Fish Tale
"Chicken!"
"No, I'm just not stupid!" Brian bit back.
"Bwark, bwark, bwark!"
The chorus of chicken sounds surrounded Brian. He wanted nothing to do with this but didn't want to be seen as a wimp. Though commonsense told him to walk away, being sixteen meant he rarely listened to it when peer pressure was upon him—and when hot chicks were watching.
This was the first summer his mom allowed him to go to the beach without an adult, a hard-won battle, and he didn't intend for it to end up being an utter bust, earning the reputation of a chicken. He wanted to be accepted by this group, which seemed to rule the sand. They were the in-crowd, and Brian wanted to be part of it for once. His ideals and focus on his future usually left him on the outs.
He glanced out at the ocean again. He was a strong swimmer—he could do it, had done it with Sonny and Brock last summer at least twice. He discounted the time he freaked when he got a cramp and had to rely on his swim buddy to keep him afloat until it eased. What were the odds of getting another cramp?
"Spenser, you're always bragging about how your dad was a badass SEAL, and you're gonna be one too. You don't have the guts to do it. I bet your dad was just a paper-pusher, and you're making up all that stuff."
His button pushed, Brian glared at the group's de facto leader. "He was a top-tier SEAL, and I will be too."
"Yeah? Prove it! Or are you all talk and no action?" Paul goaded.
Brian tore off his t-shirt and kicked off his sandals, then double-checked his waterproof cellphone pouch was sealed. His mom would kill him if he ruined another one by forgetting to close the dry bag properly. "I'll show you!" He ran towards the water. Once waist deep, he dove and began swimming with powerful strokes. He hit the gym with Sonny on most weekends when his uncle was not busy with the greenies and had developed well-defined guns for his age.
Sounds from the shore diminished as he sliced through the water and waves. Brian enjoyed the peace he found when he swam in the open ocean—feeling a connection with his dad. It was almost as if his father glided along with him. Losing himself in imaginings of what it would be like had his dad not been killed—the times they could've and should've had—Brian paid no attention to how far out he went, not realizing he was well past the distance of the dare.
"Fuck, I can't see him anymore."
"Me neither."
"Did he drown?"
"Should we alert the lifeguard?"
"And get in trouble? Hell no. I'm outta here," Paul stated and strode away.
Most of the faithless group of teens dispersed, leaving a few concerned ones at the water's edge scanning the horizon.
Vicky held the binoculars, searching for the cute blond boy with soulful blue eyes. She wished Paul hadn't egged him into swimming out so far. Her conscience getting the best of her, she lowered the glasses and took off at a trot to the nearest lifeguard tower. It was nearing six, and they'd be off duty in about twenty minutes, so she needed to report this now.
"Hey, we can't find Brian. He swam out but hasn't come back," Vicky called out to the hunky man in red shorts—god, he was gorgeous.
"Where did he go in and when?" Sam asked the concerned girl.
Vicky pointed in the general direction. "About ten minutes ago. He was dared to swim out about a half mile out and back."
Sam used his radio to report a missing swimmer beyond the breakers, instigating a search and rescue operation.
Irritated that Brian was late for dinner, Stella switched off the oven and huffed. Her teenage boy had become a handful. She often wondered where her sweet, level-headed boy had gone. Having to deal with his sarcasm and defiance over the littlest things on a daily basis left her exhausted.
Her friends with girls told her she had it easy—boys were easier than emotionally volatile girls, but none had boys. And surely didn't have one as intelligent, driven, brash, and sometimes incredibly stupid as Brian. Jason smiled when she related incidents to him, seeking advice, and told her Brian was so like Clay. The last time she went to him, he related the time Clay backtalked Big Chief during his Green Team training.
She'd lost count of how many times Clay's brothers compared Brian to Clay. Although true, it didn't solve her problem—how to keep her son from making a major screw-up that would dash his desire to join the Navy and try out for the SEALs.
Picking up her phone, she called Brian, but it went straight to voicemail. "You better have a good reason for being late. And losing track of the time isn't one of them." Ending the call, Stella blew out a breath, wishing Clay was here to help her deal with a boy who was trying to become a man.
