Chapter Thirty-Two
THIRTY-TWO
Phoebe
Early-morning rain patters the yacht, the only sound between the seven of us in The Ithaka’s main saloon.
“Phoebe,” Rocky says from the floor, various blankets and pillows strewn around the long curved sofas.
Two marble coffee tables, a fully stocked bar, and floor-length windows outfit the luxury boat.
Varrick offered to have his private chef board this morning and whip up breakfast for us, but we were all craving the comfort of local food.
So earlier, Nova and Oliver picked up takeout from Seaside Griddle.
All the guys are eating their breakfast on the ground. I have no clue who slept where, except for Rocky.
I woke up in the primary suite, and he was there.
He just held me for a while under the sheets and explained the fallout of the worst party imaginable. I couldn’t talk. My throat is still scratchy, like I’ve guzzled a gallon of sand. Might be the aftereffects of the drugs.
I haven’t wanted to physically separate from him. I even dragged him into the shower with me.
We had emotional sex against the tile wall, and even though it feels like he’s still inside me now, it’s not close enough. I want the weight of Rocky. I want him to bear his body against me. I want his arms in a choke hold around me.
I want him to never let go.
He’s sitting too far away. I’m on the couch. My wet hair soaks my oversized pink Strawberry Shortcake tee. Hailey is beside me in sweats, too, and we’re underneath a knitted sage-green blanket. I have two warring needs—the need to be with Rocky and the need to be next to my best friend.
After what happened to her…
“Are you mutilating it or eating it?” Rocky snaps me into focus again, and I glance down at my eggs.
“It’s a breakfast scramble,” I say with the same heat. “It can’t be mutilated any more than it already is.” Though, I am stabbing the crap out of the bacon bits. “Why don’t you worry about deep-throating your burrito?”
Oliver peels an orange on the floor. “Can he take the whole burrito? That’s the question.” I just barely catch Oliver looking over at Jake.
“Shut up.” Rocky grips his egg burrito with one hand, his forearm on his bent knee, and his intense gaze hasn’t left me. I love that desertion is so far off the table, even his eyes refuse to abandon the sight of me.
I intake a sharper breath through my nose. Unfortunately, everyone can hear in the silence. I’m tired of saying, I’m fine, when I’m just sort of fine, and instead, I say, “So, some guy named Howie slipped me drugs, but Trent was the one who asked him to. Right?” I turn my head to Rocky.
He’s strangling his burrito. “He confirmed it. Yeah.”
Heat brews in my lungs, but it’s not because of what Trent plotted.
It’s the fact that Rocky has a split lip and a nasty welt blemishes his cheekbone.
I heard he nearly drowned Jake’s older brother in the pool.
Fists also flew. I hope Trent’s face looks like he made contact with several brick walls and cement floors.
During their confrontation, Trevor Tinrock even did a smart, unprompted thing and cut the DJ’s music at a great time. Right when Rocky accused Trent of some vile shit. People heard. Chelsea Noknoi and a few other country club servers have texted me and Hailey, asking if it’s true.
I know Rocky hates he’s lost his connection to Trent, but I’m elated he no longer has to buddy up to that prick. Hopefully the town’s sympathy toward Trent will wane, and they’ll realize he’s still a garbage human.
Rocky’s little brother really came through in the clutch last night.
I’d give him props if I thought he wanted a pat on the back from me, but I’m certain he values my opinion like I’m a tiny rusted cog in this machine of deceit.
He wants validation from his older siblings.
Which is fine—as long as he’s not putting a hit out on anyone.
Right now, he’s sitting against the mini fridge, and he’s wearing sunglasses indoors, drowning his sweet potato pancakes in syrup.
Hailey picks apart a powdered donut. “And I’m supposed to pretend like I could still be interested in Trent, even though he roofied my best friend.” Her eyes darken, and I look around the room.
Nova squirts hot sauce on his breakfast burrito like this is the correct path. No one pipes in. Not even to curse out Trent, and I realize that while I was sleeping, they’ve all probably discussed Hailey’s trajectory for the job without me.
They definitely discussed Hailey’s pregnancy, because Trevor has been asking if he should go by “Uncle Trev” or “Uncle Trevor.”
No one brings up the elephant in the room, but I’ve been thinking about it all morning. Howie could’ve so easily slipped something in my best friend’s drink.
At least it wasn’t Hailey.
She’s pregnant. At least it wasn’t her, but I was incapacitated, a burden to the team, and worse, I wasn’t there to protect my best friend from drunken Caufield fuckbags.
