Page 81 of Catcher's Lock

A grin lights his face when he sees me, all popcorn and power drills and staggeringly boyish—the captured moment when mischief spills over into delight. The morning sun slants hazily through the trees, catching along his sharp cheekbones and glimmering in the salt-dried velvet of his hair.

My selkie.

In the wake of too many conflicting emotions, his beauty is a lethal thing, detonating the tectonic layers of my fear until the fragments coat my skin. I’m rendered raw and reeling, and from the haze of vodka and betrayal, three thoughts emerge with startling clarity:

He came back.

I’m going to fuck him in that wetsuit.

We’re not going to make it to the bedroom this time.

27

Selkie

Gemiah

Age 24 (Now)

I’d forgotten how much I love being on the water.

My limbs are pleasantly lethargic from their battle with the surf, and my skin has that tight, tacky feeling that comes from being drenched in brine and not quite drying in the coastal haze.

The desert has its own charms, but I can’t pretend I didn’t miss the sea.

Still, the sunrise over the Pacific has nothing on the man sitting shirtless on the steps in front of me. With his sleep-mussed hair and his bare feet and his broad, tanned shoulders catching the dappled light…I could get used to coming home to this.

Then I notice the bottle dangling from his hand, and my steps slow as my brow furrows.

“A little early for you, isn’t it?” I ask, keeping my voice light.

“You jealous?”

I rock back at the sudden sting. “What is this?”

“You left.” The words are toneless, but a hurricane of hurt swirls in his eyes.

Fuck.

“I went surfing.”

“You didn’t call or text.”

“My phone was dead. I forgot to plug it in last night, but I—”

“You couldn’t charge it in my truck?”

“I did, but you know what the service is like on the coast. That’s why I left the note.”

“What note?” He tilts his head as I approach, all guarded menace.

“The note on your nightstand. Didn’t you see it? It was right by your phone.”

“There was no fucking note,” he spits, bursting to his feet to tower over me from the top of the porch.

“I—”

“You disappeared in the middle of the fucking night.Again.”