by Jamie Howard
“God, this is so good I could kiss you, Sloane.”
“You did not just say that,” Blaire says, leveling him with her I’m going to kill you look.
“What? No more sharing?” I ask.
She goes to stand up, but Luke pushes her down in her chair. He pulls out a chair for Haley, like the perfect gentleman he’s not. Spotting something on the counter, he leans over and plucks a piece of paper from where it had been wedged between the knife block and the napkins.
“Dear everyone,” he reads. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t join you for breakfast, but I have one of my treatments this morning. Please enjoy yourselves and eat some food. Try to remember that I love you all, and therefore you should all love each other. Behave. Bunny.” He tosses the note back on the counter. “We’ve been played.”
“Who cares?” Harrison says through a mouthful of pancakes. “Breakfast.”
Luke glances from the pancakes to me, and I wonder if he’s remembering another breakfast where my cooking skills weren’t nearly as good.
“She’ll make them for you if you ask nicely,” Archer says, sipping his coffee.
Luke narrows his eyes at him. “Why are you even here?” It takes a moment for realization to sink in, and he shakes his head. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Archer shrugs, unfazed.
“Did you miss the stunt she pulled last night?”
Another shrug. “Last I checked everything she said was true.”
The pop of grease in the frying pan takes over as the only sound in the room.
“Last call for breakfast? Anyone?”
Blaire’s stomach grumbles loudly, but she clamps her mouth shut.
“Suit yourselves.” I pile the remaining pancakes and bacon on my plate and make my way over to the table. There’s one chair left between Luke and Blaire. Seeing my dilemma, Archer offers me a grin and pats his leg.
Much preferring his leg to being trapped between those two, I sit down. Drizzling the syrup over my pancakes in concentric circles, I look up to find everyone watching me.
“What?”
“Are you two dating or something?” Haley asks.
“No,” Archer and I answer at the same time and then laugh.
Harrison steals a piece of bacon from my plate, and I slap good-naturedly at his hand.
“So,” Archer says, “do you have any plans today? I was thinking of taking the yacht out and thought you might like to join. I wanted to get one last run out of her before the storm hits.”
“Storm?” I ask, slicing off a section of pancake.
“Do you live under a rock? Tropical Storm Bruce is headed directly at us.” Blaire shakes her head at me and then turns to Archer. “You have a yacht?”
“Yup. She’s a beauty.”
“I’d be down for some yachting,” Luke says. “Is that even a word?”
“It is,” Harrison replies.
Luke runs a finger over his lips. “That actually sounds like it could be a good time.”
Archer leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Just to be clear, I was inviting you, not all of them.”
I chuckle to myself. “I know.”
Blaire and Luke exchange a look that makes me think this is an even worse idea than I already did.
“You game, Sloane?” Blaire asks, lifting an eyebrow in my direction.
Spend the day stranded in the ocean while I’m circled by sharks, both of the literal and metaphorical kind? I think I’d rather be buried alive in a coffin filled with scorpions.
So I say, “Sure, count me in.”
Chapter 33
Luke
Water sprays up from where the yacht skims across the water. It’s just enough to keep me cool without completely soaking me. I stretch my legs out on the chaise lounge, leaning back against the pillow. The sun is functioning on extra high today, and the beads of ocean water that dot my stomach are joined by droplets of sweat.
Blaire finishes up her turn in the bathroom, emerging in her lime-green bikini. Leaving her bag inside, she saunters across the deck and plops down next to me as Haley ducks into the bathroom. Harrison, Archer, and Sloane are all cozied up together in the cabin.
“Since when is Harrison Team Sloane?” I ask.
Blaire follows my gaze to where the three of them are laughing over something. “According to Harrison, he’s on no one’s team. He thinks the entire thing is ridiculous and that I need to stop trying to make Sloane someone she’s not. He didn’t even care about what happened last night. You know what he said?” She wiggles up and does her best Harrison impersonation. “Well, what’d you think was going to happen, Blaire? At least everything she said was actually true.”
“He’s referring to the Evelyn comment?”
She nods. “It was a pretty low blow. Even if it was kinda true.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for her. This whole damn thing was your idea.”
“I know.” She sighs and runs a hand over her hair. “But maybe Harrison’s right.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. I’ve been thinking about it, and to be honest, I just want my sister back, warts and all. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the things Sloane has. She’s had to deal with more screwed-up shit than anyone else I know.”
“Screwed-up shit like…” I’m unabashedly fishing, but I don’t care.
She stares down at her fingers, which she laces together. “I can’t talk about it, you know that. It’s not my place to tell you.”
Haley pops out of the bathroom sporting her blue-and-white-striped tankini. The motor cuts out and the yacht slows to a crawl and then stops. Sitting down on my other side, Haley runs a hand across my chest and smiles. “Have I mentioned how good you look in a bathing suit lately?”
“Right back at you.” I plant a kiss on her lips, and she smiles against my mouth.
Squinting in the sunlight, Harrison ducks under the overhang. Archer’s not too far behind him, and he combs his fingers through his hair as he comes toward us.
