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Not to mention, my perfect, amazing job is dangling on a thin string. I had a lengthy talk with my boss, the general manager and head of the hotel, who said if I’m not back by the end of the week, my position won’t be waiting for me. He’s already been extremely lenient. Most would’ve already axed me, but Hank has said he has a soft spot for me.
He’s also from a small town. Started with nothing. He wanted me to succeed. Even become the general manager one day.
I can’t imagine a better boss. And being fired from one of the best luxury hotels in Chicago will put an ugly stain on my resume. I’ve already told them there was a death in the family. And yeah, I can’t believe I lied about someone dying, but to make myself feel better, I’ve convinced myself that the dead relative is Ghost October.
She’s figuratively dead.
So there.
Brian huffs again. “You know I don’t feel good about you rooming there.”
“Then why haven’t you offered me a job?”
“Because you’re not staying.” He glares back, but it softens suddenly as something clicks in his head. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about that?”
Her face enters my mind for a split-second. October. I push that thought aside swiftly.
“No. No,” I say, trying to stay adamant, but my heart is gripping to Mistpoint Harbor. “I’m still leaving once I make sure Colt is okay.”
He grumbles something under his breath and collects the billiard balls and cue sticks from the old shabby pool table. He’s been conceptualizing all the ways I can possibly die like we’re in the movie Final Destination.
I highly doubt an eight-ball will magically fly at my face and knock me dead.
But I’m done arguing. He’s on a mission and secures the sticks and billiard balls behind the bar.
I frown. “Why aren’t you helping Colt?” Anger suddenly surges. “He’s your brother, too.”
“There’s nothing I can do for Colt,” Brian says like he’s already made up his mind.
I suck air through my nose. Wind roars louder. The door to the Pelican bangs open, and at first I blame another strong gust, but then I see our brother.
Bedraggled hair. Sleepless, bloodshot eyes. Colt looks worse than the last time I saw him half-drunk in the lighthouse. Muttering “Augustine” to himself and “I’m sorry”—when he burst out crying, I didn’t know what to do. I just knelt with him while he wept on the dirty floor.
But now, he’s not crying.
He approaches Brian with purpose and fury like he is the storm coming to wreak havoc.
My brother, the hurricane.
“Give me the keys to your catamaran,” Colt demands, hand outstretched towards Brian.
Brian gawks like Colt has eaten a bag of crayons. “It’s about to storm and you want my boat keys?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Colt snaps.
“Yeah, because you’re not making fucking sense!” Brian yells.
“BOAT! KEYS!”
“Whoa…” I sidestep in between them, worried fists might be thrown. “There might be a reasonable explanation for this.” I eye Colt, hoping he can give one.
Brian glares. “No, Zoey. There’s no reasoning with him.”
Colt grimaces and yanks at his own hair. “Fuck you, man. You hide out in this shithole thinking you’re better than me—”
“I don’t. I never did! But if you start sailing out into fucking lightning and deathly winds, yeah, I’m gonna start thinking I have a bigger brain than you.”
The kitchen door whirls open. “What the fuck is going on?” Parry half-jogs out, seeing Colt and Brian squared off. Me, in the middle.
“I need Brian’s catamaran keys,” Colt explains like it’s a simple request. He snaps his fingers at Brian. “Right now. Give them.”
“Fuck off,” Brian spits out, pointing at Colt. “Go take a nap in the booth. Drink some water—”
“Screw you—”
“Why?” Parry interjects. He’s asking Colt. “Why do you need his boat now?”
“Good question,” I say tensely.
Colt throws up his arms. “I’m going to go find her. Okay?”
Her. Augustine Anders.
My eyes grow. “Right now?”
“In the storm?” Parry frowns.
“It’s been over four months,” Brian snaps. “Give it up.”
Colt tries to swing. I’m still in the middle, but much shorter. Brian pushes me aside so that I avoid impact with Colt’s knuckles, but I end up slamming into the pool table, the edge catching my hip, and then I trip and fall hard on the uneven floorboards. Knees searing.
Shit.
Colt’s fist connects with Brian’s cheekbone.
“Hey!” Parry pushes himself in between my brothers. He shoves Colt back up into a booth. “What are you doing, man?”
“What are you doing?” Colt questions. “Protecting Brian. Like he needs your protection? Like he gives a fuck—”
“Cut it out,” Brian sneers, then looks around. My breathing heavies, and when Brian spots me on the floor, he kneels quickly. “Zoey?” Concern and guilt wrap up in his eyes.
“I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
I see the red welt on his face. “You’re the one who got hit.”
