Turning off Bar Harbor Road, I maneuvered the Range Rover rental along a narrower road, following the Spruce-lined Atlantic coast. After ten minutes of undisturbed, green scenery, I swung a left onto a shaded, private road that led down to the shore, the towering Spruce parting to reveal the natural stone and white wood siding of the two-story waterfront property.
Taj leaned between the passenger and driver’s seat, staring out through the windshield. It was the first time he’d been off his phone since we set off from the airport.
“Jeez. It’s huge. This place must have cost you a bomb.”
Two years since his surgery for the cochlear implant, Taj was now speaking daily without even thinking about it. Clearer and more confident as the weeks and months ticked by. Signing was still a way of life for us, and Taj didn’t always feel like using his voice—especially when he was pissed off with someone (mostly me)—but it was no longer he’s default communication. He would never hear perfectly, with precise clarity. But he could hear and he could respond, and I wouldn’t ever stop being grateful for that.
“It wasn’t cheap, but I’d say I got my money’s worth.” I pulled into the double, gravel driveway at the back of the house for now, parking next to a sleek black SUV that could only be my dad’s.
I sighed through my nose and shut off the engine. Turning to Angel, I said, “You ready for this?”
She glanced back at Taj. And then she smiled. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I laid out three outfits on my bed, looking up from the task at hand to tell whoever was knocking at the bedroom door to come in.
The door slowly opened, Taj’s head peering around the frame. His golden-brown hair fanning across his forehead and curling around his ears, sunned with light, natural highlights, grew darker each year. His olive skin was flushed in the cheeks, his eyelashes and eyebrows so dramatically dark over his marble-blue eyes.
At thirteen years old, he was ridiculously handsome. I felt sorry for the many girls in his future who wouldn’t make the final cut in his life. There was going to be a lot of broken hearts.
“You can come in,” I said, smiling. I sat down on the king bed, leaving space between me and my clothes, and Taj pulled out the upholstered stool at the vanity table.
His gazed homed in on the items lying across the neatly made bed. “That one.”
I followed the tip of his finger, to the bright pink satin bustier and stonewash, distressed jeans.
I looked at Taj. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I like the top.”
Of course he did. What guy with eyes wouldn’t? Plenty of cleavage on display and enough midriff I’d need to wear a jacket if I wanted to step foot outside tonight and not shrivel up into an icepick.
“Okay,” I said. “Pink it is.” I picked up the outfit, stalling on my way into the adjoining bathroom. “Are you just gonna hang out in here while I get ready? I don’t mind. Put some music on. Nice and loud so I can hear.”
After a hot shower, dried and dressed in my chosen outfit, I stepped out of the steamy bathroom, the soft, bouncy, ivory carpet cloudlike under my bare feet.
Taj laid on my bed on his back, his phone between his fingers above his face. I blow-dried my hair and left it to hang loose, the scent of my apple shampoo wafting into my nostrils every time I moved my head. My hair was mostly straight, the ends slightly curled. I didn’t have time for the flatiron, though, and it was just a casual dinner.
I turned around from the vanity mirror, Taj watching me from the bed, his phone resting on his stomach.
“What?” I suddenly felt self-conscious under his stiff gaze.
The bedroom door opened, the brisk movement taking me by surprise. The Game blasted from the Bluetooth speaker atop the dressing table. Julian hit the volume button, turning down the song so he could be heard over it.
“You ready?” His eyes lowered to Taj lying on my bed, then steadily back to me. “You look beautiful. Too beautiful for where we’re going.”
In a sit-up like motion, Taj got up off the bed. He said nothing to Julian as he walked out of the room, his footfalls fading at the end of the hallway.
“Fuck was that?” Julian looked into the hallway, frowning.
I shook my head. “No idea. He was fine before you came in.”
The waterfront seafood restaurant stood on tall, wooden beams, the waves lazily lapping at the weathered structure. It had its own pier, stretching out into ocean and lit by old-fashioned lamps. Warm light from the lamps seeped in streaks of gold across the water’s calm, black surface.
