Nineteen ~ Solace

During breakfast the next morning, Alastair finally acknowledged my messages. In fact, he even had the decency to call me.

"It's Alastair," I told Mia, holding up my phone to show her.

With her mouth full of toast, she gestured for me to answer it. After all the drama of last night, I'd forgotten about Alastair's silence. As I slid my finger across the screen, though, anger bubbled inside me. How many hours had it been?

"Hey."

"Hey, Rosa," he said, his tone chipper. "Sorry about last night. My phone died."

"Your phone died? Could you not charge it?"

The pause on the other end of the line suggested he'd cottoned on to my anger and was deciding how to play the situation.

"I was out," he said. "I didn't have a charger with me. Sorry if it worried you."

"What if I'd needed to talk to you and there'd been no way for me to do that?" I tried to calm my irritation, but my tolerance for boys acting like idiots was already low. "Even worse, what if something happened, and you didn't have your phone to call for help?"

"I was with people, Rosa. They'd have helped if something bad happened. One night without my phone isn't the end of the world. You had your party, anyway..."

If Alastair intended for these excuses to make me feel better, they didn't. I covered my face with my free hand and said nothing.

"Are you pissed off with me?" he asked.

"Yes."

Opposite me, Mia chewed on her toast as she watched without shame. If she felt uncomfortable witnessing me arguing with my boyfriend, she didn't show it.

"We're supposed to be in a relationship," I said.

"Yes, and I don't think you realise how suffocating you can be."

As if that wasn't offensive enough, he delivered the insult in such a cool and matter-of-fact manner that it sickened me.

"Don't act like I'm bringing this upon myself! You didn't even tell me you were going out last night. Being in a relationship means sharing our lives. Maybe if you don't want me to suffocate you, then you shouldn't have cheated on me."

I expected him to say something along the lines of, why are you still so hung up on Daisy? But what he did say surprised me, not least because he sounded sincere.

"We got together young, Rosa. You've never experienced going out and meeting guys or dating. You've only ever had me. But at the same time, I wasn't ready for such a serious relationship, either, so I did something stupid and slept with Daisy. If you want your chance to have a taste of something different, go for it. Then we'll be even."

I groaned. "Alastair, you're missing the point. Yes, I get the reason you cheated was because you were tied down too early and you wanted to go out and be with other girls, but that doesn't give me a free pass to do the same. It's not about being even—"

"Rosa, I know that we—"

"—and I don't want to feel like I should go out and get with other people," I said, ignoring his interruption. "I want to feel like I don't need anyone else. Like you care enough about me not to want to sleep with other girls."

"Rosa, I do care."

"But the fact you went out without your phone shows you weren't thinking of me. If it ran out of battery then fine, but you could have warned me, or messaged me off someone else's."

"Like Daisy's?" he asked, his voice quiet and resigned

His question hung in the air between us, before swinging down and pummelling me in the stomach—not because he was with Daisy, but because the way he'd said it was an admission of so much more.

"You were with Daisy? Just Daisy?"

"For some of it, yeah."

I didn't press further. Even though his change in attitude told me everything I needed to know, I couldn't bear to hear it for real, to have it confirmed.

"I'm sorry, Rosa."

"Don't. I don't want to hear it."

Mia had stopped chewing. A half-eaten slice of toast hung from her right hand as she stared at me, obviously trying to work out what was going on.

"Listen, I meant what I said—"

"No, you didn't," I said. "I need some space. Don't get in touch with me for a few days, please. At least that way I won't be suffocating you."

"Rosa..."

I cancelled the call and slid the phone away from me. It spun across the table, coming to a halt when it knocked against the wall. Mia dropped her slice of toast onto her plate.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes darting between the phone and me.

"I feel like I should cry," I said. "But I can't. I'm not upset. Just angry."

"Has he..? Did he..?"

I shrugged. "He admitted as much. I don't know if the reason I'm not upset is that I've spent my entire summer expecting it, or if I've just come to this realisation that my relationship isn't a relationship. Who knows?"

