Unrequited Page 5

  of the sand dune.

  Vic groaned, and they began the difficult climb up the

  sand, helping each other up, occasionally sliding back in the

  loose sand, and struggling until they were both crawling on

  hands and knees to the top.

  Once there, though, they didn’t even try to regain their

  feet. They just stayed on their hands and knees, staring out

  over the view. This one was by far taller than the platform, and

  they could see almost the entire site that bore the name

  Jockey’s Ridge.

  The name elicited images of a straight line of dunes, like

  you saw along the beaches, only bigger. A ridge of sand dunes.

  They were anything but. Vic had never imagined they were like

  this: clustered and widespread and larger than he could have

  ever guessed. The water lay just beyond the last dune in the

  distance.

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  They sat down in the sand, sweat dripping off them and

  mixing with the fine sand to stick to their bodies. They would

  worry about that when they got back to the car, though. They

  sat together in silence, watching the would-be hang gliders as

  they fought the wind, watching as other people scaled the sand

  dunes and made their precarious ways down them, watching

  the world go slowly by.

  The sun beat down on them as they passed the bottle of

  water back and forth, and finally Vic could feel his nose and

  cheeks burning.

  “You about ready?” he asked Shane softly.

  “I think so,” Shane answered happily. “If our goal was to

  get sand in every imaginable crevice, then… mission

  accomplished,” he added as he struggled to his feet and wiped

  at the stray sand clinging to him.

  Vic laughed as Shane helped him to his feet. “And the

  day’s just begun,” he crooned.

  The first thing Vic thought when they drove into the massive

  parking lot of the Wright Brothers memorial was that he was

  grateful it was on flat land and devoid of sand.

  That was before he saw the hill.

  The location was mostly flat, with a wide open field where

  the Wright Brothers had tested their airplanes and eventually

  taken to the skies. A large building sat to the side of it, housing

  a museum and visitor’s information. Vic and Shane bypassed

  the building and followed the path that would walk them out

  toward the field. It was just before noon, and there were people

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  everywhere. They didn’t want to be herded into the building

  with everyone else and get stuck in the crowd.

  The field stretched out before them. Signs requested

  people to stay on the walkways. In the distance, on the far end

  of the flat field, there was a hill.

  “That’s a big hill,” Shane said in a flat voice as they stared

  at it.

  Vic groaned loudly. On top of the hill was the monument,

  and on either side of it a graceful, arcing pathway led around

  and up the hill.

  Vic looked down at his flip-flops. “If I’d known we were

  mountain climbing today, I would have come prepared.”

  “Quit your whining,” Shane scolded, but he didn’t look

  very enthused about taking the long walk up the path either.

  They looked at each other critically, each wondering if the

  other would be willing to forego the hill in favor of just saying

  they’d seen the field. Vic shook his head.

  “We drove all the way down here,” he reminded.

  Shane pursed his lips and then groaned just as Vic had.

  They started off together toward the big hill.

  “We’re stopping at the first tourist trap we see and I’m

  getting a drink with an umbrella in it,” Shane declared as they

  walked. “The kind that tastes like fruit and when you stand up

  after drinking one they hit you with an invisible hammer.”

  The distance to the hill stretched out in front of them,

  becoming longer and longer as they walked in the sweltering

  sun.

  “Me too,” Vic agreed.

  When they got to the top it was nearly twenty minutes

  after they’d arrived. They looked around them silently. People

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  swarmed the monument on top of the hill, sitting on the

  benches that surrounded it, gulping down water, some of them

  even eating lunches they’d packed. Kids ran around with

  boundless energy.

  Vic peered at the monument, wholly unimpressed as he

  tried to catch his breath.

  “Well,” Shane finally said under his breath. “At least we

  can say we saw it.”

  Vic snickered and nodded toward the opposite walkway,

  the one that led down. “Ready for liquor?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Shane said with relish, and they started down

  the hill once more.

  They stopped at a Walgreens and bought baby wipes, using

  them to wipe off the sweat and sand and grime. Vic didn’t feel

  much cleaner, but they had a long drive ahead of them, and

  being covered in sand and sweat was not the way Vic wanted to

  go.

  They ate at another tourist trap that Shane claimed made

  his teeth itch, but the drinks were good and strong and they

  sat there talking and eating hush puppies until Vic was sure he

  could stand without meeting the hammer.

  Then they were off, driving south along the barrier islands

  toward Shane’s cottage on the ocean. They stopped to see each

  lighthouse, foregoing climbing to the top of each one in favor of

  just driving through the overflowing parking lots to peer up at

  them and then moving on each time.

