I get out of bed and slip my bra on underneath my T-shirt before leaving Luke’s room.
But Luke is nowhere to be found. The television is off; the kitchen doesn’t look or smell as though anything has been cooked in it yet; the running shoes, as well as the flip-flops Luke normally wears, are still sitting sloppily on the floor beside the television; his wallet and car keys are still on the kitchen counter, so I know he can’t be far.
I push open the squeaky screen door, making my way out onto the lanai, but he’s not sitting out here, either, which was where I expected him to be.
“Luke?” I call out softly from the lanai, my voice smothered by the thunder and heavy rain; a streak of lightning darts across the sky in my peripheral vision, followed by a vociferous crack and roar of thunder—I jump at the unexpected sharp sound; I can feel it move through my feet as the lanai seems to shake. Rain splatters on me in tiny spray-like drops as the brisk wind pushes it sideways amid the storm.
I don’t know how it hit me so fast, but suddenly I react on the urge to look inside the house from the screen door, my eyes passing over the wall in the kitchen where two surfboards—Luke’s and Seth’s—are usually propped, and when I notice Luke’s is missing, my heart sinks into my feet.
Before my mind even realizes, my bare feet are carrying me down the lanai steps and into the hammering storm.
I run through the rain and wind and thick wet sand all the way out to the beach, where I stop as if a brick wall suddenly shot up in front of me when I see Luke, a speck of dark, out-of-place movement, riding the violent waves on his surfboard.
Gasping, my stomach tightening, I fling my hand over my mouth. Rain rushes over my head and down my face in heavy streams, but nothing can force my eyes closed, as I’m fixed on the perilous scene, watching Luke surf in the storm.
For a second I’m more mad and disappointed than I am afraid—why is he doing this alone? I ask myself.
But he’s not alone, I realize when I find the courage to tear my eyes away from him. Another dark figure, stark against the gray-and white-capped water, emerges from the top of a wave not too far from Luke.
All I can do is watch in awe and in horror—I’ve never seen Luke surf quite like this, riding big, thrashing waves and very much like a pro, which he told me once he was not. Maybe that’s true, but he sure looks like one to me out there. But every time he gets clipped by a wave and disappears under the water, my hands begin to shake and my heart stops and every muscle in my body locks up. Not until I see his head appear from the top of the churning water do I feel like I can move and breathe again.
A long time passes while I stand on the beach in the downpour, before I decide that I just can’t watch anymore.
I run back to the house and to the safety of the lanai, where I wait for another thirty minutes, drenched in my clothes, before Luke finally comes back safely.
He looks stunned to see me sitting here when he notices me from the bottom step, surfboard tucked under his arm.
He smiles hugely, looking me over.
“What are you—why are you wet?” he asks with a wrinkled nose, setting his board upright against the side of the house.
I return his smile, but it’s not as bright as his.
“I was watching you surf.” I tell him the truth—I wonder if he can detect the discomfort in my voice.
He crouches down in front of me on his long, muscled legs, tilts his head to one side, and says, “You all right?”
Great—I guess he did see the discomfort, after all.
My legs drop from a crossed position on the chair and I set my feet on the wood in front of him.
“Yeah, I was just a little freaked out seeing you do that.”
He places his hands on my knees; his smile just gets bigger.
“Look, I’m fine,” he points out, gesturing both hands at himself, but when he sees that I probably don’t look too convinced, he pushes back into a stand and reaches for my hand. “Come on, why don’t you get out of those wet clothes, and I’ll make you breakfast.”
I take his hand and follow him into the house. I change clothes and pin up my hair before heading into the kitchen to the delicious smell of bacon cooking on the stove.
“I’m sorry, Sienna,” Luke says as I sit down at the bar. “Last thing I wanna do is freak you out. I shouldn’t have gone out there with you here at the house. But I’m fine, see!” He turns from the stove, smiling brightly, and places an empty glass in front of me. “I may do some extreme stuff, but I’m really safe about it all. I never surf like that alone.” He reaches over the bar and brushes his fingertip over the bridge of my nose—it eases me in an instant, and a smile turns up on my lips. “I had Braedon out there with me,” he adds.
“Yeah, I saw you weren’t alone.” I admit that does make me feel a lot better, and I think he knows that judging by the smile of acceptance on my face.
“And I never am,” he insists, going toward the fridge. “Orange juice? Milk?”
“Orange juice is good.”
He comes back with a half gallon in his hand and pours some into my glass.
Maybe I’m just being overly cautious, as usual, letting my fear of heights bleed into everything else. I’ve never really been afraid of the risks associated with cliff-diving and storm-surfing and other things like that, but then I’ve never really been faced with them before I met Luke, either.
Just the same, I don’t want to come off bitchy or maternal, telling Luke I think he shouldn’t do this and shouldn’t do that. It’s his lifestyle, and from what I’ve seen so far he seems to know what he’s doing.