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Hadn’t he known from the moment he’d careened off the top of that wave today that his career was over? Sure, he’d be able to bodysurf or maybe even paddleboard some two-foot waves, but the big kahunas, those were over for him. He knew it. In his heart of hearts, he knew it, and yet he just wasn’t ready to let go.
He felt bad about what he’d said to Jun. He saw her struggle so hard to keep it together, and then he could see the hurt in her face and how deep the knife went. But she’d cut him back even deeper. What a waste of time.
His mind spun, and he realized he’d driven halfway around the island and passed a dozen tourists bars. He could’ve stopped in any one of them, but he hadn’t. He didn’t feel like stopping. He decided to head back home, the long way, and maybe Jun would be willing to talk again.
When he finally made his way back to the condo, he felt calmer.
The lights in his place were all turned out, and after he slipped in the front door, a quick search found the place empty. He called Jun, but her phone went straight to voice mail.
Not good. Not good at all.
He glanced down at the coffee table and saw her bonus check, ripped cleanly in two, sitting there.
Now there was no use hoping she’d come back. In his heart, he knew she wouldn’t. Had he lost her forever?
He realized that he’d only thought he’d reached rock bottom when that tsunami hit. Now he knew a life without Jun was far worse than one without surfing. He tried calling her phone again but got her voice mail a second time.
Where could she have gone?
He didn’t want to admit it, but he needed advice, and there was only one person he could think of who could give it to him, if he didn’t break Kai’s nose first.
* * *
KAI DROVE TO the small dive bar Bret owned on Maui—not a flashy tourist place, but a locals’ joint. No neon lights, just strung-up old Christmas lights and a big open patio with mismatched chairs. Kai parked, wondering if his old friend would punch him, kick him out or call the cops.
Bret had bought the place from Pete Simpson. Pete’s Paradise it was called, though the sign had long since been rusted out by the sea air and taken down. You found Pete’s only if you already knew it was there, and that meant you’d spent most of your life on Maui. Bret had taken Kai here after one of their first successful missions to Jaws. Bret, who had an unusual talent for finding the most authentic hangouts wherever he went, had ended up buying this one from Pete when he retired last year.
Kai sat in the driver’s side of his four-wheel-drive SUV, an antique Ford he kept on Maui because he couldn’t bear to part with it just yet. It had been one of his first cars, before he’d gotten rich and famous. Now he kept it here for nostalgia, mostly. He opened the ancient creaking door and then slammed it shut, the only way the sucker would close all the way. He headed to the entrance of the bar and went in, not sure if his plan to find Bret was really all that wise. In any case, he needed a little liquid courage.
As soon as he walked into the darkened bar with the mismatched chairs and the floor sticky with spilled drinks and crunchy with old bits of sand, he saw Bret standing behind the bar.
Kai thought about backing out, abandoning his plan, but Bret saw him, made lingering eye contact and then, without much fuss, looked away. At least he didn’t storm across the room and punch him in the gut, Kai thought. That was progress.
Kai decided to take the safest spot, the stool at the other end, next to the sad older man in the faded landscaping button-down. He looked as though he’d had almost as bad a day as Kai had, with a cut on his lip from someone who must have taken issue with the way the man cut grass.
Thankfully, a second bartender asked him what he wanted. He gave his order to the frazzled woman in her forties, who chewed gum and smelled like cigarette smoke. She didn’t even comment on his eye or his busted-up appearance, which meant she was more than used to seeing such injuries.
The landscaping man downed his Scotch and pushed himself away from the bar, taking Kai’s cover and leaving a direct line of sight between Kai and Bret. Kai’s black eye, now swollen almost completely shut, obliterated his peripheral vision on that side, so he wouldn’t be able to tell if Bret decided to scoot on down and sucker punch him again. Kai angled his chair, and just as he did so, Bret poured himself a mug of beer and moved to the empty seat next to him. Bret had a nasty bruise on his chin and his nose was swollen.
