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Then our laughter fades and we’re left staring at each other, tears in our eyes. “Thanks for being my friend,” he says, smiling. “I needed this.”
“Me, too,” I admit. “Saying goodbye to this place isn’t gonna be easy. I want to come back as soon as possible, but … I have no idea when that’ll be, what with our jobs.”
Rico studies my face for a moment. Then he props himself up with an elbow. “Do me a favor, Jonah.”
I prop myself up to. “What?”
“Don’t let your job do exactly what it’s designed to do: beat you down into whatever shape it wants, where the only thing in life that matters to you is satisfying our boss, making the corporate office a bunch of money you’ll never see, and padding the bloated salaries of dickheads who don’t care about your quality of life. It’s just the flat-out truth. They don’t care. They’ll go on their paid vacations. They’ll live in their fancy high-rises. They’ll dine expensive every night at your expense. Don’t be satisfied with lower pay than you deserve. Don’t grow complacent with staring at clocks all day, waiting to be freed so you can live your measly few hours at home before you gotta go to bed and live the nightmare all over again the next day. Don’t you dare do what you swore you’d never do and become a zombie to their disgusting greed machine.”
I blink. “Jesus, Rico, where is this all coming from?”
“The heart.” He puts a hand on my chest. “I care about you and yours, Jonah. When I mentioned ‘how we used to be’, I’m not just meaning the freedom and fun. We also used to talk about our big, big dreams, and we imagined a life for ourselves—happy, full, and dreaming. That’s truly how we used to be. Full of dreams.” He lifts his hand up to my cheek and gives it a gentle pat. “Never stop dreaming.”
I smile against his hand, then reach up and hold it. “I appreciate you, Rico.”
“I hope you do,” he says back. Then his smile falters. “Because all of that room service and delicious cheesecake I got last night was also charged to your card.” He winces. “I’ll Venmo you when we get back to Houston, promise.”
I smirk at him. “No, you won’t.”
“No, I won’t,” he agrees, and we burst into laughter all over again. At this rate, I don’t think we’re ever leaving this damned room.
Chapter 20 - Kent
I unhook my helmet from the handlebar of my bike, then study it for a moment, thinking of Jonah. I’m trying to smile, but for obvious reasons, all I seem capable of doing right now is glowering bitterly.
“Got room for one more on that rickety thing?”
I glance over my shoulder. Adrian stands there, half-dressed, hungover as hell, and looking like a beat-up piece of garbage.
“Seriously?” I say back to him.
“I can’t trust myself to walk straight, let alone get all the way back to my apartment.”
“You’ve managed before. I think you’ll manage today.” I strap my helmet on and throw a leg over my bike.
“I think you and I are overdue for a beer.”
A beer?? I scoff without looking at him. “Dude, it’s not even noon yet.”
“You and I need a beer. It’s been a rough weekend. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. A rough couple of months. Come on,” he says, losing patience. “Let’s go to the Breezy for a couple beers. We need to hash all of this out. I’m tired of Mom telling me over and over to bury the hatchet with you. I thought that after last night, we might—”
I stop him right there. “You and I did not have some special moment last night confronting Dad. That wasn’t us ‘making up’. It was just you and I, for a fleeting moment, agreeing that Dad is a dumb, hairy asshole.”
“The hairiest,” Adrian agrees. He takes a breath, then spreads his hands. “So is this your way of saying—?”
“Yes,” I cut him off, annoyed. “Get on.”
Adrian doesn’t waste a moment. He comes up to the back of the bike, swings a leg over, then grips me by the waist.
“Fuck, you’re heavy,” I complain as I try to kick off.
“Giddy-up, boy!”
“Shut up.”
Despite the antagonizing, I get us moving, and soon, we’re tearing down Holiday Street on our way to our side of the island where we belong, leaving Hopewell Mansion and all the gamers and partiers behind us.
Fast-forward minutes later to us sitting on the bottom step of the patio deck outside Easy Breezy—which hasn’t opened yet, of course—with Adrian next to me, feet in the sand, sunglasses sitting lopsided over his face.
I’m still trying to process Jonah leaving. And how I feel about that. And whether or not we’ll actually bother to keep in touch.
This thing between me and Adrian? It’s a conversation I am not emotionally prepared for. I’d rather bury myself in that sand and wait for the damned tide than deal with this brotherly bullshit.
