“I remember what I called her,” I cut in.
A bitch.
Because she is one.
Ryan exhales through his nose like he’s already exhausted, and we’ve barely been here five minutes.
“She’s been our stepmother for years, Dane. She’s not going anywhere. Mum and Dad aren’t getting back together.”
No thanks to her. “Yeah. I know.”
Ahead of us, Jameson is almost jogging.
“Do you think we’ll see sharks?” he calls over his shoulder. “Dad said there are sharks around the islands.”
Ryan raises his voice. “Let’s try not to get eaten on day one, yeah?”
Jameson laughs.
Ryan looks at me again. “Seriously. Just try to get along.”
“I do.”
The look he gives me says otherwise.
A beeping sound cuts through the conversation. Jameson slows immediately and groans.
“Hold on.”
We stop while he digs through his backpack for his meter and test strips.
Ryan’s attention shifts to him right away. “You good, mate?”
“Yeah. Just checking. It’s time.”
Jameson pricks his finger without hesitation, presses the strip into the meter, and waits for the number.
“Eighty-nine.”
Ryan nods. “Good.”
Jameson wipes his finger, packs everything away, and swings the backpack onto his shoulders like it’s no big deal.
It’s just part of his routine. Has been for years. He checks on schedule and never misses it.
A second later, he’s off again, heading for the yacht.
We’re about halfway down the dock when a voice carries across the water.
“Boys? Is that y’all?”
I look up.
The stepmonster spotted us.
“Y’all,” I mutter under my breath.
God, I hate her stupid American accent.