“So, who’s going in?” he asks.
“Me,” Blaire says, rubbing her hand across her sweat-slicked neck. “I’m boiling out here.”
A door slams shut as Sloane dumps her clothes in a pile on the floor and joins us. She’s got on some skimpy thing that’s basically small triangles of fabric and strings. The suit is a bright blue and makes her eyes look more vibrant than they usually do. I don’t know how I’m even paying attention to her eyes with all of that skin showing. It doesn’t look like she’s got a single tan line on her.
“You coming in, Sloane?” Harrison asks.
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine right here.” She glances around the deck as if it might vanish from underneath her at any second.
I push myself to my feet, stalking toward her. “C’mon, Sloane. It’s so hot out. I’m melting like a snowman.”
“Stay away from me, Luke.” She points a finger at me and takes a step backward.
I don’t even pause. “Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?”
She scrambles farther until she backs up against the railing. “Luke, I’m warning you. Don’t do it.”
“Blaire, can Sloane swim?” My eyes are locked on Sloane as I wait for her answer.
“Y-yes.”
I know how terrified she is of the ocean, but I’m so fucking pissed about last night. Blaire is this close to pulling the plug on the whole plan. I won’t let it all be for nothing, and it’s the only way I can think of to get back at her. When a small strand of guilt plucks at me, I placate it with the reasoning that this is really only to help Sloane. She was the one who said that if anything was going to make her feel, it would be fear.
I’m ready to test her theory, because I’m all out of options.
Grabbing her around the middle, I tug until her fingers slip off the shiny railing, leaving smeared handprints behind.
“Put me down!”
Hoisting her over my shoulder, I take four long strides to the other side of the boat, lever her up, and toss her over. She lands with a splash, cascading water back up at me and onto the deck. Her head disappears below the surface, her blond hair fading out as it’s covered up by the dark blue water.
There are shocked and horrified glances all around. Blaire walks over to stand next to me, holding a hand over her mouth. We both peer down. I count the seconds as they tick by.
Twenty.
Thirty.
When a full minute passes and there’s still no sign of Sloane, I start to panic.
Shit.
“Luke?” Blaire says, her eyes as wide as saucers.
Everyone breaks into motion at the same time—calling her name, diving over the side into the water. It’s a frenzy. I dive underwater, the cold waves swallowing me. The salt water stings my eyes as I force them open, trying to see. There’s nothing but dark, impenetrable water.
When the lack of oxygen makes me see spots, I finally kick my way back to the surface.
“Nothing?” Archer asks, bobbing up and down with the waves.
I shake my head and go back under a second and then a third time. What did I do? How could I be so stupid? She probably panicked, or got stuck on something, or hit her head. An image of Sloane, unconscious underwater, her hair tangled with seaweed, brands itself into my mind. Just when I’m about to lose my mind, a voice calls out from behind me.
“You guys lose something?”
I swing around, eyes landing on Sloane where she stands on the deck of the boat. She’s got her hair wrapped around her hand as she rings it out. Water sluices down her body, following the curve of her breast down to the flat planes of her stomach. I see red.
That bitch.
Swimming to the ship, I grab the railing and haul myself up the side. Muscles flexing with the effort, I vault over it, and advance toward her, water puddling the deck beneath my feet.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You think this is funny?”
Instead of backing up, she moves toward me with fire dancing in her eyes. “Did you think it was funny to toss me overboard knowing how scared I was?”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be the first person you killed.”
It’s like she thrust her hand in my chest, clamped her hand around my heart, and ripped it out. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The words whistle their way out of my mouth, taking my breath with them.
She stares right up at me, taking another step closer so that we’re sharing the same air. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”
Out of nowhere, Harrison shoves himself between us, pushing us away from each other. “That’s enough, guys. Everyone needs to chill the hell out.”
My teeth grind together so hard I’m afraid I might turn them into dust. Jerking my arm out of Harrison’s grasp, I dive back over into the water. As a wave closes over me, I duck underneath it.
Somewhere behind me I can hear Blaire and Haley calling out to me, but I keep going. It still hurts to breathe, each breath burning in my lungs. I hear her words play over and over again in my head like a song I hate, stuck on repeat. I don’t know how many times I’ve blamed myself for what happened to Cash. For not having my phone on me, for not being home, for not taking better care of him. I knew exactly how Evelyn was, but I was too self-centered to care about anyone other than myself. I left him there, left him there. It was as much my fault as it was Evelyn’s. If I had just been a better brother, then he might still be alive today. But he’s not, because I was a selfish asshole who thought with his dick.
I swim in long grueling strokes, scissor kicking my legs behind me. I swim until my lungs are on fire and the boat fades into a small dot behind me. I didn’t save Cash, but Cash saved me. The guilt that drove me to my deepest, darkest places also turned my life around. It wasn’t until I found myself surrounded in shadows that I finally saw the light.
Slower now, I swim back. Someone got out some inner tubes, and Blaire is floating on top of a purple one. She paddles over when she sees me, a frown creasing her forehead.
“What did she say to you?”
