Kings of Mystic

by S. C. York

  "What—the King of Mystic?"

  "To the new Kings of Mystic," he replies raising his hand and gesturing between the two of us, “it's going to be an epic season. We'll get you right again, Ry—you have a new career to focus on...a new place and this yacht to party on every weekend. This summer—we are kings."

  I look off the starboard side, seeing nothing but blue sky and miles of ocean. Jen comes out wearing a tiny white uniform and hands me another espresso.

  He's fucking right, and I need to stop being such a pussy. I dial my barber and make an appointment to clean up my hair and get a steam shave. Then I call a housekeeping service and book a housecleaner and personal grocery shopper to come twice a week. I’ll never take a dime of my father’s money. I’m going to be a self-made man and lucky for me—I have a gift for numbers and a great gut instinct on where to invest my own as well as my client’s money. I want to shed the skin of self-loathing that I’ve been living in: starting right now.

  Abbs would be so ashamed of the man I’ve become.

  I don’t even recognize myself. I’ve been using sex and drinking to forget everything. It’s easy not to care when all you focus on is mindless pleasure.

  Two years later...June

  “You finally made it!"

  "Well, you've been bitching at me like a chick for years to get my ass down here. I don't work for my daddy like you do, Blake. It's damn hard to get a Thursday and Friday off in June during quarter close."

  "That's my Ry— a finance genius. I'm so fucking proud of you man, you handled your shit and got yourself together. Did you hear about that Senior VP position yet?

  "No. They just finished the first round. I made the cut for the second round of interviews, but it's not until after July Fourth."

  "You'll get it." He smacks my back and hands me a beer.

  I stopped drinking Jack Daniels as my go-to drink that night two years ago. I've been hitting the gym hard. My biceps and pecs are more cut than they were when I played rugby as an undergrad at Princeton.

  It's good to see Blake. He spent the winter in Miami again since his father opened up an office there a few years back. We still call and text like two girls, but it's nice to have the biggest player on the East coast as my wingman for the summer.

  Because I’m back.

  I’m on the ‘top off my game’ both at work and in the bedroom and no one is going to break my stride—especially not a woman.

  “Oh, before I forget, I need to warn you Ry— Blaire’s in town this weekend visiting her parents. I hooked up with her last night.”

  “Jesus. Thanks for the warning. Did she break your dick?”

  “No. But she did claw the fuck out of my back.”

  “Crazy bitch,” I mutter before dismissing her from my mind.

  We walk out to the dock behind the Foster’s impressive summer home and board Her Majesty. I’ll never forget the day that we named her. She sat in the middle of Boston Harbor with her nose in the air at the puny boats that floated in the water beside her. She was brand new and she was a fucking queen. The name stuck and Blake had it painted on the stern in glittering gold.

  “Hey man, what’s up?”

  I’m greeted by a few local guys that form Blake’s pussy-hunting posse when he’s in town.

  “I’m good. Blake, are you ready to let off the lines?”

  “Yep.”

  I jog down the ramp and untie the thick ropes, throwing them up to the guys on deck. Everyone who hangs with Blake becomes a yachtie. I’ve learned as much about dock-handing as anybody who has worked at a yacht club for the summer tying off boats. Although, Blake has a deck crew that we use for long weekends, for a short stint around here we won’t need them. But we do have a first mate for when Blake gets too hammered to see straight and he takes over commanding the ship whenever that happens, which during the season is just about every night.

  I take a swig of my beer and catch up with Blake as he guides the yacht out of Stonington Harbor towards the mouth of the Mystic River. “What’s new? I noticed that you’re not drinking tonight? I thought that you told me that this was the best hunting day of the week.”

  “It is and I promise that you’ll still have a good time, but I’m not drinking.”

  “What’s up?”

  “My father, threated to cut me off and fire me from the business.”

  “Oh, fuck. What did you do?”

  “The usual…but he’s sick of it and wants me to shape up.”

  “Doesn’t Charles get it? You’re the most eligible bachelor on the East Coast…well according to The Hampton Magazine.”

  “Hell, you saw that article?”

  “The magazine was in the break room at work, with your face on the fucking cover.”

  He sighs, “I wish they would just leave me alone. I don’t want to be any woman’s dream of happily ever after.”

  “Fucking right,” I fist bump him.

  The ride past Mystic and into Esker Point Harbor was flawless. The late summer afternoon sun is off the port-side and the wind is light. I tip my face up to the sun and lean against the railing of the bow. From my vantage point, towering two stories at least— it’s easy to spot the bikini-clad bodies lining the beach. The girls seem drunk already as they sway to the music and stick their asses and tits out on display.

  Shit, Blake’s not kidding. This small beach is a buffet; a goddamn paradise for doing what we were born to do— take hearts and numbers and leave them begging for more.

  Blake shuts down the engine and calls out from the bow, “Drop the anchor two lengths!”

  “Dropping anchor,” I call back, putting down my beer and cranking the handle that lets down the heavy chain, I count off one and then two lengths. “Two-lengths, anchor’s down!”

