Inseverable: A Carolina Beach Novel

by Cecy Robson

  “No, it wasn’t,” I insist.

  I don’t want tonight to be about the bad things of the past. Not with the five of us together after too many months apart. But here we are, focusing on things I’ve tried hard to forget. “Becks, as much as I thought I loved Hunter, and as much as I believed that he wanted to marry me, I realize now we never would have worked out. I’m going into the Peace Corps, exactly like I’ve always planned. But knowing who he is—who he really is—he wouldn’t have waited for me, and he sure as anything wouldn’t have joined up just to be with me.”

  Even through her sunglasses, I can tell Becca’s eyes are narrowing. “He’s still a douche head, and so is she.”

  “I won’t argue with you about that,” I tell her. My head falls against the seat rest. Do you want to know something about Becca? She’s sweeter than maple syrup and about as kind as people get. Until you hurt someone she loves. I’m among the lucky few she loves. But it’s because she loves me, that she reacts the way she does.

  She pushes her sunglasses up to her head, pegging me with enough disappointment to make me ache. “When do you leave?” she asks.

  “September. But I won’t know my placement for another few weeks.” I answer so softly, I’m not sure if she hears, but her tensing posture assures me she does. “Daddy used his connections at the UN and arranged it so I’d have time to take my boards and have one last summer here with all of you.”

  “So from Princeton to the Peace Corps. From rich kid, to just another volunteer."She sighs in that way she does when she’s trying not to cry. “Nice,” she says, not that she means it.

  My attention falls to our hands and to how hard she’s holding me. “It’s the right thing to do, Becks,” I tell her.

  “Helping people is the right thing to do. Signing up for twenty-five months with no way out, that’s above and beyond.” She shakes her head. “Hunter and Blakeney are assholes for what they did to you.”

  They are. But she needs to know that’s not why I applied. “Becks, it’s time to grow up and move forward, and to do the things we’ve always planned.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” Her voice splinters and tears glisten her eyes. “What if none of us do? I don’t want life to go on without the five of us together—you, me, Sean, Mason, and Hale—especially you, Trin.”

  Like me, she wishes she could stop time, and that somehow things could be different. But somethings can’t be helped, and this is one of them.

  Her parents and mine had offered to send us backpacking across Europe, but we chose to come back here. Back home to spend one last summer doing what we loved, and to pretend to be forever young, forever free of life’s demands, forever friends. As I look to my pseudo sister, I swallow hard and hope that the latter stays true.

  Tears trickle down her cheeks, causing my eyes to sting. But Becks doesn’t need me crying with her. Right now, she needs my strength, and maybe a little of my humor.

  “Trin, Becks!” Sean hollers from the deck. “What the hell? We’ve got shots waiting and horny women who can’t wait to have a piece of me.”

  “Sorry!” I yell, hopping out of the jeep. “Becca dared me to spell my name across her belly with my tongue and I couldn’t refuse.”

  Instead of taking it for the joke it is, Sean freezes. “No, shit,” he says.

  Becca doubles over, practically falling out of the driver’s side seat. I hurry around to steady her and lead her forward. Sean continues to stare at us, his eyes clouded with whatever dirty thoughts are swimming through his mind as we stumble into Your Mother’s.

  My laughter fades as I look to where the rustic blue double doors open up to the rear deck. But I’m not staring at Hale as he points to his raised shot glass filled to the rim, or at Mason who’s smiling politely at the women admiring his muscles. And my, I barely notice Sean shooting past us.

  I’m too busy gaping at the smoking hot bartender with the Army Ranger tat inked to an arm as thick as my thigh.

  Holy Baby Jesus in a manger sleeping on a bed of hay.

  “Hmm,” Becca says in a purr. She leans in close to whisper in my ear. “Who do we have here?”

  Brown strands of wavy hair spill around his strong features and startling light eyes, and a thin beard lines a jaw I could probably pound horseshoes on. If I knew anything about horseshoes. Or horses. Or, pardon me, what was my name again?

