“Right, it was temporary for you because you met my sister.”
“No. I spent a lot of time before I met your sister working on my life in general. I got a job. I straightened myself out. Then I met Genevieve.” Adam explains. He’s trying to make a rational point, but I’m refusing to hear it. I know this as it’s happening and I can’t change it. My mind is made up.
“Just let my sister know that I’m okay. That I’m just taking off for a bit. She’ll tell everyone else.” I put one foot out, ready to pack my shit and find my new destiny.
Adam reaches across the seat and grips my forearm with crushing strength. “No, Enzo. No. Do not make me be the guy that has to break this to your family. No fucking way.”
“You’re the best man for the job, Adam. I have faith in you,” I say with a laugh.
The hard line of Adam’s mouth is unmoving.
“Easy, bro, it’ll be fine,” I say, a little less certain this time. Shit, he hides this military ops side of himself really well most of the time.
“No. No it won’t be. Your family will be devastated. And more than that, they’ll kill me for letting you do this. Just sleep on it at least. Please.”
I hate that Adam’s eyes are silently begging me to do the thing that I’m too cowardly to do.
“Get back in the car, Enzo,” Adam says, working to keep his voice reasonable. “You can crash on our couch, eat breakfast, take a few aspirin. Put some steak on your face.”
I try to pull away, but the bastard has me in a death grip. I feel more guilt storm through me. He’s too good a guy to unload on like this, but I have no other choice. “Go home, Adam.”
“I’m not telling your sister, Enzo. You need to be man enough to at least tell her goodbye,” Adam demands. He tugs on my arm, trying to pull me back into the car. “If you don’t come with me to tell Gen, I’m going to give you your second ass kicking for the night and take you to Cohen’s place.”
“Cohen and Maren are on their honeymoon, dickhole,” I say, not wanting to admit how relieved I am that my brother is on a plane and unable to exert his older, more responsible sibling bullshit on me.
Adam shakes his head and grins like he knows he’s got me. “Not catching their flight until the morning. You want me to drop you at your anal retentive brother’s house on his wedding night?”
“You’re kind of an asshole, Abramowitz,” I say, but I concede because I’m tired and I really don’t feel like having my face bashed in again. Plus, much as I hate to admit it, Adam’s probably right. Gen would murder him in his sleep if I took off and Adam didn’t physically try to stop me.
“I’m alright with that,” Adam says, pulling away from my apartment complex.
“Hey, take me by my car after all,” I say.
Adam cuts his eyes toward me. “No way.”
“I’m not going to bail. I’ll follow you to your place, I swear. I just… I’m thinking after I tell Gen I’m taking off, she’s going to need you around, you know? I don’t want you to have to leave her to bring me back here.”
I give him a look that lets him know I would never screw my sister——or him——over, and he nods. It’s like something shifts between us, and Adam suddenly feels way less ‘married to my sister’ and way more ‘my brother.’
“Okay, bro, I can do that.”
***
“You’re doing what?” Genevieve’s voice cuts through the dimly lit apartment like a red hot poker.
“I’m taking off in the morning,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady so it sounds less like the adult form of running away from home when shit gets bad.
“How long are you going to be gone?” she demands, pushing her hair out of her face and crossing her arms tight over her chest. “And what did you have to do with this?” Her eyes dart back and forth between Adam and me.
Adam holds his hands up surrender-style and I preempt whatever excuse he may be about to offer up. “He didn’t have anything to do with this, Gen. I just think it’s a good idea to put some miles between me and Silver Strand for a while.”
“You mean between you and this girl, that damn baker! What’s her name? You give me her number now!” She’s so worked up I expect she’ll start spewing her venom in Spanish any minute now.
I can’t help but chuckle. “What are you going to do, Gen? Is this middle school? You going to go pull her hair for hurting your brother? I can take it. I just need some room to breathe.”
