by Lena Maye
His mom. Dean’s mom. I wish I’d gotten to meet her. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have wanted to meet me, but the way Sebastian talks about her, it sounds like she was a really good mom.
He looks off toward the island that we’re anchored near. Hills covered in trees are bright green against the gray day, a thousand different shades of green down to a rocky shoreline. I suppose, like his brother, Sebastian can’t see the green.
The water laps steadily, and we both stare at things far away, Sebastian toward the island. I turn toward the horizon—the long stretch of water that leads away from Portage.
“I’m glad I got to meet you,” he says suddenly.
I blink at the comment, trying to figure out exactly what it means. Because of the cock cakes? Because of Dean? And why does it sound like he’s leaving?
Sebastian turns to look at me, his mouth opening, and then he glances over my shoulder.
“I’m glad you got to meet her too.”
Dean. I’d know he’s there even if he hadn’t spoken. I always know. Like we’re bound so tightly that I can’t help but feel his presence.
He crosses the deck. He’s pulled on a hoodie, slightly unzipped so his collarbone peeks out. And his hair sticks up on one side. Like he didn’t bother to comb it before coming to find me. I take in every inch of him—from crimped hair to bare feet. And all the things hidden. More than what’s under his clothes. Our past twined together. The need that courses through my veins at the sight of him. The thought of what happened between us last night.
And now there’s no going back. Especially when he cups my cheeks and leans down to place a soft kiss on my lips. One that deepens almost instantly—as if he can’t help it. Then he stiffens, and his tongue slides across my bottom lip before he pulls back.
A morning kiss. No liquor. No darkened rooms. Just a simple kiss on the deck of a sailboat. One that says last night wasn’t a mistake.
I breathe out a sigh of relief as he steps back and glances at his brother. “Sorry, man. Couldn’t help it.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
Dean nods. His gaze traces my face from lips to hair and back again. Then his forehead wrinkles, and he turns toward Sebastian.
“That should have been one of the first things I said,” Dean says to his brother. “The part about meeting her, I mean. That I’d like to meet her.”
I’m not sure what they’re talking about, but whatever Dean said makes Sebastian set a hand on Dean’s shoulder. And then they hug. This warm, brotherly hug that makes me smile.
Afterwards, they exchange a few words and then Dean reaches for the pastry box and holds it out to me.
I shrug and take a pumpkin cupcake. “I suppose I’ll have one.” I drop my voice so Sebastian can’t hear and lean close to Dean’s ear. “Although this cock cake is certainly less appetizing than the one I had last night.” I step back and put on my best innocent smile.
Dean stands there, blinking at me, taking a full minute to process what I said. Then the corner of his mouth ticks up. “Did you just make a cock joke?”
Dean
Every time I turn around, I like Ella more. It’s not just the blowjob and cock jokes.
Although I have to admit, those are helping.
It’s that there’s always more to her. Something surprising. Something deeper. Something that lures me in.
And now, she moves into my touch. When my hand settles on her hip, she rotates into it. When I lean down to kiss her, she pushes up to her toes. Just that little detail—her pushing up to her toes… Fuck, it makes my whole chest expand with this strange mixture of craving and contentment.
We sit side by side on the gunwale for a solid hour. Eating cock cakes and talking about my southern route. She asks questions. Real questions—how I was preparing, where I was docking and for how long, how much it costs to get through the Panama Canal. Not just questions that people ask when they want to be polite. Real fucking questions.
Sebastian disappears below deck to shower and work out. I think his arms might break off if he doesn’t get to do a certain amount of morning push-ups. But it gives me more alone time with Ella. That sexy hair of hers is tangled from sleeping, which just reminds me of how she was pressed up against me. And every single time those dark eyes fall on my lips, I lean forward and kiss her. I don’t miss a single opportunity.
But out of the corner of my eye, I watch the darkening sky. The density of the clouds. A slight change in wind. We shouldn’t stay here much longer. I might have pushed it in the past, but with Ella on the boat, I don’t want to risk anything.
Besides that, I’ve got a charter this afternoon. It’s funny how far away that feels right now.
So I finally slip off the gunwale and head down to the galley to wake up Dev, who’s passed out on the floor, snoring so loud that it’s practically rattling the pots and pans. I swear, the guy does everything big and loud. Except for wake up, because I have to lean down and shake him a few times. But then he grunts and lumbers up, glaring at me before he stalks down the passage to my cabin.
I set some coffee brewing and look around—surprised to see exactly how many empty liquor bottles clutter the small galley.
“Oh my God, I smell coffee.” Renee shuffles into the room, face red and blotchy. Apparently everyone had a late night. She wrinkles her nose at the table full of shot glasses.
“Coffee.” I gesture toward an empty mug on the counter next to me. “Then maybe you can help me with this mess so we can get headed back before the rain.”
“Sure.” She brightens. I have no idea why asking if she’ll help clean up a mess makes her brighten, but it smooths out some of her color, and she moves to stand next to me, taking the mug and holding it out when the coffee’s done brewing.
After I fill her cup, she digs around in one of the drawers to find a spoon and some non-dairy creamer. I was surprised we even had any. She fixes her coffee and takes a drink. Then wrinkles her nose.
