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PART I
CHAPTERONE
NOLAN
Astorm is moving in.
Here on the island, they pass by pretty quickly.
But they can be brutal. Devastating.
I sit under a cluster of palm trees with my denim-clad legs kicked out in front of me, feet bare, toes half-buried in the sand. It seems softer back here in the shade. Silky. Cool. Untouched by the sun. I cup the sand in my hands, glance down, and watch it slip through my fingers.
Thunder rolls closer now than it was moments ago, mingling with the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs, slamming onto the beach. A strong breeze blows through, and the palm trees draped above me brush together, swaying, emerald green against the bruised sky. In the distance, the hazy, butter-yellow sun disappears between a thick swatch of storm clouds.
I’m alone, just how I prefer it. How I always have, but especially here.
Well, with the exception of Abby of course.
My chest tightens at the reminder.
I’d take never being alone again, if it meant having her at my side.
More thunder rumbles, quiet but lingering. A drop of moisture hits my foot and I look up, squinting through the fronds as more raindrops slip through, the palm trees unable to hold the water any better than I could hold the sand.
Somewhere far away, past the trees and rocky knolls hiding this little hidden cove, a voice calls out, followed by laughter. Genuine laughter. On this side of the island, it’s not often you hear such a sound. Not when there’s this pervasive sort of heaviness pressing down around us, like a black cloud we can’t seem to escape.
That’s rehab for you.
Even on the sunniest of days, there’s blackness hovering in the horizon, just out of sight, waiting for you to forget it’s there.
Not for the first time, I wonder what it’s like on the other side of the island. The resort side, where rich pricks and nepo babies go to hide and decompress from whatever fuck ups led them to the remote, luxurious Black Diamond Resort and Spa. Be it scandal, crime, or whatever else they’re running from.
Difference is, their baggage gets them a private vacation. Mine gets me mandatory bi-weekly therapy at the Black Diamond Recovery Center, a for-profit inpatient rehabilitation and mental health facility found at the bottom of page three in the brochure.
But something tells me I’d be even more miserable over there in the land of sunshine and smiles.
More alone than even I could bear.
The wind starts picking up, and as much as I want to stay out here and watch Mother Nature unleash her wrath upon the ocean, I should probably head back. Out in the middle of the Pacific, with a cell phone about as useless as my first Nokia flip-phone, all we have to rely on for simple luxuries like weather forecasts and news from the outside are the powers that be running this pretentious little island oasis.
Dusting sand off my lap, I’m about to push myself to a stand when I hear it.
A branch snapping.
Easing back down, I turn my head, squinting through the sheet of rain blowing through just in time to catch the figure storming through the trees.
In all the times I’ve been down here since I discovered this little hideaway, I’ve yet to run into another soul. I’m not stupid enough to think no one else knows about this place, but it was nice while it lasted, pretending it was just mine.
It’s a man by the looks of it. Younger than me. He carries himself with an almost boyish, stubborn sort of deliberateness.Stompy.
I hold very still so as not to startle him. It’s clear he’s upset. Distracted. His dark, wet head hangs forward, gaze aimed at the ground, hands balled into fists at his sides.
Unlike me in my jeans and work boots, he’s dressed far more appropriately for this climate.
Khaki shorts.
Pale green linen shirt left untucked.
