by Tessa Bailey
“Yes, I thought you only gave those out,” Rory’s other brother, Jamie, said from behind his raised, open book. “Who got the drop on you?”
“Some DFS’s,” Rory responded, shifting the ice pack, and his brothers hummed in acknowledgment, well aware that DFS stood for Down for the Summer. As in, those who didn’t live year-round in Long Beach but showed up for three months out of the year to make hell for the residents. “Don’t worry, he ended up with two instead of one.”
Jamie sighed and finally lowered his worn-in copy of The Grapes of Wrath. “Aren’t physical altercations a violation of your probation?”
Rory winked his good eye. “Only if I get caught.”
Andrew tossed aside the pencil and flattened both hands on the kitchen table. “All right. I tried to give everyone at least one full day off every week—”
“Jesus, man,” Rory deadpanned. “Don’t spoil us.”
“Look. We’ve got a bar to run.” Andrew massaged his eyes with a forefinger and thumb. Not for the first time, Rory noticed the new lines at the corners and the ice pack started to feel heavier in his hand. “I know it’s a lot, lifeguarding during the day and working behind the bar at night. If I could eliminate one of them for us, I would.” He dropped his hand. “Things are different than they were four years ago, though. We should be used to it by now.”
Things were different? Christ, what an understatement.
Rory, Andrew and Jamie traded long looks over the table, before quickly moving their attention elsewhere. A familiar pit took up residence in Rory’s stomach, but he filled it with cement and pasted a bored expression on his face. “Look, all I know is I’m not working Trivia Tuesdays at the bar.” He pointed at Jamie. “You herd the nerds this year.”
“As long as I can still participate in the quiz while serving drinks.”
Rory’s lips twitched. “God forbid you miss a chance to blow minds with your bottomless intellect.”
Jamie turned the page of his book. “What good is being a genius if I can’t make everyone else feel stupid?”
Andrew grabbed their attention with a knuckle rap on the table. “All right, so Jamie, you’re on Tuesday nights.” Their older brother made a notation on one of his clipboards. “I’m taking Sunday and Monday because the sports crowd is belligerent and Rory will knock someone out and end up back in a concrete cell—”
“More than likely,” Rory drawled, taking a few gulps of black coffee.
“We’re all hands on deck Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights—everyone works. So that leaves Wednesday night open.” Andrew speared him with a look. “You got it covered?”
“Sure. Wet T-shirt Wednesdays—”
“Nu-uh. Not happening.”
Rory smiled at his strait-laced oldest brother to let him know he’d been joking. “I think I’ve got it, man.”
With a nod, Andrew penciled in the final details to the Castle Gate schedule, hoisting it up like Moses probably held the Ten Commandments. “The next three months are going to be crazy, but when things quiet back down in September, we’ll have a lot less of Dad’s debt to show for it. We’re almost there. Play our cards right and this could be the year.” He didn’t meet their eyes. “Heads down and plow through, okay?” Finally, he ticked a look in both of their directions. “And let me know if anyone asks about him.”
Rory swallowed. “Will do.”
Jamie set his book down, which was as good as an agreement.
“Next order of business,” Andrew started, trading a not-so-subtle glance with Jamie. “Mom’s birthday is coming up in a few weeks.”
“What do you know?” Rory drawled, his neck itching. “Damn thing rolls around at least once every single year. Same time, too.”
“Are you going to come?” Jamie asked, shifting in his chair. “I don’t think you realize how much she’d like to see you, Rory.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” He laughed without humor and polished off his coffee, softening his tone when his brothers looked disappointed. “I’ll let you know, huh?”
Before anyone could respond, the back door of their kitchen opened and Jiya Dalal, the fourth member of their family, breezed in. “Morning, suckers,” she murmured, flipping her wave of black hair over her shoulder. “Where’s my coffee?”
On cue, Andrew abandoned his almighty clipboards and rose to pour her a cup.
