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The huge blasts of water cut off suddenly, but there are soft trickles and drops all throughout the condo. At least Brady reached the main shutoff.
“I worked my ass off and made it so far, no one could say anything about what I do.”
Brady appears, soaking wet and glowering. “It’s like every pipe broke.” With his hands on his hips, he surveys the damage. In the hallway alone, there’s a damn river. “Conner is about to get sued.”
“He wasn’t the contractor.” I pull out my phone. Water droplets cover the screen, but its place in my pocket saved it from the worst of the moisture. “I’ll call him.”
“Guess we’re staying at the beach house,” Dylan says, a flash of excitement shimmering in his eyes.
“Fuck,” Brady growls.
“Don’t be a dick,” I snap right as Conner answers the phone. “No, not you. I was talking to my brother. We have a problem.”I take the conversation up the stairs and to my room to start packing, ignoring Brady’s grumbling.
Fourteen
QUINN
My skin hurts by the time I’m done with my third shift at the beach. I used the waterproof scent-blocking sun lotion, but it’s been a while since I’ve done this job, and I’m still adjusting. A few more days, and being in the sun all day won’t bother me as much. The umbrella on the lifeguard stand helps too.
Ronald, a nineteen-year-old Eagle Scout, arrives five minutes early, and I couldn’t be more happy to see his pimply face. I’m covered in so much sunblock, it’s disgusting.
I leave the rescue tube and the megaphone at the top of the guard tower. “Do you have an alternate for the rest of the afternoon?” I ask Ronald. Mondays are relatively slow, but there are still plenty of people on the beach.
“Yeah. Tiff is always a little late, but she doesn’t ever call in. With her, we’ll have a full staff for the rest of the day.” Ronald is scrutinizing a group of rowdy kids. “Thanks for helping us this week.”
I couldn’t exactly say no to Gary the other day, and I haven’t heard anything on the internships. Daria is so busy with her pack and the beginning of her own career, she hasn’t beenable to hang out. It’s just me, the scent rollers, my resume, depression, and the beach.
The paper schedule for next week is tucked safely under my arm. A little help, as Gary put it, is actually a full-time gig. Gary was apologetic when I pointed out his failure to mention that fact. While it’s not what I want to spend my time doing, I don’t have a solid reason for turning down the job.
And I’m getting paid, which means I’ll be able to add money to thepay the parental units backfund. So, while Garyistaking advantage of my kindness, I’m not exactly put out.
“No problem,” I tell Ronald, instead of confessing how pathetic my life has become. “See you tomorrow.”
With my shoes dangling in my hand, I slowly make my way across the warm sand, more than ready to get out of the heat. My skin is so tight. Tomorrow, I’ll have to bring a T-shirt to put over my swimsuit.
I quickly pass by fifteen private beaches before I arrive within the secluded safety of my family’s beach. I wade out into the water until I’m torso deep, then go under, letting the water soothe some of the tightness.
How did my life get so complicated?
Better yet, when has my life been simple?
There’s always been something. My dads leaving. My stepbrothers haunting my every thought. The pressure I put on myself to be okay all the time, so as not to worry my mom. And now losing the internship and the apartment.
Maybe the universe hates me.
I trudge out of the water and up the beach. The dry sand cakes against my wet skin and water drips from my hair. I dry off the best I can and drape the towel over the railing of the back porch to let it dry. The large porch has a small set of stairs before it levels out into a smooth wooden platform. There are two different sitting areas—a table with chairs and a few couchesset around a firepit—and a couple of luxury loungers with fluffy cushions. I fight the urge to collapse onto the welcoming bed and head inside. The outside shower room is clean, thanks to the maids, but without fail, there are always wicked-looking spiders hiding in the corners.
I’m not trying to become the next Peter Parker.
Thanks to my earlier perfume making, the mansion smells like home, and I take a deep breath, gently closing the door and savoring the mix of cedarwood, musky amber, and fresh rain, scents I’ll never be able to forget. I lean against the door and simply exist in that fragrance. In my mind, I’d get home and they’d be waiting for me. In my imagination, they’d take one look at me, see something was wrong, and cuddle with me on the couch until my heart was full again. In my fantasies...that’s where the real trouble begins.
Knowing I can’t linger too long in thewhat should bethoughts, I shut down every desire and push off the door. My feet leave a trail of sand across the tile of the family room floor. I’ll clean later. Right now, I need food and a shower.
Light spills out of the kitchen. I frown and stop walking, pulse fluttering. I breathe in again. The scents are too pure, too perfect to be the perfume I developed. There’s a certain undercurrent to it, like steel, that I’ve never been able to capture. My heart skips.They’re here. A smile tugs at my lips and my stomach tightens. My alphas. My scent matches.
My stepbrothers.
Instantly, the smile vanishes, replaced with a frown I’ll regret twenty years from now, and my heart begins to race for an entirely different reason.
