Chapter 7 Adrian
Adrian
Saturday morning breaks through the gauzy hotel curtains, pale and forgiving. It’s the kind of gold that softens the edges of everything it touches.
I don’t wake to silence. No, I wake to the insistent buzz of my phone, a string of messages spilling across the screen like I’ve somehow stumbled into a conversation that isn’t meant for me.
Trevor: Boat day! Don’t be late, Sunshine Boys.
I blink, trying to place myself in this new reality.
A few nights ago, I was just a mistake on a booking form, a novelty rerouted into a room full of men who laughed at me, touched me, pulled me into their orbit without meaning to.
I was just supposed to be a one-night amusement, tucked neatly into their pre-wedding chaos, forgotten by morning.
And yet here I am.
Now my number is in the group chat, and I’m one of the Sunshine Boys.
Another message pops up.
Lance: We’re not setting sail without you, Adrian. Plant that ass on deck ASAP.
I snort, pressing the heel of my hand over my eyes. Okay. Fine. Twist my arm.
Holly insists on sticking with me this morning, bless her, but I tell her to go.
She’s made friends with Becca the way I’ve found myself drawn to Trevor and his friends, and for whatever reason, they want us along for the boat rides and the cocktails with ridiculous umbrellas.
I want her to enjoy herself and not babysit me while I hover somewhere between guest and hired help.
She hugs me quickly, promises to text, and disappears into the swirl of bridesmaids and laughter, leaving me lingering at the edge, uncertain where I fit.
The boat is sleeker than I expected. White fiberglass shining in the sun, seats upholstered in that bright blue vinyl that always seems designed for spilled beer. It looks like it either belongs to someone’s uncle with too much money or was rented with an insurance policy none of them have read.
George stands at the helm with sunglasses on and a beer in hand, steering like he was born on the water.
Trevor sprawls near the bow with a cooler between his knees, handing out drinks like it’s his own private festival.
Lance is shirtless, dramatic as ever, stretched across the deck like some social media influencer, sunglasses sliding down his nose, and body arranged for maximum effect.
The second my foot hits the deck, they light up like I’m the last beer in that cooler.
“Adrian!” Lance lifts his can in salute, grinning. “Finally! Another minute and I’d have busted into your room to drag you out, half-hoping you’d be naked under the sheets.”
Trevor shades his eyes, giving me a slow once-over. “Sleeping Beauty graces us at last. I was about to start drinking without you.”
I shake my head, struggling to keep a straight face. “I was trying not to intrude, but since you insist, who am I to refuse such an honor? I’m just a humble servant at your disposal.”
George snorts a laugh. “Lance hasn’t stopped talking about your ass since Thursday night.”
Lance flushes, then lifts his chin, mock-serious. “As if I’m the only one talking about it. I mean, can’t a straight man appreciate a good ass once or twice in his life? Or get a little…attention in return?”
I raise an eyebrow, dry. “Wow, philosophical and filthy in one breath. Impressive.”
Everyone laughs except Vince, who leans against the cabin doorway with his arms crossed, watching like he’s keeping score.
He’s swapped his usual black top for just black beach shorts, and the sunlight catches the planes of his abs and the curves of his shoulders and chest, muscles honed but effortless.
My eyes betray me, following the way his body moves even when he’s still, and I feel that familiar pull in my gut.
The morning blurs into a rhythm of waves and warmth, the boat carving clean lines across the water while the sun bakes our shoulders.
I slip into the role I always do, somehow, barefoot and ferrying bottles of water like a stern camp counselor, reapplying sunscreen to Trevor’s already pink neck, fussing over details no one else notices.
“Sit before you burn,” I tell him, rubbing lotion across his shoulders. “You’ll peel like pastry by tomorrow.”
Trevor groans. “Perfect. Becca’s gonna marry a rotisserie chicken.”
Lance leans lazily against the railing, sliding his sunglasses down just enough to smirk. “Are you always like this? Hovering over others like a mother hen?”
“It’s my fatal flaw,” I say, tossing him another bottle. “I nurture. I nag. I keep you hydrated. You’re welcome.”
Something softens in his grin as he cracks it open. “I guess we lucked out, then.”
The words slide under my skin, gentle but loaded.
“Unofficial fifth member,” George adds, squinting against the sun.
“Honorary groomsman,” Lance declares, clinking his can against mine.
I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure you say that to every stripper you hire.”
“Only the ones who fuel us,” Lance quips, lifting his drink. “With water…or with other bodily fluids.”
We all laugh at that, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel like a performance. It doesn’t feel like I’m standing outside the circle.
Trevor catches my eye, and his expression shifts. It is more serious now, but still warm. “You know what it is, right? Why we like having you around?”
I tilt my head, curious.
“You make it safe,” he says simply. “For us to be…whatever we’ve been since that night.” He gestures vaguely between all of us. “No judgment. No pressure. Just…space to explore.”
Lance nods slowly, like Trevor just put words to something he couldn’t name. “Yeah. It was like we can just exist without having to explain ourselves.”
George grunts agreement from the helm.
The heaviness of their words settles over me. I think about the way they touch me casually now, the lingering looks, the questions that dance around edges they’re still learning to explore. How they seem to breathe easier when I’m around, like I give them permission to be curious without shame.
