Beyond the Horizon Read online

  “I appreciate it, Rob. How’s the family?” I ask, trying and failing to remember if he was married or not and had any children. The fact of the matter is, I was a kid of sixteen when I was last on this island and rarely paid any attention to anyone other than Anna and Blake. Though, I vaguely remember him as a young man in his early twenties dating a girl who I think was called Rosemary. Still, it’s a pretty generic question and hopefully one he doesn’t take offense to.

  “My wife passed away three years ago. Cancer. We didn’t have any children, so it’s just me, this boat and my crew. All the family I need these days,” he responds, matter-of-factly and without an ounce of regret, only a soft smile on his lips.

  “Damn. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Me too, but that’s life, isn’t it? Not much any of us can do about tragedy but live through it.” He shrugs, before turning his gaze away and out across the harbour towards a figure striding towards us. He frowns. “Oh dear, looks like Lola’s on the warpath… I’m sure I paid my bill earlier.”

  “Lola?” Shit.

  “So you do know her then?” Rob asks, as he digs around in his wallet for a receipt, presumably. “I was wondering why you asked so many questions about her…”

  During the past couple hours he filled me in on Lola’s little business that she set up here on the island. It doesn’t surprise me that she owns a café. She was always great at cooking, a talented chef with all these weird and wonderful ideas.

  “Yes, I know her…” I begin, but my explanation as to how well is cut off when her voice rings loud and angry in the air. The woman could rival a goddamn banshee.

  “Malakai Azaiah Dunbar, you bloody arsehole!” she shouts.

  Rob chuckles. “That sounds like a woman scorned if ever I heard one.” He gets up and ducks inside the cabin of his boat, giving us some privacy. Honestly, I wished he’d stayed put. This is gonna get ugly. Lola has quite a temper when she gets going.

  “Hello, Lola,” I say as she stomps towards me in a pair of cut off dungarees and white t-shirt combination, a pair of scruffy trainers on her feet. She’s still as attractive as she ever was.

  “Don’t you ‘hello, Lola’ me! It’s been over a year since I last saw you, Malakai! A whole damn year with no word. Not even a goddamn postcard. Then you ring me out of the blue like no time has passed! What are you playing at?”

  She stops before me, the light breeze picking up strands of her dark hair, her grey eyes stormy and brimming with unshed tears.

  “How am I here? How are you here? Imagine my surprise that when I call you, I find out you’re living on the island I grew up on!” I retort, ever the arsehole when I should be apologising for leaving without word, and then not contacting her like a big fucking coward.

  “Don’t you turn this around on me! I came here looking for you,” she snaps, slamming the flat of her hand against my chest.

  I chuckle. “Still hit like a girl, I see.”

  “Oh, shut up, dipshit! I could murder you.” Her angry tears spill over onto her cheeks and I immediately feel guilty. I should never have left her the way I did. She was my friend and I abandoned her. Just like I abandon everyone I get close to. My smile falters, and I sigh heavily.

  “I warned you, Lola. I warned you that I’d break your heart one day. I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it.

  She kicks at the weatherworn boardwalk with the toe of her trainer, her fingers curling and uncurling as she decides how to respond to that. “I spent a year of my life trying to find you. I looked everywhere, Malakai. I mourned you. I thought you were dead! I should hate you,” she mutters.

  “You should,” I respond. “But I can assure you that I hate myself enough for the both of us.”

  “Thing is, I don’t…” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I just feel relieved.”

  Lola looks up at me, anger making way for the relief she describes. I’m not fool enough to believe it’s completely gone, nor do I expect it to be, but this is a better response than I’d hoped for.

  “Friends?” I ask tentatively.

  She grits her jaw, nodding. “God knows I should tell you where to go… but we’ve always been friends and that doesn’t change despite the fact I could happily kill you right now. Where the hell have you been?” she adds.

  “It’s not important. I’m back now…”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I should’ve contacted you,” I say, evading her question again.