The conversation hadn’t exactly been flowing between everyone at the table, but there was no mistaking the amount of effort Julian put in not to be his usual self and just let rip on his dad rather than put up with him for the sake of a few civilized hours.
His hand covered my thigh, his calluses rough on my skin through the gaping rips in my jeans. I coughed into my glass when his hand moved higher, the outside of his pinky finger deliberately brushing against my crotch.
Susan picked up her wine glass. The scallops on her plate had barely been touched, her tiny appetite more suited to a small bird. “Should we take dinner home for Olivia and Gary? What are the chances they had anything suitable to eat on the road?”
“Mom, there were dozens of cute stops on the way here.” Rebecca rolled her eyes, spearing a piece of broccolini with her fork and taking a bite out of it. “Tell me you aren’t going to be this annoyingly nice for the entire seven days we’re here? I don’t think I’d be able to keep my meals down.”
“We can bring them back some dinner,” Julian spoke up, his fingers dipping into the wide tear along my upper thigh. I squirmed in my seat, a firm squeeze from Julian in response. “You and Dog get on alright on the plane?”
Rebecca’s brown eyes lifted from her plate, shedding some of their sourness. “Apart from not being able to relax for more than six minutes at a time, he was a well-behaved seatmate. The flight attendants loved him, of course.”
“Good to hear. I appreciate you taking him with you to Boston.”
Rebecca’s gaze lingered on Julian. “You’re welcome.”
Julian Sr. balled up his linen napkin and dropped it onto his empty plate. “This is all very polite. Slightly unnatural, in fact.”
“That’s possibly my fault.” I angled my knife and fork together, done with my shrimp pasta. “This trip was my idea.”
“And I think it was a wonderful one.” Susan smiled at me from across the rectangular table, the pillar candle in the glass case flickering between us. “It’s bound to be a little strange at first.”
“It certainly is nice to see you both.”
I looked at Julian. Sr, the older version of my Julian in his crisp black shirt and immaculate gray slacks. His dark hair was cut short, enough length on top that he could style it if he wanted to, the occasional trace of silver alluding to his forty-something age. The rich depth in his blue irises had carried over to both his sons. Julian was a young carbon copy of his dad, but only on the outside. I sincerely doubted they were all that alike on the inside.
“When does training camp start, son?”
I felt Julian tense beside me. His acceptance of his dad being here wasn’t coming easy for him, and I put my hand over his, letting him know I was here, and he was doing fine.
It’s only a week.
“July.” Julian’s response was curt. He could tolerate everyone else at the table, but his dad was one stretch possibly too far. Then he surprised us all by saying, “You should try and get out to one of our games. You’d like Miami.”
“Can we!” Tabatha’s blue-hazel eyes widened, her gaze bouncing between her mom and dad. The burst of life in her fizzled to a slow death from their bland expressions.
“You can stay with me. Or a hotel. It’s up to you. Or don’t come. Your choice. Offer’s there.”
That may be the first time I’d heard Julian babble.
“I would love to, son.” Julian Sr’s
somber expression broke into an honest smile before gradually breaking off, until there was nothing left of it. “I’m sure you’re hesitant to go into detail about your recovery, but did you attend OTAs? You sound confident about camp.”
Julian didn’t talk much about the knee injury he sustained during a game against the New York Jets in December last year. The game that sent him packing from the remainder of his second professional season. The season he carried the Dolphins most of the way to a playoff spot that he watched from the bench with the company of his crutches. I knew him well enough to accept that talking wouldn’t heal his body, only surgery, rest, and then rehab. I had to trust Julian knew his limits and capabilities, and he was as healthy and fit as he presented himself. It would be of no benefit to him or his team to downplay any pain or complications, and Julian didn’t take risks where his shot at the Super Bowl was concerned. He was the franchised player whose job it was to make that championship happen, and he’d do everything he was physically capable of to make the Miami dream a reality.
Julian shifted in his seat, and I squeezed his hand in mine. “Only part of my routine that’s really changed is finishing the season on the sidelines. I won’t jinx my progress, but this season’s unfinished business, and I plan on finishing it.”
