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My reunion with Colt will be different than with Brian. Colt never threatened me when I told him I was leaving Mistpoint Harbor. He helped me pack. He drove me to the bus station. He told me, “Your happiness is my happiness, Zoey. Do what you have to do.”
In high school, he was never picked on like me. Colt was mostly ignored. Protected by his friendship with Parry. Much like October tried her best to protect me. Hell, Parry was even a grade above Colt just like October was a grade above me. Seniors while we were juniors.
Colt is a whole five years older than me, and as soon as I entered Mistpoint High, he’d already graduated. But maybe that was for the best. Two Durands together would’ve painted a bigger target than just one alone.
And Colt might not have been my protector growing up, but he was my home. My safety and comfort. Because only three people left in this town know what it’s like to have the name Durand.
The wind picks up and thunder grumbles like a forewarning.
October steps closer to my side, the warmth of her body radiates against me, felt even through her fur coat that I wear. Her presence is a life raft that keeps me afloat.
I’m not sure what to expect when Parry knocks on the door. My brother is a mess. That’s the most I know.
But we’re all big messes. So why is he so different than the rest of us?
No one answers.
Parry knocks again, louder this time. “Colt!”
Nothing.
Parry combs a hand through his hair, and with his other, he pulls out his phone. “Pick up, Colt,” he begs. His worry amps up my own.
I push ahead of him and bang a fist on the door. “Colt!” I yell, then I use the brass door knocker shaped like an anchor. Nothing.
No response.
“This is Colt.” I hear my brother’s edged voice from Parry’s phone. “I’m busy. Call back later. Or never. Don’t bother leaving a message because I don’t check ‘em. Colt. Out.” An automatic beep follows.
Parry hangs up and curses under his breath. Golden locks fall to his forehead, and he brushes them away to look at the door. “We have to get in there.”
My adrenaline spikes. What’s wrong with Colt?
“Move.” October pushes her way past Parry and to my side. In one aggressive move, she slams the bottom of her boot against the door. The wood lets out a slight crack.
“On three,” I tell her.
She gives me a nod.
“One, two,” I count. “Three.” We both body slam the door and the wood lets out a deeper, angrier crack! Before we can barrel inside, the door swings effortlessly open.
“Back the fuck up!” my brother shouts, a baseball bat pointed threateningly at us. Shirtless, sweats hanging low on his gaunt bony waist, and dark-brown hair disheveled like he was woken from a deep, eternal slumber from inside a coffin.
October takes my hand quickly and pulls me back behind her.
Colt’s anger is replaced by confusion. Brows drawn in a bunch as he pieces together what’s happening. Parry. October. Me.
When his gaze lands on me, the color drains from his face. “What the…fuck?” His head swings to Parry. “What the fuck, Parry?!”
I don’t ask how he knows Parry is to blame for my arrival. Colt knows him better than anyone. My dad used to say that Colt and Parry have been best friends for so long that their fates twisted together. Vines too tangled to tear apart.
Parry holds out a hand. “Let me explain—”
“Let you explain?” Colt points the baseball bat at him. “You brought my sister back to town, and you want to talk? I should put your ass in the ground right now, DiNapoli.”
“Whoa!” I take a step forward, around October, coming into better view, but Colt still hasn’t let us inside. “You don’t need to put any asses into the ground, Colt. I came here willingly.”
Colt keeps his glare on Parry like he doesn’t want to look at me again. Like maybe actually seeing me will make it real. Colt’s chest concaves heavily, anger still present. “Is that true?” he asks Parry.
Parry is calm. Casual. Not even worried about the rage spewing from my brother. He stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, the breast embroidered with the words Regatta ’17. It belonged to his dad. “Technically, I asked her to come—”
Colt takes a threatening step forward outside the lighthouse. Winds howling around us.
I slip in between Parry and the end of the baseball bat. Colt freezes instantly, and this time he has no choice but to look at me.
Nose flared, he holds back something raw. Anger. Concern. I can’t tell which.
“I could have said no,” I tell Colt. “Don’t blame Parry.”
Slowly, he lowers the bat. His eyes flit from Parry to me and then they finally register her. He lets out a cross noise. “You brought a Brambilla here?”
