Chapter One #2
“You should know by now that you haven’t.
He’s glad you’re home and could kill Anthony on the spot if you’d let him.
” Dad comes around the island like Pop had but he slings his arms around my shoulders, pressing a sweet kiss to my forehead that almost has me breaking out into tears again.
“Want us to kill him?” Dad whispers far too seriously for my liking.
“Maybe. I’ll decide later,” I say just as seriously, fighting back a smile despite myself.
Dad chuckles and squeezes me before heading back into the kitchen.
I watch him busy himself for a bit as I take in the once very familiar kitchen.
It looks almost exactly the same. Dark blue cabinets, white counters, and little seashells as kitchen decor.
Beyond the open kitchen is a bay of windows that shows the dunes, and just beyond the hill, the ocean sparkles from the sunshine.
I know if I step outside, I’ll smell the marsh and ocean, a scent that is more curative than I can ever begin to explain.
I don’t know where life is going to take me.
It can’t be too bad now that I’m home. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I wince at the idea of seeing Anthony’s name.
Sure enough, when I tug my phone out of my pocket and place it on the counter, Anthony’s name is bright as ever on the screen.
Shit. Fuck. I push the phone away with my finger as if it would bite me if I even attempted to swipe to answer.
The phone stops buzzing, then immediately restarts.
The screen flashes that a message is being left, words flitting across the screen, and I push it even farther away where it can’t hurt me.
Dad wanders back into the kitchen, takes one look at the phone, purses his lips, then swipes it away to deal with it.
He taps for a few moments, then tosses the phone back to me with a very familiar, loving smile. “I blocked him. Doesn’t mean he won’t try from another number, but this will give you a few hours of peace at least.”
I sigh in frustration. “Thanks, Dad.”
Dad leans on the counter with a smile still on his lips.
“Do you need anything? Toiletries? I’ll put clean sheets on your bed.
It hasn’t changed much since you visited a few years ago.
I think that poster of Adam Brody is still behind your door, actually, because Simone visited and made a comment that—”
“If she were twenty years younger,” I singsong, earning a wide grin from Dad.
“Well, you know your aunt.”
“I do.” I bury my head in my hands as the want to cry rises in me again. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home more often. Anthony was difficult.”
“You’re home now. That’s all that matters.” Dad pats my forearm, easing the ache in my chest that seemingly won’t stop growing. “You must be so tired. Do you want to take a nap?”
“No.” I want to go look at the beach, feel the wind on my face, smell the salt air.
Dad smiles knowingly. “Go on.” He nods toward the back door, where Pop left just a few moments prior. “He’s out in the garage tinkering with something, but you know where to find the towels. The sun’s up, but the beach is all yours.”
“Nah. I want to go at sunrise.”
Dad shakes his head as I head back toward my bedroom.
I unpack my meager belongings, then take my guitar out of the case and lean it against the wall.
Back home again at thirty-two might feel a little like defeat, but it’s hard to be too defeated when my parents welcomed me home like the prodigal son.
I spend my day moping around my room until they drag me out to the dining room for a dinner of gluten-free pizza.
I’d almost forgotten how good a handmade gluten-free meal could be.
Anthony had refused to go gluten-free, which meant most of my meals were sandwiches and fruit since he’d cooked with gluten in the kitchen.
He always thought my celiac disease was a bit of a joke, not something to take seriously.
Whenever I’d accidentally eaten gluten and gotten sick—the trademark brain fog, bloating, and stomach upset—he’d act inconvenienced.
Not that it mattered that being continually exposed to gluten could destroy my health forever.
God. What possessed me to stay with a man who so very clearly hadn’t ever loved me?
I fall asleep that night to the sound of the ocean and an ache a mile wide in my chest.
I wake up before sunrise the next morning, as if my body knows exactly where I am and what time the sun will make its appearance.
Back in Boston it was almost impossible for me to wake up before sunrise.
But not now. I’m almost giddy as I tug on clothes and sneak out of my room.
The kitchen glows with the microwave light, making it easy for me to steal a piece of pizza out of the fridge before sneaking out the front door.
The sky is that familiar mustard yellow and dark blue that signals the sun is starting to make her ascent for the day.
After slipping on a pair of slides that have remained at the front door since I left, I wander over to the garage, grab a beach blanket, and make my way toward the quiet beach.
The waves get louder with each careful step.
A smile tugs at my lips for the first time in a long time.
I don’t know a lot, but I know this, and I know the water.
The sand is compact beneath my feet when I tug my slides off, still chilly from the night.
The tide is going out, so the sand is still wet up toward the start of the shore.
I spend a few moments busying myself with getting the beach blanket just right before plopping down to watch the sky change colors.
I can’t believe I’ve missed this for so many years, among other things.
Something about the sunrise has always settled me.
When I was seven, it felt like the most magical thing to be able to sneak out of my new house, filled with my new family, and safely watch the sunrise all by my lonesome.
Never had I imagined such freedoms. And when both of my dads found out, they didn’t scold me, or lecture me, no biting words, they just hid a beach blanket in the garage and told me to always take a snack with me, and to return right after sunrise.
Who would’ve known such a simple thing all those years ago would heal a broken little boy’s heart.
The sun lightens the sky to bright pink and purple, and the cloud shelf slowly disappears.
Seagulls caw overhead and I tip my head back, shaking my loose blond curls out that I didn’t even bother to brush when I woke up this morning.
