"It doesn't matter what I think."
"But you don't like it."
"I think that if you want to wear it, you should wear it."
Evan seemed momentarily undecided. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Refuse to answer a simple question."
"Because my opinion is irrelevant. You should wear what you want."
"Just tell me, okay?"
"I don't like your tie."
"Really? Why not?"
"Because it's ugly."
"It's not ugly."
Colin nodded. "Okay."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Probably."
"You don't even wear ties."
"You're right."
"So why do I care what you think?"
"I don't know."
Evan scowled. "Talking to you can be infuriating, you know."
"I know. You've said that before."
"Of course I've said it before! Because it's true! Didn't we just talk about this the other night? You don't have to say whatever pops into your head."
"But you asked."
"Just... Oh, forget it." He turned and started back toward the house. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Where are you going?"
Evan walked a couple of steps before answering without turning around. "To change my damn tie. And by the way, Margolis was right. Your face still looks like it was run through a meat grinder."
Colin smiled. "Hey, Evan!"
Evan stopped and turned. "What?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For everything."
"Yeah, yeah. You're just lucky I won't tell Lily what you said."
"You can if you'd like. I already told her."
Evan stared. "Of course you did."
In class, Colin sat in the third row, taking notes and trying to concentrate on what the teacher was saying. The class focused on language and literacy development, and in the first few weeks of school, he'd been of two minds about it: first, thinking that most of what the professor was saying struck him as common sense, which made him wonder what he'd gain from being there; and second, that there might be some as-yet unknown advantage to quantifying common sense into some sort of cohesive classroom strategy so he'd be able to put together formal lesson plans. The only problem was that the professor--a neurotic middle-aged woman with a singsong voice--tended to wander from one subject to the next, which made paying attention somewhat difficult.
He was in his third year of college, but it was his first semester at UNC Wilmington. His first two years had been spent at Cape Fear Community College, where he'd finished with a perfect GPA. So far, he couldn't tell whether the classes were harder here or there; in the end, that would come down to the difficulty of the exams and the quality expected of his papers. He wasn't too concerned: He made a point to read ahead whenever possible, and he knew Lily would help him study, quizzing him when he needed it in addition to helping him edit his papers. As a rule, he liked to put in at least twenty-five hours a week of studying, in addition to time in class; whenever he had a break on campus, he wandered to the library, and so far, it seemed to be paying off. Unlike many of the students who were here for both an education and a social life, he was here only to learn as much as he could and get the best grades possible. He'd already done the sow your wild oats thing; in fact, it had been all he could do to escape it.
Still, he felt pretty good about having made it to this point. He had Evan and Lily; he had his MMA training and a place he called his own. He wasn't too fond of his job--the restaurant where he bartended was too touristy for his own tastes--but it wasn't the kind of place that led to him getting into any kind of trouble. Most people came there to eat, including lots of families with kids, and those who sat at the bar were usually waiting for a table or having dinner. It was certainly a far cry from the kind of bar he used to frequent. During his wild years, he'd favored pro bars--for professional alcoholics--those dark and dingy out-of-the-way dives with or without blaring music in the background. He'd expected problems almost as soon as he walked in the door, and the world had obliged him. These days, he avoided places like that at all costs. He knew his triggers and his limits, and though he'd come a long way in keeping his anger in check, there was always the possibility that he'd find himself in a situation that quickly spiraled out of control. And there was no doubt in his mind that even if he was involved in an incident in another state, Margolis would find out and he'd live in a cage for the next decade, surrounded by people who had the same kind of anger problems as he did.
Realizing that he was drifting, he forced himself to focus on the lecture again. The professor was telling them that some teachers found it beneficial to read passages from books that were age appropriate, as opposed to books that were geared toward older or younger students. He wondered whether to jot that down in his notes--did he really need to remind himself of that in the future?--before deciding, Oh, what the hell. If she thought it important enough to say, he'd make note of it.
It was around that point, however, that he noticed a dark-haired girl peeking at him over her shoulder. While he'd drawn the expected stares when he'd entered the classroom--even the professor had done a double take and broken off in midsentence--by now the stares had been redirected toward the front of the room.
Except for this girl. Definitely watching him, almost scrutinizing. He didn't get the sense that she was flirting; rather, it was almost like she was trying to figure him out. Not that it mattered to him one way or the other. Stare or not; it was her choice.
When class finished a few minutes later, Colin closed his notebook and stuffed it into his backpack. Flinging his backpack over his shoulder, he winced when it thumped against his bruised ribs. After classes, he planned to head to the gym to work out, but he wasn't up for contact just yet. No sparring or grappling; just weights, core work, and a half hour of jumping rope. He'd take a break for a bit, then pop in his earbuds and run five miles while listening to the kind of music his parents had always hated, and after that, he'd shower and get ready for work. He wondered how his boss was going to react when she saw him; he suspected she wouldn't be pleased. His face wouldn't exactly blend in with the touristy atmosphere, but what could he do?