Instead, she had to switch into my role, and my skin crawls imagining repulsive, leering men surrounding her while she feared assault.
Nausea still roils. Is this what Hailey feels when she watches me? Is this why she risked everything to bring us here for a fresh start? Because right now, I would drag her to the Antarctic if I thought it’d save her from a repeat of last night.
I poke at my scrambled eggs. I can barely eat, but I check the time on my phone. “I have a shift in a couple hours.” I abandon my breakfast on the coffee table and climb off the sofa.
“You’re going to work?” Jake whips his head from me to Rocky, like he’s expecting him to stop me. I do feel the eternal hellfire off Rocky’s tunneling, intrusive gaze. It silently scorches me, but he’s not barricading me from the exit.
For one, I’m still in sweatpants and a T-shirt. I need to actually get ready to serve a dozen mimosas and even more crab cakes on this drizzling Sunday afternoon.
“We,” Hailey says. “I’m on the schedule with her.” She hops up beside me.
Which causes Jake to stand. “Take the day off. Both of you.”
“We don’t want to lose our jobs,” I remind him, and I catch Rocky rolling his eyes. I flip him off, and normally I’d snark back that some of us (i.e., me and Hailey) have come to enjoy our time at the country club, but I can’t dislodge the ball from my throat.
Not as my brothers stare deeper into me, too.
“You might lose your jobs anyway. I’ll have to make cuts at the end of the summer if I can’t turn around membership,” Jake admits into a sip of his coffee.
Rocky’s brows rise. “And my sister and Phoebe are first on your chopping block?”
“It’s not personal.” Jake sighs.
“Obviously, we know that,” Hailey chimes in softly. She slips me a What if? look. What if we ditch work?
Jake must detect my hesitation. “This isn’t a suggestion, Phoebe. I’m telling you you’re not clocking into a shift today. I’ll call Katherine and let her know you both won’t be there. Take this time to process what’s happened.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Nova chimes in, his overprotective brotherly concern like hot coals to the face and not a cozy blanket. Oliver is the comfort, and he’s offering me a gentle smile and light shoulder shrug.
I cross my arms, unsure of how I feel, but I start fixating on Rocky. “You aren’t going to tell Jake to stop being bossy?” I’m glaring.
His glare is coarser. “You were drugged. People saw Oliver carrying you out of the party. Do you really want to spend all day at the club volleying nosy fucking questions from rich old ladies? You don’t want to talk about it, Phebs, fine, but you go to work, they will bring it up.”
He does have a point.
I’m used to the end of bad jobs when we pack our bags and forge ahead as if we never waded through a toxic spill. I can feel the acid searing my ankles this time. I wonder if it’s better to feel something than to feel nothing at all.
I’ve been either numb or angry for so long.
Maybe I do need time to process, because I’ve never left Hailey in that position before…
in my position. And we weren’t even working a con.
She wasn’t pretending to be someone else.
She was herself. That happened to Hailey.
It’s awarded me new gnarled feelings I can barely untangle and a brand-new perspective on my life.
I turn to my best friend. “What do you want to do, Hails?”
Her gray eyes travel to the window. “The rain is letting up. It’s supposed to be warm today. I could read on the beach.”
“And I could suntan and flip through a Celebrity Crush mag.” We exchange growing smiles, solidifying this normalcy, and it’s strange but kind of nice to have this option.
Thanks, Jake.
Hailey is a more pleasant person than me, because she verbalizes her gratitude in a soft “Thank you.”
—
By the early afternoon, the clouds make way for a sunny blue sky. We all end up on the public beach and not the country club’s private one, where we’d be able to rent cabanas and chairs. It’s a change of pace for the guys, but no one puts up a stink about roughing it with the plebs.
We claim a sandy spot near the lapping sea and away from any screaming children. Much to Rocky’s delight, I’m sure. He acted like he had an instant root canal when he heard shrieking in the parking lot. A toddler cried about his sandy feet, and his mom frantically cleaned his toes with wet wipes.
“Are we sure that little hellion doesn’t belong to Grey?” Oliver bantered with a smile while carrying the umbrella for me.
Nova shut the trunk, a cooler of beer and sparkling water in hand.
I think Rocky’s eyes are still rolling from the asphalt to the beach. I also took note of the tiny glimpse he cast me. Babies. The future. Our future. He hasn’t asked me again if I want kids. I haven’t broached the topic either.
We are stubbornly not discussing what we want months from now, let alone years. It feels like wasted breath when everything could change if this job doesn’t go our way.