Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

His voice flows through my ears, taking me back to the first time I listened to this exact record when I was only eight years old. Closing my eyes, I soak in the tone of his voice and the instruments in the background; relishing every single syllable he utters.

I let the record play out, all the while moving my hips gently side to side, feeling like I’m being transported back to the 1960s.

When the last lyrics finish and the instruments stop playing, I lift the record up and slide it back into the case before placing the headphones on the hook at the side. I can’t not buy this one.

Paying up, I walk out of the shop, my hand smoothing over my bag where it sits, a beaming smile on my face matching the bright sun shining down on me.

I practically skip past all the shops and to the beach, finding the perfect spot—not too close to the water but close enough to not hear all of the commotion from the small path that runs along the top.

Pulling my towel out, I lay it on the sand before discarding my denim skirt and tank top, leaving me in my white bikini bottoms and halter top. Adjusting the small buckles sitting on my hips, I sit down and do some people-watching.

Kids are making sandcastles near the water, parents watching them closely. A group of guys are playing volleyball on a makeshift court not far from me; the sounds of their laughter mixing in with the waves as they roll in. I can’t remember the last time I people-watched knowing I didn’t have to look after Clay or Izzie, or have a time limit on when I needed to be back. It’s not like I don’t have the opportunity, I just don’t like to be too far away in case I’m needed. Which is crazy because Tris is more than capable, but it’s become more of a habit, knowing I’m only a few feet away from the main house.

Leaning back on my elbows, I dip my head back and close my eyes. The burning sensation on my shoulders reminds me I need to apply sunblock so I sit up, pulling it out of my bag and squirting some into the palm of my hand. I look up briefly before applying it and then whip my head back up, doing a double take.

No. He can’t be here.

A surfboard followed by a man wearing a wetsuit catches my attention. He shakes out his brown wet hair which causes drops of water to surround him, his lips lifting up into a carefree grin as he talks to someone near the edge of the water.

Grabbing my bag frantically, I look for something to hide my face. Why the hell didn’t I pack a big floppy hat?

“Quick, quick,” I murmur, needing something—anything.

Aha! My tank top! I grab it, lying down on my towel and throwing it over my face. I don’t know how long I stay there, counting my breaths and trying to appear as normal as possible, but once I hit 500 I slowly lift my arm and pull my tank top off my face. Staying deathly still, I skirt my gaze left and right, not seeing anything.

My breath leaves me in a rush. Phew. Seeing Nate while wearing so little clothes and him in a wetsuit that sticks to every contour of muscle has my mind flitting back to a month ago when he took me to the sports bar and to his happy trail.

Dammit, don’t go there.

A shadow descends over me, blocking the sun and I know then that I didn’t have a lucky escape. I tilt my head back, looking up into his green eyes and taking note of the smirk stretching along his face.

“Well… hello there, pretty lady. Fancy seeing you here.”

I groan, slamming my eyes shut. “I didn’t know this was your beach.”

He snorts and I feel him throw himself down in the sand beside me. “Not my beach.” I crack one eye open, staring at him with a raised brow. “It’s good to see you out and about for once.”

My gaze flits down to his chest, his pecs glistening with water from the sea before trailing down his abs and to the start of the wetsuit where he’s pulled it down to his hips.

“Anyway, what are you doing here?”

I stare at him for a beat, watching the way he flicks his gaze from mine briefly almost as if he’s nervous. But this is Nate—the guy who’s the life of a party, always ready with a joke and a playful grin. Surely he can’t be nervous?

“I went to the record store and now I’m going to sunbathe the day away.” I pick up my tank top that’s lying next to me before folding it up, trying to occupy my hands. “Tris went to watching week and said I didn’t need to be there at all today.”

“Watching week?” he asks, his eyes roaming down my legs.

I clear my throat. “Well, watching week was last week but Harmony…” I trail off, wondering whether I should be saying this to Nate. But I’ve started now and I can’t leave it hanging there. “She said he could come and watch the kids during the art class today as he missed last week’s.”

“So, he let the kids go back there again?” His face screws up and he looks away. “I didn’t know, we haven’t spoken since the cookout. But that’s good.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “The class is good for them; especially Clay.” We’re both silent for a couple of minutes before I ask, “So you’re here surfing?” Could I be anymore awkward?

He grins and motions toward his surfboard dug into the sand behind us. “Sure am. I come here a lot.”

I swing my head around, really looking at the giant board and noting the couple of stickers on the back. “What’s it like?” I ask, bringing my gaze back to his. “Surfing?”

“What?” His eyes widen. “You mean to tell me you’ve been living this close to the beach for almost six years and you’ve never been surfing before?”