“Sorry it’s not milk.” I pour myself a cup. Bitter. Black. Perfect.
“No, it’s fine.” She sets down her mug and taps her nails on the counter. “I was just thinking of the coffee they have at Salt’s. Worst ever. He runs the same grounds through three times. Maybe more.”
“Salt’s must be an interesting place to work.” Dock gas stations always are. It’s probably half indescribably boring and half listening to people complain about boats.
She takes another small sip. Which gets another nose wrinkle. “It’s just temporary.”
“Ella makes it sound like you don’t care for working there.”
She jabs a finger at me. “She told you about the sailing.”
Damn. I said I wouldn’t say anything, right?
“I promised to keep it quiet,” I offer. It’s the best I can come up with.
She shrugs. “It’s fine. Boyfriends get an exception. Everyone knows that.”
Boyfriend.
The word takes me by surprise.
Is that what Ella called me? Somehow I don’t think so. As much as I’d like to push the issue with Renee and find out every detail, it doesn’t feel right. Ella will call me that when she’s ready. Making it an issue isn’t going to get us there faster.
I focus back on Renee when I realize she’s still talking. My Ella-distraction level is off the charts.
“So I get a sailing lesson per week,” Renee’s saying. “And a paycheck. And I don’t have to get up when it’s still dark like Ella does.”
I take a slow drink of my coffee, watching her over the mug. “Come work for me.”
“What?” She shakes her head. “No, I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Sebastian’s leaving, and I need someone to take his place. Someone I can trust.”
“You hardly know me.”
True. But she’s missing something. “Ella trusts you. What’s a better endorsement than that?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t promise much.”
“Can you pro
mise the rest of the summer? About two months. We can work out the details.”
She blows out a long breath, eyeing me. “What about Dev?”
“He’ll either thank me endlessly, or he’ll get over it. Either way, it’ll be fine.” I lean back against the counter, swirling my coffee. “There’s no pressure, Renee. Say ‘no,’ and I’ll shrug and top off your mug.”
She bites her bottom lip. It’s something Ella does, but on Renee it looks like indecision. She and Ella don’t look much alike, actually. I’d never pick them out as sisters.
“There’s something else.” Her gaze drops to the mug. “Something I haven’t told Ella.”
Okay, I didn’t expect that. “You don’t have to tell me if—”
She holds up a hand. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Or really at all. But I’m tired all the time. I just… Doctors are doing some testing, but it’s not clear what’s going on. And I don’t want anyone to worry. I remember what it was like when mom went through tests like this and everyone was worried.” She combs a hand through her hair and then looks at the ends, finally dropping them and focusing back on me. “I’d need some days off. The appointments are in Upper Bay.”
“We’ll work it out,” I assure her, instantly worried for her. I may not know her very well, but she’s been nothing but spirited and kind since coming aboard. And it makes me worry for Ella, too.
“There’s one other thing,” she says. “You can’t tell Ella about the appointments.”
My jaw clenches before I can stop it. I don’t like the idea of keeping anything from Ella. “I think she’d want to know. She’d want you to tell her.”
She takes a drink and wrinkles her nose again. I doubt she’s going to ask for a second cup.
“I don’t like keeping things from Ella,” I explain. “And more important than that, she would want to be there for you.”
Renee gives me a small smile. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll tell her.” She crosses the room and starts to gather up the empty shot glasses. “Just not until I know more.”
33
Ella
I watch the Harborwalk come into view with this deep sense of foreboding. I know we have to return, but a weight sinks my stomach lower with each passing minute.
My phone dings when we get within a hundred yards of the harbor. I tuck it in my pocket and focus on Dean’s instructions. I’m supposed to help tie off the boat, and I don’t want to mess up. Especially since the breeze has turned into something slightly more, rocking the ocean and turning it into a darker gray. By the time we get the Heroine into her slip, I’m windblown, exhausted and ready for land. Dean gives me a soft kiss on the cheek before I go.
I miss him already.
By the time I’m up to the Harborwalk, my phone has vibrated twice more. I pull it out to find a number I don’t recognize and a few texts.
where r u?
benny isn’t happy to c me
I stop on the second one.
Me: Anthony?
Him: who else?
I bounce on my toes, looking up and down the Harborwalk.
Me: Where are u?
Him: that was my question
There’s a man standing outside the bakery. His face is shadowed by a gray hood. A black backpack hangs over one shoulder. The strap is duct-taped together.
The way he stands is so familiar. One hand clutches the homemade strap. The other dangles at his side.
Anthony. My feet skim up the dock to the cement past the ticket huts. My heart is pounding by the time I crash into my brother. He loops me into a hug.
He’s taller than I remember. He’s a gaggle of bones and tendons that might break if I squeeze him too tight. He smells like cigarette smoke and orange candy. Long-missed scents that make tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” I don’t want to let go of him. He might float away.
He releases me and stumbles. He’s scruffy—a shower wasn’t on the agenda for today. Or last week.