Repeating the words Jess said to me so many times out loud is like a sucker punch to my lungs. My laugh cuts short, and I grip the side of the couch for a second.
“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice wilted like she’s resigned to my leaving.
“I’ve got a few ideas,” I say, remembering the business card that Rowan slipped me. I basically have a job waiting for me in Napa. Maybe I’ll head that way.
“Such as?” Gen is tapping her foot.
“I haven’t worked it all out yet. But you know, we live in this miraculous age now, Genie. We have these newfangled things called iPhones, and you can both call and text me on your little device.” I try to give her a full smile, but my lip cracks, and I’m pretty sure fresh blood pours out.
“This is funny?” Genevieve says, her mouth pursed together in an angry pout. “Mami is going to go ape shit. Did you stop and think about that?”
It doesn’t feel funny to me at all. It feels sad. It feels desperate. It feels like the only thing I can do. But how can I explain that to my sister?
“It’s like a bail-dive,” I say, running my hand through my hair.
Genevieve rolls her eyes. “A surfing reference? Really, Enzo?”
“You know I’m right. It’s the same thing, Genie. Think about it,” I say, looking at my sister. Our eyes meet and I know she’s remembering all the times we waded out into the water as little groms with our boards tucked under our arms: me, Gen, Cohen, Cece and even Lydia caught waves that some of the veterans backed down from. We may have been kids, but we’ve always been determined. We’ve always been fighters. But sometimes you’re up against something too damn big and you have no choice but to bail out.
Adam, who has up until now remained silent on the other side of the kitchen, asks, “What’s a bail dive?”
“It’s sort of your last resort… when you’re going to get pummeled by a wave.” Gen’s voice quivers over the words as the realization sets in. She knows. She knows if my heart could stand it there’s no way I’d be here right now telling her goodbye. I’ve got to leave. It’s self-preservation at this point. “You do everything you can to keep from being separated from your board, but sometimes…sometimes the safest move is to just bail.”
I watch her face as the final pieces click together and her eyes well up with tears. Damn, I love my sister. “She really hurt you, huh?”
“She didn’t mean to, but yeah, I’m pretty beaten up,” I say. I motion to my face. “I mean, obviously I’m beaten up, but things inside are pretty raw right now, too. I really just need a little time. A fresh start.”
She nods and wipes the back of her wrists against her eyes in quick, almost violent, swipes. “I think I get it, E. But you have to remember the most important thing about a bail dive: you have to be careful, because when you let go, you can sometimes hurt people around you.”
“I don’t want to, Gen. That’s not what this is about,” I say, desperate for her to really know that.
Her eyes are glassy, but she smiles a tiny smile. It looks like it takes a lot of effort, but it’s something. “I know, Enzo.” Genevieve nods. “I understand. I do.”
I pull my kid sister in for a crushing hug and hope to god I walk out of her apartment before she starts really crying.
“Promise you’re going to keep in touch,” she says in a choked, thick voice. “And let me know where you are once you’re settled.”
“Of course, G. I’m not entering the witness protection program,” I joke, but, instead of laughing, she lets out a stra
ngled sob.
“And don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone what’s going on. They’ll take it better from me anyway,” she says, wiping under her eyes as she takes a deep breath. “And Enzo?” she says, pulling away and looking me square in the eye. “Do yourself a favor.”
“What’s that?” I ask, putting my hands on her shoulders.
“Give girls a rest for a while will you? This one ended so badly you’re leaving town…I’m scared for what might happen if you got hurt again so soon.” My sisters eyes are earnest and full of pity. I need to get out of here.
“I’ll be fine, Gen. Promise,” I say. I try to pull away from her, but her sharp little nails are digging into my biceps. “But you have to let me go. Go claw up your man over there, he basically assaulted me to get me over here in the first place.”
“Asshole,” Adam says with a grin.
“Thanks for everything, brother,” I say, extending my hand to shake my brother-in-law’s.
