Page 20 of Summer L.A.W.

Crystal smirked humorlessly. “Do I look like I’m joking? I’m going. With or without backup. You can either come with me and share the driving, or I’ll leave you pouting in the library.”

“Share the driving,” he said, like she’d offered to split a milkshake instead of face Armageddon.

“Yeah. And after that, if you want to vanish back to wherever you came from? Be my guest.” She shrugged. “I don’t need anyone. Never have.”

The words rang hollow, and they both knew it.

Mason studied her, the hard edges in her voice not matching the flicker of fear in her eyes. He exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and said quietly: “Or I could stay on Long Island and help you. Someone’s gotta keep you from trying to fight the ocean with sarcasm and a bird that smells like burnt popcorn.”

Crystal snorted despite herself. “Don’t knock my methods. They’ve worked so far.”

“Barely,” he muttered. But his expression softened. “All right. I’m in.”

The bird gave another pitiful chirp, like it barely, sort of, approved.

Crystal squared her shoulders, masking the tiny curl of relief in her chest. “Good. We leave at midnight.”

The Jeep rattled over a stretch of Tennessee backroad like it was offended at being woken up. Crystal rode shotgun, boots kicked up on the dash, a thin crust of dried saltwater marring the already-dusty surface. She smirked at Mason’s profile.

“You drive like a guy on a mission,” she said. “Is that a SEAL thing? All intensity, no joyrides?”

Mason didn’t look away from the road. “It’s a ‘we just stole someone else’s Jeep, and I’d rather not roll it into a ditch’ thing.”

“Relax. The League probably has insurance. Or a spell for this kind of thing. ‘Auto-Bodyus Reparatus.’”

“Pretty sure their insurance doesn’t cover Grand Theft Jeep,” Mason muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Did you bring any snacks? Road trips require snacks.”

“What would you like?”

“I don’t know… Fritos? Doritos? Something else?”

Crystal waved her hand in front of the glove compartment. Then she opened it and pulled out individual packets of Fritos, Doritos, and a blank white package labeled “Something else’ in black letters.

Mason did a double-take when she showed him the third package. “Um, what’s in that one?”

She shrugged. “Let’s open it and see.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “Mystery rations never end well.”

She tore it open, and it was a Chex Mix. “Oh, good. I made this a couple of weeks ago. Didn’t know if we had any left or not. Brianna tends to stress-eat anything that isn’t nailed down.”

For a while, the only soundtrack was the tires humming on the highway and their snacks crunching in their mouths. Then Crystal leaned back, arms crossed, and eyed him sideways.

“So, what’s it like? Being a Navy SEAL. Do you guys actually wrestle sharks, or is that just recruiting posters?”

“Sharks don’t wrestle,” he said flatly. “They bite. We bite harder.”

She let out a bark of laughter. “That’s the most SEAL thing you could’ve said. No frills, just bite science.”

His knuckles tapped the wheel once. A good punch in the nose usually discourages them. “It’s survival. Everything else is noise.”

Crystal tilted her head, studying him like a new seashell she wasn’t sure was pretty or dangerous. “Sounds lovely.”

He shrugged. “The sea is simple. People are complicated.”

She sat with that for a beat, fiddling with the belt of her jacket. “I’ll think about that one. But for the record? I’m a delight. Complicated, yes, but the fun kind.”

“You call that speech you gave the ocean ‘fun’?”