Dark eyes regard me—almost. They’re glassy, as if they’re wrapped in plastic. I don’t remember that. But I do remember the dark lashes framing those eyes. The way he keeps a cigarette tucked behind his ear under his hood. His rough edges and a gravelly voice.
“Hey, Elly.” The backpack falls down to his hand. One bag.
He shifts to the left—so far that he has to catch himself on a lamppost. His hands slip, and he pitches forward. His knees hit the cement hard.
I reach down and help him up. “Are you okay?”
The question’s stupid. He isn’t okay.
“Fucking tired.” He wipes his mouth, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tin of orange candies. Paper rustles as he clips it open and pops a few.
“Come on.” I wrap my arm around his thin waist to keep him steady.
He tucks the candy into his pocket and stumbles along next to me. “Shit, Elly, whatever the hell I took is making my brain swim like a jellyfish.”
I keep him pointed in the right direction. It’s not too far to my apartment. Better to keep him talking. “How does a jellyfish swim?”
“I don’t fucking know. All crazy.”
I thought with our mother gone, he’d straighten out a little. Instead he’s always worse. We make it to my apartment, and I lead him through, snagging a towel out of the closet and pressing it into his chest before pointing him to the shower.
“Shit, I just want to lie down,” he says, eyeing the small bathroom.
“Shower first,” I order. “Then some food.” I don’t know exactly what he’s on, but it seems like some food might be a good idea.
Anthony pulls off his hoodie and splashes water on his face. I head to the kitchen, pulling together a plate of bread and crackers, but listening to make sure he doesn’t pass out and crash into the toilet. A light rain pelts the windows, and the sky is a dark-gray sprawl. It makes me think of Dean, and I wonder if he canceled the afternoon charter trip.
The shower runs for so long I start to worry about Anthony. But it finally turns off, and I hear him moving around. The sink water turns on.
“You’re out of hot water.” His voice is muffled by the wall, but clearer.
“You used it all,” I call.
A minute later, he steps out in a black t-shirt and ragged jeans. Dark circles are under his bloodshot eyes. It must be tenacity that keeps him standing. He sits across the table from me and drags the plate toward him.
“Have you talked to Carly?” I ask.
He shakes his head, focused on devouring the crackers. It’s always strange when Anthony’s here—as if the whole world is set on pause for a few days. And then he disappears and everything slips back to normal.
“Have you heard about our mother’s pleadings?”
He looks up and swallows a bite. He’s so skinny that I should give him a second plate of crackers. And a third.
“So she’s doing it?”
I blink. “Doing what?”
“Getting herself out.” His forehead wrinkles. “That was always the plan, Elly. Ronald Carthright taking back his testimony. Time alone with guards. Opportunities for prison transport. There are a thousand different ways this could go. But you didn’t think she was just going to roll over and stay there, did you?”
He reaches for another cracker, breaking it in two and putting half in his mouth.
I couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“The plan?” My voice is so small. So far away.
I set my hands on the table, and I realize they are shaking.
A game. Anthony’s words confirm that little voice in the back of my head. Although I still don’t believe she’d really get out. It’s not possible, right?
“No, that can’t be,” I argue. “There are lawyers and judges and guards and a whole system put in place to make sure stuff like this doesn’t happen. Carly said that there’s hardly a chance.”
“Yeah, people.” Anthony stands, stretching out his arms. “People
who can be bought and swayed and make the same fucking mistakes as everyone else. She just needs an opportunity. Just one. And you know she’ll find it.”
I shake my head. “No. I-I… You can’t believe this, Anthony.”
He walks over to the ratty couch I never use and drops into it, pulling a pillow over his chest. “It’ll be over soon. She’ll get here, and then we’ll get out of here. Go to Mexico and bake in the sun.”
“She’s not getting out.” I stare down at the half-eaten plate of crackers.
“Okay.” His voice fades. “But what if she does?”
“There’s a witness. Someone who could testify against her.”
His eyes open. “The fuck, Elly? You’re not serious, are you?” He yawns and sinks back into the couch. “She’ll get what she wants. It doesn’t matter if you have a hundred witnesses. She always gets what she wants. That’s her talent, Elly. Shaping the world however she decides it should be.”
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing, as it all sinks in.
“Family first, Elly,” Anthony mumbles.
Her words.
Then he’s asleep.
I sit at the table and listen to my brother snore. We shared a room growing up a lot. Usually didn’t have to, but it made me sleep better when Anthony was there.
I can’t believe he’s on her side. I thought that when he stepped out of that house with me—Charles strung between us—that he wanted what I wanted. A normal life without her. And all of a sudden he’s talking about following her again—to Mexico.
Family first.
No. She’s taken so much from me, and I won’t let her take more. The night with Dean—I want that again. That feeling of safety with him, wrapped around him, his easy grin. I’m so close to the kind of life I want for myself: dating a man I like, afternoon coffees with my sister, festivals for kites and cupcakes.
I won’t let it go.
“I’m here to see my grandmother,” I say.
It’s a lie, and I wonder if the man before me sees through me. He introduced himself as Paul, the administrator for the facility where Charles lives. I stand across the desk from him, bending down to write my name on the register of visitors.