by Gunn, Jenna
If I’m lucky, I’ll make a few hundred bucks of tips today.
God, someone who heard me say that out loud might think I’m a greedy bitch—but it’s not greed, it’s desperation that drives me. I thought I’d be past this point in my life by now. If only I hadn’t been taking care of my parents and brother’s money needs since I was sixteen…. And if I didn’t spend nearly all my pay to rescue my brother over and over again. But irresponsible parents and a drug using brother have proven more than I can overcome.
So far… I remind myself.
I have visions of one day knowing what financial comfort is. I just want to have savings. To know I’m responsible for me. To sleep in a house that’s not falling down. Not owe for some legacy of debt or trouble created by someone else.
When all the guests are changed and gone, I head to the staff locker room. It takes me a few minutes to shimmy out of the clingy wetsuit. After drying off, I pull on my sweatshirt and tights again.
I’m free until one thirty. That’s enough time to run home and eat a can of tuna and some fruit.
I’m about to duck out of the back room and rush to my house for some food when Rich calls out to me. “Hey Anya, lunch is on me today!”
I stop, halfway out the door. “Really?”
“I’ll pay if you go pick up something.”
“Deal.” I stroll to the register. “What do you want?”
“How about a wrap and a smoothie from Beach Vibes?”
I feel myself perk up. “I could go for that. I forgot Maddy added wraps to the menu. Sounds perfect.”
He hands me forty dollars. “That should do. Keep the rest.”
I grin. It’s his way of thanking me for taking on the extra work today without any bitching. “Any special requests?”
“Maddy knows what I like.”
“She’s good like that.” Everybody loves Maddy, she’s the queen of good customer service and a damn fine chef too. “Back in a few.”
I’d normally pack my lunch to save money, but I’ll enjoy the indulgence from the boardwalk cafe on Rich’s dollar. I glance toward the lifeguard operation center as I walk down the boardwalk. Brandon and all of his brothers work there.
I’m ruminating over how I’m going to avoid talking with Brandon about my brother when I hear my name. I turn and low and behold, it’s as if I’ve conjured Brandon up with just a thought. He’s leaned back on a bench seat on the edge of the boardwalk.
I consider walking on, but for some reason, maybe it’s his magnetism, I turn and approach him. I take in the clothes he has on, his work uniform. But his jeans and the t-shirt I loaned him are stacked on the bench beside him. The same ones he had on last night. “Aren’t you on duty?”
“I was. But I’m off now.”
“What are you doing here?”
He sighs. “I got suspended for being arrested and I’m waiting on a ride to the house. I walked to the bar last night, then rode here with you.”
“Oh, no!” I drop down onto the bench next to him. “This is horrible.”
“It’s not all sunshine and roses. But I’ll live.”
“How long is the suspension?”
“Until my court date. A few weeks, maybe. Then I have to go before the council. It will be fine.”
A loud whistle pierces the air. Brandon throws up a hand. “That’s Bryce. He’s taking me home.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to make this right. I guess Bishop knows…”
“No, not yet. He’s off from work today.” He rises up, looks down at me from his considerable height. “We need to talk, away from prying eyes.”
“I can’t.”
The more I say, the more chance he’ll be tangled up in this mess. I won’t involve him any further.
He growls. “Anya.”
I fidget with the money in my hand as he looks at me far too intently.
“Don’t, please. Just let well enough alone. You’ve done enough. I’ll see if I can’t help with the suspension.”
“Please let go.” I pull my hand from his grip, drop my head low, and walk toward the cafe.
Thoughts carry me miles away as I stand in line in Beach Vibes. Maddy, the owner, is nowhere in sight. “Where’s Maddy? I ask the pretty brunette working behind the counter.
“She got married! Her and Christian Archer are on their honeymoon.”
“What?” I gape.
“Yep, it was a secret.”
“Wow, I guess so. I’m shocked.” Things suddenly click into place in my head. “Was there a reception at the Archer’s yesterday evening?”
The party Brandon mentioned must have been celebrating the wedding.
She beams. “Indeed, a heck of a party at that.”
“Ah. Well, I’m happy for her—for them.”
“The Archers are quite the family.”
“Yes, they are...” I mutter.
She winks and asks, “Which one of those dreamy men do you like best?”
I freeze up, then manage to mumble, “I’m not in the market.”
She smiles a sly smile before she introduces herself. “I’m Abby, by the way, I don’t think we’ve met.”
I give her hand a shake, “Abby, I’m Anya, I teach over at Wave Rider’s surf school.”
“I’ve seen you around town, but I work a lot at the hospital so I don’t get to socialize much.”
“Me either, honestly. I hadn’t been out in years until a friend’s birthday at the Sea Slug.”
She scrunches her nose. “Ick.”
“Yeah, I think the same about the place. I won’t be in any hurry to go back.”
“I have a feeling you and I will get along just fine,” she says, laughing lightly. “Now, what can I get for you?”