  Not to be rude, or inappropriate—I do have morals, after all—but that tight blue shirt stretching across his broad chest is one pec flex shy of ripping in half. Or me ripping it in half when I straddle him.

  “You want to straddle him?” Becca asks, a delighted gleam fixing on her face.

  I look at her, realizing I spoke out loud. “No?”

  She busts out laughing. This time, she’s the one dragging me forward. “Come on, Trin. Time to have fun.”

  We stroll toward the hot guy. Or as I call him, ‘my future baby daddy’ because for the first time in too long I’m looking—we’re talking full-out gawking—at a man. He has my attention and whether he means to or not he’s not letting go.

  I smile his way, not because of what he looks like, but because I can’t seem to help myself. I think maybe Becca smiles at him, too. But “sex in a tight T-shirt” isn’t impressed by her charm, and he sure isn’t captivated by mine. He scowls—as in scowls—which of course earns him a wink from me.

  Hey, sticks and stones, or whatever, I’m going to get this guy to smile. Even if it’s clear he doesn’t want to smile at me.

  Chapter Two

  Callahan

  I mutter something that’s supposed to be a curse when Jed nudges me.

  “What’s up, Callahan?” he asks.

  “Is this the way it’s going to be?” I reply, motioning to the group of lifeguards and locals chatting it up and arguing about which song’s next on the old jukebox.

  Jed laughs. “Partner,” he tells me. “It’s only end of May. The season hasn’t even started. Things are going to heat up fast come the second week in June.”

  “Christ,” I mumble.

  When I pictured Kiawah, I pictured a real island. Something secluded and quiet, tucked away from the rest of existence. And when I first took over my uncle’s place it was. But that was March. Back then, feeling like I was—hell, like I am—the sun rising and setting along the South Carolina shore was the only proof I had that the world continued to spin even though I no longer felt like I was part of it. Now, with temperatures rising and the increase in traffic along the back roads, Kiawah is anything but quiet, especially the moment this bunch walked in.

  The young woman, with the long dark hair is especially loud. And perky. Lord, I hate perky. I know her type, pretending no war is going on while kids younger than her have their limbs blown clean off. She smiled when she walked in with her friend. What in the hell did she have to be so happy about?

  I glance up in time to catch her rip a dollar out of an old man’s hand and wave it in front of him. The guy reaches for it, grinning as he tries to snatch it back. “Uh, uh, uh, Mr. Perrington,” she practically sings. “Fair is fair. One Cupid Shuffle in exchange for one Electric Slide.”

  “You tell ‘em, Trin,” the lady next to him says.

  The brunette shimmies, that’s right, shimmies all the way to the jukebox even though the song is long over and nothing’s playing. She slides the dollar in, hits a few buttons, and the music starts. But that’s not enough, she motions everyone forward. And when I mean everyone, I mean every last person here.

  Like a herd of sheep they follow. I wouldn’t follow her anywhere except to the door, and only then to lock it behind her.

  The base of this crap song is heavy enough to rumble my shit kickers. It takes all I have not to mutter another swear. But seeing how even Jed has jumped into the horde of people hopping back and forth instead of mixing that prissy drink on the ticket, I curse anyway.

  I make the drink and head to the rear storage room, taking longer than I need to rearrange the
kegs closer to the door and haul back a case of Corona.

  With my attention ahead and away from the dance floor, I return to the bar, lowering the case to the floor in front of the fridge. I don’t think I’m done shoving half of the beers in when I hear, “Excuse me. Excuse me, sir?”

  I close my eyes and sigh, knowing who it is even before I straighten. I recognize her voice. This homecoming queen or whatever pep squad she leads is loud for a little thing.

  I lean back on my heels and cross my arms, not bothering to smile. “Yeah?”

  She grins, her large brown eyes blinking with something what, Lord help me, resembles excitement. “I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Trinity, Trinity Summers.”

  Of course it is.

  She waits, still smiling, I suppose for me to shake her hand or something. When I don’t, her smile fades a little and she glances over her shoulder to where her friend, the tall blonde is sitting. Her friend taps on her ear and quickly turns away.