  Lola cocks her head, narrowing her eyes at me, and for a moment I think she’s going to push the point and force me to tell her where I’ve been. She doesn’t.

  “You do this again I won’t forgive you.”

  “Okay.” I nod with understanding.

  “Okay,” she repeats.

  Then her face crumples in earnest, and in two steps she’s thrown herself into my arms, muttering curse words as she punches my chest half-heartedly with her balled up fists. I stiffen. Human contact isn’t easy for me, but I owe her this and force myself to respond. Closing my eyes against the awkwardness I feel, I lean my cheek against the top of her head and try to breathe through the moment.

  “You’re lucky I have a forgiving nature,” she snips, still holding on as I tentatively hug her back. This is the second time in one day that I’ve allowed another person to touch me. It’s not something I’m used to or want. Mindless fucking of nameless women is one thing, but human contact with emotional attachments is another thing altogether.

  “I am. You’re a good friend,” I say, biting down the need to push her away.

  Nine years ago I met Lola in the South of France. She was travelling around Europe, a young woman with wanderlust in her heart. I’d owned Princess for about a year by then and was getting ready to set sail to Monaco when we met at a bar one night. Whilst both of us were attracted to each other initially, we soon realised that we were better off as friends. We spent the week together checking out St Tropez, then promised to stay in touch. Periodically we’d meet up on our travels, spending a few days in each other’s company. Just over a year ago, whilst in Sardinia, I received a phone call that made me cut short our little get together. I didn’t say goodbye. I just left.

  I’m exactly what she says I am, an arsehole.

  Eventually she pulls back enough to look up at me. She rolls her eyes, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “I really should murder you.”

  “But you won’t?” I ask hopefully.

  “No, I won’t.”

  But she does kiss me.

  It’s a sweet, friendly kiss, with zero passion or any feeling behind it other than one friend greeting another after a year of being apart, but when I pull back there’s a girl standing at the end of the dock who sees something entirely different. A girl I have no right thinking about, let alone having such a violent physical reaction to.

  When Connie’s gaze meets mine, my fucking stomach drops out and my heart crashes to a halt. For a few seconds, whilst Lola looks up at me and I stare at the girl who’s off-fucking-limits, the world simply stops spinning. Everything disappears, and for just a moment we’re the only two people left on the island.

  And one inexplicable, frightening thought enters my head, she’s mine.

  Seven

  Connie

  I arrive at Lola’s Shack at exactly five minutes to six Monday morning. I’m not one for being late. Besides, I didn’t sleep last night. At all. Two glasses of Grandma’s port did nothing to help me drift off. All I could see on repeat the whole night long was Lola and Malakai kissing. No matter what I did I couldn’t rid myself of the thought. It was a mistake cycling to the harbour. I’m not sure what possessed me. Clearly I’m a glutton for punishment.

  Even now, I keep seeing flashes of them and I’m reminded of how he held her close, his eyes pressed shut with his cheek rested against the top of her head, grasping hold of her tight like he was where he was supposed to be. When she’d stood on tiptoes and kissed hi
m on that beautiful mouth of his, my insides had tied up in painful knots, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the way he looked at me after.

  The bright smile he had showed her was replaced with a scowl that had gutted me. He looked at me like I was the storm that broke the mast of his boat. Like I was the reason for all the wrong in the world. He hates me.

  I’m so stupid. So, so stupid.

  Love at first sight my arse? That only works when the other one loves you back, right?

  Grandma was correct about one thing: Malakai is, indeed, dangerous for my heart. How in the hell am I going to be able to work alongside Lola when she’s going to be hanging out with Malakai and playing tonsil tennis all hours of the day?

  It’s going to be torture.

  Pushing all thoughts of Malakai and Lola away, I get off my bike and lean it up against the shack, then grab my rucksack from the basket and head inside.

  “Morning, Connie,” Lola greets me warmly. She’s got her hair piled up into a loose bun on her head and is wearing her usual dungaree shorts and t-shirt combination, oblivious to my unruly thoughts.