Frowning, I look over the menu. I have no clue what to get Rich. “Any suggestions? My boss said Maddy would know what to send for him.”
She raises her brows. “Hm. Well, maybe the chicken wrap. It’s super popular.”
“Okay, make that two. Plus two strawberry, banana, coconut smoothies. And better add a couple Grizzly Bite cookies for him too.”
She rings me up. I pay with Rich’s cash, and she disappears to the kitchen with a big smile on her face.
While she gets things ready, I browse the gifts to kill time, checking out the little original art paintings Maddy sells. Each little beach scene has been painted by a local artist. The tiny canvases are cute, and just the right size for someone to take home as a gift or a reminder of their vacation.
Once upon a time, I painted a lot. A twinge of sadness bites at me. It would be fun to paint little seascape paintings like that. If only I had the spare money to get started painting.
That was the beauty of high school art. I could paint all I wanted without having to buy my own supplies. The school’s art studio was my safe haven. I had everything I could dream of wanting there. Ms. Hodges, my amazing teacher, did everything in her power to get supplies donated for her students.
I’m sad to admit I haven’t thought about her in years. Probably because I haven’t thought about making art in nearly as long. Other worries have been more pressing.
“Aren’t those adorable?” Abby asks as she sets the bags on the table.
My voice sounds weird and sad when I say, “They’re great. It’s wonderful that Maddy sells local artist’s work.”
“I just love the vibe in here. It’s why I come in to volunteer on days off from my job.”
“You volunteer?”
“I just like to help Maddy out. And I get to use those amazing ovens and commercial kitchen tools. So much fun.”
The glimmer lighting her eyes says so much more than her words. It’s cool to see someone love what they do so much they do it for free.
I love what I do, but I know deep down I’m an artist—maybe one day I’ll get to pursue that dream… but only if my very grown brother can ever turn into an adult and stand on his own two feet.
4
It’s crappy enough to get su
spended from work, but when it’s your own twin brother, AKA Supervisor, that does it, it’s even worse.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Bryce barked as he threw a stack of suspension papers across the office at me.
“Asks the one who got suspended for fighting at work? At least I was not on the job when I got into a fight.”
He scowled at me and told me to “Get the fuck out. And don’t come back until your hearing with the County commissioners.”
Now I’m forced to ride in his truck with his grouchy ass when I’ve already got a headache the size of an oil tanker.
He’s silent as a stone as he drives. My twin Bryce normally isn’t so grouchy, but the strain of his temporary job is getting to him.
As we pull into Pelican Point, the Archer family compound, he says. “Gonna tell me what really happened?”
I’m sure someone is gonna start talking before long, so I decide to say something. Maybe it will divert some attention. “This girl from the neighborhood was being harassed by a guy. I stepped in.”
“Did he get arrested too?”
I snort. “Not that I know of. He never showed up in the clink. Bastard ran.”
Bryce’s brows knit together in a hard line. “What was it about?”
I refuse to lie to my brothers. That’s a rule we have never broken with each other. We might fight and bitch, and disagree the fuck out of shit, but we don’t lie to each other. “Something about money being owed.”
“Drugs?”
“I guess so, but I don’t know, and might never know. She’s not talking.”
“You said neighborhood girl, you know her?”
“Yeah. I do.” I don’t offer who.
“Who is it?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Through gritted teeth I say, “She asked me not to talk about this.” When I look up, Bryce is studying me with his matching blue eyes in a face that looks like my own. He doesn't say anything as he processes.
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a minute. I can see he’s figuring things out. “She bail you out last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Something going on between you?”
The muscles in my jaw tick. “Not that you have any right to fucking grill me. But because of our pact, I’m not going to lie to you. There’s nothing going on between us yet. But there will be, if I have my way.”
“Are you sure that’s smart? Sounds like she’s got bad problems.”
I growl, “like we’ve never had problems?”
“Not drug problems.”
I pull the latch to open the passenger door on his Tundra. “She’s not the one in debt or using.” I lean back in the door. “Breathe a word of this to anyone, and you and me will have a big issue. Got it?”
He just watches as I close the door. I stare at him through the glass as he drives away.
* * *
Bishop’s phone is on the workbench in the garage when I stroll in. His head is buried beneath the 1940 Ford Woody station wagon he’s restoring. I step over his legs, the only part of him visible from below the car.
“Can you hand me one of those blue rags?” He shouts as he sees my legs stroll by. I pick up a rag and his phone. Crouching down, I hand the rag to him. He goes back to work without ever coming out from beneath the car.
I thumb in his security code, which I know he never changes. He’s not very inventive, I press the number one six times, and the screen unlocks.
Scrolling through the contacts, I find Anya’s number. I enter it in my phone and place his back where it was.
I might not lie to my brothers, but they don’t need to know everything. Yet anyway.
“What are you doing off from work?”
I drop into one of the old car seats turned hangout couches. “Suspended for fighting—more specifically for getting arrested.”
“Shit,” He barks a laugh.