  Every store they came to seemed to be named after the

  pirate Blackbeard in some way; every possible permutation of

  many of his aliases or anything to do with him graced the signs

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  they passed, the most common being Edward Teach and the

  Queen Anne’s Revenge. They all sold pirate souvenirs and OBX

  stickers and floppy straw hats. As they went farther south, the

  stores thinned out until the occasional country food mart and

  gas station were the only places they saw.

  Hours of driving later, they almost missed the ferry they

  hadn’t known they were going to have to take, but after a half-

  hour wait for the next—and last—ferry of the day, they were

  soon sailing off to the next barrier island where they would

  finally come to Shane’s cottage.

  Rather than sitting in the car or inside the little lobby of

  the ferry, Vic stood at the railing in the front, bending into the

  breeze, rocking with the violent motion of the ferry, face

  upturned as the sea spray cooled his face.

  “I think I was a sailor in a past life,” he told Shane as the

  other man joined him at the edge of the railing. They had to

  shout to be heard over the roar of the wind and water.

  “Yeah?” Shane said curiously, a tinge of amusement in his

  voice. He held to the railing until he got his feet under him,

  then let go when he was sure he was steady and stuffed his

  hands into
the pockets of his shorts.

  “The sea calls to me. Always has,” Vic murmured by way of

  answering. He was blushing slightly as he said it. Shane was a

  little too grounded to really believe the past life type of thing,

  but he was also a good enough friend to humor Vic if he

  wanted to talk about it.

  “I never would have thought of you and the sea,” Shane

  said thoughtfully as he looked out over the water. “You and

  ships, maybe. That sort of fits. Were you a happy sailor or did

  you drown?”

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  “I doubt I’d be drawn to the sea if I had drowned,” Vic

  laughed.

  He didn’t even know if what he said was plausible or if it

  was just too much new-age bullshit from the law firm’s touchy-

  feely retreats he’d been soaking in. He liked the thought of

  something calling to him, though, something that went deeper

  than just this lifetime.

  He hummed and smiled. “What calls to you, Shane?” he

  asked curiously. Vic felt Shane shift beside him, probably

  turning to look at him, but Shane remained silent and Vic

  finally turned to see that the other man was leaning on the

  railing and looking at him calmly.

  “I don’t know,” Shane finally answered softly, so softly that

  Vic almost couldn’t hear over the noise. “Never thought much

  of it.”

  “Nothing calls to you?” Vic asked incredulously. “Nothing

  out there makes you just want to… breathe it in and become

  part of it when you see it?”

  Shane looked at him thoughtfully for several moments,

  and then he transferred his clear green eyes back to the roiling

  ocean. “I suppose not,” he finally answered.

  Vic watched him for several moments, suddenly

  inexplicably sad. Surely something impassioned Shane, other

  than his Gamecocks and Braves, of course. But something had

  to be out there, speaking to Shane and calling him. Shane was

  far too alive to be devoid of passion.

  They had an entire month together—four weeks in which

  neither man had any responsibilities other than to sit on their

  respective asses and drink—, and Vic promised himself that

  would be one of his goals, finding Shane’s Shiny Things.

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  The only other goal he had at the moment was to make

  certain he got home and no longer needed Owen, and Vic was

  pretty sure that having only one goal and not reaching it would

  do some damage to his ego. Having two goals was better.

  Maybe he’d make it a goal to make more goals. That

  upped the count to three.

  Shane glanced over at him and snorted. “Does it bother

  you? That I have nothing calling to me?” he asked him in

  amusement as he saw the frown still on Vic’s face.

  “A little, yeah,” Vic admitted. “I mean, I thought I led a

  meaningless, depressing existence. Yours is even worse,” he

  teased.

  Shane barked a laugh and shook his head, unable to come

  up with a response.

  “What say we get shitfaced when we get there, then, and

  think of something for you to love?” Vic suggested as he threw

  his arm around Shane’s shoulders.

  Shane laughed again and nodded, and they watched the

  ocean roll by together.

  Four hours and a torrential rain later, Shane and Vic were

  practically crawling through the front door of Shane’s house on

  the coast of North Carolina. It was south of the more popular

  destination of the Outer Banks, for the very reason Shane and

  Vic had just discovered. Too many tourists, too many hills, not

  enough umbrella drinks in the world to compensate for the

  crowds and hassle.

