Page 4 of Holding On

“Mmm, not really. It’s just a job. You’re in vet school?” I can’t help but watch his thighs moving through the water. His quads are thick and look strong. I can only imagine if he wrapped those legs around me . . .

He starts telling me about vet school with the same eagerness he used to tell me about his research into dolphin language or the migration of sea turtles. His voice, like heavy syrup, lulls me into a kind of trance. I watch his mouth, his expressions, the wave of his arm. My stomach flips when he crisscrosses his arms and tugs on the bottom of his shirt for a moment as if about to strip it off, but he stops. After catching only a glimpse of flat dark abs, I’m left listening to how his internship was cut before it even started.

The story wakes me up, and I involuntarily lay a hand on his arm. While my skin is icy, his is hot, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Are you going to press it?” I ask.

“What?”

“That they dumped you when they realized you’re Black.”

“I don’t know that for sure.”

“Damn straight that’s why. Report them to Tufts. Have them taken off the list of practices.”

Travis stares out at the sea.

“They’ll just do it again,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I think it was something personal.”

“Exactly. Of course it was.”

“I mean with them. Something in their life.”

“You know that’s bullshit.”

His look is dark, adult, and he shuts me down with it. “Not going there right now, Maya. Let’s drop it.”

I say nothing for a second, the flutter in my stomach caused by either fear I’ve said something wrong or the thrill of him taking command.

Then he smiles and says, “Are you a mayo or butter girl?”

This catches me off guard. “What?”

“Chloe’s got lobster rolls on the menu. I say go for both.”

Slipping a large warm hand around my upper arm, he starts guiding me back to shore. His touch makes me shiver. Defensive, I instantly let all those tender spots fill with irritation, and I bristle. Then I realize: he’s got four sisters. He’s used to helping. A swell rises high, right over my stomach. I go up on my tiptoes and gasp—it’s so damn cold! It’s like walking in ice water. In one smooth motion, he lifts me up so the cold water can’t climb any higher and touch my chest.

As I settle back down, his T-shirt is soaked from the neck down.

“Sorry,” I say.

He grins. “You West Coasters. No grit.”

I’m glad he doesn’t release my arm until we’re closer to shore.

It’s when we’re out of the water that things get awkward. Being in the ocean—it felt familiar, an echo of the July years ago when we spent nearly every day in the sea. The ocean was our spot, our place, and memories and conversation were easy. With every step toward shore, however, I feel my walls coming up.

By the time we regroup with everyone on the beach, I’m ready to disappear behind that wall, one brick at a time.

***

In spite of myself, the evening seems to be going better than I thought it would—or might. As soon as I shower and rejoin the little group on the beach, I’m introduced to Mateus Gutiérrez, Laurel’s boyfriend. Chloe, the one Russo missing that summer long ago, sets up a table for food, and her guy, Bryce Tucker, throws an arm around me for a quick hug. He’s a huge man, and I don’t even measure as far as his shoulders.

So embarrassing.

Finn Colton, Claire’s boyfriend, is kind enough to make sure I have a towel to put over my shoulders.