Stella moved to the table and sat down as grief ambushed her. It didn't happen as often as it had in the first few years after losing Clay, but the feelings were still as intense when they snuck up on her. After having a quick cry, she rose to wash her face—not wanting Brian to catch her in such an emotional mess. Stopping in the hall, her fingers caressed Clay's smiling face in a photo from their wedding day. "Miss you, blue eyes."
"Okay, men, we've got ourselves a real-life mission," Sonny said as he peered at the latest batch of greenies.
"What's up, Senior Chief?" Ridgestone asked.
"We're going to help the Coast Guard in a search mission. Some dumbass teenager took a dare to swim beyond the breakers alone and likely got caught in a rip current. He's been missing for over two hours, and they are expanding their search parameters. With the sun going down shortly, they are calling all available resources to assist."
As his men geared up, Sonny's phone rang, and he stole a glance, wondering if it was Lisa, and if not, considered giving her a call to tell her he would be home … well, sometime tonight, maybe, depending on how things went. But Stella's face showed. He answered with, "Hey, Stella. Can't talk long. Whatcha need?"
"Has Brian called you today?"
"No. Why?"
"He's late … so late, and not answering his phone. I'm gonna wring his neck when he gets home."
"Is he out with Mike and Zach?"
"No. They're in summer school, so he went with a new friend to the beach today. I didn't particularly care for the boy who picked him up. Got a bad vibe from him. Anyway. Well, I'll let you go, but if Bri calls you because he's gotten into some mischief, please let me know."
"Will do." Sonny hung up as an anchor landed in the pit of his stomach. A sense of urgency had him yelling at the greenies to hurry up.
Brian was in deep shit, and he knew it. He hadn't paid attention and swam farther than he should've. When he tried to return, he got caught in a rip current that took him out to sea, though he swam parallel to the shore, trying to escape it. When the sun dropped below the horizon, he flipped on his back and floated, trying to conserve his energy as he began to shiver.
Every warning Sonny, Brock, Trent, Jason, and Ray had pounded into his head about open water swimming and survival played on a loop. He screwed up big time, and now his mom would be worried about him. That's the part that hit him hardest. She would be sitting at home waiting for him, and he might never come home and be able to tell her how sorry he was for all the grief he'd given her lately.
Morbidly, he thought she might have to bury an empty casket, doubting anyone would alert the lifeguard. In retrospect, the group he hung out with, since his buddies were in summer school, weren't exactly friend material. They came up woefully short when he measured their actions against Zach and Mike. His best friends had the qualities of his uncles. Neither of them would've goaded him into swimming alone that far out.
His brain engaging, Brian's tremoring hand reached for his cell phone on the lanyard around his neck. He kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner—a lot sooner. He pressed on the clear screen, and it came to life. But his heart dropped—no signal. His plan to call Sonny died there and then.
In a moment of pure desperation, he yelled, "Dad, help me."
He waited, but nothing happened, and no one came.
They'd searched for over an hour, and Sonny's gut churned with each passing minute. They were sure to call off the search soon—it was unlikely a swimmer would survive past the four-hour mark due to hypothermia. When he asked, the Coast Guard commander said the swimmer's name was Brian … no surname was given. But that's when Sonny knew for sure it was his battle boo's son.
He debated whether to call Stella 'cause if he was wrong, and Brian was off drinking, smoking weed, or at some lame-assed party, he didn't want to put her through hell. But if it was him and he didn't call … he'd feel guilty, too. His ruminations were interrupted as Ridgestone called out, "I think I saw something."
Sonny scrambled over to the other side of the helo. "Where?"
"There. Yes. It's a body," Ridgestone shouted over the rotor noise.
The word 'body' made Sonny's heart skip a beat. Following the Greenie's directions, Sonny trained the high-powered spotlight in the direction. Indeed, it was a face-down body wearing blue swim trunks, with blond hair waving with the current.
Sonny jumped feet first into the ocean and began swimming, pleading with God for Brian to be alive, though all indicators pointed to the opposite.
He grabbed the arm and turned him over. "No. Dammit! No. You can't die. I won't let you." Sonny pinched the kiddo's nose shut, then covered Brian's mouth with his own and blew a breath. Then another. And another. He continued as his trainees appeared beside him with a Stokes. He never stopped as they got Brian into the basket and strapped in, or while someone, Sonny couldn't tell you who, linked him to the rope that would haul the boy up.
