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TWENTY-TWO
Felix
The tension in my neck eases the moment I tug the blinker down to pull off the main road. I lean forward and glance through the windshield up to the sky.
A single wisp of white cloud. Good. The pickup bounces over the rough track, the bright sunlight dimming the further into the thick forest we go.
Mylo leans forward and stares out the window. “I hope you know where you’re going, man.”
“I know this track like the back of my hand.” I lean back in my seat, my elbow resting through my open window and breathe deep. My lungs expand and my nostrils flare. Big Leaf Magnolias. Laia loved the smell. I blink away the image of her eyes. Brighter than any of the greens that surround me.
The pickup lurches down a dip in the road bouncing me and Mylo about in our seats.
“The back of your hand, eh?” Mylo grabs the handle above his window and raises his brows when we bound down another pothole in the dirt track.
“This place was our hide-away when we were kids.” I turn the wheel to follow the sharp bend of the track. “Me, Jackson and Seb used to bike out here every Saturday morning.”
“Have I met Seb?” Mylo frowns as if he’s trying to remember for himself.
“Nah, man. Seb left as soon as he was old enough. Hasn’t been back since. Last I heard he was in Miami.”
“I can think of worse places to grow up.” Still staring out of the window, Mylo’s mouth falls open when the forest clears, and the sun once again floods the cab of the pickup as the road curves around the side of the lagoon.
The perfectly still water bounces its reflection of the surrounding forest back up into the sky.
“The first time we got drunk was out here.” One side of my mouth lifts with the memory. “We were thirteen. Seb stole a crate of beer from his dad’s garage. Jackson got so wasted he passed out.” I shake my head. “We panicked and called my dad, convinced he was dead.”
Whatever Mylo is about to say is cut off when we take the final tight turn. “Some fishing hut.” Sticking his head out of the window, he lets out a long whistle as Jackson’s hut comes into view. “Where I come from a fishing hut is a one room shack with an outdoor toilet.”
I press down on the brakes and pull up beside Jackson’s patrol car in front of the two-story log cabin. “I guess we do sell the place kinda short.”
“Perfect timing.” Jackson steps through the double doors and onto the covered wrap-around porch as we climb from the pickup. He’s still dressed in his police uniform. “Just got here myself.”
I grin and clap him on the shoulder. The man’s solid. I’ve always had a couple of inches on him, but he was the one nobody messed with when we were young. Even before he had that gun strapped to his waist.
“Jackson. Mylo.” I lift my chin to where Mylo’s already got his rucksack on his shoulder and the box of groceries in his arms.
“Insane place you’ve got here.” Mylo shifts to hold the weight of the box in one hand so he can offer the other to Jackson.
“There’s definitely worse places to spend the weekend.” Jackson shakes his hand. “Come in. Let’s dump your stuff and get out on the water.”
“Too early for beer?” I ask as I grab my rucksack and throw it over my shoulder.
“Never too early,” they grunt at the same time.
Not even half an hour later we’re on the water in the same old wooden rowboat we’ve used since we were kids.
Just what I needed.
“I could get used to this.” Mylo leans back against the side of the boat and takes a swig of his beer.
He hadn’t even bothered pretending to be interested in catching anything. Just dropped onto the bench that runs along the side of the boat and kicked his feet up on the opposite bench.
Sitting, legs spread wide by his feet, I flick my rod back and forth above my head until the line flies out across the water then sinks with a plop.
“So. What’s up? You only ever come here when something’s up.” Jackson doesn’t look at me as he reels his line in, but the smirk on his face can’t be missed. “The little blonde receptionist from the Castle wouldn’t be the reason for this unscheduled get away, would she?”
I grunt and scrape my hand over my mouth. Fucking Clua and its ears. “When did I miss us turning into a bunch of fifteen-year-old girls?” I mutter, refusing to look at either of them.
Mylo chuckles under his breath. “Women troubles make you an ass, man.”
Still staring resolutely out over the water, I jab Mylo in the ribs.
He jerks back, rubbing his side, making the boat lurch, almost dumping all of us into the water.
“Hey now, calm down, people.” Jackson drops his fishing rod and grabs the sides of the boat, his brows menacingly low.
Doesn’t hold nearly as much weight now he’s changed into black jersey shorts and a Clua Force tee, his pistol locked in a drawer back in the cabin.
“Better out than in.” Mylo leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “We’re all friends here.”
“Seriously, man?” I massage the insistent tick in the back of my neck. “I should have left you at home.”
“Spill,” Jackson whips his line back out across the water, watching it until it breaks the surface far from the boat.
I sigh hard and shake my head. “I … fuck. Shouldn’t this shit get easier the older we get?” I sigh again. “I’m not looking for anything. I wasn’t looking for anything.”
“Rosa’s not coming back, man.” Jackson glances up from his fishing rod, shrugging when I glare at him.
“I know that.” I take a long swig of my beer.
“She’d never have wanted you to stay alone.” His mouth ticks up in a sad smile.
Mylo nods. “If you were the one gone, would you want her to be alone?”