I shake my head, wiping the water out of my eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters—”
“Look, just drop it, alright? Just drop the whole thing. I’m done with Sloane. I’m done with this plan. I’m done with the whole damn thing. I’m sorry, Blaire, I can’t save your sister. She’s gone and she’s not coming back.”
Blaire floats a little closer and reaches out for my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Thanks for trying, Luke.”
I squeeze back and then swim away.
I offer a halfhearted smile to Haley where she floats on a raft, sunbathing. I splash water at her, and she ducks, sticking her tongue out at me. Reaching the ship, I scoot up on it, my legs still dangling in the water. My muscles tremble from the exertion of my swim, and I twist my head to the side, cracking my neck.
The ship rocks with the swell of the waves, and a seagull swoops by overhead, calling out. Footsteps thump against the wood decking, and then Sloane sits down beside me. She draws her heels to her butt and her knees to her chest so she’s sitting on the edge without letting the water touch her.
She takes a deep breath in and then lets it out. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I reply, brushing her off.
Releasing the death grip on her legs, she puts her hand on my arm. Her touch startles me, and I glance up to look at her. For the first time this summer, she looks at me with her defenses down. It’s not the same as the night she was drunk, since this time there’s actual clarity behind her gaze. “I should never have said that. Ever. I’ve never even thought it before. If you haven’t noticed, I have a knack for thinking of the most hurtful thing I can possibly say and then saying it. That’s all that was. Nothing more, nothing less. You scared the crap out of me, and I was just trying hurt you. I do not believe that—I’ve never believed it—and I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back.”
Her words are free of sarcasm. They’re clear and true and so direct, just like the way she always used to be. It’s like a glimpse into the past. I don’t know what to say, but I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to let go. I want to hold on to this version of Sloane and keep her from slipping away.
I just nod when the words refuse to come.
Her eyes drift down and I read rejection in them. Shit, that’s not what I meant. The tiny spark of the old Sloane slips out of my grasp, retreating back into the darkness. She seems to shake herself and then pushes to her feet.
I almost reach out to grab her hand and pull her back, but I don’t. I let her walk away, leaving a gaping hole inside of me the size of the Grand Canyon.
Chapter 34
Sloane
Nine out of ten times my impulsivity pays off. This is one of those times.
I run my fingers through my hair, from my scalp to where it ends a few inches below my ears. Restless, annoyed, and needing a change, I drove all the way up to the Point to visit my old stylist. I think I saw her crying as she sheared off more than twelve inches of luscious blond locks.
I was worried about it at first, flinching with every snick of the scissors, watching with horror in the mirror as the feather-soft strands floated to the floor. But I love it. My head feels ten pounds lighter, and I get a lovely tickle across the back of my neck when I turn my head from side to side. I’d even had her throw in a couple bleached-blond highlights for fun.
Lightning sizzles across the sky, the thunder crashing so violently that the road seems to vibrate. Thick roiling clouds churn above me in a sickly yellow-gray color. I scan through the radio stations hoping to get an updated weather report, but the only thing I get back is crackling static.
Okay, maybe deciding to get my hair done when we’re going to get hit by a tropical storm may not have been the best idea.
I probably shouldn’t have disregarded the emergency alert I got on my phone this morning that advised me to stay home. In my defense, I thought I’d be heading back earlier, but Joanna talked me into the highlights and … oh, well.
My wipers thwap back and forth at a frantic pace, trying desperately to clear the water from the windshield, but failing. As the rain comes down in thick sheets, gusting at me, my tires begin to slip and slide. The wind is like a band of steel against the side of my car, shoving it farther and farther toward the shoulder. Rather than risk any damage to my car, or myself, I pull over.
Shit.
I slam my hand against the steering wheel, and the sound of it echoes around me in a clap of thunder. I weigh my options. The most obvious one is to stay put. I’d be in for a rough twenty-four-plus hours, but I’m safe and dry. At least for the moment. There’s always the possibility of flooding, and on top of that, I don’t have any food or water.
I peer out the window, wiping away where my breath fogs up the glass. I can’t make anything out through the torrential downpour, but listening to it is already making me have to pee. Great.
I’m maybe a mile or less from The Edge. Odds are that the place has been boarded and locked up tight, but I have a few lock-picking tricks up my sleeve. Who knew it would ever come in handy?
So, to wait here and deal with thirst, hunger, and an overly full bladder, or to make a run for it, get completely soaked, and break into The Edge. Oh, wait, there’s alcohol at The Edge.
Decision made.
I stuff the spare change of clothes that I always have on me in my purse, open the glove box, and retrieve the Yankees hat that had been left by some former passenger. Pulling it down low over my eyes, I sling my purse over my shoulder, and exit the Lambo.
Rain pelts me from all sides as the wind swirls around me, stinging my hands and face like little rubber bullets. I duck my head down, trying to shield my eyes. It only kind of works. Water cascades off the brim of the hat in a miniature waterfall, and within seconds my sneakers are soaked. Every step I take makes a sucking, squishing sound that feels as unpleasant as it sounds.