If I Can't Have You

If I Can’t Have You © Lauren Hammond 2012

No parts of this novel may be used or reproduced whatsoever without written permission or consent except for quotations written in articles or reviews.

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The characters in this novel are fictitious and are completely drawn from the author’s imagination. Any similarities to real people; either living or deceased are completely coincidental and are not intended by the author.

ISBN: 9780983868132

This book is dedicated to
 
everyone in the world who, at one point or another, has been in love or had their heart broken. Trust me…

The real kind of love is out there, somewhere.

You just have to find it.

~1~

Three Summers Ago

Love like wild. Kiss like crazy. And live like you’ll die tomorrow.

There’s water everywhere. Miles and miles of endless blue that stretch on forever and for a second the navy liquid swallows me. It swallows me then it spits me out and my head bobs along the surface like a golden delicious. I drink in a mouthful of salt water and I swear I can taste the bitterness in my lungs. My arms twist, fingers outstretched clawing at clear blue. “Help!” I choke on another mouthful of salt water. “Help!”

Someone save me! Please!

If not I’m a goner. I am going to die.

I go under as another wave wraps around my head like a liquid blanket. The current pulls me out farther, but I’m fighting against it. Fighting with everything I have. As my head breaks the surface again I suck in lungful’s of air.

Refusing to give up, I swim for the shore, a tiny crescent of tan amongst miles and miles of blue. My arms hang heavy and sore from pushing my body as hard as I can and my breaths come out short and raspy.

If I can only make it a few more feet. Just a few more strokes.

I don’t make it.

The ocean is a deadly weapon—a shotgun and I’m staring down its’ wide barrel. One slip of the finger and the trigger will be pulled. It’s almost too late. In my head I see that finger. It’s moving backwards. Farther…Farther…

Bang!

Soon the blue waters will claim me as another one of its innocent victims.

I’m the anvil without the Acme Company. I’m drifting—sinking—and pretty soon my feet will skim the bottom of the ocean floor. I can’t hold my breath anymore. Water is filling up in my lungs and I’m certain that in minutes I’ll be as blue as the ocean that claimed my life. My eyelids grow heavy and right now the only fight I have left in me is to keep them open and even though the salty water stings my eyes, I struggle to keep them open because I know once they close I’ll be gone forever. Never to return. Another vagrant soul making its way toward heaven’s gates.

Now all I see is blue. Blue forever. Blue and suddenly a flash of red.

Red. Where did the red come from?

My eyes finally close and in seconds I know my will lungs give out. I’m the Titanic resting off the coast of Newfoundland, cursed forever to a deep watery tomb.

Wait…What’s happening?

Did I die already?

Suddenly I feel weightless. Like I’m flying. I’m soaring through the pale blue sky full of marshmallow clouds. I’m a seagull and I dip down skimming the surface of the water in search of fish.

“Get out of the way!” a deep panicked voice rasps.

I’m no longer soaring through the sky. I feel my body being slammed into the ground. Sand scrapes against my back and I can feel my silent heart start beating. “Breathe! Just breathe!”

But I can’t breathe. The ocean took my breath away.

Firm hands press against my chest cavity. Someone is pumping the life back into me. Someone is giving me CPR. “Breathe damn it!” They plug my nose and I feel their hot moist lips against mine. The heat sizzles inside of me and squashes the cold. I am not dead…yet.

Bring me back to life.

Muffled voices ring out in my ears and we’ve reached round two of hands thrusting into my chest. Their paws are the jumper cables and my heart is the battery. Revive me. Jumpstart me, please. Someone plugs my nose and blows a gust of air from their lungs into mine. I taste them. Their breath tastes spicy and cool, like cinnamon and mint.

My eyes fly open and I cough up saltwater and I can breathe again. I try to sit up, but a pair of strong hands hold me down and turn my head sideways. “Easy,” says the deep voice of a guy. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Sunlight bleeds into my eyes and all I can see is my savior’s silhouette. Broad shoulders and I can make out a hint of bronzed skin on his washboard abs. Lifting my arm I block the heavy ray of sunshine from my gaze and I’m staring into two pools of grayish blue. He smiles and his perfect white teeth glow almost brighter than the sun in the sky.

“I…I—.” I try to speak, but my throat is raw and sore and I struggle to swallow a giant lump of saliva.

“Don’t try to do too much at once,” he tells me. “Just lie here for a minute and regain your strength.”

I inhale and exhale slowly, thankful to be able to use my lungs again. All the nerve endings in my body tingle as every organ inside of me starts functioning properly. A throbbing pain pumps through me as I wiggle my fingers and toes. My muscles and joints ache like I’ve just been stretched out on the rack.

I remain lying flat on my back and close my eyes. Relief floods through me like the cold blue ocean did minutes earlier. I almost died today. I probably did die for a minute or two. Then an angel flew down from the heavens, flapping his white feathered wings and rescued me.

A bronze hand thrusts toward me, inches away from my face. “Here. You ready?
 
I’ll help you up.”

I nod and take the hand of the guy who rescued me. He grunts and heaves me to my feet. My legs are wobbly and I stumble, but he’s quick and he catches me by the shoulders, steadying me. “Do you want to sit for a while longer?” he asks, concerned. “Do you think you need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” I answer. “I just want to go home.”

