"Tell him you're going on a trip round the world and you'll be gone for months." He kisses me one more time and helps me stand up straight again.
That makes me giggle, but it's not a bad idea so I can have more time alone with Foster.
He picks up my bag from the floor and grabs my hand. He walks me into the living room where an older man is sitting in a recliner watching a boxing match on the TV.
"Henry!" Foster is beaming. I don't think my mere presence has ever made anyone as happy as it has made him. "This is Mila."
Henry looks over and a sweet smile blooms on his gray-bearded chin. "Ahh, Mila. Finally, I meet you." He looks like he's as happy to see me as Foster. He holds up his hands and I walk to him and take them.
His skin is cold and fragile, but he squeezes my fingers with a forceful vigor. "Sit and chat with me." He reaches for the remote and clicks off the TV.
Foster grins down at us.
"Foster tells me you're quite the competitor on the bike."
I laugh and look up at him and smile. It's been a long time since we rode the streets of the Hamptons together. "He was taking it easy on me. I heard you are the real-life Malibu Elvis. Is that true?"
His face lights up and he glances at Foster. "Not a name I would have picked for myself but that's what they called me."
"I'll leave you two to it." Foster interrupts us. "I was making something to eat." He bends to kiss my cheek and heads toward the kitchen.
"So you're from California? It's so beautiful there. I visited once and thought I could stay forever."
"I'm from the old California. Not the way it is now. Back when surfing was fun and the beaches were clean and empty. It's turned into a goddamn zoo now, but the waves were free when I rode them in Malibu."
"Do you have any pictures?"
He grins. "There's some video of me on the waves and of course, the book." He rolls his eyes and points to a thick hardcover book with a yellow and gray cover. The title is "Malibu Elvis" and the sleeve has some tears at the edges like he's read it lots of times.
"You don't like the book?"
He shrugs. "It is what it is. You can't capture someone's life in pages. They embellished stuff. I wasn't the rebel they painted me to be. Sure I broke shit and got in fights, but everyone was doing that back then. The only thing that book gets right is my respect for the waves and my love for my Sherry. The rest is bullshit."
I walk over to the book and pick it up.
"You don't need to read it." He waves his hand like the story of his life is inconsequential.
Inside the pictures show a handsome young man with unruly black hair. When he rides the waves, he keeps his shoulders low and leans back. His hands are up in front of him like he's chopping the air. "You look pretty cool to me."
"Put that down and come back over here."
"Do you still surf?" I ask him as I flip through the chapters.
"Woman. I'm old now. I've ridden my last wave. But I have my memories."
I set the book down and walk over to the couch. "You should go to the beach, even if you can't ride. Just to be with the waves."
He nods. "Foster takes me when I'm feeling up to it."
"That's good."
Foster steps out of the kitchen. "Mila, come here for a second."
"I'll be right back."
I walk over to Foster and he touches my arm as I pass him into the kitchen. "What is it?"
He has three plates out on the counter with oranges and apples slices. A pot of pasta boils on the stove. "Henry can't go to the beach as much anymore."
"Why not?"
He lowers his voice so Henry can't hear. "He's going through chemo. Some days are bad. So don't talk about how he should go. Makes him sad."
"Oh my gosh. He has cancer? Is he going to beat it?"
Foster shakes his head. "We don't know. He's fighting it, but pancreatic cancer has a low survival rate and it's basically incurable." He turns to his pot and stirs it with a wooden spoon.
Incredible sadness clogs my throat. He must be so worried about losing him. "Does he have good doctors? He should take special vitamins and eat a healthy diet. Has he tried acupuncture?"
He nods. "We've tried all that. It helps."
"Oh." I step up behind him and place my hand flat between his shoulders. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right." He's being strong but his head is down and he's not looking at me. He pours the pasta shells out into a colander and scoops a clump on each of our plates before sprinkling parmesan and salt over them. "Bring this one to him." He hands me a plate and takes the other two plates out to Henry with some forks.
We eat the simple meal and chat about lots of things. The Round Table Gauntlet. He thinks Foster should enter the competition too. The dog who ran with us at the beach, Blizzard. Henry says he would have liked for Foster to bring him home. Foster's fighting. He's very proud of him for all his wins, but worries he'll get hurt. His wife Sherry. He loved her like crazy and he's been sad since he lost her.
Henry's eyes drift closed and he slows down.
"Let's get you to bed." Foster helps him up and walks him into the first bedroom in the hallway. I wait in the kitchen because Henry might need his privacy as Foster helps him get ready for bed.
When Foster returns, he leans his shoulder against the doorframe and he's grinning at me, but there's a tired sadness in his eyes.
"This is hard for you."
"Yeah. I don't mind. He took care of me. I take care of him." He shrugs like it's not a big deal but taking care of a sick person can be draining. "He likes you."
That makes me smile. "I like him too."
"C'mon." He holds out his hand and I take it. He leads me down the hallway to the master bedroom. His room is starkly different from the professionally decorated living room. All the surfaces in here are covered with trophies. Gold men kicking high over their heads, tigers growling, round gold medals on red, white, and blue fabric. He has racks of belts tied in knots hanging on the walls along with posters from Kung Fu movies, Karate Kid, Fight Club, Jean-Claude Van Damme and several other Chinese movies with ninjas and fighters.
"Wow. This room you decorated yourself."
He glances at the wall. "Yep."
I walk over to the windows and look out at the Hudson. "Such a pretty view."
He stands behind me and his heat hits my back. "Mmm-hmm." His fingers brush my hair aside and his warm lips land on my neck causing a tickle that raises goosebumps on my arms. I stay still because the way the city is looking in on us and we are looking out feels significant. It's like our worlds have finally meshed after watching him from the other side of the glass for so long. He wraps his hands around my waist and curls in close until every inch of his front is enmeshed into my back and I'm shrouded in his powerful frame.
Chapter 14 Mine
His soft lips wander down my neck to the edge of my shoulder as he nudges the fabric of my dress aside to taste my skin in the most reverent way. When his fingers around my hip twist in the fabric of my dress, a soft mewl escapes my lips and my knees falter. How can he be so gentle and rough at the same time? How can his touch set my skin ablaze with the ghost of a kiss on my shoulder?