  I don’t know if it’s some secret girl code she’s doing with the blonde until she yells, “I said I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Trinity. TRI-NI-TY SU-MMERS. You know, like the season?”

  Right now, I can do little more than blink, wondering if there’s some kind of hidden camera trained on my face and what the hell she snorted before she walked in here. No one is this high-strung sober. No one.

  She leans into the bar, keeping her smile. “And you are?”

  Someone not named after a porn star, that’s for damn sure.

  It wasn’t too long ago that the same “please die” look I’m pegging her with would have sent dangerous men running. Instead this woman here giggles. Giggles.

  “Well, if you’re not going to tell me your name, I’ll have to give you one.” She twirls her dark hair, so thick it looks like a wet towel slapped on her head. She sits up and beams even more, if that’s even humanly possible. “I know. How about Spanky?”

  How about you skip along the beach with a band of puppies and leave me the fuck alone?

  “No,” I respond.

  “You sure?” She frowns, like she’s confused. “You look like a Spanky.”

  If I were a pit bull, my lips would be peeling back from my gums. “My name is Callahan Sawyer.”

  She clasps her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “My stars, he speaks.” She drops her hands and offers an exaggerated wink. “Or should I say Callahan speaks?”

  I’m annoyed on multiple levels, don’t get me wrong. But the fact that Tinkerbell here has tricked me into telling her my name pisses me off more than it should. “Do you want a drink or not?” I manage, grinding my teeth.

  “Sure,” she says, oblivious to my growing desire to strangle her. “Pour me a taste of your finest.”

  I pour her a shot of Tequila and step back. She looks down at the shot, then back at me.

  “What? No lime. No salt?” she asks. She leans forward, resting her arms across the bar in a voice that sounds husky, but I determine is grossly sarcastic. “I thought this was a classy establishment, sir.”

  I bang the bottle of salt in front of her and pass her a lime punctured with one of those tiny swords, careful not to actually touch her. She licks the salt she added to her hand, slams back the shot, and attempts to suck on the lime.

  I expected the usual, for her to actually swallow the damn thing. But no. Not this woman. Instead she spits the booze out, spraying me in the face with enough force to slap the lime against my mouth.

  The mangled piece of fruit falls back on the bar as I swipe at my skin. This time, I do blink. A lot. Booze to the eyes will do that to a man. As I watch, a deep shade of red creeps up her neck and into her face.

  “I’m so sorry. So, so very sorry!” she says. She whips back around to look at her friend who now has her face buried in her hands. “Um. If you give me a second I think I have some tissues in my bag.”

  She spit tequila at me—and a Goddamn lime!—and she thinks I’m going to let her wipe me down with tissues. As the sting eases from my eyes, I take a moment to question her sanity, and my ability to snap her neck without anyone noticing.

  She covers her mouth. “Oh, my God. You look like you want to kill me.”

  And she’s right. But then she starts laughing, because clearly this woman isn’t loud enough. Her face reddens further. Maybe she’s embarrassed and maybe she does feel bad. But something in the way that she blushes . . .

  “I’m really sorry, Callahan,” she says. “That’s never happened before. I think it went down the wrong way.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, tearing my eyes off her. I reach for a clean rag beneath the bar to wipe my face only to have her lift it from my hand.

  “Here, allow me,” she says, dabbing my nose.

  She passes the towel along my skin, using care that I’m not used to. I step away from her reach, wondering why the hell she touched me, and why the hell I let her.

  “Look, Trixie―”

  “It’s Trinity,” she answers quietly, her bright smile returning like I invited her to Disney to meet Mickey Mouse or whatever the fuck. This woman can’t possibly be real. No one is this . . . her.

  “I really am sorry,” she says yet again. Her eyes, despite their dark color, sparkle beneath a veil of thick lashes, and the way she looks at me, it’s like she’s known me forever.

  But she doesn’t know me. No, not at all. I slap the rag on the bar and wipe it clean in angry circles.

  “So . . .” she says, resting her chin on her hand as she leans against the bar. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind pouring me another shot?”