I took a deep breath to calm my thudding heart and churning stomach. Why, Alastair? In fact, why Alastair? Out of all the guys I could have clicked with, it had to be a cheating one.

"You're a good person, Rose," Mia said.

"I'm sick of being a good person. Good people get walked all over. I'll never be happy because my happiness is always going to come at the detriment of others."

I'd spent most of summer dreading this moment, convinced that I needed to be back in London to prevent Alastair from straying. Now it had happened, the thought of returning home and dealing with the mess terrified me. Camberley had grown on me, and the scales instead tipped in the Outer Banks' favour.

"God, he's such a prick." I buried my head in my hands to mask the tears that finally threatened to fall.

Within seconds, Mia was by my side, arms wrapped around my body. Her warm embrace coupled with the fading scent of her familiar perfume both comforted and distressed me. In a month's time, I wouldn't have this.

If I was upset, I'd have friends who'd pity me rather than comfort me. In fact, some would revel in the knowledge of Alastair's infidelity. Their envy at me being the one to bag Carringham's hottest bachelor was no secret, so they'd be encouraged by the proof that he didn't care enough to remain faithful.

That kind of drama was what they lived for, and I was tired of it.

~~~

In my angry, upset — and potentially revengeful — state of mind, I avoided the beach until the next day when my feelings had mellowed. Brent was sitting at the foot of his steps when I arrived, unusually for him.

"Anyone drowning today, Lifeguard?" I plonked myself down on the soft sand beside him.

"Not unless I decide to throw you in there."

I shrugged. "I can think of worse places to be."

His head tilted ever so slightly towards me. "Everything all right?"

Staring out into the ocean, I trailed my fingertips through the warm grains of sand as I considered the weight his question carried.

"I think my boyfriend's been sleeping with my friend whilst I've been out here."

Brent remained quiet for a few moments, although I didn't expect him to offer words of comfort. He favoured silence, and I doubted relationship problems were among his preferred topics to discuss.

"Sorry to hear that," he said eventually, voice soft. "I know that doesn't help, but I'm not sure what else to say, apart from the same old line about how I can't believe he'd cheat on you."

I sighed and gazed at the waves. Their rhythmical sound soothed my aching head and the vast expanse of water reassured me that the world was a huge place, and this latest revelation of Alastair's wasn't the end of it.

"Your boyfriend's a dick," Brent said, breaking the silence.

"Hmm," I said in agreement. "I'm used to it by now."

"How'd you find out?"

"He indirectly admitted it. He didn't outright say he had, but he's slept with her in the past and I'm not an idiot... I've been expecting it all summer, to be honest."

"And you're still with him."

I'd heard it many times before, but always as a surprised question—never a statement. Despite that, I answered as if it were a question, as though I had to defend myself and my choices.

"Yeah. It's complicated."

"Why don't you try explaining it? I know I haven't been too accepting or understanding of your life in the past, but consider it an opportunity to prove to me just how complicated it is."

"Do you still believe my life is easy?" I asked, finally twisting to face him and gauge his expression.

He paused before replying, brushing a strand of dark hair away from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"No. I now know you're more than just a spoilt, rude brat."

I rolled my eyes and smiled, digging my feet into the sand as I extended my legs, watching my toes disappear beneath the grains.

"There were reasons I acted like a spoilt, rude brat. Everyone acts a certain way for a reason, right?"

Brent didn't reply to my rhetorical question, but even the silent company was nice. We might not talk much, but we'd been sharing the same beach for the past two months. There was a sense of familiarity there.

"My brother drowned."

Catching me off guard, he delivered the sentence quietly and without emotion. That didn't stop the blow, though. My heart lurched and my stomach dropped, my neck snapping round to look at him.

"We were playing soccer," Brent continued, not taking his eyes off the water. "The beach was crowded. My brother kicked the ball toward me, but I missed it. I'd been too busy checking out two Mexican girls..."

He trailed off, shaking his head, dipping his face downward to stare at the sand. Part of me wondered why he was suddenly telling me this, but then I remembered the bizarre sense of comfort and intimacy between us at my dining table. Perhaps he'd been dying to get it off his chest. Maybe, like me, he felt the need to explain his attitude.

