Chasing Xaris
Authors: Samantha Bennett
Chasing Xaris
by Samantha Bennett
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chasing Xaris
Copyright © 2013 by Samantha Bennett
Published by Tributaries Press
Orlando, FL
~ Pittsburgh, PA
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cover photograph used with the permission of Leah Dawson.
Cover design by Ellie Beckler Designs.
ISBN 978-0-9887771-6-3
Contents
S
o many people to thank! Jon Bennett, thank you for fine-tuning the surfing portions of this story. If it weren’t for you, Chandler would not be nearly as cool. Efstathios Papadopoulos, your attention to all things Greek has made such a difference in Chandler’s story. Thank you for all the time you invested! Steven Richards, thank you for your knowledge in combat, etc. If zombies invade, I want to be in your camp!
Anthony Valenza, your love of olives is infectious. Thank you for teaching me about Floridian olive groves and treating us to a tour of yours (olivebranchtreefarmfl.com). Wallace and Kaitlin Tennille, thanks for the chats about McCarthyism, shore visibility, and so much more. Dr. Ben Bloxham, thank you for your medical expertise and also for marrying your wife Xaris, whose name—with all of its beautiful meaning—became a huge part of this story.
Moving on to other fabulous people! Nichole Huff, you are a fantastic editor. Thank you for offering your brilliance to these pages. Ellie Beckler, your talent in design is spectacular. You’re also a spectacular friend who has taught me oh-so-much about love. And thanks to your mama, Karen Davis, for answering some questions for me. Leah Dawson, thank you for the permission to use the cover photo. You have been kind and generous from the start. Joshua Grosshans, thank you for helping me with all things legal. Sanguines really are delightful human beings.
Jenna Sartor, Melina Hill, Ashley Hoffman, Marcea Ustler, and the SOC writers, thank you for reading different versions of this story over the years and helping me so much along the way. Heather Ostalkiewicz, thank you for being my faithful, insightful, and loving friend/fellow writer. You are a title
maker—thank you for naming this book. Rosie Wittleder, Beverly Cunningham, all my Adelphi sisters, and all my family at First Baptist Church of Winter Garden, you have impacted the revisions of this story in more ways than you know. Thank you for all you’ve taught me about the healing journey.
Joy Givens. Oh my. You are a brilliant writer, friend, and business partner. We’re actually doing this! Thank you for being a champion of
Chandler when she really needed one. If it weren’t for your persistent nudges, few people would know her story. You have poured so much heart and time into this story, and I appreciate every minute. I still think we could have added a Microsoft Paint shark fin on the cover. But there’s always next time…
My beautiful family. All of you, every single one of you,
have been so encouraging as I pursue this writing thing. Thank you for caring and loving me through this. My mama, Melinda Hill, has encouraged my bookish tendencies from the start. Thank you! My dad, Dave Hill, has always supported my dreams. Thanks, papa! I’d also like to thank Janice Bennett and Cheri Hill for their help along the way.
My daughter, Charlotte. I hope you read this one day and learn a little more about how much you’re loved. You are such a gift, and you will bring gifts to many. I love your fierce curiosity, determination, and passion. You are strong and beautiful.
My husband, Jonny B. Well, I’m mentioning you twice, and I think that’s only right. You impacted this story more than anyone. Chandler’s love of the ocean is only one of the things I’ve learned from you. It’s thrilling to see you chase your dream. And now I’m adding a shameless plug for Headwater Outdoor (headwateroutdoor.com).
My Healer. Thank you for teaching me that I’m loved for being, not for doing. You are setting me free, healing me from the inside out. You love process, and you’re teaching me to love it, too. Thank you for loving me into a new person.
To Jon and Charlotte, my love and little love
I
clutched my surfboard under my arm, frowning at the water. The chest-high waves had lured dozens of surfers to my spot. Not that I owned this pier, or any pier in
Fort Lauderdale. Others could surf here. Technically. But it didn’t feel like I had a place in the crowded lineup.
Farther up shore—way farther—only one surfer dotted the water. Sweet. I’d actually have enough room to breathe over there. But as I started to jog that way, I spotted
Jordan in the water ahead. It was hard to miss his bright blond hair. He was talking to another surfer and making huge gestures with his hands.
I grinned and slowed to a stop. How long since I’d surfed with
Jordan? It had definitely been weeks. Probably months. Maybe I could handle the crowd for a few waves.
After I’d checked the leash on my ankle, I sprinted into the surf and dove onto my board. Warm water splashed my face, tasting salty and familiar and wonderful. I licked my lips and paddled forward, gliding across the surface.
