next one is large. The roll of the crest rushes at me with a sound that consumes the moment. Did Kieran say to go into the wave or ride on the side of it? But waves don’t wait for answers.
It pummels me, tossing me off my board. I don’t know which way I fall—front, back, sideways. The water pulls me under, carelessly tossing, grabbing, pushing me down, suffocating me.
It’s now when an important question occurs to me—do I even know how to swim?