11. Jack
Jack
Igrip the gear shift as a parade of red taillights ripples toward me. I gently tap the brakes.
“So you’ll come to dinner?” Bosko’s wife, Natalya, asks again.
I want to have dinner with her and Bosko like I need another concussion, but I appreciate the offer.
“One condition.” I swerve to the right to avoid the car in front of me. Beach traffic shouldn’t be an issue in October. What the fuck is going on? “I need to talk to my girl first.”
“Don’t start,” Bosko barks from the background before his wife calls out to their daughter to join them.
“I can’t help it if I’m her favorite.”
Lily has my jersey and refuses to take it off. She’s also three, and I’m pretty sure one day, she’ll rule the entire world.
“Jack!” Her little voice fills the car’s speakers, and go ahead, call me a softy, but I melt.
“Lily Billy, I have an important decision to make, and I need your help.”
“Yep. Okay.”
“Mama asked me to come to dinner. Should I come see you today?”
“For really?”
I chuckle. I’m not a total prick, I just play one in the press. “Yes, really…”
My voice trails off as smoke curls into the air ahead. Traffic comes to a dead stop, and a white SUV swerves, nearly avoiding sideswiping the seawall to my right.
“Love you, Lily Billy. I’ll see everyone tonight.”
“Five!” Natalya calls out before the call disconnects.
Five. Sure. If I can get out of this traffic.
The cars inch forward, and that’s when I see it—a teal Saab on the side of the road, smoke pouring from the hood. The paint’s faded, one hubcap’s missing, and honestly, I don’t know how the thing is on the road.
Then I see her.
Izzy’s standing on the passenger side of the car, arms crossed, scowling at the hood and smoke. Her hair’s in a ponytail, and there’s another woman beside her—younger, with similar features. A sister, maybe?
I somehow manage to wedge myself in front of the Saab, flick my hazards on, and kill the engine, ignoring the way my hands have suddenly grown cold. A brisk sea breeze sweeps off the ocean through my windows.
“Well this is one way to get my attention, Sinclair.”
Izzy spins, stumbles, and falls back against the boulders piled beside the sea wall. I catch the exact moment she recognizes me—her blue eyes widen before narrowing into a glare that could strip paint.
She mumbles something under her breath, then grimaces.
“Was cleared to drive this morning,” I add, because I can tell she’s about to bring up the concussion. Ethan drove Betty up from Boston yesterday. “I was heading back—”
The last time I saw her, she was tucked under a blanket and a little nicer. Pretty sure she’s considering pushing me into oncoming traffic right now, cute ponytail and all.
“Iz, is that…” The younger woman steps between us, her brown eyes going comically wide. “Oh my god, it’s true? You’re dating Jack Murphy?”
“No,” Izzy says quickly.
“Yes,” I say at the same time.
Izzy’s face grows bright red, and I’m trying really hard not to enjoy this as much as I am.
I swear her left eye twitches before she hangs her head, hands on her hips. She swings her attention toward her sister but waves her arms toward me. “We’re dating. Riley, Jack. Jack, this is my sister Riley.”
“Wait, what?” Riley’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Ignore her.” I lean against the Saab, then immediately think better of it. The metal’s hot enough to burn my palms. “Your sister gets weird when she’s flustered.” I cross my arms, grinning. “It’s cute, actually. In a deeply unfair way.”
“It’s the smoke inhalation,” Izzy shoots back.
I glance at the car, still breathing smoke. “We shouldn’t stay here. Not safe with traffic. I’ll give you a lift. Where were you heading?”
“Riley is practicing for her driver’s test. We weren’t going anywhere special.”
“Holy shit, is that a G-Wagon?” Riley’s eyes widen, her smile identical to Izzy’s. “This is like, I don’t even know how much this costs.”
“Too much,” Izzy mutters.
I unlock the doors with a soft beep. “Hop in.”
Riley dives for the passenger seat, but I catch her arm gently. “Actually, you’re driving.”
Silence. Beautiful, shocked silence.
“I’m sorry, what?” Izzy’s voice goes up an octave.
“She needs practice for her driver’s test, right?
” I toss Riley the keys. She fumbles, nearly drops them, catches them again, and stares at me like I just handed her the keys to a spaceship.
My beloved, very expensive G-Wagon is basically the same thing.
“Can’t practice in a car that looks like a bonfire. ”
“Jack.” There’s a black smudge on her cheek, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and wipe it away. “This is a—you can’t just—she almost killed us in Mildred.”
“Mildred?” I can’t help it. I grin. “You named your car Mildred?”
Her nose scrunches in the most adorable way when she’s mad. “We can’t just leave the car here.”
“Mine’s not billowing smoke.” I open the driver’s side door and gesture for Riley to climb in. “You got this, Riley. I’m calling a tow. It’ll be fine.”
