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“Hey, Pep?” Carter asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t be alone with Marshall, okay?”
I looked at him apprehensively. “Why?”
I knew Marshall was into me. He was pretty open about it. What his intentions were, and what they weren’t. He was kind of arrogant, brash, and could sometimes be a downright asshole. He wasn’t someone I would typically choose to be friends with, but he knew Macie before I did, so I tolerated him. Even so, I’d never felt unsafe around him. Uncomfortable sometimes, at his advances. But never trulyunsafe.
Carter’s eyes flashed to me before landing back on the road ahead of us. “I know you don’t want to talk about last night, but Marshall was acting weird around you. Almost predatory, I would say. Hereallywanted to see you get drunk. Then, hereallywanted to be the one to take you home. He was ready to fight me about it.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but something is off about him. I don’t trust him. I don’t think you should either.”
He spoke slowly, with care. I could feel my nostrils flare as they worked to fight off the tears building behind my eyes. My stomach churned as I flashed through all the potential scenarios that last night could’ve turned into. Nothing happened. Iknownothing happened. I only know that because I know Carter was there. I also know that if he hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to go so far. Iknowthat. Because I know, deep down, that I don’t trust Marshall either. I never have.
“Okay,” I said.
“Do you require additional explanation?”
I shook my head. “No. I trust you.”
We pulled into the empty parking lot of the beach access point, and he killed the engine. He looked at me with a soft, sorry smile. “Well, okay then.” He threw his door open and hopped out of the car. He must’ve sensed the notion that I didn’t want to talk about the situation anymore. I’d ask Macie for more details later, but for now Carter’s word was enough.
Carter had a wetsuit folded down to his waist, and a flannel on his upper body. The flannel was unbuttoned, revealing small glimpses of his perfect, muscled chest. I tried to ignore that, tried to ignore the way his dark curls poked out from the snapback of the hat he was wearing backwards. I failed to ignore how the way he looked—the way he was looking at me—made me feel.
He cocked his head as he caught me staring. “How much time do you need to get ready for work?”
“Twenty minutes if I don’t shower, forty if I do.”
He smiled mischievously, almost seductively. “Perfect.”
He was jogging around to the bed of his truck and I noticed he’d swapped his surfboard for a stand-up paddle board. He must’ve made the switch while I had been getting dressed.
“I’m not getting in the water!” I shouted.
He was ahead of me, darting down the narrow path between the beachgrass on the top of the dune, and down onto the beach itself. I heard him mutter to himself, and I paused at the end of that path, looking down from the small hill. He took his hat off and stomped around the sand for a few minutes, picking things up and gathering them in his hat. If he wasn’t doing it so angrily, I’d assume he was collecting agate rocks like we used to do as children. Agate was much more of a common find on the rocky Oregon coast than seashells were.
He jogged back toward me. “I hate people.”
I was the one cocking my head at him now.
“Litterers. Are people not aware of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch? There are trash cans in all the parking lots and these assholes just leave their cigarette butts and gum wrappers in the sand for the fucking animals to eat. Have they never seenHappy Feet?”
I knew he was being serious, and I agreed with him wholeheartedly, but to see someone who is normally so calm, cool, and collected, lose his mind over plastic on the beaches… a laugh bubbled from my throat, and my entire chest cavity constricted.
“Unfortunately, I think there are a lot of people who don’t know about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, and many more who just don’t care.”
He frowned, and his eyes grew distant and thoughtful for a moment. “I’m going to do a project on it. For class.”
“Inspire the next generation?”
He was smiling again as he nodded.
We both laughed quietly before he grabbed me by the hand and brought me to a cove just down the beach. A large piece of driftwood sat perfectly out of the morning breeze. He laid the paddle board onto the sand as I sat on the log and waited for him to join me. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east, turning the western horizon a soft purple hue. Behind us the sky would be painted with all shades of the rising sun, but out across the Pacific, it was a much softer display of color. Birds were beginning to wake all around us, and the waves crashed powerfully against the sand. In the distance, the nearly full moon was faintly visible. I was already feeling lighter than I had a few minutes ago.
“I think we’re facing the wrong way,” I protested.
He leaned back against the driftwood, his knees against his chest and his hands clasped between them. He was looking ahead, not turning to face me as he said, “That’s what they want you to think.” I chuckled lightly, perplexed by his words. I followed his gaze to the sky ahead of us, and the way it meshed with the horizon line. On the west coast, we never bothered to flock to the beach for the sunrise, since this was the place that it set. It’s not something I’d ever thought to do before. “See, the sunrise to the east is so full of color. Beautiful, yes, but a little chaotic. Don’t you think? Looking out this way, it’s softer. I think it’s more peaceful. A better representation of what early morning should feel like.” The clouds turned from purple to magenta– almost matching, but a bit lighter than the fuchsia shade that surrounded the exploding sun. After another moment, the setting around me became shrouded in gold as the water reflected the rising sun behind me.
Whenever—if ever—I painted again, I wanted to paint this.