"You don't have to talk about it," I said.

My eyes brimmed with tears, so many potential explanations rushing to my mind. The reason he was so protective on the beach, the photo in his hut, why he never left his chair...

Brent swallowed. "I was watching the girls, going through some Spanish in my head, trying to think of a way to invite them to my place... I was thinking about how Austin would love it if I managed to bring back a couple of girls for a party..."

Releasing a long sigh, he cleared his throat. It was the closest to emotional I'd seen him, vulnerability peeking over the high walls he'd built.

"I missed the ball. It went in the water. I was looking at the girls. I didn't see my brother go in after it..."

I didn't want to hear the end of the story, but I could tell he needed to say it. Did Mia know about this? Austin? They must do. There was no way his brother had drowned without them finding out.

Slowly, I placed my hand on his bare knee, desperate to comfort him. He didn't react to it, didn't move, but his body trembled beneath my palm.

"The girls started pointing to the water." He swallowed hard. "I turned around, just in time to see my brother's head disappear under the surface. He'd got swept up in the currents. He was so little and weak and..."

Brent's voice became quieter. He took a deep breath, tilting his face up towards the sky, eyes closed. Although he was trying to stay strong, I wasn't faring so well. Tears trickled down my cheeks, my stomach nauseous and my heart aching as I watched the world's stoniest person struggling against breaking down.

"I completely failed him, Rosalie," he said, his voice finally cracking.

"No," I murmured, kneeling in front of him to get closer. "No..."

"I couldn't help him. I wasn't strong enough. Couldn't swim fast enough. He was so weak... I was supposed to be his big brother and I couldn't save him..."

My hands skimmed up his arms, through his hair and over his face. It wasn't romantic, or even sexual; it was purely an attempt to calm him, soothe him, and reassure him.

"Brent, it wasn't your fault."

"Don't say that," he said, tone snippy. "It was my fault. It was my fault for not paying attention, for not warning him properly about the dangers of the water, and for not saving him."

I rested my forehead against his, closing my eyes to stop the tears from leaking. What could I say to make him feel better? How could you console someone who carries such a torturous burden on their shoulders every single day?

"You saved me," I said.

He sighed and lifted his head slightly. Our mouths mere centimetres apart, my fingers still clutched his hair—and I no longer knew if that was for his comfort or mine. All I knew was that I didn't want to let go.

"I hated you that day, Rosalie," he said, each breath sweeping across my mouth, warming my lips. "You scared the life out of me."

"I reminded you of your brother." The realisation dawned on me. "Brent, I'm so sorry..."

He sighed and his hand came to rest on my back, holding me against his quivering body.

"I thought someone else was going to die at my hands. I sit on this beach every day, desperate to make up for those minutes of lost concentration. I thought, if I at least save one person, it will help ease the guilt. But when you nearly drowned, all I felt was fear. Fear that I'd fail again... Fear that I'd be pulling another lifeless body out of the water... Fear that I'd never be able to make up for that mistake I made."

"But you didn't fail. You were amazing, Brent. I'm a terrible person for not telling you that at the time."

His hand trailed up my back, fingertips following the indentation of my spine, before winding his knuckles into my hair. Despite the proximity of our mouths, he made no attempt to turn it into something romantic or sexual, and I felt a small surge of happiness that I was potentially succeeding in comforting him. 

For once, there was no frustration at not being able to kiss him, nor a strong desire to touch him. There was no guilt for being attracted to him, either. For once, all I cared about was the kind of intimacy that could bring solace.

"Is everyone else aware of this?" I asked.

He gave a small nod. "Nobody talks about it—not directly, anyway. They laugh at me taking my job so seriously, but that's only because they use humour to disguise the reason why. It's true no-one comes on this beach. They don't want to play on a beach where a young boy died. This has always been the most dangerous stretch. Nobody wants to take that risk. But I stay here because..."