  Here it was quieter, not yet commercialized. The house

  wasn’t glamorous, but that had been exactly what Shane had

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  wanted when he’d bought it; a nice run-down old beachfront

  cottage with no lawn to mow and no neighbors to bother him.

  It had been built before the environmental protection laws

  prohibited the destruction of the sand dunes, and when they

  walked through the living room and out onto the little deck

  behind, it was quite a shocking sight to see the ocean just

  there, almost at their feet. No sand dunes to block the view.

  Just… a house sitting in the sand.

  There was a short walkway and a deck, one that Shane

  had added several years back, with a hot tub in the corner. But

  the deck was more to protect the inside of the house from sand

  and water than it was anything else, and to keep people from

  wandering off the beach into the hot tub.

  “Wow,” Vic said quietly as he looked out over the dark

  water. He’d been invited many times, but this was his first trip

  here.

  “Next hurricane to come through will take her with it,”

  Shane mused. He didn’t sound very upset, almost like he

  accepted the little house’s fate and was prepared for the day.

  “The riptides have been bad the last few years,” he added as he

  headed down the walkway and stepped onto the sand.

  Vic followed, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peered

  down the beach. A red flag flapped in the breeze several

  hundred yards away, where the public beach access was, to

  warn swimmers to stay out of the water.

  “Guy at the grocery store said two guys got pulled down

  just yesterday,” Shane murmured distractedly as he squinted

  and shaded his eyes from the sun.

  “The Atlantic’s a mean bitch,” Vic told him as he walked

  out even farther and went all the way to the edge of the scant

  saw grass. He looked down at the white sand, then back up at

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  the roiling ocean with a smile. The sun was just falling below

  the horizon, setting the ocean ablaze. Vic loved the ocean in

  any form. He loved the sound. He loved the smell. He loved

  standing here as his feet sank into the sand and watching the

  waves crash one after another.

  He glanced over at Shane and smiled wider. And he

  couldn’t ask for better company right now.

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  III

  “I can’t sleep for shit,” Vic griped as he flopped himself into

  the brightly painted Adirondack chair beside Shane.

  Shane managed to raise one eyelid and peer at him for

  several seconds before letting it close again and smiling softly.

  “I see you take pleasure in my suffering,” Vic snarled as he

  tried to get comfortable in the wooden chair that Shane had

  dragged to the edge of the deck.

  “I take pleasure where I can get it,” Shane murmured, his

  voice slurred from sleep and the copious amounts of liquor

  they had consumed the night before.

  “Yeah, well… why aren’t we down there in the sand?” Vic

  asked for the fifteenth time since they had dragged themselves

  out of the house that morning.

  “Too far,” Shane grunted.

  “Uh-huh,” Vic responded flatly as he looked sideways at

  Shane. �
�Did you think about not pilfering the big-ass wooden

  chairs from the deck and maybe taking a towel down there

  instead?”

  “Too cold,” Shane claimed without opening his eyes.

  “It’s August.”

  “Too sandy, then.”

  “What the hell, Simpson?”

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  “Relax, Vic. It’s your vacation,” Shane reminded through a

  sleepy grin as he rested his head on the back of his own chair.

  “I’m tired and it’s a long way down there. You looked like you

  were sleeping pretty well this morning when I checked on you,”

  he added, his train of thought obviously skipping around on

  him.

  “When I finally got to sleep, yeah,” Vic answered testily.

  “That mattress is… horrendous. Have you ever actually slept in

  it or do you use it to repel long-term guests? It’s like sleeping

  on a plank.”

  “Should make the reincarnated sailor in you feel at home,”

  Shane told him with obvious enjoyment.

  “I’d have been better off on the floor,” Vic insisted, ignoring

  the remark for lack of anything clever to say in response to it.

  “Hmm. Mine was okay,” Shane said contentedly, his voice

  more of a purr than anything else.

  “Good,” Vic snapped. “We’ll switch, then.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “That can be arranged, Your Honor,” Vic murmured as he

  shifted in the wooden chair again.

  Shane snickered and finally sat up. “I’ve got some of those

  pills Owen recommended to me a while back,” he said as he

  stretched his arms over his head and looked out over the dark

  ocean contentedly. “Melatonin. You put them under your

  tongue and let them dissolve. Helps you sleep. Makes your

  mouth scream, though,” he added thoughtfully. “You get used

  to it.”

  Vic’s mind had latched onto Owen’s name and was having

  a hard time letting go, but he fought any errant thoughts and

  focused on what Shane was saying. He thought about asking

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