“Yeah, I know. So if you need any help on that piece of crap for the next couple of weeks, let me know. I’ve got some time on my hands.”
He wheels himself out from under the car. He glances at me. “I’d take a vacation if I were you.”
It’s not at all what I expected him to say. I figured he’d bitch me the hell out. Honor, responsibility, and all that bullshit.
“Maybe I should.”
Bishop goes back to wiping off something small that’s covered in grease. He frowns as he concentrates. “Wait a minute. Did you get in a fight at the Sea Slug last night?”
Shit. My mind stutters for a few long seconds. “What did you hear?”
“Just some buzz about the cops cuffing someone in the parking lot. No clue what went down.”
I raise a hand. “That would be me.”
He shakes his head. “Damn. Didn’t take long for the county to put you on suspension.”
“News travels fast in a small grapevine.”
“Damn right it does. Well, I hope you landed some good punches.”
“Not enough.”
He drops down onto the dolly and rolls back under the car. “There’s always next time.”
I let the words linger in the air, and I have to wonder if his words are prophetic.
“See ya around.” I grumble as I stalk from the garage.
I close myself into the quiet space of my side of the duplex. When I sit on the couch, I’ve got my phone in my hand, poised and ready to send a text message. Anya’s name sits patiently at the top of the screen and the cursor blinks in the text box.
Screw it. I’m not sending an impersonal text message.
I dial her number. It rings a few times, then a recording of her delicate singsong voice says, “Hey, It’s Anya. I’m busy, but promise to get back.”
“Anya, It’s Brandon. I’d love to talk this evening. Say when and I’ll walk over to your place.”
When I hang up, I’m already thinking of about fifteen different ways I could have left her a message. Maybe, no not maybe—I should have asked her on a date. Jeez, I’m such an idiot.
I start to call her back, but think better of it. Wouldn’t that sound dumb now?”
Night fall comes and my phone still hasn’t rung. No texts either. Try as I might to distract myself with making dinner, with sitting around the garage while Bishop works, and with doing a bunch of laundry, it doesn’t do a damn thing to take my mind off the woman that was curled against me last night.
Finally, at nine I strike out on foot to Anya’s house. The street is quiet. Cool night air presses around me as I head downhill from our family compound to the block where Anya lives.
I find myself hurrying because I’m so eager to see her again. I’ve been craving another kiss like I’m already hooked on her delicious mouth.
She stirs me. On every level, from the protector in me to the part that craves that bright light only a woman can bring into a man’s world.
The last day has been surreal. So many emotions jammed into one big fat circle of the clock. Now, I can’t stay away. I want to be with her to help her and to keep her safe.
My feet come to a sudden halt when I see her house.
Damn. Her driveway is empty. Not a single light on in the place. A deep sting of disappointment bites at me.
I sit on the front step for a while, thinking about the way she looked at me this morning. The way she fled.
I wanted her to want me and need me. Stupid shining armor thinking.
When she’s still not home at ten, I start back up the hill to my house with my feet and my heart way heavier than they should be.
5
The more I think about what Brandon did for me, the more I know I have to keep him away. This disaster with Cam is bad enough without ruining lives of innocent bystanders.
I can’t take on responsibility for one more person.
The fact that he got suspended from work and could lose his job is nightmare enough.
Gripping the steering wheel, I say out loud, “I can’t let him close.”
No
, not right now, I need to concentrate on finding Cameron, and getting away from these thugs he owes money to.
The red taillights of stop and go highway traffic sting my eyes in the darkness as I drive toward exit 19. The signal clicks for several minutes while I creep up to the exit. Finally, I merge onto Wilson Avenue. From there, I turn onto Leaf Court.
The Prius idles silently as I sit at the curb in front of the last place Cameron lived. A low light shines from the living room, showing through a brown curtain. The doorway is lit by a bare bulb.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, but not much has changed. Same broken car on blocks in the drive. Same tire lying by the mailbox. You’d think something would change in a year.
Given that the occupant relies on a bicycle and his flip-flops for transportation now, I can’t be sure if anyone is home. Without knocking, that is.
I step into the dark night air. Determination to track Cam down is the only thing that’s brought me to this house. Squaring my shoulders, I steel myself for dealing with Reed Saunders.
My knock rings loud in the quiet. A few seconds later, the curtain stirs. I know he’s looking at me. Or someone, is at least.
When he pulls the door open, I’m met with a wave of air that smells like dirt. I’ve never understood exactly why his house always has that weird earthy smell.
Hell, maybe it’s my naivety; I guess it could be from growing dope. I’ve never asked. And never will.
The man’s eyes are smudged with dark circles below onyx colored irises. “I’m surprised to see you. Care to come in?”
“No. Thank you.” I try for polite, but it’s a stretch. “I’m looking for Cameron.”
“Ah, big sister to the rescue again?”
I narrow my eyes. Fear for Cam prickles my skin. I suddenly want to shake Reed so any information he has will come tumbling out—but I restrain myself and ask, “What do you know?”
