Battleship

what had actually transpired. Nagata, of course, chose that moment to step in near him and say, just softly enough for only Hopper to hear, “So predictable.”

Hopper had never wanted to punch someone in the face as much as he did Nagata at that moment. The fist of his left hand curled up tightly and he turned to face him. But the Japanese captain was no longer there; he was crossing the field and, projecting dignity and control, joining his teammates in celebration. Instead there was Beast, patting him on the back, and Tompkins, and Stone shaking his head consolingly, saying “Good shot,” “Good try,” and all the other useless condolences that are typically offered when things simply don’t go the way you wanted them to.

Nor did it help that they were patting him on the shoulder, which was throbbing like a son of a bitch. He tried not to wince from it and didn’t even come close to succeeding. Just like you didn’t come close to succeeding in tying the game.

Stone stepped closer to his brother. “At least you demonstrated mild self-control,” said Stone. “You didn’t beat up the Japanese officer. Well done.”

Hopper wondered if Stone knew that he’d nearly lost control and belted Nagata into the middle of next week. In my defense, he had it coming. Somehow he didn’t think that that excuse would have flown with his brother—or, for that matter, with anybody else.

It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered as far as Hopper was concerned, because there was Sam, his beautiful Sam. His beautiful Sam. She would comfort him, she would speak kind words to him, she would say all the right things. She would—

All business, Sam skipped over sweet nothings and instead inspected his right shoulder with practiced confidence. “On your back,” she said briskly.

“Right here? In front of everybody?” He lay down slowly. “All right, honey, I’m game…” As a couple of his teammates snickered, he gestured for her to lie on top of him while he moved his pelvis in a suggestive manner.

Sam was clearly not amused. She reached down, grabbed his wrist, and put a foot in his armpit. “It’s gonna hurt,” she warned him.

“You always hurt the one you—” He didn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Instead he let out a startled shriek that was higher-pitched than he would have liked as Sam pulled hard and snapped the shoulder back into place. He lay there for a moment, gasping in pain. Then slowly he sat up, growling as he flexed his arm. It was still sore as spit, but the agony was subsiding.

“Damn, that’s fun.” Sam sounded far more entertained by it than he thought she had any right to be.

He rubbed his shoulder, making as big a show of it as possible, his face twisted into a mask of exaggerated pain. As he got to his feet, he said with a growl, “Evil woman.”

Then he charged her.

With a delighted shriek, she turned and ran, Hopper chasing her off the field. She was running as fast as she could. He wasn’t. He caught up with her anyway.

KUHIO BEACH, LATER THAT EVENING

The throbbing in Hopper’s shoulder had more or less faded to nothing as he sat on the beach next to Sam, the water gently lapping against the shore. Kuhio Beach was adjacent to Kapi’olani Beach Park, and this late at night, the beach was largely deserted. The Pacific Ocean was smooth as glass, and the full moon reflected down upon it, making it seem as if a giant yellow eye was staring up at them from the depths of the waters.

Sam was holding a bottle of wine and was sipping from it. A blanket was spread out beneath them and a gentle breeze was causing her long hair to flutter. They had forgone glasses from which to drink the wine and instead were simply passing the bottle back and forth.

Handing the bottle to Hopper, Sam said, “So… big day tomorrow.”

Slowly he lowered it and tried to smile. Unfortunately, all he could manage was a grimace. Sam noticed it and her expression darkened. “Hopper… are you ready for this? I mean, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I’m ready,” he said, a little faster than he really needed to. As a result he didn’t sound quite as confident as she would have liked and he would have wanted.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and the concern upon her face was palpable. “You suuuure?”

Hopper heard the challenge in her voice. She wanted the truth, and he had to take a long, hard look into himself. As it turned out, he liked what he saw. More specifically, he liked it in relation to her. “Never more sure,” he said with growing confidence.

She studied him, not looking totally convinced. “What are you going to say?”

There was a long pause as his mind raced. Truthfully he didn’t have the faintest idea. The fact was that he had been trying to put off the conversation even in his mind, opting for that oldest of strategies: if you ignore something, it will go away.

It didn’t seem to be working this time. Instead Sam was becoming increasingly annoyed. It was clear she was having serious doubts that he was intending to follow through on what they’d discussed. Well, she discussed it, for the most part. You just listened. Finally he said, “I’m just gonna ask him. Man to man.”

“With what words?”

“My words: ‘Sir, I love your daughter. More than anything in this world, and I’m asking you for your permission…’” Then his voice sputtered and died, like a deflating balloon running out of air.

Sam prompted him to continue. “Permission…?”

“He’s gonna knock me out.” Oh yeah. Man to man. That sounded… manly.

“Permission…?” she said again.

“Can we go swimming?”

She was relentless, though. At least she gave him the next word. “Permission to…?”

Hopper desperately wanted to be anywhere else than where he was at that moment. He was wearing a light shirt and his bathing trunks, and Sam had on her bikini beneath a loose T-shirt and shorts. Why were they sitting here, dwelling on a dead-end conversation, when the ocean was beckoning? “Please can we go swimming?”

“Finish the question. Then we can go swimming.”

Clearly she wasn’t about to let up and—his back against the metaphorical wall—he was forced to admit what was truly on his mind. Very softly, so much so that she could scarcely hear him, Hopper looked down at the blanket on which he was sitting. “I think he’s gonna say no.”

“Hopper.” She sounded so disappointed in him. “Don’t you think he wants me to be happy?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna give a crap about my happiness.”

“He’s going to have to, because you’re what makes me happy.”

He took that in, and even though there was a cool breeze coming off the Pacific, he still felt suffused with warmth. He stared fixedly forward, as if her father were standing directly in front of them and, with a formal tilt of his head, said, “May I please have permission to marry your daughter. The most beautiful and the best thing to ever happen to me.” He turned back to her, waiting for approval, hoping it would be forthcoming.

She took his chin in her hand and kissed him. “I love you.”

“Can we please go swimming?”

As an answer, she jumped to her feet and started shedding her clothing, stripping down to her bikini. She then sprinted into the ocean, with Hopper bounding in right behind her.

He’s gonna kill me. That certain conviction went through Hopper’s mind, taking some of the fun out of splashing about in the water with his intended, the love of his life, the woman he’d nearly wound up in jail for. From that day to this one, he’d never been able to look at a chicken burrito again. But what did burritos matter when he had a beautiful woman like this in his arms?