Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

The most challenging part about maintaining my boundaries is that I have no clue how Luca’s doing right now. I think it’s making me itch. I know that it’s only been a little over a week since we’ve spoken, but it feels like we’re already worlds apart, separated like the highs and lows of a king tide.

I’m so tempted to ask Eden how he’s faring with the team. But I won’t because I’m not so sure I can bear to hear about his suffering, no matter how angry and disappointed I might be with him.

I hate the idea of Luca feeling hurt and alone, physically or emotionally. That still doesn’t mean I’m willing to forgive, forget, and move forward just yet.

His words sliced into me, pierced something deep inside my soul. Knowing he could lash out at me like that again—say things he says he doesn’t mean—has scarred me. It’s bred an insecurity that goes even deeper than the one my parents instilled.

A small part of me worries now that I’m too much for him . . . or for anyone, for that matter. That, inevitably, the people I love will start to believe that I’m a girl made of fluff, living in a dream world that doesn’t exist.

But I suppose I can’t live in fear of the unknown. Luca could hurt me again—of course he could, just as I could hurt him back.

It’s a calculated risk, one I have to ensure is worth taking before I dive back in.

For now, I’m throwing my concentration into finishing up the fall term, acing my finals, and putting my best foot forward in this internship. There are only two more weeks left until winter break hits, and all things considered, I’ve had such an incredible experience with the baseball team so far.

The guys have been welcoming and responsive to all my ideas, plus I’ve learned so much from my supervisor, Minh, in such a short time. He’s coming in as a close third to both Professor Gill and Jaqui Nerrie on my list of sports med idols.

I may have started this internship for the wrong reasons—chasing a boy I have no real interest in—but I can’t bring myself to regret how everything panned out. Nate and I have rebuilt our bridges now, anyway. It’s more of a casual acquaintanceship, which I’m more than fine with, although he does still invite me to every baseball party at his house.

All of us are out on the field again today, one of the last outdoor preseason practices before the weather turns. After finishing up a round of footwork drills, Nate comes to rest on the bench beside me, kicking both his feet up.

“I heard your boy’s out for the rest of the season,” he says, casually tipping his chin in my direction.

“What?” I reel back, scrunching up my nose. “Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s going around everywhere.” He furrows his brow, brushing some dirt off the knee of his pants. “‘Ötzi Reynolds got into a fight and tore his MCL.’ Did you . . . not know about it? I figured you two were still together.”

“His name’s Luca,” I say pointedly. “And no, I knew about the injury. I just . . . I didn’t know what the end result was.”

“Yeah, I mean, it makes sense.” He shrugs, head dropping back as he stretches out his pitching arm. “That kind of tear is pretty fucking nasty.”

I sigh and shake my head, murmuring out a distracted “Mhm, yeah.”

He searches my face. “So, if you didn’t know . . . does this mean you two aren’t together anymore?”

I manage to suppress an eye roll, my curiosity wilting. “Not currently, no.”

He perks up. “So you’re available, then? Would you—”

“No, sorry.” I wince, attempting to let him down easy. Considering everything that’s happened this term, I’m not sure why he would even try. “I’m not really available or, um, interested.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

He pats the bench, gives me a tight smile, and stands to leave. As he’s walking away, I cover my face with my hands, aching to reach into my bag for my phone.

In the grand scheme of things, what harm could one little text do? I could quickly check in with Luca, ensure that he’s not spiraling out of control, and then go back to taking my space.

I blow out a breath, working to distract myself from the thought—nibble on a cuticle, tap my fingers against the bench, scratch at my forearm. Fiddle around with the Surfbreak poker chip in my pocket. In the end, I choose not to even tempt myself, keeping my phone tucked safely away inside my bag.

It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to break my rules now, not when I still need more time to think.

Two more painful weeks of silence pass before I spot Luca at the pier. I’ve successfully avoided Amber Isle for the most part, on the off chance that he might still be working. But today happens to be a balmy Sunday, finals are over, Stella’s working, and I’m a girl in need of the best burger on the beach.

From my spot at the counter, I can see that he’s seated on a bench, rifling through a box of fishing equipment. His head is turned toward the ground, and he hasn’t spotted me yet. By the time I finish up with my meal, I decide that I might as well approach him.

Standing a few paces away, I clear my throat and toss out a pitiful little “Hey, Luca.”

His head darts up, eyes widening in surprise. He clears his throat, wipes his hands down the front of his jeans, and carefully pushes himself into a standing position.

With warmth flooding his cheeks, he says, “Hey, Harper.”

I bite my lower lip, gaze trailing across his tall frame. Despite his obvious exhaustion—tilted posture, dark circles, pale complexion—he looks good. Just as ruggedly handsome as always.