Then Lance says it, too lightly. “Even Vince must like you.”
The words land like an anchor.
From across the deck, Vince’s voice cuts flat and sharp. “You’ve known the guy for what, a few days, and now you want to adopt him?”
The silence that follows is brutal. Trevor’s grin falters. Lance freezes mid-sip. Even George’s jaw tightens, like he wants to push back but doesn’t.
I go still, chest locking tight, because I understand exactly what Vince means.
And worse, I understand why. He knows me, and he always has.
He remembers what my laugh sounded like before I learned to guard it, even what my mouth tasted like pressed against his in the dark behind the theater years ago.
This isn’t about him not knowing me. It’s about him pretending he doesn’t, and the realization twists in my chest, sharp and cruel.
Trevor, bless him, tries to smooth it over, half-laughing. “Come on, mate. Don’t bite. We’re just trying to have a good time.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” I say, forcing the words to sound like it doesn’t matter. I step past the cooler and towels and settle at the stern where the wake fans out behind us, pretending his words don’t bite.
Lance finds me ten minutes later, dropping onto the bench beside me, the sun turning his hair to fire.
“He’s an asshole,” he says simply.
“I noticed.”
“But he’s not acting like the Holloway I know,” Lance’s brows knit as if he’s trying to puzzle it out.
That makes me look at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Lance exhales, rolling his shoulders like he can shrug it off.
“What I mean is, I don’t get it. I’ve known him and the stepbrothers since college.
Vince and Trevor were roommates, while my room was just across the hall.
Back then, George was just the guy who always brought extra food to study sessions for his brother, and ended up staying late.
That’s how we all bonded, because I showed up a lot for the free food.
” A half-smile, then a shake of his head.
“And I’ve seen Vince pissed off. I’ve seen him stubborn.
I’ve been with him when he was dragged to parties he swore he hated and then stayed until sunrise.
But this?” His brow furrows. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. ”
I don’t say anything, knowing that if I do, I might admit something I shouldn’t. Vince looks at me the way a man looks at the ocean. Equal parts longing and fear, like I’m the tide that could pull him under, and he both wants it and despises himself for it.
And maybe the worst part? I want to be the thing that drowns him.
The boat anchors in a quiet cove just before midday. The cliffs rise sun-bleached and sharp, dotted with tufts of wild grass. The water shifts from turquoise to deep sapphire, clear enough that I can see schools of fish flickering below like quicksilver.
Trevor’s the first to strip down, cannonballing in with a splash that rocks the boat. “Oi! This water’s bloody perfect!” he shouts, hair plastered to his forehead, grin wide as the horizon.
Lance follows, plugging his nose and executing what he clearly thinks is an Olympic-worthy dive. George doesn’t hesitate either, sliding into the water with the smooth confidence of someone whose past job required skill and precision on the water.
I hesitate. The water looks gorgeous, but I’m still anchored in Vince’s earlier words, the ache of them pressing against my ribs. I feel out of place.
“Adrian!” Lance calls, floating on his back. “You want me to write you a note, or can you manage to get in without a nurse’s supervision?”
I laugh despite myself, and that’s enough to make me move. Flip-flops kicked aside, shirt tossed to the bench, I dive. The water hits cool and sharp around me, shocking every thought clean from my head. When I break the surface, dripping, the others are already converging, splashing like kids.
Vince hesitates at the edge for a beat, then finally rolls his shoulders, wades in, and cuts through the water toward us. His usual sharpness softens just a touch, but the intensity in his eyes doesn’t leave, and it feels like even the sea has to negotiate with him.
For a while, it’s easy to forget the sting of his earlier words and fall into their rhythm. All laughter and teasing.
We swim toward the rocks, where the cliffs slope into a hollowed-out cove. It feels hidden, private. Sunlight spills gold across the stone, and the air smells faintly of salt and wild rosemary.
Trevor slows beside me, treading water like it’s second nature.
“So,” he says, voice steady but light, “it’s a bloody strange way to meet someone. But it feels like we’ve known you longer than a week. Don’t let Vince put you off. He’s got his own shit going on. The rest of us? We’re good with you being here.”
I let out a quiet laugh, the warmth in Trevor’s tone settling somewhere deep in my chest. “Alright…thanks. It feels good to be part of this. You and Becca have been excellent hosts.”
“Good,” Trevor says, a grin flashing. “Because we reckon you fit in here, easy as.”
I don’t answer. I can’t, not with Vince’s words still lodged in my chest. But Trevor doesn’t press. He just flicks water at me until I splash him back, and soon we’re both laughing, chasing each other toward the rocks.
By the time the sun dips low, the air is thick with salt, sweat, and cheap beer. The group sprawls across the deck in that loose, satisfied sprawl of men who’ve burned themselves out in the best way.
I sink into it. The teasing, the laughter, the sidelong glances that carry a curiosity none of them can quite name. We clamber back aboard, dripping and breathless, salt drying sticky on our skin.
Trevor looks like his last beer was just the start of another round. Lance sprawls across the deck like a king, demanding a refill. George just shakes his head, muttering as he cracks one open and tosses it over.
And Vince? He disappears into the cabin, shutting the door behind him as if the weight of the ocean is too much to bear.