With an hour until his next class, he began walking toward the library. He had a paper to write, and though he'd gotten a start on it last week, he wanted to finish the first draft in the next couple of days, which wasn't going to be easy. Between training and work, he had to utilize his limited free time efficiently.
Still sore from the fight, he walked slowly, noting the reactions of the girls who passed him. They were nearly uniform: They'd spot him and do a quick double take, revealing expressions of shock and fear, and then pretend not to have even noticed him at all. The thought amused him--a single Boo! would likely send them fleeing in the opposite direction.
As he turned onto a different walkway, a voice called out from behind him. "Hey, wait up! You, up there!" Certain it wasn't directed at him, he ignored it.
"Hey you, with the hurt face! I said wait up!"
It took Colin a second to make sure he had heard right, but when he stopped and turned, he spotted the dark-haired girl from class, waving. He glanced over his shoulder; no one else was paying attention. As she finally closed in, he recognized her as the girl who'd been watching him in class.
"Are you talking to me?"
"Ya think?" she said, stopping a few feet away. "Who else has a hurt face around here?"
He wasn't sure whether to be offended or laugh, but she said it in a way that made it impossible to take umbrage.
"Do I know you?"
"We're in class together."
"I know. I saw you staring at me. But I still don't know you."
"You're right," she said. "We're strangers. But may I ask you a question?"
He knew exactly what was coming--the whole hurt-face thing was the tip-off--and he hitched
up his backpack.
"I was in a fight."
"Obviously," she said. "But that's not what I wanted to ask you. I wanted to know how old you are."
He blinked in surprise. "I'm twenty-eight. Why?"
"That's perfect," she said, not answering his question. "Where are you going?"
"To the library."
"Good. Me too. May I join you? I think we should talk."
"Why?"
She smiled, vaguely reminding him of someone else. "If we talk, you can find out."
CHAPTER 4
Maria
Where are we going again?" Maria asked from the driver's seat. She'd picked up Serena half an hour earlier on South Front Street, which ran parallel to the Cape Fear River. Serena had been standing at an intersection in an area dotted with older office buildings and occasional clusters of shacks and boathouses at the river's edge, oblivious to the construction workers across the street who were clearly ogling her. Slowly but surely, the area was being revitalized, like the rest of the waterfront along the river, but for now it was a work in progress. "And why did I have to pick you up?"
"I've already told you. We're going to a restaurant," Serena answered. "And you picked me up because I don't plan on driving tonight, since I might have a couple of drinks." She tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder. "The interview went well, by the way. Charles said he found my answers very thoughtful. Thanks for asking."
Maria rolled her eyes. "How did you get there?"
"Steve dropped me off. I think he likes me. He's meeting me here later."
"He has to like you if he's willing to put up with this traffic." Though the first half of September had passed, the heat was more reminiscent of early August and the shore was packed. Maria had already circled the block twice searching for a place to park.
"Who cares? We're at the beach."
"There are better places to eat downtown."
"How would you know? Have you even been to Wrightsville Beach since you moved back?"
"No."
"My point exactly. You live in Wilmington. You need to get to the beach every now and then."
"I paddleboard, remember? I see the beach a lot more than you do."
"I mean someplace with actual people around, not just birds and turtles and the occasional jumping fish. You need to go someplace fun with a great view and a lot of atmosphere."
"Crabby Pete's?"
"It's a local institution."
"It's a tourist trap."
"So what? I've never been there and I want to find out what the big deal is."
Maria brought her lips together. "Why am I getting the sense that there's more to this than you're saying?"
"Because you're a lawyer. You're suspicious of everything."
"Maybe. Or it could simply be that you've got something planned."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because it's Saturday night. We never go out on Saturday night. You've never wanted to go out with me on Saturday night."
"That's why we're having an early dinner," Serena answered. "There are a bunch of bands playing in the bars down here this weekend, and Steve and I and a few friends are going to listen to some music before we hit the parties. They don't get going until ten or eleven anyway, so there's plenty of time."
Maria knew that Serena had something up her sleeve but couldn't quite put her finger on it. "I hope you don't expect me to tag along."
"Not a chance," Serena huffed. "You're way too old for that. It would be like going out with our parents."
"Gee, thanks."
"Don't blame me. You're the one who said you were too old for guys my age. Why? Are you changing your mind?"
"No."
"That's why we're just having dinner."
Maria suddenly spotted another car vacating a spot and she turned, closing in on it. It was still a block or two from the restaurant, but she doubted she'd be able to get any closer. As she parked, she couldn't shake the feeling that Serena was being way too coy, and Serena seemed to realize it.
"Stop worrying so much. You're killing the mood. What's wrong with spending a little time with your sister?"
Maria hesitated. "Fine, but just so we're clear... if you're planning to have some other guy join us at the table or something crazy like that, I'm not going to be happy."
"I'm not Jill and Paul, okay? I wouldn't set you up on some awful blind date without even asking you. But if it makes you feel any better, I can guarantee that no guy will sit with us. In fact, we'll just eat at the bar. The view is supposed to be better anyway. Deal?"
