I jog up the marble steps to the front door.
Calvin’s robe is wrinkled and stained, his oversized aviators barely hiding the hangover in his eyes. I can smell the alcohol from miles away.
“Callie Coconut,” I read aloud, grinning at the bold font on the waistband of his baby-blue underwear.
He slips a hand inside for a quick, unapologetic, adjustment.
“McKenna!”
He growls my name in a deep, primal roar.
I crash into his hairy chest as he squeezes the air right out of my lungs.
“Jesus, you smell like kerosene,” I grunt.
“Yeah, uh…we had a little afterparty here last night. Sorry, man. You’re in rehab, this can’t be great for you.”
I sigh. That label—addict—has been stamped across my forehead ever since the cardiac arrest. It’s like the only lens the world sees me through.
The truth is, I don’t even miss drinking. Or using. Not once since that night I smashed my guitar to pieces. Not even at that barbecue with Yosh’s friends was I tempted to take the bottle. Didn’t care then, don’t care now.
And standing here, with Calvin practically sweating rum through his pores, I feel more disgust than temptation.
I suppose that's a good sign.
“I really don't care,” I finally say.
Calvin eyes me suspiciously.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Tom McKenna?”
“No, seriously, man. I feel better. My head is clearer. It’s real.”
We move through the house to the pool deck.
Calvin’s villa is located on a hillside in Palm Oasis, a gated community resort. The massive pool still occupies more than half the garden, surrounded by a wooden deck and several lounge areas. Perfect for doing absolutely nothing all day.
I chuckle at the flamingo floatie drifting in the water, a red lace thong hanging around its neck.
The DJ booth is at the far end of the pool.
We’ve spent countless nights there mixing beats and drinks, half the island dancing in the pool, with the police eventually shutting the party down.
Life felt good then. Wild, yes. But amazing.
Calvin’s always given me a refuge from the family firm, and I wonder if that's what he did this time too. After all, he's the one who convinced Jay to get me here.
And you know, Calvin might be a bit of a himbo, but he did the smart thing by leaving all our shit behind and starting fresh here in the Caribbean.
I didn’t have that option.
Jay had wanted me close. And back then, I was still a teenager, legally under his thumb.
It’s bizarre to think about it now. I had two children of my own while he still had custody over me.
One of the dogs nudges my leg, then suddenly jumps on me. They're so much heavier than I am that I stagger back a step, laughing as I wrestle the enthusiastic beast off my chest, giving its shoulders a few solid pats.
“By the way,” Calvin says. “Meet Bella and Gordo. They keep the place safe. I taught them to open the door from the inside when I’m too wasted to find the keyhole. Just for me, of course. Wicked, right?”