  “Morning,” I reply, plastering on a fake smile to cover the jealousy that I’ve no right to feel.

  “Pop your stuff out back and grab an apron from the hook on the door,” she instructs, nodding towards the small office that sits just off the side of the main counter. It’s no more than a broom cupboard really, but it serves it purpose, I suppose.

  “Sure thing.”

  “You didn’t bring your guitar?” she questions.

  “You really don’t mind?”

  “I wouldn’t have said so if I did.” She smiles warmly.

  “Tomorrow then,” I agree.

  Placing my rucksack on the office table alongside my hoodie, I pull on the apron and tie it up behind my back. There’s a slight chill in the air this morning, but it will soon warm up as the sun rises and burns away a layer of cloud that looks like the thin wisp of a virgin’s nightie blowing across the sky.

  “Could you grab some rolls and butter them ready for the morning breakfasts? Most of these sailors love their white bread and heart attack inducing butter with their full English breakfasts.”

  “I bet,” I respond with a lacklustre smile that doesn’t meet my eyes. She doesn’t seem to notice my mood. Which is just as well, given I need this job. Besides, my low mood isn’t really her fault. I shouldn’t be lusting after her boyfriend.

  “I’ve been trying to introduce some healthier options onto the menu, but despite my efforts, the guys always order the same damn things. Bacon sandwiches, eggs on toast, a full English breakfast. I was really hoping that my avocado on rye and Greek yoghurt with granola and honey would be appreciated… it’s not.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes and smiling ruefully.

  “I guess being out on the boat trawling fish in all that fresh air can make a man real hungry,” I comment, buttering the rolls as asked.

  A smirk pulls up her lips. “And you don’t think my avocado on rye will fill them up?”

  I grimace. “Not really, no… Sorry, that probably really offended you.”

  Lola snorts with laughter. “I don’t get offended easily, Connie. Don’t sweat it,” she replies, waving her hand before sorting out a stack of plates and cutlery in preparation for the patrons to arrive.

  Half an hour later, I’m wiping down the tables and making sure all the salt and pepper shakers are full and each table has brown sauce, ketchup and mustard. There’s no fancy sauces here. I like that. Why change something that works anyway?

  “Perfect, thanks, Connie,” Lola says, as she puts a bacon sandwich in a brown paper bag then pops it on the counter next to a takeaway cup of coffee. “Would you mind taking this to Malakai? I would do it myself, but I can see Rob’s trawler is just pulling in and I need to get the breakfast started for him and his crew.”

  “You want me to take those to him?” I ask, pulling a face that she completely misreads.

  “He told me you’ve met. Sorry, he’s a bit of an arsehole until you get to know him.” She has a faraway look on her face as she stares out of the door and towards the harbour and his boat.

  “Are you happy?” I blurt out.

  She shakes her head free of whatever thoughts that had her somewhere in the past and blows out a long breath. “I’m happy he’s finally found his way home. I’m happy he’s here…”

  “But?” I can’t help but ask.

  “I’m still a little angry at him. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m furious. Trouble is, I don’t want to do anything that will send him away again. I want him to stay. I’ve missed him…” I love him. She doesn’t say those words, but I see it in her eyes, nonetheless.

  “And you still want me to take those to him,” I ask again, wondering why she’s giving me the job when clearly she should be doing it herself. He’s her boyfriend after all. “I can start the fry-up. I’ve cooked an English breakfast plenty of times before…”

  “No, Malakai and I have time to sort things out. He’s going to be staying a while anyway, whether he wants to or not. The mast on his boat is majorly screwed. A bit of forced captivity won’t do him any harm.” She winks at me.

  “You make him sound like a caged animal. Is he really that much of a loner?” I suspected as much when I met him, but still.

  “He’s not much of a talker either, so you won’t be all that long anyway,” she retorts, before turning her back to me as she lights up the hob and gets started on the breakfasts.

  I guess that’s my cue to leave.