Jiya wasn’t technically related, but Rory loved her like a sister. She’d moved with her parents from India to Long Beach the summer before starting fifth grade. One afternoon, Rory and Andrew were playing catch in the backyard—while Jamie read in the shade of their cedar tree—when they noticed a somber brown eye watching them through a hole in the old, rotted fence. That’s when the yelling started inside their house. Not just yelling. Angry, vile words meant to cause pain, coming from their father. In those days, their mother responded in kind, too. Before things had escalated.
Slowly, the fence board had slid to one side, revealing a girl Andrew’s age, wearing a pink Punjabi suit—although he hadn’t known what to call her outfit at the time. She’d waved all three Prince boys through, leading them without words to her garage where they’d watched cartoons on an old television set, Mrs. Dalal bringing them ice-cold Pepsi cans with straws stuck in the top. Jiya’s English had only allowed them the most basic communication back then, but eighteen years later, there was only a trace of her accent remaining and she could swear like a goddamn sailor.
Jiya slid over a large metal container from its place of honor on their counter and scooped cumin from its smaller compartment into the pressure cooker where Andrew had already started soaking the ghee to make khichdi, their morning staple ever since Jiya had taken pity on three starving men.
Knowing she would twist his ear like silly putty if he didn’t get up to help, Rory stood, breathing through his nose when his brain lurched and smacked off the front of his skull. “Fuck me,” he rasped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate summer.”
During the rest of the year, Rory worked the bar five nights a week. He made enough money to be comfortable and contribute to the mortgage he shared with his brothers. His customers were regulars. Friends. Locals. As soon as Memorial Day weekend hit, Long Beach transformed into a whole different animal. For one, lifeguarding season began, which meant waking up at the ass crack of dawn. Everyone on the beach was jacked for the time of their life, which meant they acted like idiots—and he couldn’t even escape them at the end of the day, since they inevitably showed up at the Castle Gate at night.
“I love summertime,” Jiya breathed, turning and leaning back against the counter. “My tips at the restaurant triple. By September, I should finally be able to afford the lessons.”
As far back as Rory could remember, Jiya had wanted to fly an airplane, but slow season at the restaurant she ran with her parents always seemed to eat into her funds. Every year around this time, she said the same thing. I should finally be able to afford the lessons.
Rory glanced over at Andrew to find him staring at Jiya’s profile, a frown marring his features. “Hell yeah.” He moved around Jiya and elbowed Andrew. “That’s great, Ji. Where are you flying us first?”
Andrew handed her a mug of coffee and she breathed in the steam, her dark eyes sparkling. “I’m thinking a pit stop in the Maldives before we hop over to Australia.”
“Count me in,” Jamie said, joining them at the counter to grate ginger onto the cutting board. “Let me know when to start packing.”
“He’ll need three extra suitcases for his books,” Rory laughed, then winced when his cranium protested. “Son of a bitch. Today is going to suck.”
“There’s Advil in my purse.”
He almost dove for the leather satchel she’d hung on a chair. “You’re an angel.”
“True facts.” Jiya took an exaggerated breath, set her coffee down and the four of them fell into their usual routine of making breakfast. “What time do you have to be at the Hut?” she asked, referring t
o the squat, brick headquarters adjacent to the boardwalk where the lifeguards checked in each morning.
“Eleven,” Andrew answered, saluting the kitchen in general with the spatula. “Long Beach, your lives are in the hands of the Prince brothers.”
Rory dry-swallowed a painkiller. “God help them all.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Prince brothers lived, ate, argued and worked two jobs together, so there was no shortage of face time. Hell, they were never not in each other’s faces. There’d been no formal discussion when deciding that morning not to ride to the Hut as a trio. It had gone unsaid they would find their own way there.
Did they love each other? Yeah. Would they have each other’s backs in an alley, even if the odds were three against three hundred? Rory would already be searching the ground for a potential weapon. Did they need some space occasionally? Bet your ass.
