“Yeah. I was very angry after mom died. I couldn’t come to grips with her being gone. I drank a lot, even though I was only seventeen. I did pretty much anything I could think of to help me forget. When they kicked me out, Dad looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was his son. He told me that he wouldn’t waste any more money on me, and enrolled me in Seascape Public School. I got in a fight there my first day. Most of the kids at the school had parents who worked in the hotel, a lot of them in menial jobs, and they saw me, a Bancroft as a sort of elite, a hoity-toity aristocrat, whose family had taken advantage of the townspeople over the years, by hiring them at minimum wage.”
“Also,” he grins, “I looked like a spoiled little rich boy.”
“No way.”
“I did. I dressed like dad and Adrian, pull over sweaters, creased khakis, boat shoes. No wonder everyone in Seascape High wanted to pound my face into the dirt.”
“So what did you do?”
“I bought jeans and black t-shirts. Learned to fight. I got tough. I hung out with the roughest kids in a rough school. Smoked cigarettes. Got this tattoo.” He gestures to a rose on his bicep. “My first one, to honor my mom. Dad went ballistic. Said I was a disgrace to the Bancroft name. He had no idea what a disgrace I would become.”
Cruise shifts, uncomfortable at all these revelations.
I sit up, and the sheet slides down, but this is no time for modesty.
“It got worse, didn’t it?”
“Yeah. It got a lot worse.”
I can tell this is hard for him to talk about.
“You can tell me at your own pace,” I offer. I’ve already gotten a glimpse into who he was, how he became the guy who is lying on top of the sheets, toying with my hair.
“A run back up the beach might be just the thing,” I suggest.
“And then dinner at my favorite restaurant?”
“The clam shack, again?”
He smiles, and I’m relieved to see it’s a genuine smile, the first one since the confrontation with his brother.
“I adore the clam shack, but this is something else. You might not be comfortable.”
“I’ll risk it,” I say, my voice strong and brave, before I falter a little bit, not wanting to be too clingy, “to be with you.”
Cruise carefully locks the door to the beach house, folding the towels and placing them right inside.
“Dad has someone come clean the place, on occasion,” he explains. “He doesn’t know I have a key.”
Since we left our clothes and shoes on the beach near the hotel, I’m prepared to run barefoot, which seems to be the way Cruise usually runs. Must be part of growing up on the beach.
“Go!” Cruise yells, and takes off at a sprint.
I’m still not used to running in sand, and I follow him, clumsier than I’d like.
Running is cathartic. As an honors student, it’s always been my way of clearing my mind, focusing on only my feet hitting the pavement, or in this case the sand.
Cruise, running barefoot in the sand, wearing only his board shorts, is a work of art. I wish I could snap a mental picture of him in motion and keep it forever.
Chapter 12
We walk up to the hotel, hand in hand. It’s risky, being seen with him like this, but I find I can’t quite help myself from touching him.
Dawn passes, her shift over. Her eyes narrow, and she drops the cigarette she was smoking, kicking sand over it.
She doesn’t say anything.
“What’s the story with you and Dawn?” I find the nerve to ask once she’s out of earshot. I don’t ask about him and Dawn and the blonde. Even after our experiences today, I’m not quite ready to hear how kinky he might get with other girls.
“We were friends in high school. She was willing to resume the friendship when I returned, even knowing where I’d been. I appreciate that, even though we don’t have much in common.”
Much in common? Will he be saying that about me, when he’s finished with me?
I can’t help being jealous of whatever past he has with Dawn, but I know I can’t fixate on it. We have no commitment, and jealousy at this point would be ugly.
“I should check in to be sure everything is running smoothly,” I say.
“You’ve been here almost a week and haven’t had a night off. If something goes wrong, they can call Adrian.”
“He won’t answer.”
“Exactly. And neither should you.” I hesitate, torn between duty, and the desire to stay by Cruise’s side.
“I need you,” he says quietly. “Go to dinner with me.”
I realize that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. An excellent reason to do what I want and go with Cruise.
He leads me around to the back of the hotel, opens the service door where deliveries are made, and rolls out a motorcycle.
“You expect me to ride on that?”
“You aren’t scared, are you?”
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “Do you have helmets?”
He laughs.
“You don’t have a helmet?”
“Relax, it’s a quick ride on rarely travelled backstreets. We may not even see another vehicle.” He hands me a pair of mirrored sunglasses. “To keep the wind out of your eyes.”
He revs the engine.
“You coming, Maya?”
Maybe it’s his use of my name that sways me, or maybe it’s been predestined since the beginning. I can’t say no to him.