  I’m ready to tell her that I do mind—that something’s wrong with her, and that maybe she should skip back to her friends and far away from me. But those words lodge in my throat when I catch sight of her face, and notice something beyond that smile she’s pegging me with.

  Before I can figure out what exactly that is, I pour her another shot, focusing on my task and once more wrenching my eyes off her.

  Chapter Three

  Trinity

  I wave to my new best friend on our way out and throw in a big grin since that’s how I roll. “Thanks, Callahan. It’s been real!” I call to him. He pauses in the middle of shoving a chair beneath a table just to narrow his eyes. But I’ll admit, it’s my, “See you next week” comment that causes his upper lip to curl.

  That man is all sorts of crazy about me.

  I hop down Your Mother’s worn wooden steps and join the rest of my crew gathered at the bottom. “Trin!” they yell when I reach them.

  Since I’m the last one to exit the premises save for Jed and that Yummy Callahan, my presence is everyone’s cue to disperse. The designated drivers do their best to shove their drunk passengers into their cars, most of them swearing and cranky since they’re the ones scheduled to work in the morning and not the ones who got to slam back shots.

  Mason, and a young co-ed visiting for the week are talking softly by the Brewsters’ Jaguar. He bends and kisses her slowly—very unlike the way Sean had made out with her friend on the dance floor right before closing. Goodness, Sean and his lady friend were like a pair of horny dolphins during mating season, except not as graceful and certainly not as chipper.

  The Brewsters simply shrug and use it as an excuse to take a walk along the beach. The Brewsters have always been cool like that. So have Jimmy and Millie Rossen who are getting pretty friendly all over the hood of Mr. Rossen’s latest muscle car. Hopefully, the cops won’t catch them naked with Mrs. Rossen bent over the hood like last Christmas. And Easter. And yeah, Arbor Day, too. Lovely couple, the Rossens.

  Hale hurries to my side, but I suspect it’s because Becca’s next to me. “Can I crash at your place, too, Trin?”

  He asks me, but is looking at my very sloppy yet gorgeous friend. “Of course,” I say.

  “Cool,” he answers, although yup, still giving Becks the eyes.

  As per our usual Friday night festivities that come with ever
y start of the season, we leave Becca’s jeep at Your Mother’s and head toward my place which is only a mile up the road. With Momma, Daddy, and Landon gone, I don’t mind the company. And they don’t mind their presence whether they’re home or not.

  My folks are awesome. They always have been. For as long as I remember, our house was burstin’ at the seams with my friends and Landon’s. When I went away to college, that’s the first time I noticed my parents begin to age. No more kids running in and out of the house to keep them young.

  It made me sad. But I suppose it made them sadder.

  So now instead of trekking through malaria-infested jungles, with Landon and I in tow to immunize children or rock sick babies to sleep, Momma and Daddy spend their retirement travelling the world in style. Well, if anyone deserves a happily ever after, my folks sure do.

  Becca swings her arm around me, a friendly gesture, and also one that will keep her walking straight up the incline. “Love you, Trin,” she half slurs, half yawns.

  I push up on my toes to kiss her cheek. “Love you, too, Becks.”

  Out of the five of us who started, I’m the most sober. And because Mr. Perrington, who is one Viagra-inspired-ejaculation away from an early grave, decided to go beer for beer with some of my boys―Mr. Perrington won by the way―we picked up another three lifeguards too drunk to drive home. They stagger behind us, excited that they’re not the ones on-call tomorrow.

  “Where’s Sean?” I ask.

  “Throwing up in the bushes,” Hale replies, smirking.

  “And where’s that girl he was with?” I ask.

  Hale laughs. “Her friends shoved her in their car when she tried to pull down his shorts.”

  “Good call,” I say. I glance behind me. “Sean, you okay?”

  He jogs up to me, his long limbs and condition causing him to stumble into a rather graceless swagger. “I’m good, Trin. Must’ve been that last beer.”

  “Or the three shots you did off Mrs. Brewster’s belly,” I offer.