“Can I join you for a minute?” I ask, gesturing to the slatted wooden bench behind him.

He carefully nods, reclaiming his seat as I move in next to him. It’s quiet—peaceful for a moment—only the whooshing of the waves breaking the silence between us.

“So, how’s that space treating you?” he finally asks, voice soft and low.

I shrug, murmuring, “Just peachy.”

He slumps down. “Really?”

“No, no, I wish.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh, a nervous smile playing along the edges of my lips. “Told you I’m a horrible liar.”

His gaze softens. “So you have been missing me, then?”

“Of course I have.” I shift to face him, studying his guarded expression. “Do you miss me?”

He smooths a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I miss every-fucking-thing about you.”

I arch a brow. “Oh yeah, like what?”

“I miss your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smile. The sound of your voice when you’re happy. The way you blush when I say something you weren’t expecting. The smell of your skin after a day at the beach . . . Touching you for touching’s sake. Kissing you just because I can.” He takes a deep breath, swallows low in his throat. “God, there’s no fucking question that I miss you, Harper.”

“Oh.” I’m fairly certain he just stole the air from my lungs. “I guess that’s a pretty good answer.”

He reaches for my hand, pinches his eyes shut, retreats without touching me. “Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“I forgive you.” I slowly breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth—one long, deep exhale. “I-I’m just not a hundred percent sure where to go from here.”

“Okay.” He awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck, rigid in his seat. “Well, um, I think you should know that I’ve been seeing someone.”

I work to keep my bottom lip from trembling, shock and confusion coursing through me. “What?”

His brows shoot up. “God, fuck, I mean . . . not like that. I mean I’ve been talking to a therapist. Coach set me up with someone, says I need to work on my mental fortitude just as much as I need to build myself back up physically.”

He wrings his hands together, tension pouring out of him. “So I’m out of hands-on practice for the rest of the regular season, but now I’ve got PT twice a week, plus my meetings with a mental health counselor. I’ve only been going for a couple of weeks so far, obviously, but I think it’s been really good for me.”

A profound sense of pride courses through me, enveloping every negative thought and emotion I’ve had over the last three torturous weeks. If losing me is what it took to kick Luca’s ass into gear, then I’m so fucking happy to know it was all worth it in the end.

“Wow, I’m really glad to hear that.”

“And, uh, I talked to my parents about everything that’s been going on. The injury, the money, my brother . . . They’re getting him the help he needs. And they’ve also worked out a payment plan for Giorgie’s gym. My therapist helped me realize that I’ve been taking on way too much this term.” He reaches for me again. This time, we both let him pull my hand into his lap, tangling our fingers together. “I-I know you’ve told me that from the beginning. I really should’ve fucking listened to you.”

I squeeze his hand. “I’m so happy for you, Luca.”

“Thank you.” He gives me a lopsided smile, one that warms me up like my favorite blanket. “You know, I wouldn’t have ever gotten to this point without you pushing me.”

“I hate to ask, but what about the draft?”Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Coach says I might still be able to play in a postseason all-star game. That is, if I keep healing the way I have been. Then I can do the Combine in February and go from there. I still have a pretty fair shot.” He gives me a sheepish look. “I think, rationally, I should’ve realized that’s how things might work out. I guess I’m not used to shit going my way, so I tend to catastrophize . . . as my therapist so kindly pointed out.”

“It’s fair. You’ve had it rough.” I lean into him, pressing my cheek to his bicep. “I understand how scared you must have been. Believe me, I really do.”

“Sorry, that was . . . a lot about me.” He chokes out an awkward cough. “How have you been?”

“It’s okay, you deserve to worry about yourself for once.” I cross my legs, twist a strand of hair between my fingers. “But I’ve been okay. My internship ended on a great note. Finals were okay. I’ve actually been spending a lot of time with Eden since her breakup with Fletch. We’ve been having fun, but . . . I don’t know, I feel like a piece of me has been missing since we ended things.”

“So do I.” His hand leaves mine, fingertips grazing against my cheek, caressing me. “Do you—would you maybe want to try again?”

I suck in a breath. “I do want to be with you, but . . .”

“I get it, it’s okay.” He pulls his hand back, squares his shoulders. “You don’t have to say it.”

“No, Luca. I’ve had my time to think, and I want us to get back together.” I lean closer, pinning him with the most serious look I can muster. “But when things get rough, you can’t speak to me like that or push me away ever again. From now on, we deal with all of our problems together. As a team.”

“Together.” He nods his agreement, a broad smile stretching across his face and sparking an ember in his eyes. “Always. I fucking promise.”