by Lexi Scott
“What do you care?” I demand. “You don’t live there.”
“But I looked at those apartments. And I work right around the corner. It’s just shady.” She sits up straighter, and I look for some sign that my sister is feeling bad about being the world’s biggest jerk, but she just looks full of herself. As usual.
“Hey, you never finished telling me what went down after Maren left the beach the other day,” Deo segues quickly.
He knows when a Rodriguez throw-down is coming from years of watching them unfold, and I assume he doesn’t want to shock and horrify Whit.
“I don’t even know where to start.” I glance at Whit, who’s looking at me with patient, non-judgmental eyes. Then I look at Lydia, who’s just waiting to pounce on another of her loser sibling’s problems. “Her old man is pretty screwed up. He’s an alcoholic, and, apparently, Maren has done everything any reasonable person could to help him, but nothing’s stuck. And when I offered to help…”
I don’t finish, but I don’t need to.
“I take it Maren didn’t appreciate your prying?” Whit asks, frowning as she takes a long pull of beer and adds, “Were things okay when you drove out to meet your cousin on the main road? I went straight to the beach after Deo called and never even got a chance to see her.”
“On a scale of one to ten—one being awesome conversation, ten being totally uncomfortable silence—it was a twelve,” I say, sighing.
“What was the problem exactly?” Deo asks carefully.
I’m not sure if it’s my business to say, but I feel like there have been enough secrets where Maren’s father’s addiction is concerned. And these are friends. Maybe they’re not Maren’s friends—yet—but they’re mine, and I trust their advice and know their intentions are only good.
“Her father drank so much he nearly stopped breathing. A friend of his called the ER, had him looked at. She sent me a text, let me know he was stable. I think his drinking is bad as it is, and it’s also compounded with some other pretty serious medical crap.”
There’re a few seconds of quiet before Lydia pipes up.
“Well, she can’t just absorb the shrapnel of his self-destructive tendencies,” she sputters. “I mean, I’m all for staying loyal to family, but not at the expense of your own well-being.”
As much as we rag on Lydia for being a self-centered ass, she’s a Rodriguez through and through, and she’d be there for any one of us if we were in a bind.
“I hear you, Lyd. She says she doesn’t want me to help because it’s too easy to get sucked in. She says she can’t just abandon her father, that she thinks things might be getting better.” I can’t keep the doubt out of my voice.
“Getting better?” Lydia snorts. “I don’t think booze-based medical emergencies are on anyone’s ‘better’ scale. You need to help her.”
She says it in this no-nonsense way—so Rodriguez.
Whit clears her throat. “Um, I definitely agree that Cohen should offer his help. But if Maren made it clear she doesn’t want anyone poking around, you may just irritate her if you don’t listen.”
I want to say—
“That’s bullshit!” My sister beats me to the punch.
Whit shrugs. “Family issues are complicated. You guys should know that. Let her know you’re there for her, let her know you care, but…don’t push too hard. Or you just might push her away. That’s all I’m saying.”
“And all I’m saying is it isn’t fair for someone as incredible as Maren to get manipulated and abused by anyone. Even her father,” I retort.
Genevieve stomps onto the deck just then, Cece behind her. Cece hugs Whit and Deo, and Genevieve gives them a small smile. They both glare at Lydia, who sighs and crosses her arms.
“You okay?” I ask Genevieve lowly.
“Yeah.” She smiles, her eyes puffy and red. “I’m fine. Are you? You look like you’re ready to murder someone.”
“Cohen went on a double date with Maren, from the warehouse,” Lydia says. Genevieve waters down her glare so she can get more information. “They saw each other the other day, but she had to bail early because her alcoholic father was in a bind.”
“You went out with Maren?” Genevieve asks, her face suddenly brightening. “I love her! I love you two together—”
“We’re not together,” I cut in quickly. “I mean, not officially. It’s really…it’s just… It’s kind of complicated.”
Deo fills the awkward hush by clearing his throat loudly.
“Oh.” Genevieve looks crestfallen. Leave it to Gen to make any situation more dramatic.
