Chasing Forever Down

by Nikki Godwin

  Part of me feels like this is a warning. I wouldn’t trespass onto his property anyway, but I know the guys are watching our every move. And being from the east coast doesn’t look like it’s going to be in my favor at any point.

  Reed’s cell phone blasts into my thoughts, causing all of us to jump a bit. He hits a button on the phone.

  “Hey!” Reed says.

  Alston is out of Linzi’s grasp and at Reed’s side in .02 seconds.

  “Who do I have to thank for all these blue lights?”

  It’s him, right there on speaker phone, half a mile up the beach. This. Freaking. Close.

  “Alston,” Reed says. “He cursed out the cops.”

  “Dude, that was all Reed,” Alston argues. “He made the call. I don’t know what he was thinking. He knows you get up at the ass crack of dawn.”

  “I can sleep through the DJ, but the sirens? Not so much.”

  Reed looks toward me and tells Colby to hang on. He and Alston step away, and Reed holds the phone to his ear. No more speaker phone. Linzi and I stand on the shore, watching the blue lights pull away and the partygoers clear the scene. The lights are still off at Colby’s beach house. I try to envision him sitting in his living room watching the madness outside in the glow of blue lights, watching the colors dance along the walls just like the blue streaks of Solomon did in our hotel room just last night.

  “Looks like the party is officially over,” Linzi says. She nods back toward Reed and Alston’s condo. The guys walk back toward us.

  Reed hands me my keys and cell phone. “Sorry the party sucked,” he says. “West coast parties are usually a little more fun and not so dramatic.”

  “Yeah,” Alston agrees. “So we were thinking that you guys should meet up with us tomorrow and go jet skiing.”

  Linzi agrees before I can argue, but I know Reed expects me to decline. I straight up told him last night that I’m not the jet skiing type.

  “What time?” I ask.

  “Twelve?” Reed asks.

  Linzi tells him we’ll be there and says good night to Alston. I’m still in a half-daze as we walk to the car. I strolled up and down this beach tonight wondering where he might be, and he was just up the street, sound asleep in his beach mansion.

  “Shoot!” Linzi says. “My tank top is on their couch.”

  I hand her my keys. “Go crank up. I’ll go back for it.”

  I stay under the streetlights until I get back to their condo. I cut through the sand and hope I can knock on the back door. I hear their voices through the privacy fence around the pool. They’re still outside.

  “North Carolina, Alston. It’s just not safe. Something’s not right. You don’t just randomly pick a place like this for a vacation.” Reed’s voice spills through the cracks of the wooden fence.

  “So we’ll jet ski tomorrow and they’ll bail. It’s foolproof. A.J. never lets us down, and if we can’t find him, you know Brooks will finish the job,” Alston says.

  I cut back through the sand and move through the shadows until I see the parking lot. Heat fills up my face, and now I’m mad enough to curse out the cops. Reed’s nice guy act and Alston’s make-out-with-the-best-friend ploy is not how this is going to end.

  “Did you get my shirt?” Linzi asks from the passenger seat when I get in the car.

  “They weren’t there,” I lie. I put the car in drive and head toward the hotel. “I guess they decided to go find their friend or something.”

  “Oh well. Tomorrow then,” she says through a yawn.

  Tomorrow – we’ll go jet skiing.

  Tomorrow – we’ll find the party boy.

  Tomorrow – the battle is on.