Page 63 of Spring Break Fling

I stared at the mugshot, my brain working overtime to make sense of it. “Fuck.”

“What?” Marcus asked. “Who is it?”

“That’s the guy Samantha was with when I went to pick up my stuff the other week. Greg. Some juicehead.”

Marcus frowned. “You sure?”

“Positive.” I zoomed up on the picture. “What the hell is he doing breaking into the shop?”

“That’s what the cops are trying to figure out.” Marcus crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “Did you pick some jealous fight with him?”

“Hell, no,” I said. “I gave him a little shit, but I made it clear I was done with Sam. They deserve each other.”

Marcus nodded slowly, still studying me with those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through people. “And no other run-ins since then?”

I shook my head. “Not a word. I put that all behind me.”

He was quiet for a second. His hands moved to his hips as he looked down at the pavement.

“Here’s the thing, Nikko. Your personal shit is bleeding into the business again, and that’s a problem.”

I stiffened, handing the phone back. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying this is strike two,” Marcus said, his tone calm but firm. “Your dad showing up and demanding money that you took from the register was one thing. Now this? If something like this happens again, we’re gonna have to have a serious conversation about whether you staying here is good for the shop. We work as a team here. We have to be able to count on each other. I don’t know if I can right now.”

The words hit me like a gut punch. I knew Marcus had to protect his business—hell, I’d do the same in his shoes—but hearing it still sucked.

“I get it,” I said finally, my voice tight.

“Good.” Marcus nodded, then softened slightly. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot lately, but you’ve got to draw a line somewhere, man. This place can’t handle any more drama.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or mine. When Marcus went back inside, I stayed in the parking lot and pulled out my last spare cigarette. My mood, already bad, had officially hit rock bottom.

I needed to blow off steam.

I jerked open the back door and walked inside, then grabbed my keys and wallet out of my cubby. “I’m out,” I said.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Diego said.

“Yep.”

Marcus looked at me and nodded once. I said nothing else and walked right back out.

Sliding onto my bike, I revved the engine and took off, the roar of the machine drowning out everything else. The city blurred around me as I rode like the devil was behind me. I was pissed. Furious. Mad at my dad. Myself. Hannah. Circumstances in general.

But along with the anger, I was feeling something else. Something much worse. I felt regret for letting myself open up to Hannah. For wanting something I couldn’t have. Of course she would never want a man like me. We were so different. And she lived halfway across the country.

That led to frustration that my past was still biting at my heels, no matter how hard I tried to leave it behind. And underneath it all, a nagging feeling I couldn’t shake—like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as done with my old life as I wanted to believe.

21

HANNAH

Ipaced my hotel room. The carpet was probably wearing thin under my bare feet. My pitch sat in front of me on the desk, a collection of papers that had taken on a life of their own. Some pages were scribbled over in red ink, others crumpled into defeated little balls. The rest were scattered across the bed, the armchair, the windowsill—even the floor. My laptop was in the middle of the chaos.

This was my big break. My moment to shine. My one chance to convince people with actual power that my idea was worth something. And how was I doing? Fumbling it. Hard.

I picked up a page, cleared my throat, and read aloud. “The integration of modern multimedia tools into legacy platforms will⁠—”