Life's a Beach

By John-Michael Lander

Myles Deluca has decided to return to Topsail Island for an internship at the Karen Beasley Sea Turtle Rescue and Rehabilitation Center and moves back in with his infamous Republican representative mother, Joyce, who is spearheading House Bill 2 and preventing Braxton King's concert from raising money for the Turtle Project. Although Myles has been extremely careful to protect his mother's political career, he discovers he is more like his late father when his feelings surface for Braxton King.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643500430

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Life's a Beach

John-Michael Lander

Copyright © 2018 John-Michael Lander

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64350-041-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64350-043-0 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Acknowledgments

I would like to dedicate this work of art to Nathan, my soul mate and life partner. Thank you for keeping me grounded and showing me I can follow my dreams.

I need to also acknowledge the following people for their encouragement and support: my team from Page Publishing, especially my literary development agent, Paula Breheny, and my publication coordinator, Danny Yarnell. A special thanks to the Institute of Children Literature and Long Ridge Writers Group.

The people who have read many drafts: Nathan Webber, Neal Henderson, and Doug Thrush. I want to thank the following for their support: Illa and M. T. Taylor, and Mike and Judy Webber.

Thanks to the following for their influence and encouragement: Patricia Nell Warren, Robin Reardon, and Leanna Renee Hiebert.

A special thanks to Bella, Barkley, Bailey, and Bryn for their support and unconditional love.

Chapter 1

The sun was starting to rise, lacing the sky with rose and lavender against the striations of dark clouds. My lungs filled with the salt air as I logged in my daily five miles along the beach. The warm breeze fondled the hairs on my thighs and calves, sending tingling sensations up my spine. The humidity wrapped itself around me like a wool blanket, forcing sweat to bead on my forehead, temples, armpits, chest, and soaked into the front of my maroon shorts. Each stride seemed labored, maybe because of the lack of sleep or the constant questioning if I made the best choice to come back home to Topsail Island for the internship at the Karen Beasley Sea Turtle Rescue and Rehabilitation Center. Tate Lawson, a family friend and manager at the center, encouraged me to continue my late father’s legacy of saving the turtles and impressed on me how it would look on my resume when applying for grad schools in marine biology. But it also meant that I had to move back in with my infamous Republican Party representative mother, Joyce DeLuca.

A wave crashed on the shore, causing me to high step to try and avoid the onrush lapping over my Nikes. As the water receded, several crabs popped out of little holes and skittered sideways before disappearing again beneath the wet sand. The roar of the ocean grabbed my attention to witness a storm raging far off on the horizon with a flash of lightning.

A growl and bark pulled my attention back to the beach. Farther up the coast, looked like a dog digging for something. As I neared, the dog was unaware of me and feverishly pawing the sand, sending the granules high into the air behind it. The prominent display of ribs and the matted fur indicated the dog was probably homeless and running wild. It lifted its long snout and violently shook its head while clutching something between its teeth. It threw its head back, swallowed the object whole, and shoved its nose back down into the sand.

As I neared, small hatchlings were frantically flapping their flippers and inching toward the ocean for freedom, while the beast continued feeding on them.

Get away from there, I yelled.

The dog ignored me and shoved his snout deeper into the sand.

I ran faster, scooping up a handful of shells and throwing them at the animal. Shoo! Go away!

The dog lifted his head, bared teeth, and growled.

I stopped, threw my hands in the air, and looked around for something to protect myself.

The beast hunched its shoulders, scratched the surface of the sand with its right paw, and prepared to pounce.

I withdrew, tripped over some driftwood, and fell backward.

The dog leaped into the air.

I covered my face with my arms for the impact.

A thump and wail filled my ears, but no weight of the canine landed on me.

The dog ran down the beach, looking back over its shoulder.

Are ya okay?

Yeah, I think.

A silhouette of a man appeared with driftwood in one hand and offering me the other.

I was standing in no time and brushing sand from my lower back and legs.

Was that ya dog?