  I snatch up my beer and head to the stern, jogging down the steps to ready the Zodiac for going to shore. It’s brand spanking new and makes me feel like a god when I’m at the helm, steering the massive rudder. It set Blake back fifty-grand, and only seats eight people but damn it’s a piece of art. It’s jet-black and rugged and I saw a similar one on a Whale Wars re-run. If this can handle the Arctic chasing down pirates; it’s going to slay the ladies when we cruise up to the beach.

  Blake asks, “Is everyone in?”

  “Yep and we already have the cooler filled with beer,” I respond.

  “Excellent.” Blake climbs in and I untie the line. It’s his show tonight and so I kick my feet up and drink my beer while he turns the Zodiac around and pushes down the lever all the way. We fly over the water, catching air, and land hard— a good two feet up the beach, almost taking out the most beautiful pair of legs that I’ve ever seen.

  She screams in terror and instinctively, I vault out— ready to take her into my arms. My hands clench around the bottle of my beer because somebody else beats me to it.

  She hugs him back and leans her head on his shoulder.

  Her golden blonde hair hangs down her back in waves. She has the legs of a goddess and the hair of a mermaid and I’m dying to see her face. She turns, only having eyes for Blake. My heart stops beating in my chest.

  It hiccups.

  It starts.

  It stops.

  Then it pounds furiously.

  I’m stunned. My feet are frozen on the same square of sand that I landed on. I smile, taking another swig. Who knew? I feel the first piece of ice fall from my frozen heart and land in a puddle at her feet.

  She is fucking gorgeous, but her beauty is wild and untamed. The tips of her naturally long lashes curl up, around her whiskey colored eyes. She bites her soft pink lips, as she stares at Blake. And I know without a doubt— that I’d rather kill the best friend that I’ve ever had, than let him put one finger on her body. She better get over any ideas of going for him. Because I know without a doubt, that she’s going to belong to me— by the end of the weekend.

  Why wouldn’t she?

  Her strapless sundress is snug around her breasts, teasing me w
ith just a hint of the full globes hiding underneath. I can already tell that they’re real too, and I can’t wait to feel them in my hands right before I slide the tips of them into my mouth.

  She watches Blake disappear into the crowd with her friends following right behind him. She walks backwards, almost falling right into me.

  Go ahead sweetheart; I’m dying to catch you.

  She turns around abruptly but stops short of tumbling into my arms. She’s staring at my feet and I’m itching to just tip her chin back already, because I just know that when her eyes finally meet mine, that she’ll forget Blake. Hell, I’m going to make her forget every other man in the whole goddamn world.

  And then it comes.

  Her gaze roams up my body, finally reaching my face and it happens. She looks as if she might swoon. And I can’t help but smirk, knowing that she’s all mine. One look at me was all it took to erase any thoughts that she might have had about Blake.

  I open my mouth but what comes out is the cheesiest line that I’ve ever used, “If you have a thing for feet, I’ll let you rub them for a beer?”

  What the fuck?

  I’m acting like an idiot.

  Two minutes.

  It's only taken this girl two minutes to bring me to my knees. A feat that a thousand girls have tried to do but failed and I don't even know her name.

  Yet.

  I shake my head in amazement and run a hand through my hair that still drips with salt water. She flinches when a few drops land on her bare shoulders. My eyes lower and follow the white lines where the straps of her bikini hid her soft skin from the sun. I wonder how far down they go—I can't wait to find out.

  Shit.

  I feel myself stirring and I turn away towards the Zodiac so I can tuck my hand into my shorts and re-arrange my dick without her noticing. I take a deep breath and snag her a beer, turning back to her with a smile and telling her my name, “Ryan Stone.”

  She gives me the sweetest smile that I’ve seen in years, “I’m Vanessa. Vanessa Lyman.”

  Another icicle falls, cutting through the wall that’s been around my soul for three years.

  Sweetheart, I’m about to turn your world upside down and take you on the ride of your life.

  If she was smart she’d run, because even though I want her like no other—if she melts any more of my heart, I’m going to cut and run.

  I take hearts.

  I crush them.

  I make them bleed.

  I know that it's fucked up, but it's the only way that I know how to survive now. No matter what it costs me. I haven’t been monogamous in years, but for this girl, maybe I could— but just for one summer. Summer girls are the best because come the fall, everything changes— not just the seasons.

  Twelve hours earlier…

  Vanessa

  I tiptoe down the stairs praying that she’s gone. Carrying my flats in one hand, and my bag in the other; I sidestep each spot that might creak under my weight.

  I hold my breath.

  The only sound in the house comes from the battery-powered clock above the kitchen table.

  Tick tick tick.

  With no sign of her, I let out my breath only to realize that there’s no chance the front door won’t squeak when turning the handle.

  Bending down, I hastily slip my shoes on and prepare to run—just in case she’s there lurking in the shadows.

  “One, two, three, go—” I whisper, twisting the knob to make my escape.

  Screaming, my arms flail wildly. I reach out and grab the porch railing.

  Thank God, it stops my momentum.

  I might fantasize about taking her clear out, but I would never actually do it.

  “Holy shit! Mom! You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing out here so early?” The last thing I expected was to see her outside planted on the front steps.

  “Getting the paper,” she answers dryly.