“I went on a double date,” I explain. “And I’m upset because Maren is awesome. As a friend, first and foremost. But her dad has some addiction issues. He’s kind of spiraling out in a really dangerous way. And he’s taking Maren down with him.”
“Holy crap. I’m so sorry to hear that. But isn’t there something you can do? Maybe get her father into a rehab and get her out of that situation? You need to help her,” Genevieve says, her face going all loopy and glowy even as I shake my head. “Offer for her to crash here with us, Cohen. She’s so nice. I love that girl, and I hate to think of her being in a tough situation like that. No one should be handling that kind of thing on their own.”
I lean back on the deck railing and remember the way I jumped Maren in my kitchen, like I was a damn panther in heat. I want things to work with her, and the last thing I need is her moving into my family’s house of insanity. I want to give her space, give us time to take things slow.
Cece tugs Genevieve to her side. “Genie, I definitely think she needs help, but maybe it would be weird coming from Cohen. It might seem shady or something. I talked to her a thousand times when I used to do the shipment coordinating for Mom and Dad. She was always super friendly. I could ask her out to lunch if you want.”
This is why Cece is hands down my favorite sister.
“Maybe,” I say at the same moment Genevieve wails, “No!”
“Um?” Everyone looks at Whit, who hasn’t said a word this whole time. “I’ve been trying to remember why the name of Maren’s dad’s band sounded so familiar. They definitely weren’t big in Pennsylvania like they are out here. Now I remember there was a guy who came to get a tattoo at Rocko’s the other day. Murdock, maybe? Anyway, he said he had a gig with the lead singer from Zero Mile. I remember the band name because Rocko asked me to pull up some of their old songs for the shop playlist. He’s a big fan.” She goes quiet, running her finger around the neck of her beer bottle.
“Isn’t a gig a good thing?” Gen asks.
“The guy said if the gig worked out, it would be like a Zero Mile reunion tour. That they might go on the road and everything.” Whit takes a deep breath. “When the guy left, Rocko said he knew of him from word of mouth, since lots of musicians come in. The guy, Murdock, is trouble, like he’s done time for some really nasty stuff, and he’s into hardcore drugs. Rocko was bummed. Said anyone hanging with that guy was definitely headed for destruction.” She looks at me with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, Cohen. I would have told you sooner if I realized, but I didn’t even know about Maren having a dad in a famous band until Kona brought it up this weekend. It all just clicked right now while we were talking.”
I’m shocked the bottle in my fist doesn’t crack apart.
“So it might be more than alcohol? Her dad’s hanging out with druggies?” I ask. “Who the hell is this Murdock? What exactly did he do to land his ass in jail?”
“Wait.” Genevieve is scrolling through her phone. “Maren is my Facebook friend. Um, she’s not friends with him, but there’s a Murdock Jones who lists Silver Strand as his hometown and Rock God as his job. He’s a fan of Zero Mile, and his profile pic is a guy with a Day of the Dead skull tattoo on his arm. His most recent status: Hangin’ with a legend, too many bottles down to count, shit gettin’ real. Need to take this to the next level…can’t make art until you let your hang-ups go, can’t let go ‘til you take the
jump from mortal to god… The needle only pricks for a second. You might even like it. Wish that beautiful goddess would come back and sing me up her stairway to heaven.”
She raises her big doe eyes at me, and I have the worst thought ever: I think about how Genevieve, my awesome, loyal sister would do for me or Enzo or our father exactly what Maren is doing for her dad; she’d stick by our side through whatever crazy shit we were going through, even if it was ripping her life apart.
“What the hell does that gibberish even mean?” Lydia asks with a frown.
“I think it means trouble,” Deo says, his voice low. He looks right at me. “I don’t speak stupid, but I’m gonna assume he’s talking about doing drugs and…” He pauses. “Getting laid,” he finishes carefully.
We meet eyes and nod. We both know there’s a good chance the asshole was probably talking about Maren, the beautiful daughter of a big shot ex-rocker who can sing like a damn angel. She has to be a temptation this loser can’t resist. The thought makes my blood come to a boil.