  A couple minutes later, I find myself standing outside Malakai’s boat, Princess. She’s moored at the far end of the harbour out of the way of the other boats. I admire her as she bobs gently up and down on the water. She’s the only schooner, the rest of the harbour is filled with trawlers and tugboats, and during peak season, the occasional yacht. She’s white, the edging silver and her sails are cream. Dark oak lines the deck, makes up the mast and boom, and the seats fitted into the companionway. Her name is emblazoned on the side in large blue lettering. She’s a little unkempt and in need of some tender loving care, but she’s beautiful. Like her owner, I muse.

  Beneath her, the ocean is flat with only a slight undercurrent as far as I can tell. In the half an hour I’ve been working at my new job, the sun has already cleared the wispy clouds and like I suspected, it’s set to be another scorching day. I take one longing look at the sapphire depths of the sea and sigh, wanting nothing more than to discard the sandwich and coffee and dive right into the depths. It would feel good to wash away this feeling I’ve been bottling all night. Like I’ve lost something that was never mine to begin with.

  “There’s no time for a swim. Just get this over and done with, Connie,” I berate myself, swallowing my nerves and the prickle of anticipation at coming face-to-face with Malakai again. I haven’t even seen him since yesterday and my stomach is churning like I’ve just gotten off a rollercoaster and am about to hurl. If this is what love at first sight feels like, then I’m not sure I like it.

  Drawing in a steading breath, I step up onto the deck and gently call out his name. “Malakai… Lola sent me with breakfast.”

  Inside I hear something fall to the floor, followed by loud cursing.

  “God-fucking-damn-it!”

  “Are you okay?” I ask tentatively, stepping towards the wooden hatch that leads down into the cabin. “Do you need help?” The hatch is open, but I can’t see much from where I’m standing.

  “Motherfucker!” is all I get in response, followed by the sound of water running.

  Deciding to ignore my own sense of self-preservation, I step down the four steps into the cabin. The second my foot hits the smooth wooden boards; I realise I’ve made a grave mistake because Malakai is naked bar a small white towel wrapped around his waist. I almost drop the cup of coffee in shock.

  “What are you doing here?” He’s glaring at me, his hand held under running water, blood pouring from a cut to his finge
r. “You made me cut myself!” he snaps, anger blazing.

  “I brought you breakfast,” I respond helplessly, my feet routed to the spot as I try my best to keep my gaze focused on his face and not the bulge hidden by the tiny, white towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. Has he never heard of a bath towel? That looks more like a face cloth.

  “I don’t need breakfast. I’m capable of feeding myself,” he growls, ungratefully.

  A muscle in his jaw ticks, and tiny beads of water roll from his wet hair and over his face. I watch one drip from his chin and land on the firm muscle of his chest. If he hadn’t made a funny rumbling sound I think I might’ve watched it slide over his six pack too.

  “Stop it.”

  My eyes snap up, and I swallow hard. I know I’m blushing. I can feel the heat beneath my skin spread out from my middle and up my chest and neck. That same heat slides lower too, and now it’s me gritting my jaw, hoping he doesn’t have x-ray vision and can see that my panties are drenched.

  “S-stop what?” I manage to stutter out, oscillating between feeling acutely turned on and pissed off. He’s growly and grouchy and an arsehole, frankly.

  He huffs, grinding his teeth now as he looks at me with hard eyes. The moss green colour has changed to a deep ocean blue that’s filled with emerald seaweed and mythical creatures. There’s a story right there beneath the depths, one I’m not sure I want to know.

  Snatching his gaze away he glares at his breakfast courtesy of Lola. “Put those down and leave,” he orders, nodding to my hands.

  He still has his finger held under the running water which continues to bleed despite his efforts. He shifts, turning his body away from me, the action causes the towel to drop a little lower on his hips revealing a trail of dark hair and that v muscle that I’ve only read about in romance novels, but never seen before him. Dragging my gaze back up I press my lips together and place the offending items on the end of the counter.