  “Doesn’t Dad usually bring it to you?”

  “Yes, but Milestones prints every Thursday and I need to read it before my yoga class. Pat checks the obituaries and I scan the birth announcements and then the engagement section. I need to keep up with what’s going on in this town.”

  I shake my head, “Mom... you are a goddamn wacko.”

  “What have I told you about taking the Lord’s name in vain, young lady? Do I need to get a bar of soap out like I did when you were five?”

  She thumps the rolled-up newspaper on her thigh. Standing in her nightgown and threadbare slippers, my mom looks every day of her fifty-one years. Deep frown lines crease her forehead and in her eyes a look that I’ve seen a thousand times before—disappointment.

  My shoulders slump and I brace myself for what’s to come.

  “Don’t think your father and I haven’t been paying attention to what time you’ve been coming home. Two in the morning is unacceptable. You’re living under my roof this summer, and I expect you to be home at a reasonable hour.”

  “Come on, I just graduated from college and I’m twenty-two. You can’t be serious?”

  “I am and I want you home every night by ten—at the latest…ten.”

  “Ten?” I roll my eyes at her. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “It will. Or I’ll start charging you rent. Because Vanessa, it’s my house and my rules.”

  She digs in and I know better than to fight with her. Appeasing her like a child usually works better. Distracting her also helps. I decide to try the latter.

  “I was only out late last night because of Eva. It’s her first week working for Charles Foster and she was filling me in.”

  “She got a job at Foster Sailing? Oh, my word,” Mom pauses dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Did she see Blake?” She pauses expectantly, holding in her breath with excitement. Her eyes are as round as saucers. She’s transformed into a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

  “She sure did. Eva said he’s everything we thought he would be—and then some. I’ll tell you about it later. I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late for work.”

  “Sure honey, go, go—” she waves her hand dismissing me and steps aside to let me pass.

  Phew, that was close.

  Using the magic, the fantasy, and the enigma of the Foster family works on her every time. My batty mother is obsessed with them. Their family is like royalty in our small town. We never see Blake or his father, Charles, in person since they keep themselves hidden behind gated driveways and inside private yacht clubs. The only glimpse into their world is what’s printed in the society pages of our local newspaper or the Coast and County magazine. Mom is going to eat up every crumb that I give her, courtesy of Eva and it just might save my ass this summer.

  I had forgotten what it was like to live with her 24/7— pure hell. Especially since I got accustomed to living on my own at school. My parents didn’t know what I was up to, whose bed I slept in the night before, or what time I actually did make it back home. They’ve always been overprotective of me, but I expected that things would change as I got older.

  It hasn’t.

  ***

  Cruising in my MINI through the empty streets of downtown Mystic reminds me why I wanted to come home so badly. The windows of the shops that line either side of Main Street sparkle in the early morning sun. Planters full of bright blooms hang from lamp posts. Sailboats and motor yachts line the docks on either side of the Mystic River, which is deserted except for a few fishermen trying their luck. Crossing over the drawbridge still feels magical even though I’ve lived here my whole life.

  I haven’t traveled much outside of Connecticut, but even tourists remark how special my New England hometown is. One even commented that this place resembles a mini Amsterdam. But it reminds me more of a Norman Rockwell or Thomas Kincaid painting. I get the same feeling inside my heart when I see paintings done by those men as I do every time I come back here. The Wharf Inn where I’m working at is just up ahead. The expansive white stucco building has large hunt
er green shutters framing every window. The hotel dominates what would be an entire city corner.

  I’ve worked at the front desk for the past four summers, but this year I’m coming back as the new assistant manager. Just for a few months though— until my marketing job in Manhattan begins. When my hiring manager in the city phoned a few weeks ago asking if I could start in September instead of July…something about fourth quarter budgeting— I was relieved.

  I eagerly informed him that it was no problem. Truthfully, I’m stalling. I’m intimidated by New York City and how different it is from my coastal New England town, which is totally ironic, since I’ve always dreamed of the day I would graduate from college and get the heck away from my stifling mother. I wish I could be more like my best friend Eva.

  She fears nothing.

  Pulling into the back lot of the hotel, I can’t help but grin as I park in the spot reserved for management. With my new purse in hand, and with a bounce in my step, I glide through the back doors to the lobby.

  I’ve stolen one last summer and I’m determined to make it count—no matter how nuts my mother might be.

  ***

  It’s barely noon and I want to crawl back home.

  The slow ache behind my eyes has built to a pounding pain courtesy of the two PITA’s (pain in the asses) standing in front of me.

  “I’m truly sorry your stay here so far has been less than satisfactory.”

  They just stare at me blankly from the other side of the counter.

  I’m grateful the woman has finally shut her mouth. She just laid into me for a good ten minutes. First, it was about the horrid traffic they got stuck in.

  Traffic?

  On a two-lane highway during peak season—who would’ve thought that would happen?

  Then she started complaining about the ice machine being ‘a mile away in the lobby’, but when she found out that we don’t have twenty-four-hour room service—she totally freaked. To top it off, the old air conditioning system for the third floor burned out. I’m sure their room is sweltering but I’m doing my best to make them happy.