As I steered toward Jordan, he waved and paddled the rest of the way to meet me.
“Miss Bloom,” he said, with
his easy smile.
“Mr. Lane,
” I replied.
He sat up on his board,
stretching out his tanned torso. I sat up too and rubbed my shoulders.
“Annoyed that we’re all at your break?”
Jordan asked.
“A little,” I admitted.
“Liar.”
“Fine. A lot. But I’ll let you stay.”
Jordan laughed. “You haven’t changed.”
I smiled at his words, but I knew they weren’t true.
Jordan’s green eyes softened.
“Chandler,” he began.
“So these waves are crazy, huh?” I glanced over my shoulder to see another set rolling in. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. Lane.”
Jordan hesitated, then glanced at the approaching wave. His whole body pulsed to life—narrow and muscular. He straightened the nose of his board, paddled forward, and caught the shoulder of a wave.
As I watched him take off, my legs itched to do the same. I tightened my ponytail, lay on my stomach, and paddled away from the pier—far away. Bit by bit, I neared the sole surfer and realized it was Ari. He was as tan as Jordan and even more muscular. His chest and shoulders were huge, and his black hair hung wild and loose to his shoulders.
He gave me a quick wave and paddled away. As usual. Over the months, the guy had warmed to me a
little, but he totally preferred his space. Which meant I had to admire his surfing from afar.
Ari always picked the best shaped waves of the session, like
he and the ocean shared the same rhythm. Even now, his arms slid into the water instead of slicing through it. I craved that kind of finesse. He was a few years older than me. Maybe in time I’d learn to move like that.
Over my shoulder, I spotted a chest-high wave rolling in.
My wave. The pull of the ocean bobbed me up and down, and the powerful swell expanded beneath me. I leaned forward and poured all my energy into paddling.
T
he wave snagged my board. I popped to my feet and shifted back on the fin. With a bottom turn I steered into the face of the wave, letting its momentum shoot me forward.
Wind whipped my hair. Surf sprayed my face. I felt light and strong
and so free, like I was soaring. Every thought dimmed into a blue abyss.
Then I saw it. Just feet ahead of me, a fin in the wave.
My legs stiffened. I turned, my balance gone, and flew into the water. Current sucked me under, deep and strong. Something tugged on my leash, then slammed into my temple.
Pain exploded behind my eyes. I gasped, sucking in water through my mouth, my nose. What was happening? Had my board hit me? Had the shark?
I kicked hard and punched my fists. My hand grazed my board’s leash. I grabbed hold and yanked my way to the surface, breaching the air with a gasp. I flung my arms over my board and noticed blood dripping onto it.
“Get on your board,” Ari shouted, paddling toward me.
He was right. I needed to get out of the water, but my arms felt too weak for that.
“Chandler!” Ari called. He dove off his board, right toward a fin.
My stomach dropped. The fin was barreling toward me.
I exploded out of the water onto my board
. My arms shook and my head spun. Blood dripped from my forehead onto my board. More blood seeped through the water around me, but I didn’t think it was mine. It couldn’t be. There was so much of it.
Something bumped the back of
my board.
I
looked around and saw Ari’s outline in the water. He was pushing my board toward the beach. Was he okay? Was the blood his?
My board scraped sand, and I rolled onto my back. My head pounded, and my stomach churned. Everything seemed so off.
Ari’s face floated above mine, all angles and sharp lines. Beside his left eye he had a tattoo—a wheel with a blue rim, green spokes, and a bright blue center that shimmered in the sunlight.
“Are you all right?” Ari asked.
Tears pricked my eyes. I nodded, triggering a wave of nausea.
“Your wound doesn’t look too deep,” he said. His fingers grazed my hairline, right above my temple. “You’re really all right?”
I nodded again and felt even more nauseous. Tears dripped down the sides of my face. What was wrong with me? Everything was so jumbled.
“Get some
rest today, Chandler,” he said. “You’ll feel better soon.”
Tears kept coming. I blinked, again and again, but somehow I’d lost control. I didn’t want to meet Ari’s gaze, so I focused on his tattoo, still glittering in the sun. A small blue gem, the shape of a crescent moon, pierced the very center of the wheel.
I gazed at the gem until my eyes grew heavy. I closed them and settled deeper into the sand, letting the darkness soothe me and the sound of waves play in my ears.
“I’m so sorry, Chandler,” Ari
said softly. “I miss Captain Tye too. I still can’t believe they were murdered.”