Definitely should have left him at fucking home. I should have left them both at fucking home.
“I think she’d be more upset by you chasing her look-a-likes as a form of stress release.” Jackson, my oldest and soon to be ex-friend, snorts and runs his hand over his short hair, his stare fixed on my face.
Mylo straightens and pushes the peak of his cap up with his bottle to stare at me. “Ah, fuck, the woman with the voice?? Dude. I never met Rosa, but I’m pretty sure she’d take offense at that.”
“Fuck off.” My scowl deepens at Mylo’s raised eyebrows. “I have a type.” I lift my gaze to the sky and shake my head. I used to have a type. “Everybody has a type.” I glance over to Jackson for support. “Everyone has a fucking type.”
Jackson’s lips turn down to hide his smile and he shakes his head like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“The way you kissed Laia in the middle of the bar last night makes me think your type has changed, brother.” Mylo presses on.
Jackson doesn’t even have to look up from his line for me to know exactly what his face is doing. And how smug his fucking grin is.
They’re not wrong. I don’t care. “You guys heard about Rae’s new man? Word on the street is he’s done some time.” I lean back on the side of the boat. Low blow. Jackson and Rae have a history nobody quite gets, but his protectiveness over her is common knowledge.
Jackson instantly loses his smirk and clicks his tongue against his teeth, glaring at me from the side of his eyes. “Point made.”
“Mylo, you see Zi dancing with the DJ last night? Wanna talk it out?”
Mylo glances between us and leans back against the side of the boat, pulling his cap back over his face. “Anybody watch the game last week?”
I chuckle roughly and polish off my beer. “That’s more like it.”
An hour later, we’ve settled into a comfortable silence and I’m pretty sure Mylo’s fallen asleep.
But just because they’ve stopped talking about Laia, doesn’t mean I’ve managed to stop thinking about her. I tug on my line and kick my feet up onto the opposite bench, raking my teeth over my bottom lip, the phantom press of her mouth still enough to send a shock of need down my spine. The memory of her shrugging her top down to get me to cooperate almost enough to drag a laugh from my throat. She’s unexpected—she’s everything I had no idea I’d been missing. But far too good to deal with my shit.
The longing fizzles into flat-out concern. For her and for me. What if I gain her trust just to realize I can’t do it?
What if I let her in for her to realize she can’t do it?
Either way, it would suck.
I miss the easy life. Just sex was easy. Just sex with Laia would be … I tilt my head back and close my eyes.
Not just sex.
Am I ready for that? Is she? Will she stop running long enough to try? Do I want her to?
A clap of thunder roars in the distance, dragging me back from the edge of stir-fucking-crazy.
We all look up into the sky. Angry black clouds hover in the distance. So much for the weatherman being wrong. The joys of island living. Storms can roll in out of nowhere.
“We getting back before that breaks?” Mylo finishes his beer then throws it in the plastic bag reserved for recycling.
“Yeah,” Jackson scowls at the sky and starts to reel in his line. “No point in getting soaked when no fucker is even biting.”
The skies open just as we make it back to the old jetty by the house.
“So, what is there to do in this place when its torrential rain out?” Standing by the window, Mylo lifts the curtain and glowers outside.
It hasn’t let up all afternoon.
“Not a lot.” Jackson shrugs where he’s stretched out across one of the ancient brown corduroy sofas. “If it keeps up, we’ll have to head back before the road floods.”
Mylo turns from the window, his forehead creased. It’s the closest I’ve seen the guy to worried since he arrived on the island. “Flooding? Dude, I’ve got a meeting with the council on Monday I can’t miss.”
I lean past him and look out into the gray miserableness. “Maybe we should head back now. We’re not getting any fishing done in this. And I’d rather not be away from the Beach Hut if it gets any worse.” I place my untouched beer on the coffee table. I only had a couple on the boat. I’m still good to drive. I look over to Jackson. “What do you think?”
“The roads won’t be too bad yet. If we head out now, we should be fine.” Jackson gets to his feet and stretches his arms out. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
It’s already past eight by the time we’ve packed up the cars and are heading slowly down the road, Jackson following behind in his patrol car.
Visibility is zero, the rain a sheet of gray around us. The sun hasn’t even set but the sky’s already as murky as charcoal. “I can’t see a fucking thing,” I mutter, my face practically pressed up against the windshield, the wipers on full speed. We should have stayed put. I blow out a long breath and squint into the darkness. “This is unreal. I can’t remember the last time we got hit by a storm this bad.”
As if to prove my point, a clap of thunder roars above us, vibrating the dash, the cab of the pickup lighting with a bolt of lightning a second later. Too close for comfort.
“Fuck, man, that was close.” One hand on the roof, the other white knuckling the side of his seat, Mylo glares through the windshield. “Maybe we should go back. My meeting ain’t worth getting struck by lightning.”
I chuckle but press on the brakes. He’s right. No meeting’s worth driving in this.
A deafening crash sounds above us before I can get the pick-up turned around, then everything goes black.