“You’re going to be great, Enzo. I have faith in you,” Adam says, looking me right in the eyes. “It’s about time you put a little energy into yourself, though.”
After I’ve stopped by my apartment and packed up a few things, I point my car north, away from Silver Strand.
It’s still dark out even though it’s early morning. The sky is turning a dull purple, and the stars and moon are fading. It’s that eerie, quiet time before the sun screams up, bright and orange and the day comes alive. This is the perfect time to drive a little too fast— all the windows rolled down, the salty air rushing into my lungs, my music blaring, and let everything that’s happened in the last few weeks course through me.
I love that there’s almost no one else on PCH. I love that I’m going to be waking up in a new place tomorrow morning, not exactly sure what I’m going to do or who I’m going to meet. Almost everything in my life is an unknown quantity right now. All I really know for sure is that I agree with Adam.
The calm of the night screws with your perception. It makes things seem a little dream-like, like the consequences in the morning won’t be nearly as harsh. Either way, I’m headed out. I’m leaving Jess and my life here behind for now because I need to put more energy into myself. A new self, unattached from who I’ve been all this time before.
I’m not going to fight the current of the riptide. I’m not going to let it drag me under. I’m just going to relax, tread a little water and let it float me somewhere new. Somewhere that’s mine, and not full of the frustration of Cohen being more together, Lydia and Cece being smarter, or Genevieve having life fall into place so perfectly.
Somewhere that my happiness isn’t based on a lie.
Nope. The tides are shifting, and I’m coming out a better man on the other side.
Want a sneak peek at what’s in store for Enzo outside of Silver Strand?
ALMOST LOVER, the first book in a Lengths spin-off series, is coming soon!
CHAPTER ONE
JORDAN
(unedited excerpt)
This entire wedding would make my mother snort with disdain. It’s like I can hear her murmuring in my ear all those things that make me cringe whenever she voices them in public, too loudly and without giving a crap who overhears——because my mom thinks being unfailingly honest is way more important than being socially polite.
Roses? Red roses? I’d make a joke about how generic they are, but the joke would be a cliché. Sort of like your father’s child bride. By the way, did she peruse her collection of Bob Mackie Barbie dolls for wedding dress ideas? She looks like a background dancer for some Vegas wedding magic show.
“Jordan?” Dad puts his arm around me, and I nestle into the solid weight of it, elbowing Mom’s snark out of my brain for the moment. “You have no idea how much this means to Jennifer. She’s over the moon about this.”
“Of course.” I smile, this particular, practiced smile that’s all teeth and squinty eyes. I always hope it’ll be bright enough to trick anyone who isn’t looking closely enough into thinking I’m actually happy. And it usually works. “Jennifer wanted…family…standing with her. So. Here I am.”
I choke around the word that’s so silly I’m embarrassed to have said it. Because——as cordial as my father’s fiancée and I manage to be to each other——there’s no way I consider her family. Not by any stretch. Though I go out of my way to be nice. Maybe to combat how intensely mean my mother is about her. Plus, she’s kind of undeniably pathetic.
Poor Jennifer, the near-orphan with a heart of gold and a thousand and one sob stories that never quite add up. My gut feeling is that my dad’s pretty young wife is only slightly shady behind those wide anime eyes and all that damn wavy blonde hair. She looks like a mermaid. Or a cartoon. Or a mermaid cartoon who’s trying to pull the wool over your eyes all the time. But I think all her weird lies about nefarious or tragically dead relatives are just a cover for the fact that her people are most likely Bud-drinking, Nascar-watching West Virginians she doesn’t want my dad or any of his rich, cultured friends to meet. Hence, she planned a slightly tacky, completely flamboyant wedding all on her own, and here I am, standing as a bridesmaid because I’m “the only real family she has to stand with her.”
In a strapless scarlet dress that droops off my non-curves and a pair of elbow-high white gloves that are over-the-top humiliating. I refused to let my mother even lay eyes on the dress, because I was going to have a hard enough time wearing it for the few hours I had to, never mind having my mother cackle about how ridiculous I would look in it for weeks before.