The metallic gray Range Rover Evoque Julian bought for his mom sat in the driveway when we pulled up at the house. Susan and Julian Sr. decided to hang out on Main Street—probably to avoid any awkward welcoming’s with Olivia—and Taj and Tabatha came back to the house with us. Rebecca went off into town by herself to find out if the nightlife was worth checking out, but her overall mood had been considerably off.
Dog raced down the porch steps as soon as he noticed Julian round the house, and Julian got down on his knees, just as happy to see Dog as Dog was to see him.
“Was he okay?” he asked Olivia, between Dog’s tongue showering his face in slobbering affection.
Olivia stood on the porch, her cream cardigan pulled tight in front of her. “Restless mostly. But he did really well for his first long car journey.” Her gaze eased away from Julian. “Hi, Angel. Hi, Tabatha, sweetheart.”
“Hi,” we both said. I left Julian alone with his mom and Dog, Tabatha hovering on the fringes before Julian called her over.
Taj had wandered down the wide plank steps to the private dock over the water, and I walked in the same direction, the interior glow from the extravagant house fading to darkness and solitude.
I stood next to Taj, the breeze rolling in from the salty ocean pleasantly mild. Not warm enough to keep goose bumps away, though.
“You’ve been quiet,” I said to Taj, facing the ocean. “Are you all right?”
He pushed his fists into his jean’s pockets, his hair blowing gently across his forehead. He topped my five-six height by at least three inches, his youthful body forming lean muscle from all the hours he now dedicated to skating and playing hockey.
“Is it a girl?” Part of me hoped it was. Now he was adjusting and accepting life with his cochlear implant, there wasn’t anything stopping him from the teenage experiences he’d wanted nothing to do with before. I knew he felt like an outsider. How could he not? But he didn’t see what the rest of us did.
He nodded, and I looked at him as he stared out over the water. “Sort of.”
“Is it… a girlfriend?” I asked, conscious of scaring him away. He didn’t open up easily. Julian thought it was just around him, but it seemed to be with most everyone.
Taj lowered his head and shook it. “Just forget it.”
I frowned up at him, then I squealed as his hands shot out from his pockets and he picked me up, repositioning me bridal-style and pretending to throw me in the water.
“Oh my god. You dare!” I flung my arms around his neck, clinging to him. One step forward and we’d be over the dock.
His boyish laughter trickled down my ear, and then he set me down on my feet. I slapped him on the chest when he slung his arm around my shoulders, taking me with him back up to the house.
Julian was still crouched on the floor with Dog, his head turned in our direction. But unlike us, he wasn’t smiling.
B y the following evening, Coach O’Hara, Elena, and Bear had arrived. I was grateful to see their faces. More people to talk to rather than just my dad and his camp.
But Bear’s rare appearance meant Angel’s time was spent mostly on him. The youngest O’Hara was a flighty chunk who demanded constant attention. Which was no problem for Angel, because she was giving it to him in spades.
He’d come to me tonight, though, and I sat on the plush patio chair with him on my chest, his meaty legs curled up in my lap. His eyelids droopy from fighting sleep, his diapered butt supported by my forearm, I watched him dozing off. He clutched my t-shirt under my shoulders in two tiny fists, clinging on despite my holding him.
Yeah, the kid was cute as hell. There was no denying it. His mousy blonde hair was as fine as sand, tousled all over his head. I’d fall asleep myself if I carried on watching him any longer.
Out for the count, at last, I passed him over to his mom, who took him into the house to bed.
The alcohol was flowing, O’Hara and my dad talking football in front of the firepit with beers in hand. Tabby sat with Dog on the floor, brushing his fur with the same mint-green comb I’d seen Rebecca using at home.
“Who’s up for some Never Have I Ever?” Rebecca switched from looking as bored as a loaf of bread to a dumb genius with a not-so-master plan.