Anthony only ever had nice things to say about my hair, at least once I’d stopped dyeing it vivid colors.
I don’t want to think about him right now. I’m sick of thinking about him.
I dig my toes into the wet sand and breathe being home in. No matter how awfully Anthony treated me, no matter all the cruel things he said in the heat of the moment and promptly took back when it was time to make up, I always knew I could return home.
When I glance to my left, I notice a jogging figure approaching in the distance.
In all my years, it’s so rare to see someone else on the shore for sunrise.
Sure, people live along the coast of the island, but most people don’t wake for sunrise, as they’ve seen it a million times.
I squint into the distance, but I can’t make much out about them.
Only when they’re within yards of me do I notice the long dark-brown hair, the bearded jaw, sweaty, shirtless abdomen, and too tight jogging shorts that should be obscene that barely cover his very thick, hairy thighs.
Oh hell. Since when did home start making men like this, and since when do I run into them in my raggedy jean cutoffs that have seen much better days?
I don’t think I even brushed my teeth.
It doesn’t matter. Surely he’ll keep on jogging, right past me, without a single look my way.
Nope, he’s slowing down.
Right in front of me.
God, I didn’t put deodorant on either.
Maybe moving home was not my best idea.
Wait. That’s fucking Charles Augustin, famous Super Bowl–winning quarterback. What is he doing on my beach at sunrise?
He comes to a slow stop right in front of me, dark green eyes light and curious.
With a tilt of his head, he takes me apart in one single look.
Suddenly, I feel like maybe I’m not supposed to be here.
I glance back to confirm I am, in fact, on my parents’ private beach, mile marker thirty-five.
That’s us and has been since I joined this small family on this lonely little island off the coast of South Carolina.
“This is a private beach,” Jogging Hottie says with a mild glare.
“Yes.”
“So, tourists aren’t allowed.”
“Tourist?” I squeak. Do I seriously look like a tourist? Wow, my parents are going to get a kick out of this one. “I’m not a tourist.”
He wipes his forearm over his sweaty forehead, revealing a patch of hair under his arm that’s always been my weakness.
Oh hell. He’s definitely straight. Not that it matters, considering I just went through a breakup.
But objectively, he’s gorgeous, and I wish I looked like I hadn’t just flown thousands of miles while sobbing hysterically on the plane.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” Charles points out, breathing slowly as his jog is no doubt ruined by my presence.
I point to the cottage just over the dunes. “My dads live there.”
His bushy eyebrows furrow. “Your dads?”
“Yes…” I purse my lips as I stare up at this very attractive interrogator. “Mark and Brent.”
“No shit,” Charles says with what sounds a lot like delighted surprise. “You’re Tucker?”
Oh no.
Oh no.
“Yes?” Why do I sound so squeaky?
“Hmmm okay. Well, I won’t call the cops now that I know you aren’t trespassing. I guess I’ll see you in town.”
He moves to take off at a jog just as the sun starts to break over the horizon. He can’t do that. He can’t miss the sunrise.
“Wait!”
The man turns back with one raised eyebrow but stays quiet.
“The sunrise,” I say wistfully, pointing toward the gorgeous orange star rising over the horizon. Everyone should appreciate the sunrise. “You can’t jog and miss the sunrise. Also, sorry, but it’s not fair that you know my name, but you haven’t introduced yourself to me.”
The look he sends me is almost indecipherable, but it falls within the range of disbelief, if I had to settle on a word. “You know my name, surely.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Still polite to introduce yourself.”
I dig my toes deeper into the wet sand, wishing I had buried my entire body under the sand before he arrived so I could go totally unseen today.
But the momentary embarrassment disappears when he tosses himself beside me on the over-large beach blanket.
He smells like sweat and salt, like maybe he took a dip in the ocean prior to his run.
It’s nice. But also, he could kill me and no one would find my body, so maybe I should stop letting his handsomeness sway me toward thinking he’s not some sort of evildoer.
I narrow my eyes at him and scoot away a little. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Charles.”
That was easy. “Cool.”
He shoots me another look I can’t parse, then looks back toward the sun that’s fighting to break over the horizon for the day. “What’s the whole thing about the sunrise?”
“Just… you can’t not watch it if you’re on the beach. That’s the rule.”
“There are rules about the sunrise?”
I purse my lips and look back at the sun just as she breaks over the horizon.
Oh. I close my eyes and breathe the day in, making my wish like I’ve always done.
Love, I wish, nothing more than that. I want to be loved for who I am by a gentle man who doesn’t want to change me, believes in my dreams, and thinks my particular brand of sarcasm and wit is cute, not annoying.
Maybe if I wish on every sunrise for twenty years, I’ll finally find it. If only.
“The rule to sunrise,” I say softly as I blink my eyes back open to stare at the gorgeous sky, “is that if you’re in the presence of the sunrise, you must stop to watch it, and you must always make a wish.”
“Well, I missed my chance at a wish because you didn’t tell me in time.”
I chuckle and turn to him with a smile. “Now you’ll have to watch the sunrise tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” Charles replies softly. “It was nice to enjoy the sunrise with you, but I need to continue my jog.” He stands smoothly, dusting the sand off his sweaty legs.
He’s tall, probably a few inches taller than me.
And very, very beautiful, also much more than me.
Charles lifts one eyebrow with a twist of his wide mouth. “I’ll see you in town, I’m sure.”
“Bye,” I whisper, but he’s already gone toward the dunes, carrying my goodbye with him.