Waits.
Silence.
Heath gives me a sidelong look, and I keep my eyes on the sand until Colleen snorts, “There was a fatal attack yesterday and he still wants to surf. God, he’s crazy.”
“Sharks witnessed the rise and fall of the dinosaurs. Did you know that?” Luke asks. “You gotta wonder how they survived all this time.”
“You’re either the shark or the food,” I recite.
Heath flinches. I’m quoting my father and he knows it. How many times did he repeat that? Stomping around the house or reeling in an undersized snapper that he’d use for bait.You’re either the shark or the food.
Luke steps forward, annoyed that the attention has shifted from him. I glance behind him to where the baby sits on the towel, looking up at the sky.
Colleen shields her eyes from the falling sun as if she’s scanning the water for sharks. “It’s spawning season, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Heath says. “Lots of sharks around is a sign that the ocean’s healthy. That’s good news, at least.”
“Not good news for those poor bastards who keep getting eaten, though,” I mutter.
Luke snorts. “Least it’s notus.”
Us. Them.
I turn to him. “You sure it’s not? Any of the locals missin’ lately?” I’m aiming for a joke, but he doesn’t smile.
“Like your dad?” he asks darkly before adding, “Or maybe it’s old mate Terry you should be asking about that…”
Heath stares levelly at Luke, who raises a lazy palm in a defensiveI’m just sayin’gesture. “He did youse a favor,” he says flatly. “Did usalla favor. He always was a bastard, your dad.”
I can feel it even before I look up. The heat of Trav’s gaze on me, a stare that lingers. Even without meeting his eyes, I know. Theback of my neck prickles, and there’s a jittery energy in my limbs. I can’t decide whether to run toward him or away. My heartbeat is too fast, too loud in my ears. But there’s a strange hope buzzing under my skin, excitement laced with dread.
“Be back in a minute,” I finally mutter, slinking away. I say it so fast it comes out in one word,bebackinaminute.
The dune rises, steep and soft, the sand shifting beneath my feet as I climb the golden wall. I feel Heath’s disapproving eyes on my back, but he doesn’t follow.
My breath is uneven by the time I reach the parking lot at the top of the dune. I pause there, wind tugging at my clothes, heart tapping my ribs.
Trav is turned slightly away from me. He stands there alone, still and quiet, his full-length black wet suit clinging to him like a second skin. It covers him collarbone-to-ankle, highlighting the curve of muscle and the sharp lines of bone beneath. Not a boy anymore, a man now.
There’s a quiet tension in the way he stands, alert, contained.
I step closer, thinking about Amy. She played dead after Trav poked holes in her abdomen. Staggered home, white-lipped, bleeding hard from her belly. Like Trav, she never returned to school. Her family moved away and nobody spoke of her, after. We don’t speak of those who leave. Maybe we should.
He finally turns when I approach. Slowly. The sun catching the side of his face, grazing his cheekbone, gold and warm. Buzz cut, hard eyes. Trav.
I’m just feet away from him, close enough to speak. Close enough to be heard. But I don’t know what to say. Not yet. I can’t stop staring at the fist-sized tattoo on his throat: a shield nestled between an emu and a red kangaroo, Australia’s coat of arms. Interesting choice. The kids in town were raised on kangaroo.Free meat,our dads called it. They’d slaughter them in our corrugated iron sheds, serve them up on paper plates, all lean and bloody. Tasted good to be honest.
We eat our own.
His expression is calm, but his eyes give it away. Focused. Too focused. Like he hasn’t been waiting minutes for me to climb this sand dune. It’s like he’s been waiting a lifetime.
I wait for him to speak. He looks like he wants to.
I want to ask:
How are you?
You married? Kids?