“How’s your mother?” Dad’s entire frame goes stiff and his mouth twitches to one side.
I ignore the look and skirt the question. “She’s great. Don’t you have to be somewhere? Jennifer was freaking out about getting this started on time.”
But Dad is persistent when he wants information, and——even though he’s marrying Jennifer today——there’s still a piece of him that needs to know what Mom’s doing at all times.
“And Golden Leaf?” Now his look goes from rigid to wrinkled. The spaces between and around his eyes fill with deep worry lines, and they bracket his mouth, too. The vineyard has and always will be my mother’s heart and soul. Most days it feels like it’s more her child than I am. But that place has an undeniable magic my father never could deny.
Sometimes I think the vineyard kept them together for a good five years beyond the time when their marriage had coughed its last, horrible death rattle.
“S’okay,” I mumble, because I cannot betray my mother by telling my father the way she pores over the ledgers until it’s nearly dawn and spends hours wedged between the oak barrels, sipping and sighing with worry.
“She looked thin when I last saw her. Frail, even.” Ironic that he cares so much now, notices more now. If he’d given her this much attention during those last few rocky years of their marriage, they probably could have avoided the entire messy divorce.
“She was making selections for a local contest the last time you saw her,” I rationalize. “You know that always gets her edgy.”
“Used to be only the big contests set her on edge. The local ones? She was so calm and collected when it came to those.” My dad raises his black eyebrows and shakes his head. “She makes wine. You’d think all that sampling would mellow her.”
I shrug.
Wine is more than a drink to my mother. It’s lifeblood. It’s an obsession. I’ve never seen my mother so much as tipsy. She has way too much respect for the wine and for her job as caretaker of it. When I think of Pollock and his splatters or Plath and her poetic angst or Child and her beef bourguignon, I add my mother into the mix. She’s a completely focused, passionate artist, and wine is her medium.
“I wanted to use Golden Leaf for the wedding,” Dad says, his voice ragged with frustration.
It was a long, growly fight, with both of them presenting their cases to me and insisting I petition the other to ‘just be reasonable for once.’ Dad pointed out how ma
ny wealthy, wine-loving people would attend, how good it would be for publicity. Mom serenely insisted she’d rather scoop her eyes from her skull with a dull spoon than live with the image of Jennifer gulping down our crisp, sharply-sweet Riesling before she went to do the YMCA with her gauche friends.
In the end, as usual, Mom’s pride won out and Golden Leaf limped on in proud silence.
“Dad, please,” I beg. “It wasn’t my choice, and it’s a moot point now. Look, I better go make sure Jennifer is okay. Alright?” I wait, and his when dark eyes meet mine. I can see shades of regret and longing in them. There’s a lot I know he wants to say. Very little is probably appropriate to speak aloud on the day he’s supposed to marry the woman he supposedly loves: a woman who is not my mother.
“Alright, kiddo. What would I do without you?” He kisses my hair just over the curve of my ear.
I squeeze his hand, my thumb bumping over the smooth, worn indent where his wedding ring sat for twenty five years: long enough that, even though he took it off for good three years ago, the ghost of it still marks him.
I should go find Jennifer, but she has an entire entourage of perfectly doting, giggly trophy wives and spoiled debutantes who are saying those happy things someone should say to you on your wedding day. I would say those things if I had to, but I’d prefer if I didn’t have to. Not when Mom and Dad are still mourning the end of a marriage neither one ever quite believed would end.
Not when I’m not at all sure how I feel about any of this.
What I need is a distraction. What I see is a wine tent going up.
Slowly. Awkwardly.
It’s not as nice as the ones my mother orders for events, which cost a small fortune, but are gorgeously detailed and insanely easy to put together——the only requirements that mattered when my mother was choosing, regardless of how little extra we had to spend on them.
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