“That’s the guy,” Whit confirms when Gen shows her the phone. “Definitely. And I know Rocko’s been around his fair share of people who do crazy stuff. He’s pretty ‘live and let live,’ and he always gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. If he thinks this guy is bad news, Maren needs to stay as far away as possible.”
Whit turns the phone my way. Rocko may not have a judgmental bone in his body, but I have plenty of them in mine, and I can tell the guy’s a fucking pile of human waste just looking at his smug profile picture. He’s holding a joint in his hand, flexing his tattooed muscle for the camera. His eyes are flat and dead, his hair hangs in long, heavy dreadlocks, and his smile is arrogant and full of contempt. I hate him based on his picture alone, and I sure as hell don’t like the idea of that asshole anywhere near Maren.
I hope, for his sake, we never meet face to face. I hope I convince Maren to get the hell out before things get too screwed up.
“Cece, you need to talk to her as soon as you can,” I say, feeling a rise of panic tighten my chest. The stakes just keep going up.
“Of course.” Cece takes most things in stride, but anything feminist gets her fired up, and the idea of Maren at the mercy of a father who’s out of control and a druggie with a rap sheet is just dumping gasoline on the fire.
I announce loudly, “Hey, Deo, I gotta give you that board wax. The stuff from Hawaii. It’s in my car.” The girls look at me in confusion, but Deo doesn’t need to hear another word.
He’s already kissing Whit on the cheek and heading to the driveway with me. “Be right back,” he calls.
When we’re standing in the driveway, Deo holds his hands out. “All right. What’s the plan?”
“I have no clue. Shake some sense into Maren’s idiot father? Beat the shit out of that lowlife Murdock guy before he makes a bad situation worse?” I snarl.
Unlike the girls, Deo doesn’t get all freaked out when I’m pissed. He actually looks fairly amused.
“Dude, you get so damn Incredible Hulk when you’re pissed. This is exactly why you’ve got to let it out more often. You know? You’re always so damn responsible. You need to be crazy once in awhile.” He leans back on his Jeep and jerks his thumb at his board. “Remember when you and I said we’d shred it in New Zealand?”
I nod. Every person who lives on the edge has a bucket list, right? I guess I’ve had a partial one for a long time.
“Right. We should.” I clench and unclench my fists, wishing I had something to punch. Like Murdock’s shithead face.
“Top five things you gotta do before you get settled down and turn into an old, fat Mexi-jew, and say them without thinking too much. Go.” Deo points at me, and I don’t think, just say what comes off the top of my head.
“Beat the shit out of someone.” I hold up one finger. “Easy. I’ve even got a name for that one. New Zealand. Let’s do it for your bachelor party, all right? I know you’re not gonna be able to wait much longer to make an honest woman of Whit. So that’s two. Uh, huge tat, and it’s about damn time. That’s three. Four? I want to cliff dive. Yep. All right, one more?”
I’m going to say that I want to climb some badass mountain or skydive or something, but Deo cuts in.
“Seriously, man? Five is get your balls in order and ask Maren on a real date once you beat that druggie to a pulp and get her dad in some rehab or whatever. Then you two fuck like crazy animals for, like, five days straight. I don’t want to know your business with Kensley, but I don’t believe a girl that incredibly stupid in every way could have been good in bed. Sorry. I’m just not buying it.” Deo’s shaking his head like he feels bad for me.
“Are you kidding me? Kensley and I had sex all the time,” I protest.
“I never said you didn’t have a lot of sex. But, c’mon. Admit it. It was subpar.” He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Tell Papa Deo. Your sex was shitty for, like, five years. I know it because remember when you guys broke up for a month three years ago, and we took that trip to Mexico to help you shake her? And you slept with that girl Grace you met surfing? She rocked your world, and that was basically just a one-week stand. You hardly even knew that girl.”