While Jamie hopped on the bus, Andrew and Jiya had driven together in his pick-up truck toward the boardwalk. Hoping the late-May breeze would clear the vodka cobwebs from his head, Rory walked, instead of taking his motorcycle. The last-minute decision to hoof it had thrown off his morning routine, resulting in him forgetting his cell phone on the kitchen table, but judging from the packed avenues, he should be thankful he wouldn’t have to battle for a parking space with a hangover.
At ten o’clock in the morning, there was already a traffic jam at every intersection, college kids staring at their smartphones at stoplights, the nasal voice of their navigation systems drifting out of the open car windows. A news helicopter circled above, probably feeding footage of the filling beach town back to a local station where a newscaster chirped to the audience. This Memorial Day weekend is certainly shaping up to be the busiest yet, Bob!
Andrew had been right about the last four years yielding big changes for the Princes. Their mother lived in Bayside, Queens now with her sister. Their father wasn’t around anymore. It was just the three of them, back in the house they’d been raised, working to pay bills.
The more things change, the more they stay the same, though, right? The walk down National Boulevard toward the beach felt like it had been recycled from the four previous summers of his life. Wake up after a night of blurry, shit-faced memories, face the guarded disappointment across the kitchen table, while nursing a healthy dose of his own. Fall into the same routine. Beach, bar, bed. Never changing. Never growing or taking on more responsibility. An actor trapped in the reruns of his own life.
What would he do if Andrew asked him to help manage the bar? Or hire and train this year’s newest crop of lifeguards? Not that such an occurrence would ever take place, but would he be able to deliver on more, if asked?
Rory was distracted from his thoughts when a blonde walked past him on the sidewalk with her face buried in a book. “Jesus,” he muttered. “The female version of Jamie.”
When she’d gotten a few feet ahead of Rory, he was powerless to do anything but check out her ass. If there was one perk to summers in Long Beach, it was the abbreviated attire, and this girl was no exception. She wore little, white bun-hugger shorts and flip-flops, gracing Rory with a front row seat to the tight, side-to-side twitch of her backside. It was a superior tush. So superior, he shook out his right hand like it had been burned.
Shame he couldn’t see her face. The forward tilt of her head caused short, blonde hair to curtain around her features as she speed walked to the corner, never looking up from her book.
Rory’s frown deepened the closer she got to intersection. Traffic might be moving slowly, but the bus lane was wide open and he knew from experience how fast they flew.
“Hey.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Hey.”
She continued walking, face in book.
“Dammit.” Rory gritted his teeth and started to run, not an easy feat considering he’d paired flip-flops with his sweatpants. But he had no choice to sprint, because she was five feet from the crosswalk and showing no signs of slowing down. He caught up with her just as she stepped into the street, wrapping an arm around her waist and yanking her back—
The East Loop bus barreled past blaring its horn.
“Oh my God.” She dropped her book—about fucking time—and dug her fingernails into his forearm. “Did that…oh God, that bus almost hit me.”
“You couldn’t have made it any easier,” Rory near-shouted at the top of her head, sounding winded. With her back plastered to his front, Rory could practically feel her shock wear off, giving way to a wave of trembling. He heaved a sigh and lowered his voice. “Consider a switch to audiobooks, huh? Maybe?”
Her head tipped forward, presumably to look at her fallen book. “I didn’t like the narrator for this one.”
“Enough to get hit by a bus?”
A few beats passed. “If I say yes, will you start shouting again?”
“Yes.”
“Then…no?”
Realizing he still held the stranger in a death grip, Rory let her go in degrees to assure himself she was steady. The blonde turned around and blinked up at him through round, red-rimmed eyeglasses—and he experienced the most unexpected twist in his chest. He must have run harder and faster than he thought, because he was winded all over again. On a sucked-in breath, an odd sound escaped his mouth. A scrape of noise. What the hell?