“Couldn’t hurt,” my mom said. “Don’t expect anything too exciting from me, though.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Gary nudged my mom in the elbow from where he sat in the wicker chair beside her. “We’ve had one or two naughty times.”
“Fuck’s sake,” I groaned, temporarily forgetting the eight-year-old organizing Dog’s hair makeover. “I could’ve done without hearing that. I think we all could.”
“Okay.” Rebecca clapped her hands together, demanding everyone’s attention.
“You might wanna head back inside,” I called out to Elena when she stepped out onto the porch, the video monitor in her hand. “It’s not too late for you.”
“What’s going on?” She returned to her seat and her glass of wine, standing the monitor on the ground by her feet and increasing the volume.
“We’re playing Never Have I ever,” Rebecca filled her in. “You know the rules, right? Of course you do,” she said, waving off her own question. “Everyone does. You first, Mom.” She grinned, making her way around the group and seeing to it that everyone’s glass was full.
Susan looked scared. Rebecca hashed out the rules for her, and Susan nodded in semi-understanding. “Right. Okay. Never have I ever…” She bit her lip. “Um… never have I ever kissed on a first date.”
Rebecca shook her head in exasperation. Everyone except Taj and Tabby took a drink.
My turn came quickly, and I took my time coming up with a scenario. I’d done some shit in my time, so the out-of-options barrel was pretty deep.
“Ah.” I smoothed my hand over the back of my hair, pushing my fingers through the sharp bristles. “Never have I ever been arrested.”
No one drank, but I couldn’t help noticing my dad shifting on his feet, his eyes dropping to the crackling fire flames, distorting shadows across his stoic face.
If anyone had seen the inside of a prison cell here, no doubt it was him.
Half an hour into the game, as the confessions and the drinking started to flow more freely, I took Angel’s hand, turning my back on the string of complaints from Rebecca. Anyone else looked too drunk to notice our swift departure, and Elena had headed back inside, using Bear as an excuse to claw her way out of the hell that was this poorly orchestrated high school game.
“Don’t you dare do anything fun without me!” Rebecca lurched from her seat, her brown eyes wild with panic.
She had nothing to worry about, and I let her know it. “I wouldn’t dream of it
.”
“Where are we going?” Angel ambled after me, and I tugged her up to speed, replacing my hand for an arm around her waist, burying my fingers into the right pocket in the front of her jeans. “It’s so dark out here. Creepy, too.”
“Guess you’ll find out when we get there. Never Have I Ever played that game before and needed a barf bucket on standby.”
“Never Have I Ever had any desire to know that my dad’s had sex in a bowling alley parking lot.”
“Yeah, well, Never Have I Ever wanted to know my mom’s a master at strip poker.”
Angel laughed, pressing her hand over my stomach. “Rebecca’s wild. I really like her.”
“She’s cool.”
With nothing but the ocean and woodland stretching across all perimeters, I steered Angel toward the tideline, treading over a worn dirt path that cut between the trees. I didn’t have a destination in mind, my mission driven by secluding Angel after sharing her with our families all evening. Training camp was right around the corner, and we’d be back in our respective states, communication reducing to phone calls and Facetiming for another long season.
The dirt path disintegrated beneath our feet, lush grass and gray rock paving the way down to the water. A rope swing with a weathered, wooden seat hung from an enormous tree, it’s leafy branches casting a cooling shade overhead, the vista opening up to silver, creamy moonlight painted on the water’s ominous surface, the full moon hanging like a picture in the clear sky.
Angel took off, heading straight for the swing. I put my hands on her slim waist, her skin warm despite the chilly canopy we were under, and I hoisted her off the ground and onto the wide seat.
Using the ropes that tied the seat to the thick tree branch, Angel pushed herself backward, her legs hooking around my hips as she swung toward me. She crossed her ankles over my ass, and I grabbed one side of the rope, the swing wobbling from the traction and eventually coming to a stop. Her eyes clung to my face as I looked her over. The curve of her legs up to her knees—her slender thighs. The cinching of her waist, and the bright pink excuse for a corset against her caramel-cream skin.
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