Grace? Ah, yes, the sweet, cute chick I met down in Cabo when Kensley broke up with me for a few torturous weeks. Grace and I both agreed it was just going to be a few nights of fun, and it definitely was really, really fun. As good as the sex with her was, it didn’t even begin to do to me what some heavy making out with Maren did, which threw me into a crazed state of near-constant lust. And Deo’s right. Sex with Grace was better than it was with Kensley.
If kissing Maren was better than sex with Grace, which was better than sex with Kensley, what the hell would marathon sex with Maren be like?
It’s like some kind of pornographic Algebra problem, and it makes me feel like a total ass for even wondering.
“I… It’s not like that. She’s… Maren is…” I can’t find the words.
Deo unfolds his arms and his jaw goes slack. “No shit. No shit. You already screwed her? You sly fucking dog!”
I rub a hand over my face. “How do you always manage to be a bigger dick than I imagined possible? I did not screw Maren.”
“You did not have sexual relations with that woman?” Deo laughs. “You’re so full of shit. I can see it on your face. I know you, man. I even know your lies.”
“I know you think you know everything, but…you don’t, asshole. We, uh, we… It wasn’t screwing. It wasn’t like that.”
“You’re evading, my friend. Just admit it already. You’re so into this girl. Just go for it, screw all the complications and craziness. She’s your number five.” Deo grins and rubs his hands together. “And I need to get you to New Zealand. This is the perfect way to guilt Whit into pushing the wedding up.”
“You’re so damn romantic. Did you ever think there might be a reason she’s running away from this wedding? Like maybe she’s scared to be Mrs. Beckett?” It sounds dickish, but it’s fairly impossible to get Deo down.
Which he proves by snorting at my suggestion. “In her secret heart of hearts, she’s dying to be Mrs. Deo Beckett. But she’s just like you, man. Love-scared. Not me, though. I’m a natural born lover, and I will snare Whit in my love web. Mark my words. Natural. Born. Lover.” He points his thumbs at his chest.
“More like a natural born asshole.” I toss him the board wax that I really did need to give him. “So, if I need bail after I kick this Murdock’s ass, you got me, right?”
Deo throws an arm around my shoulders. “As long as you don’t tell Whit about the Mrs. Deo Beckett joke, we’re solid. She’s all ‘empowered woman, not losing myself in marriage, yadda yadda.’ And remember to keep your awesome fury in check, Hulk. You wanna scare the asshole, not kill him.”
I nod and we head back into the house where Whit and my loud, obnoxious family wait to eat with us. Conversation bounces from one subject to another like mad, and the food is beyond delicious,
but I feel like I can’t hear or taste a thing.
My mind keeps flipping between two scenarios. In one, I’m beating the shit out of Murdock and hauling her father’s stupid ass to some kind of rehab, so I can make damn sure Maren doesn’t become collateral damage in his self-destructive life.
In the second, I’m doing wild, crazy things with Maren for hours on end in my bed.
I can’t keep this girl out of my brain, but I realize it’s probably because the little taste I got that one night with her only made me want her more. Maybe it’s a good thing that by the time I make scenario number one happen, scenario number two will probably be out of the picture.
But I tell myself I don’t care if Maren will most likely hate me for interfering in her life. I can acknowledge that barging in where I’m not wanted may cost me my chance at being with her, but there’s no part of me that can be okay with seeing her get hurt.
I make a decision to go ahead and do what needs to be done, no matter how much Maren tries to push me away. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll all work out for me in the end after all.
Right. I’m wishing myself a lot of luck on that one.
Chapter Sixteen
Maren
I pull the large spiral-bound pad out of my bag and flip it to the first page. The creamy sheets of sketch paper are heavy and still stiff because even though I bought this sketch book two years ago, today is actually the first time I’ve opened it. I clasp a binder clip to the bottom of the pad to keep it open in the persistent wind, and pull out the fresh pack of oil-based sanguine pencils, taking the time to roll one back and forth in my palm, feeling the familiarity of the rough wood before poising it to the pad.
It’s strange to think I used to draw daily, once upon a time. It was something I’d done since I was a kid. Almost every photograph from when I was a little girl features me with a crayon, paintbrush, or pencil in my hand, creating something.