Maria debated before finally shutting off the engine. "Deal."
Located next to one of the piers at Wrightsville Beach, Crabby Pete's had been around for nearly forty years. Having barely survived one hurricane after the next, the structure might have been condemned had not numerous repairs of varying quality been undertaken over the years. The building sported peeling paint, a listing rooftop, and more than a few missing or broken shutters.
Despite its appearance, the restaurant was bustling and Maria and Serena had to squeeze through the crowd waiting for tables as they made for the stairs leading to the rooftop bar. Following her sister, Maria noticed the wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and personalized graffiti on the walls. From the ceiling hung items that the original Pete--who'd passed away years ago--had supposedly found in his nets while fishing: hubcaps and tennis shoes, deflated basketballs, a woman's bra, toys, and scores of license plates from more than ten states.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Serena called over her shoulder.
"It's certainly crowded."
"It's an experience. Come on!"
They climbed the creaking steps to the rooftop. Emerging into the sun, Maria squinted under a cloudless sky. Unlike in the restaurant downstairs, the tables up here were occupied by adults unwinding with open bottles of beer or mixed drinks in front of them. Three waitresses in shorts and black tank tops scurried among the customers, efficiently picking up empties and dropping off drinks. Half the tables had tin pails filled with crab legs, and she watched as diners cracked the shells to get to the meat.
"We're in luck," Serena said. "There are two seats at the bar."
The bar was on the far side, partially covered with a rusting tin awning and fronted by ten stools. Maria followed Serena, winding between the tables in the fierce sun. It was cooler in the shade of the bar's awning, though, and as they took their seats, she could feel the salt-tinged breeze lifting the long hair off her neck. Over Serena's shoulder, Maria could see the waves breaking on the shore, blue changing suddenly to white and back again. Even though it was almost dinnertime, hundreds of beachgoers still frolicked in the water or sprawled on towels. The pier was jammed with people leaning over the railing with their fishing poles, waiting for something to strike. Serena took in the scene before swiveling back to Maria.
"Admit it," Serena challenged. "This is exactly what you needed. Say that I was right."
"Fine. You were right."
"I love it when you say that," she crowed. "Now let's get something to drink. What are you in the mood for?"
"Just a glass of wine."
"No, no, no," Serena declared, suddenly shaking her head. "You're not having a glass of wine here. This isn't a glass-of-wine kind of place. We need to do something... beachy, like we're on vacation. A pina colada or margarita or something like that."
"Seriously?"
"You really have to learn to live a little." Serena leaned over the bar. "Hey, Colin! Can we get a couple of drinks?"
Maria hadn't noticed the bartender and her eyes followed Serena's. Dressed in faded jeans and a white collared shirt rolled to the elbows, he was finishing up an order for a waitress on the far side. Maria noticed automatically that he was exceptionally fit, with well-defined shoulders tapering down to narrow hips. He wore his hair very short, almost in a buzz cut that revealed an intricate tattooed ivy design wrapping around the back of his neck. Though his back was turned, Maria was impr
essed by how efficiently he moved as he readied the cocktails. She leaned toward her sister.
"I thought you said you've never been here before."
"I haven't."
"Then how do you know the bartender's name?"
"My friend works here."
At Serena's answer, the bartender turned. With his face partially shadowed, his features weren't immediately visible, and it wasn't until he stepped closer that Maria noticed the fading bruise on his cheek and all at once, it came together. The bartender froze for a second as well, no doubt mirroring her own thoughts: You've got to be kidding. In the awkward moment that followed, Maria had the impression that while he wasn't thrilled by Serena's surprise, he wasn't necessarily upset by it, either. He resumed his approach until he was standing right in front of them. Leaning forward, he rested his hand on the bar, revealing the sculpted, colorfully tattooed muscle of his forearm.
"Hey, Serena," he said. His unhurried, confident voice was exactly as Maria remembered. "You decided to come."
Serena seemed content to act as though she hadn't orchestrated the whole scenario. "I figured, why not? It's a gorgeous day!" She spread her arms wide. "What a great place! You were right about the view from up here. It's incredible. Has it been busy today?"
"I've been overrun."
"No wonder. Who wouldn't want to come on a day like today? Oh, by the way, this is my sister, Maria."
Colin's gaze met hers, unreadable except for a trace of amusement somewhere in its depths. Up close, his appearance was nothing like it had been on the night he'd changed her tire; with his high cheekbones, blue-gray eyes, and long lashes, it was easy to imagine him picking up almost any woman he wanted. "Hi, Maria," he said, extending his hand across the bar. "I'm Colin."
She took his hand in hers, feeling a restrained strength in his grip. Letting go, she watched as his gaze flickered from her to Serena and back again.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
Serena studied them both before finally propping her elbows on the bar. "How about a couple of pina coladas?"
"Coming right up," he said easily. Turning around, he grabbed the blender and bent over to reach into the refrigerator, his jeans growing tight around his thighs. Maria watched as he added the ingredients before turning her narrowed gaze on Serena.
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