I’ve had enough of the sand and surf for one day. Too much really. My mouth still tastes like salt. My lungs still feel bogged down with water, and I feel like a prune with wrinkled, purple skin.

“How far is home?” he asks.

“Just a few beach houses down.” I point to a row of houses that line the beach. “It’s the white one with the purple shutters.”

My savior glimpses over his shoulder and shouts to person behind him. “Can you cover me for like twenty? I’m going to walk her home.”

“No prob!”

As we walk toward the beach house my family rents for two weeks every summer, he keeps his strong hands on my shoulders and I glance at him, getting a clear look at his face. And I realize I know him—no—not know him, I’ve seen him around. Then I remember seeing a flash of red when I was drowning and my eyes wander down his abdomen and I get a glimpse of his bright red swim trunks. He’s the hot lifeguard I’ve seen on the beach for the last week.

Six days ago when we’d first arrived, I walked down to the beach. Watching the sun go down is a vacation ritual I’d started when I was twelve. I’d always thought there was something beautiful about watching the waves with white crests crash into the sand at sunset. There was a calm, relaxed feeling that accompanied me and brought me peace when I trudged away from the beach house and closer to the surf.

The sky was fading from orange to pink, swirling together to make a radiant form of magenta. Birds flew in circles, belching caws and squeals before swooping down to glide across the water. The sounds of the sea had always soothed me.

I sat close to the water as the wind whipped through my auburn hair. The navy blue waves rose up, twisting and contorting like a spineless back only to come crashing down, fanning out along the toasted almond sand.

I’ve always longed to be like the ocean. Flowing and free. No rules to follow. No agenda to adhere to. A demure smile crept across my lips as I threw my head back allowing the sun to warm my cheeks and the bitter aroma of spraying salt filled my nostrils.

The sound of clinking metal throbbed in my ears and my attention averted to the left as an aluminum ladder banged against the hull of a small fishing boat. I squinted and watched as a guy climbed out of the water and up the ladder.

Little droplets of water glistened on the guy’s bronzed skin and every muscle in his back was toned and flexed. The pellets of water that dripped down his spine reminded me of the mist on a glass door in a steamy shower room. He shook his head and water sprayed everywhere, expelling from the ringlets of his golden blonde hair like a sprinkler watering grass.

The muscles in his back clenched tighter as he gripped the ladder harder and hoisted himself up over the edge of the boat. He turned around, but I still couldn’t see his face because he kept his head down. Then he picked up a cast iron anchor and tossed it over the edge of the boat. And as he lifted his head I saw them two grayish blue eyes that were so beautiful I’d convinced myself the watery orbs could give the ocean a run for its money.

The same set of grayish blue eyes that are staring at me now. “You know you should be careful from now on,” he tells me. “Thank God I saw you go under or else you’d be shark bait by now.”

I’m a little taken aback by the sound of his tone. His comment reminds me of something my Dad would say. “Aren’t you the lifeguard? Isn’t it your job to watch swimmers and make sure they don’t drown?”

“Yes,” he scoffs. “But most of the swimmers follow the rules and read the signs on the beach that say, don’t swim past the buoys. The tide is way too strong out there. In most cases you’d be swept out to sea instead of being rescued.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” I pull away from him, deciding that I’m okay to walk on my own and hop onto a rotting piece of driftwood, tiptoeing toward the edge like I’m on a balance beam.

The lifeguard eyes me oddly as I stretch out my arms to keep myself from falling off the narrow log. “What’s your name?”

“Robin.”

“A beautiful singing bird.”

Hmm. I like that analogy. Nobody has ever complimented me that way. “What’s yours?”

I’m surprised at myself for being able to hold up a conversation with this guy. Normally when it comes to the opposite sex I either end up mumbling incoherent words or I don’t say anything at all.

“Drake.”

“You from around here, Drake?”

“Yeah actually about twenty miles north of here.”

I’m staring at him and a nervous flutter tears through the walls of my stomach and I’m too focused on his pouty lips and high cheek bones to pay attention to what I’m doing. My big toe scuffs against a separation in the wood and I trip, falling forward. Drake zooms ahead and catches me before I eat a mouthful of driftwood and sand. “Jesus, Robin. You’re like a walking disaster. I can’t leave you for a second.”

I don’t want him to leave me. He captivates me, mesmerizes me, and awes me. I want to stare at his mind-blowing smile all day and all night. In fact I might have deliberately tried to fall so I could delay our walk for a more minutes. “Clumsy, me.”

Drake helps me straighten out and says, “I think you should stick to walking on the sand for a while.”

What’s with all the parental jibber-jabber? “How old are you?”

“Eighteen about to be nineteen in September. You ?”

“I just turned fifteen.” It bothers me that he thinks just because he’s a few years older that he has to parent me. Plus, even though I’ve watched him and seen him around, I barely know him. “You don’t have to spout off commands for my safety, you know. I already have a father. I don’t need another one.”

“Oh,” he chuckles. I admire the way his muscled abs clench when he laughs. “Mouthy, are we?”

I shrug. “No. I just like to be independent. I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Right.” Drake stops in front of my house and nods toward it the small beach cottage. “This is it, right? White house with the purple shutters.”