by Allie York
Sit
The Shores Book One
Alissa York
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Copyright © 2018 by Allie York
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Formatting: AB Formatting
Chapter One
Harris
Porter’s sweaty shoulder slammed into mine as he stole the ball and spun into his layup. A frustrated groan filled the empty lot. The ball didn’t even hit the rim, just net and the swish. The jerk beat me fair and square. The lot between the current home of Shore View Rescue Center and the site of their potential add-on was empty with a single hoop and half a court. The Center was a dump, to be honest, but the funding in the works would mean a second building and great facility. It would mean an actual surgery center on the premises instead of having to transport animals over to the veterinary hospital, twenty minutes away. Porter and his accidental business partner, Lyric, had spent months putting together grant proposals. Hopefully, it all came together.
“You must be tired. You always kick my ass,” Porter pulled his shirt back on and dropped a heavy, sweaty hand on my shoulder, “Go get some rest. Thanks for helping, Harry.” I stooped for the ball and tossed it in the air for him to catch. After working the emergency clinic overnight, I did some rounds and gave vaccines to the animals at the rescue before stupidly joining a game of one on one. I still had dinner at Mom’s to go to before I got to go to sleep. At least I could sleep until morning.
“Yeah, but I needed a good work out. Sure you don’t want to come for dinner?” Porter had a standing invitation, but he never came with me, not since my Dad’s funeral and the fire that killed Porter’s family. He knew how seriously Mom took dinners, and while she would have welcomed him, Porter didn’t want to impose. I wished he would impose. I know he had his reasons, but Porter would make a nice buffer sometimes.
“I’m good here. I need to clean up more before I go home anyway. Tell the family I said hey,” Porter swaggered off past his truck into the center, and I hopped into my car, checking the time on my phone before starting Jolene. The car purred to life like a kitten getting a chin stroke. I opened the sunroof and rolled the windows down.
I pulled Jolene in behind Mom’s car and I went to eat whatever amazing meal my mother cooked up. Technically, she was a shrink, but her true passion was cooking. It didn’t matter what country you wanted food from, my mother could deliver, and send you home with leftovers to feed a small village. My hand hovered over the handle, when a very heated discussion bled through the door. After another second of hesitation, I went from the August heat to the Oswin heat. I walked in to the smell of Mexican spices and a fierce argument between two very stubborn females. Awesome.
“You don’t need a job, Rose. If you want anything, just ask and I’ll give you money,” My mother tugged at the dark curls piled on her head and gestured for me to take over. Not happening.
“I want a car,” Rose crossed her arms, defending herself.
“No.”
“Harry, tell her she is being ridiculous! I’m eighteen, I want a job and a car. I have good grades, I’m not a crack addict, and I’ve made it through high school, well almost, without getting knocked up. So, what’s the issue?” My sister only called me Harry when she wanted something. Despite her anger, Rose set out the plates for dinner. The ‘knocked up’ comment was bound to get a reaction from Mom. Rose was asking for a fight.
“Harris, tell your sister that all of that success is happening because she doesn’t have a job, or a car, and stays focused on school.” Mom tossed a lid on the skillet, and they both looked at me. Playing referee in this situation was precarious. I had no idea how Dad did it for so long and didn’t die from stress as opposed to lung cancer.
My tired mind raced for a solution, “Okay, compromise.” I scrambled to think of a compromise. “Rose finds a part-time job, say, only on weekends? She can keep it as long as her grades stay up and she doesn’t go getting knocked up or smoking crack. If anything slips, no more job,” I held my hands out, ready to brace for one of them to tear into me. The two women looked at each other, then back to me, and they nodded. Score one for Harris.
“What about the car?” Rose handed me a plate, and I scrambled for an answer that wouldn’t land me in either son or brother jail. Rose was one to push boundaries and the job was a point for her, so my sister would push it to the limit. She would make a fine lawyer someday.
“If you can save up enough to buy one outright, I’ll even put it in my name, but no car payments and no loans.” I looked to our mother for approval.
“Fine,” Mom huffed, not liking the outcome to that conversation. Fortunately for Rose, I remembered being eighteen. Mom was a little more jaded, considering she had gotten pregnant with me at seventeen. By the time she was as close to graduation as Rose, I was a month from entering the world. It all worked out, but her biggest fear was one of us making our lives harder with a kid before we were ready.
We sat at the dining room table, all the tension from the kitchen dispersing slowly. Mom had redecorated, but it still felt like a presence was missing, especially with his chair remaining empty. No matter how painful it was, that chair would always be open at dinners. The food melted in my mouth and my eyes nearly rolled back. I cooked occasionally, but I mostly ate out or lived on Sunday leftovers. Cooking for one person was stupid, and I was always busy working. I ate well, just not at home. Mom’s cooking once a week, paired with the tubs of leftovers, kept me going. Bachelor life at its finest.