Once in the helicopter, Sonny started chest compressions as the others were brought back on board. Sonny's world swirled. Tears dripped unheeded as he continued CPR, hoping for signs of life, even as the others told him it was a lost cause—the kid had no pulse.
Pacing the house, ready to call the police and report her son missing, Stella was startled when someone rapped on her door. She opened the portal and stared at Lisa and Naima. Behind them stood Ray, his face inscrutable, but the expressions on the women told her it wasn't good news.
She froze, unable to speak as images of the night she'd been notified of Clay's death passed through her mind.
"Stella, where is your purse?" Lisa asked. When she didn't get an answer, she slipped inside to locate it as Niama put her arm around Stella's waist and guided her to the car. Ray opened the back passenger door, and they got Stella in as Lisa returned with the handbag and wiggled the keys. "I locked the house."
Street lights blurred as Ray drove. That's the only thing Stella was cognizant of. If the others spoke, she didn't hear them over the rushing water in her head. She found it hard to breathe—like her whole body forgot how to function. The vehicle stopped at some point, and she was helped out.
She didn't want to move forward … to face whatever awaited her inside the building. She couldn't do this again—she wouldn't survive another loss. She wanted to collapse here and never face it—if she didn't, it wouldn't be real—she could go on. She could lecture Brian about being late and not calling her.
Stella's knees buckled.
And Sonny was there to catch her.
Sonny lifted Stella in his arms and carried her inside, concern making him bark, "Did you tell her?"
"We did, but I don't think she heard us," Lisa stated, aware Sonny's anger would dissipate—he wasn't truly mad at them, he was worried about Stella. He took his promise to Clay to heart, and seeing Stella in this condition devastated him.
Without stopping, Sonny strode past the reception desk, leaving Lisa to explain his action to the receptionist who tried to stop him.
Ray turned to Jason. "You think they'll be alright?"
Jason rubbed his thigh, a tick that developed after Nate died. "With time."
Mandy's hand rested on Jason's, halting his movement and comforting him.
Trent exited the treatment area shortly after Sonny went back. His face grim, he slumped into a chair beside Brock and exhaled heavily before leaning forward and burying his face in his hands.
Needing a connection, Brock squeezed Trent's shoulder as Ray and Niama took seats.
No one spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.
"Mom," a weak voice trembled as tears sprouted.
Stella's eyes widened, finding her boy lying on a gurney covered in blankets with an IV attached and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.
"He's alive," Sonny said for the sixth time, and he thought she finally heard him this time with the proof in front of her. Her disbelief had mirrored his when the doctor told him they revived the boy. Hypothermia had saved Brian's life—and Ridgestone's keen eye. He owed that Greenie a truckload of beer.
Stella reached for her son, her hand shaking almost as much as the one that snaked out from under the mound of warming blankets.
Hooking the chair with his foot, Sonny drew it closer to the bed and set Stella down so she didn't have to break the connection.
After staring at Brian for a long moment, Stella found her voice. "What happened?"
Exhausted beyond belief, with great effort, Brian said, "I drowned, but Sonny saved me. The doctor said he didn't give up when I didn't have a pulse."
Stella gripped Sonny's hand and squeezed as tears rolled down. "I don't know what we'd ever do without you. You're a godsend to us."
His tone rough with emotion, Sonny replied, "Ditto." Inhaling, he composed himself and said, "Well, I should go tell the others that Nemo here is gonna be okay with a little rest." He winked at Brian. "You'll be getting a lot, as I expect you'll be grounded for the remainder of the summer."
Brian groaned—he might be grounded until he was eighteen once his mother learned how stupid he'd been.
Stella still didn't know how her son almost drowned or how Sonny had been the one to rescue him, but the interplay between them told her it was a story that would never be forgotten—and might be embellished with each telling, like most fish tales.
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Hope you enjoyed this episode. Wish I had more time to write them, but I am behind schedule with the four books I'm writing and need to give them most of my time. Two of them are 3/4 of the way done, one is 1/2 way, and sadly the fourth one only has one chapter done. Happy reading. If you like my writing style, check out my published novels at lauraactonauthor. com (remove the space after the .)