He shook his head, and our lips lightly brushed, salt transferring from his mouth to mine. My stomach fluttered, but the contact was lost as soon as it had been found.

"I wanted to tell you the other night...at the table."

"But Mia..."

He nodded, our noses grazing. "I've tried to hate you, Rosalie. Your life is so different. So different. I want to hate you for that, but I can't. I wanted to hate you for the all the times you've come down to this beach in that white bikini... For those hot leather shorts you wore at that party... For having all those knots in your back and being careless enough to get burnt in the first place... And then for sitting there in my hut, wearing next to nothing and baiting me the entire time."

"And do you hate me?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No. I realised that on the night I found you drunk down here. If I'd hated you, I'd have accepted your invitation."

Mia's description of Brent's type rang in my mind: no emotional attachment, no commitment. Slowly, I moved my face away from his. He lifted his chin to look at me, and that's when I knew that lengthening the distance was a good idea—because I'd never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I wanted to kiss him. Never had there been a more inappropriate moment, either.

"Do you know what I hate the most, though?"

I shook my head, all too aware of the hand that still gripped the back of my neck, the long fingers pressing into my nape and the warmth that they brought.

"In your dining room, that's the closest I've felt to anyone in a very long time. And I shouldn't feel that way. I don't do stuff like that, not anymore. I've lost every single person I've got close to. And in a month, you'll be gone, too."

Silence fell. For weeks, I'd been pondering Brent's story. Now I knew it—or at least part of it—and all it did was intensify my conflicted emotions of guilt and attraction.

"Tell me if I've got it wrong."

"Brent, I don't know what to say."

He looked more vulnerable than I'd seen him, and of course I understood why. He'd opened up and divulged all those secrets, hoping I'd admit my own feelings during the same intimate moment. But what could I say? Yes, but I'm leaving in a month? Yes, but I don't want anything to happen? Yes, but I've got a boyfriend and so nothing can happen? Or lie and say no?

With a frustrated sigh, he leaned away. His hand fell from my hair and he rested his arm across his lap instead—no longer looking at me. Painful guilt flooded through me, like I'd let him down. He'd told me all that, expecting me to reassure him that the feelings weren't one-sided between us. And I couldn't.

"I think you should go," he said.

The words hit me like a kick to the stomach, not least because his guard had shot straight back up. My reluctance to answer his question had hurt him.

"Brent," I said, reaching for his hand.

He moved it away from me, still refusing to meet my eye. "Please, Rosalie. I want to be alone right now."

Reluctantly, I clambered to my feet. "If it weren't for Alastair—"

"Yeah. I get it. Let's just pretend this conversation didn't happen, okay?"

He was upset and I couldn't continue to comfort him without one of two things happening: either giving in to my desires or hurting him by not doing so.

I brushed the sand off my knees and waited to see if he added anything else. He didn't. His eyes remained on the ocean, hands folded in his lap, his whole posture tense and standoffish. The guard was up. Part of me selfishly wondered if he'd ever let it down in front of me again.

"I'm really sorry about your brother," I said, my voice barely above a murmur.

When he didn't reply, I turned to leave. But just as I began to walk away, he called after me.

"Rosalie."

I paused, spinning to face him but not moving closer. His eyes flickered in my direction without staying on me. It was the smallest of glances.

"I'm sorry about your boyfriend," he said.

I smiled in appreciation, but then continued across the beach towards the stone steps. My head spun, my heart aching after the story of Brent's brother.

I didn't doubt that part of the ache stemmed from my intense longing for him, but I'd done the right thing by not giving in. If I refused to pursue something with Brent out of respect for my relationship, then I refused to pursue it out of respect for him. I couldn't commit, and if anything did happen, I'd still have to go back to London and leave him.

I'm sorry about your boyfriend.

Was he apologising because of Alastair's bad behaviour? Or was he being more literal and referring to Alastair getting in the way of us?

Like most things with Brent, it was near impossible to tell, and I'd probably blown my chance of finding out.

~~~

Thank you for reading :) xx

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