“I’m worried about one of my patients,” Mom chewed her food, pointing her fork at me, “His daughter just cut contact with him. Won’t return calls or answer the door when he comes by. I don’t blame her at all, and I tried to warn him that if he kept his chauvinistic mindset, she would shut him out, but he didn’t listen.” No names were ever mentioned, but occasionally Mom would let us give her insight on a particular patient, especially if it was weighing heavily on her. Sometimes we would weigh in, give her a different perspective, but mostly we just listened. Her work issues were the sole purpose for me choosing animals over people. People have too much drama.
“Why did she cut contact?” Rose rested her chin in her hand, listening intently. My sister fed off of the drama of others, and more often than not, instigated her own. We were polar social opposites. I avoided people, which made me come across as rude.
“Well, the man is not particularly nice. He’s shallow and overly critical of women, especially their appearances. His wife left him for a younger man when the daughter was ten. He raised her alone for the most part. Then his wife died in a car wreck two years ago. In the last year both his parents passed, and his behavior has become erratic. He’s having a rough time, but he seems to be sure that his daughter is just as loose as his wife was, and has no trouble telling her that. Appar
ently, she’s a little overweight, maybe, and he likes to remind her of this. I’m only getting one side of the story, so I’m not sure what’s true and what is just in his head. For all I know the girl is barely a hundred pounds and a nun, but according to him, she’s fat and a whore. Whore is his word, not mine.” Mom put her fork down, wiping her mouth on the napkin, “He was left for a younger man, and his wife’s infidelities really messed him up. The man is convinced that women should go out of their way to look a certain way to please men, and his daughter doesn’t look like he thinks she should. He’s complicated.”
“Sounds complicated, but I can’t imagine putting your kid down like that,” I licked my fork clean of the cheese sauce. Our parents were always supportive to a fault, so anything outside of my norm baffled me.
“His daughter is ‘too mouthy’ and has ‘slutty friends’ according to him, and will never keep a good man if she doesn’t slim down and keep her mouth shut, and stop sleeping around.” Mom rolled her eyes, “I feel bad for his daughter, and can’t blame her for shutting him out, but I’m worried about his state of mind now. He’s my patient, she’s not, so I have to focus on him and leave my feminist opinions aside.” Mom stood to clear the table, but I jumped up, tipping my head for her to sit while I gathered the dishes. My level of tired was nothing compare to hers at my age, so I could do the dishes.
“Maybe his daughter putting her foot down will make him see what he’s doing wrong. You know after losing her mom and grandparents, doing what she did with him couldn’t have been an easy decision. She’s lost a lot of people to be just shutting him out without weighing the options. So maybe her dad will see the light?” I called to her from the kitchen where I rinsed the plates.
“Your client sounds like an ass who is cashing in on some bad karma. He better be some Magic Mike material to be judging his poor daughter like that.” Rose handed me her glass and kissed my cheek. I agreed with my sister. The guy sounded like an arrogant asshole.
The table was cleared and Monopoly was spread out in a matter of minutes. Another tradition that carried over after Dad passed was playing a game after dinner. We were ‘that’ family; the one who was close, nuclear, and a little gross sometimes. It was pretty much all I wanted in life, besides my own practice and to retire early to tour Europe with nothing but a backpack. Being twenty-eight didn’t mean I couldn’t whoop my mom and sister’s ass at a board game, and that was exactly what I was going to do.
My sister wiped the floor with us. How we got our asses beaten by a teenager, I have no idea, but it was brutal. Rose went off to finish homework while I licked my wounds and cleaned up the game, wiped down the table and grabbed a beer. Mom was already half into a glass of wine and an episode of Law and Order when I sat in the recliner.
“How’s work?” Mom muted the show, “Anything exciting?” It was ‘mom speak’ for had I met anyone.
“Work is fine. I love it at the Shores. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I think it’s where I need to be. I did a round at the rescue today. I hope that funding comes through for Porter. The guy is putting his soul into that place,” I took a drink and leaned back into the chair.
“Is the fire why he won’t come to dinner? I’m not going to shrink his head,” Mom gave me a very juvenile look. It was exactly why Porter didn’t come. No one wants to be examined by their best friend’s mom after losing their whole family. “It would be nice to see him again, I know he’s hurting, and doesn’t need to be alone.”
“Port stays busy. I played ball with him earlier, he’s holding up,” The rescue was full, over capacity because the guy couldn’t turn out an animal in need. His partner, Lyric, was no different, and without government funding, the donation pile and foster list was dwindling. It was the reason behind a very fat cat lounging at my house at the moment. Rose wanted to help, but realized quickly that she was allergic to cats. Her not so secret crush on my best friend had her volunteering to take home the huge Maine Coon, but the hives and sneezing won so I ended up with Hemi.