This girl. She was fucking…amazing. She reminded him of a little sunbeam with summer-kissed skin and big features, especially those dove-gray eyes. Oh fuck. Her lips. They were parted slightly and inviting, the sun bathing them in a sheen.
Forget what he’d said about her being the female version of Jamie.
“Whoa,” she whispered.
Tell me about it. “What’s your name?”
If her widened eyes meant she was surprised by the sudden drop in his voice, she wasn’t the only one. “I’m Olive. Cunningham.”
“Olive.” For some reason, color climbed her neck when he said her name. “I’m Rory Prince.”
“Hi.” She smacked a hand to her forehead. “And duh. Thank you. For saving me from being road kill. If I had to die horrifically, I would have chosen a different book to be my last.”
Rory stooped down and picked up the fallen tome, making no effort to hide his perusal of her bare legs on the way back up. They were covered in goose bumps. “You’re making it sound like you hate this book…” he said, stepping close until she tilted her head back to maintain eye contact. “But you were lost in another world reading it.”
“I get lost in magazines at the dentist office.” He heard her swallow. “I just have a thing for words.”
“What else do you have a thing for?”
“Probably other stuff,” she whispered. “But I’m having trouble thinking of them right this second.”
“Why is that?”
“I almost got hit by a bus.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Did you miss that?”
Rory couldn’t stop his grin. “Oh, I caught it.” Up ahead, he could hear the ocean and knew he needed to be at work. He would let down Andrew at some point this summer, no need to make it on the first day. But this girl. He was just supposed to walk away?
His grin faded. “I have to be at work soon. I’m lifeguarding today and we start at eleven. But I have a few minutes before I have to run.” He forced a concerned expression onto his face. “You look shaken up, sunbeam. We should probably get you a coffee and my number.”
A laugh burst out of her, loud enough to turn heads on the sidewalk. She slapped her hands over her mouth but continued to giggle behind them. The sound was so contagious, his own low rumble joined it and he couldn’t help but think, there’s never been a morning like this. There’s nothing even remotely recycled about this.
“I’m actually meeting a girlfriend,” Olive said finally. “It’s a study date.”
“I have great news. No one studies during the summer time.”
“I do.” With a smile that showed off the slight gap between her two front teeth, she pushed he
r glasses higher on her nose. “At the risk of sounding like a huge nerd, I’m taking a summer class at Stony Brook. I’m going to be a psychology major there in the fall and I want to be familiar with the course materials. And okay…” She blushed to her hairline. “I didn’t risk sounding like a huge nerd. That was full-on dweeb.”
Even though her enthusiasm was adorable, Rory encountered a kick of unease. He’d never been in a serious relationship, but he’d gone out with a lot of different kinds of girls…once. There wasn’t much that could intimidate him. He’d grown up poor and served hard time. But people with book smarts? Yeah, he had the look memorized. That look. The one that said they pegged him as being uneducated with nothing in his future but answering to someone else and making a working man’s salary for it.
On those extremely rare occasions Rory spent time with a book-smart girl, he didn’t really give a shit when she gave him the look. The one that said, I’m going to enjoy tonight and never tell a single one of my friends about it. What did he care? He wasn’t exactly planning on telling anyone, either. It was just a basic need being met. A diversion.
Olive didn’t seem like a diversion. Not even a little bit.
He really didn’t want her to give him the look.
“Uh, right.” Rory winked at Olive, handed her the book and backed in the direction of the beach. “Look, no more walking without looking where you’re going, all right, sunbeam?”
Her smile dropped.
“Don’t study too hard,” he said, punching the crosswalk button. Damn, walking away from a girl wasn’t supposed to be hard, was it? His stomach felt like two stones grinding together. When he glanced back, Olive took a step toward him, then changed her mind and retreated. With a weird tightening in his throat, Rory faced the street again. The light changed and Rory started to cross—
“Wait!”