No. I don’t know whose . . .

Well, I whacked it pretty good with this. He held up the driftwood.

I lost my breath when I glanced up and saw the blond hair and blue eyes belonging to my rescuer. You have an accent.

No, I don’t. Ya have the accent. Ya’ve got something there. He reached over and brushed sand from my eyebrow with his thumb.

I quickly pulled away and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. Thanks.

No problem.

Several more hatchlings crawled out of the sand and flailed awkwardly toward the ocean.

Those are turtles, right? The Australian accent was thick. He knelt down to get a closer look.

I just smiled. Yeah, they’re loggerhead hatchlings. I leaned down next to him and inhaled the muskiness of his sun-kissed skin.

How can ya tell? He looked up at me over his broad shoulder.

Heat exploded deep in my belly and quickly raced through my veins as I noticed the long chestnut lashes. You can tell by their large heads.

Look at the way they flop their legs. His giggle was deep and attractive. Where are they going?

They’re trying to reach the ocean.

Okay, but where do they go when they reach the ocean, it’s a pretty massive place. One hatchling flipped over on its back, and the stranger gently assisted by turning it upright.

They swim until they find some sargassum and hide there as they grow.

Our eyes locked, and he flashed a smile that sent more electricity through my body.

He stood and wiped his hands. Are ya some kind of turtle expert?

I stood next to him, discovering he was taller. I grew up around turtles.

Another hatchling struggled out from beneath the sand and embarked on the long journey toward the ocean.

Go, mate, go. He started encouraging the hatching by running alongside it.

I couldn’t help myself, and I joined in on the other side. You got this, buddy, keep going.

It’s so wee-little.

But has the motivation of a champ.

He flashed his smile again, accentuating his angular cheekbones. My face flushed.

Go, keep going. He motioned the baby turtle with both hands.

I added, That’s it, you’ve got this.

The finish line is just up ahead.

Almost there, little buddy.

The hatchling reached the water’s edge and plunged into the wave, disappearing with the receding tide. We lifted our arms over our heads in victory and cheered.

He nodded as he scanned the ocean.

The rising sun bathed his smooth tanned skin and highlighted copper among the strands of blond hair tightly cropped.

I offered my hand. I’m Myles. Thanks for saving me back there.

He took my hand, and his sky blue eyes cast a numbing spell on me.

Good on ya, mate. He withdrew his hand. Pleasure meeting. Hope to see ya again, but I have to go.

Yeah, you too.

The stranger placed the earphones that were dangling around his neck into his ears, nodded, and jogged down the beach with a natural stride.

Hey, wait up, I called.

He kept pace.

I didn’t get your name? I yelled, waved, and watched him disappear. Next time then?

Chapter 2

As I scaled the steep wooden stairs leading over the sand dune to the three-story yellow house, the sun bathed the cabana in a rosy hue and reflected off the surfaces of the twenty-yard pool and the attached Jacuzzi. I unlatched the white fence and climbed the stairs to the main floor over the carport and garage. Before I reached the landing, I heard tapping on the office window. Mom was standing there, phone glued to her ear, and motioning me to see her. I nodded.

Before I could slide the glass door leading to the living room, Mom posed with the phone pressed against the chest of her navy blue jacket with a red, white, and blue elephant pinned to the lapel, with her white striped pleated skirt. Her black hair was tightly pulled back into a bun, which created a natural face lift.

Make sure you take those dirty shoes off on the deck before you come in. She unlocked the sliding door and disappeared behind the staircase.

I pulled the Nikes off and threw them into the far corner of the deck, went into the living room, and forged through the air conditioner’s invisible field of coldness.

Myles, Mom’s voice called from deep within her office, which was off the living room to the left and on the other side of the staircase.

I contemplated running up the stairs and entirely bypassing this impromptu meeting.

What else do they want? Her Long Island accent came out whenever she was frustrated or angry. "The local minimum wage can’t be higher than the state’s established rates. This is completely unacceptable. I don’t care what they say, and