“Well, I know you need some sleep, but when you see Porter, tell him we miss him around here. Tell Lyric she can come too. Hell, invite everyone.” Mom’s voice was softening, so sleep was eminent. I got up, kissed Mom on the head, called to Rosie that I was leaving, and dropped my can in the recycling bin. My bed was calling my name.
Chapter Two
Ozma
I silenced Dad’s call and went back to trying to hang the giant mirror. I had nothing to say to him after the last drunken tirade that labeled me as a fat cow and not worthy of a man. He had balls of steel if he thought I would actually answer his call after that one. Dad or not, I wasn’t putting myself through his verbal abuse anymore. Shallow jerk. I could barely hear Blair through the reclaimed wooden wall, but sent out an ‘uh huh’ anyway. I’m sure I would have agreed if I had heard her anyway. Artemis, Blair’s cat, bumped my leg, purring like an engine revving and making me lose my perfect positioning on the mirror. Again. I grumbled about hating cats, and tried again. The finishing touches were nearly done and Ocean Blossom Boutique was opening the next day. Blair was rambling on about some guy that had sold her the designer sink. Apparently, Justin was super-hot, but she preferred tattoos to clean-cut. My best friend told me this like I didn’t already know. We weren’t edging toward fifteen years of friendship or anything. Blair went on, chatting about Justin’s nice ass and I went on straightening shelves. The place looked amazing. Rustic and country chic with designer clothes at prices every college girl could afford. My dream job was laid out in front of me, and I couldn’t have been more excited or crying more pathetically. Again.
Blair sidled up beside me, bumping my hip with hers and I wiped my tears, looking around. It was no secret that I was a crier, but the happy tears were happening for the fifth time that day. The first time had been when I woke up and checked the date, realizing we were twenty-four short hours from opening. It was an- emotional day. My grandfather died the day we graduated from business school together. I was left with an inheritance big enough to pay off my student loans and make our business dream come true. Blair focused on marketing, I focused on accounting, and we jumped into Ocean Blossom Boutique with both feet. Dad thought it was a bad idea, ‘too much of a liability’ he said, but our social media had gone crazy almost immediately and we had received daily emails about our grand opening. Plus, my dad was an asshole.
Just as we put the finishing touches on cleaning the glass double doors,
my phone rang. Annie. I showed the phone to Blair, who promptly rolled her eyes and groaned. Annie always wanted something. She needed rides, gas money, clothes, or the newest iPhone. My cousin Annie was the tarnished spot in our family. Not that we were super high-class, but Annie was pretty unfortunate by anyone’s standards. Most of the family felt sorry for her, I on the other hand, didn’t. Annie brought on every bit of her situation. She had three kids, by three different men, none of which helped her care for the poor kids.
Normally I would be empathetic, everyone does stupid stuff, but Annie took it to a whole new level. She was a career moocher. Her first kid was an accident in high school, then the next two came a year apart, so by twenty she was three kids in and living in a rundown trailer in a nasty part of town. That part, I could feel bad about, especially for the kids. I knew she was fed promises by those men just so they could get in her pants, because men suck.
Then comes the part that makes me not so empathetic. Annie has no desire to make her life better. None. I can’t handle people who aren’t driven, who don’t want better for themselves. Annie was totally content living on everyone else’s money and taking handouts from anyone who felt sorry for her. She treated the kids like a paycheck, refusing any help that came in the form of schooling. I even offered to pay her way through a trade of her choice after Grampa died instead of putting it into the boutique, but she refused, saying her baby daddies would help her eventually, and her check from the government would cover the rest.
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��Hey, Annie.” I watched Blair twist her dark auburn hair into a cute bun and felt a little envious. I got a wild idea a few weeks back and chopped my blonde locks off to give myself a cute wavy bob. Yeah, I missed my hair instantly even if I rocked my short do, but hair grows eventually. It had been a move solely to piss off my father. He called me fat and stupid, and with my hair short, I was ugly too. That had been the last time I spoke with him. His tirade left me split in two. Half of me wanted to spiral into a dark hole, but the other half wanted to go out of my way to prove him wrong. I was taking the high road.
“I have to get rid of this dog, Oz. He bites the kids and pisses everywhere. Can you help me find him a home? It’s you or I call animal control.” I had no idea what dog she was talking about, or who thought giving Annie another dog was a good plan, but it was the fourth call of the same variety in a year. Our friend Lyric was overrun at the adoption center. She had already called us, begging Blair and I to take just one more cat. If the rescue was full, it meant the dog would be euthanized, and I couldn’t let that happen. We had helped Annie find homes for three mutts so far, paying for vet bills in the process and setting a dangerous precedent for a taker like Annie. Blair was already shaking her head, but that soft spot in me had already been touched. I never had pets growing up after Mom left, Dad got a little dog, but I hated the yappy little monster. Blair and I both had a bad habit of taking in sad four-legged creatures, thus the cat at my feet, and the other basking in the window. Those same sad animals had led us to meet Lyric, our very bad influence where pets were concerned.