I have no idea if she has this. But if showing up for her sister buys me any goodwill with Izzy right now, it’s worth the risk.
Riley looks at her sister, hesitant. “Is he serious?”
“Who knows? He was knocked unconscious almost a week ago. He could be hallucinating.”
I peek at her over the rim of my sunglasses. “I trust your sister, or I wouldn’t have offered.”
Izzy doesn’t say anything, just slides into the back seat.
Riley adjusts the seat, her hands shaking slightly on the wheel.
“Okay,” I say calmly, settling into the passenger seat. “Check your blind spots first, then ease on the gas, and pull out to merge when you’re ready.”
“Riley, your left mirror. Driver’s side!”
I peek at Izzy in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are locked on the road, braced for impact.
“She’s doing fine,” I say.
“She was two inches from almost getting clipped.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
“How are you this calm right now?”
Riley giggles nervously, and I catch her eye. “You’re doing great. Ignore your sister.”
“Is she always like this?” Riley asks.
“Apparently,” I say.
“I’m being helpful!” Izzy protests from the back seat.
“You’re a distraction,” I correct. “Riley, remember to check your blind spot before you merge.”
“Blind spot, Riley! The blind spot!”
“I’ve got it, Iz.” Riley checks, signals, and merges smoothly onto Route 1.
I look over my shoulder. “See? Told you.”
She slumps back against the seat, muttering something that sounds like “This is how I die.”
An hour later, my G-Wagon is somehow miraculously unscratched, and we’re pulling into the small ice cream stand tucked just off the scenic highway in a dusty parking lot.
It’s one of those places you’d miss if you didn’t know it was there—faded paint, picnic tables scattered on the grass, a short trail through the scrub pines that leads to a small, rocky beach.
I used to bring dates here in high school. Haven’t been back in years.
“What do you want?” I ask Izzy as we approach the window.
“I can pay for my own ice cream.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then sighs. “Mint chocolate chip.”
“Classic. Should have guessed.”
“You seem like a bubblegum guy, honestly.”
Man, she really has it out for me today. “Cookie dough, actually.”
“Just as boring.”
I turn to the teenager behind the counter, choosing to let that one go. “Mint chocolate chip for her, cookie dough for me, and—” I glance at Riley, who peeks up from her phone.
“Strawberry!” Riley bounces on her toes. “With extra sprinkles.”
The afternoon’s cooled off, and the wind off the ocean is mild enough that Izzy ties her sweatshirt around her waist instead of putting it on. We walk along the beach, Riley twenty feet ahead of us, taking photos of the waves with her phone.
The tide’s gone out, leaving shallow pools between the rocks, crusted with barnacles and tangled with seaweed, while the crabs scatter every time a seagull gets too close.
“You okay?” I ask Izzy at last.
“Fine.” She peeks at her phone, then stuffs it back in her pocket.
“You keep saying that.”
“I keep meaning it.”
I catch her wrist gently, turning her arm to examine the scrape she got earlier when she stumbled against the rocks. It’s not deep, but it’s red and probably stings. There’s a small bruise forming at the edge.
“Jack, you don’t—”
“Hold still.” Not sure why I care so much about a scrape that’ll heal in a few days, but I run my thumb just below it, careful not to press too hard. “You should clean this when you get home.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
She looks up at me, her eyes wide. The wind pulls a strand of black hair loose, and I have to stop myself from tucking it back.
“Promise,” she says quietly.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The ocean crashes behind us, Riley laughs at something on her phone, and I’m still holding her wrist.
I should let go. I don’t.
“Listen—” My chest feels tight, and I don’t know what to do with that. “I know I’m probably making a mess of this deal between us.”
“You’re not.”
“I don’t…” I exhale, frustrated with myself. “I don’t usually—this isn’t—”
“It’s okay.”
But it’s not. Because I’m supposed to be good at this.
I always know what to say to get a laugh, how to keep the peace.
Well, unless I’m on the ice. But here I am, fumbling over my words, because Izzy doesn’t accept the same shit I hand everyone else in my life.
She wants more. I’m not sure I can do that.
I let go of her wrist slowly, my fingers trailing against her soft skin before I step away. “So,” I say, forcing lightness back into my voice. “We even now?”
“Even?” She tilts her head, considering. “Is there a scorecard I’m not aware of?”
“You saved me at the hospital. I saved you from Route 1.”
“Wow, you really did whack your head. I just sat there. There was no saving.”
“Hospitals suck. I enjoyed the company.” It hurts to be so truthful, so I paste on that grin. “I play to win, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.” But she’s smiling when she says it, just a little. She licks the last of her ice cream from her lips, then glances out at the waves.