Chapter 5
Chapter Five
I wake up feeling like I got hit by a bus—which is ridiculous, considering I barely drank last night. Still, a sharp, insistent ache pulses behind my eyes. My limbs are heavy with fatigue, my throat parched and raw.
Groaning, I rub my forehead and drag myself out of bed. My joints pop and crack as I stretch my arms, and for a second, I wonder if this is what getting old feels like. All I know is I need coffee. Immediately.
I shuffle out to the kitchen. Maddie’s already at the table, halfway through a strawberry Pop-Tart. She’s scrolling on her phone, wearing black leggings and a purple hoodie that swallows her entire frame. Her dark blonde hair is tangled on top of her hair like a bird’s nest.
“Morning,” I croak, spooning coffee grounds into a filter.
She lifts her eyes, blinking at me. “Morning.” Her voice is suspiciously chipper. “What time did you get home last night?”
I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my bare chest while the coffee machine sputters to life. “Uh, around three.”
“Were you with Aliyah?”
“Yeah.”
She gives me a pointed look. “And you’re still gonna tell me you’re not dating?”
“For the hundredth time, Aliyah and I are just friends.”
“Uh-huh,” she says dryly. She nods toward the coffee pot as it begins to drip. “Can I have some?”
“No. You’re not old enough.”
She rolls her eyes. “But I’m old enough to stay home alone while you go out with Aliyah?”
“You weren’t alone. Mom was here.”
Maddie snorts. “Right.”
I glance toward her bedroom where she’s still asleep, congested snores rattling through her parted lips.
The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour myself a steaming mug. I lean against the counter as I sip it slowly, letting the warmth soothe my scratchy throat.
“I’m starting high school this fall,” Maddie mutters. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”
My chest pinches. She’s right, and I hate it. It’s all happening too fast. Just last year, she pulled me aside in the most awkward moment of my life to tell me she needed bras. I had no clue what to do, so I gave Aliyah my credit card and sent them to the mall together.
“Speaking of not being a little kid,” Maddie starts, chewing the last bite of her Pop-Tart slowly, like she’s testing the waters. “Can I go to a concert with my friends? Harmony Heartz is coming to Shelby Harbor.”
“The boyband?”
Her face lights up. “Yes! You know how much I love them, and Leah’s parents said they’ll drive us. I just need a ticket.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. Maddie might be a pain sometimes, but she’s a good kid. Smart and generally well-behaved—especially considering all the crap she’s been through. She deserves this.
“If we can’t afford it—” she starts, picking at her nails.
“How much is the ticket?”
She gives me a nervous smile. “Eighty bucks.”
I inhale sharply. It’s definitely more than I thought, but I can’t say no. I won’t.
“Okay.”
“Okay?!” she says, eyes wide.
“But,” I say before she can start celebrating, “if you want to prove you’re grown up, you’ve got to help more around the house. Do your own laundry. Dishes after school. Non-negotiable.”
“Yes! I’ll do anything!” she squeals, launching out of her chair and slamming into me with a hug.
I freeze for a second before wrapping my arms around her. When’s the last time she hugged me like this?
“I’m calling Leah! She’s gonna freak out!” she exclaims before vanishing into her room.
I gulp down the rest of my coffee and stare into the empty mug. I have no idea how I’m going to come up with the money, but I’ll figure it out.
I’d do anything for her.
***
The yellow flag next to the lifeguard tower snaps in the wind. A storm’s brewing. I can feel it in the air and see it in the dark clouds rolling overhead. The waves slam against the pier, tall and angry. I’ve got my hair tied back in a bun, but the wind keeps trying to pull strands loose.
Despite the advisory, a few stubborn idiots are still out on paddle boards, chasing the swells. I keep a sharp eye on them as they inevitably fall into the waves, making sure they resurface.
Thunder rumbles in the distance. That’s my cue.
I grab the megaphone. “A weather hazard has been issued. Please exit the water immediately and vacate the beach.”
In response, I get nothing but groaning and eye-rolls. One guy shoots me a glare like I’m personally responsible for ruining his day, as if I make the rules and not the National Weather Service.
I hop down from the tower and throw on my red jacket just as the sky cracks open. Rain falls hard and fast, turning the sand into mud. Lightning splinters across the sky, thunder shaking the air.
By the time I reach the parking lot, I’m soaked. I find Hunter struggling to pack his science gear into the trunk of his car. His wet clothes cling to his skin, hair plastered messily to his forehead.
“I got it,” I say, grabbing a heavy crate from his hands and lifting it into his trunk.
He looks at me, dripping and shivering. “Thanks.”
I shrug. “No problem. This storm’s wild.”
“I didn’t see anything on the radar this morning,” he mutters, frustrated. He pushes his wet hair back.
“I should get out of the rain,” I say, nodding toward my truck. “You should too. Don’t want to catch a cold.”
He frowns. “That’s a myth.”
I blink. “What?”
“Rain doesn’t make you sick. Bacteria and viruses do,” he says as if I just failed a science quiz. “Actually, you’re more likely to catch a cold by going indoors while it’s raining and surrounding yourself with sick people.”
I stare at him, biting back a response. He always makes me feel like a moron.
“Whatever, dude. Stay in the rain for all I care.”
I stomp off and slam my truck door a little too hard. As I pull out of the lot, my tire sloshes through a puddle, sending a spray of muddy water toward Hunter. He jumps out of the way and glares at me.
Oops.
On the drive home, I swing by Claremont Shore’s only grocery store.
Our pantry has diminished to crumbs, and the fridge currently holds nothing but condiments and beer.
I’m not much of a cook, but I always make sure that Maddie is fed, even if that means boiling noodles for boxed macaroni and cheese every night.
The bell chimes above the door as I walk into the small store. I listen to the music playing over the speakers as I browse the aisles. I pick up a package of Maddie’s favorite cereal, which is basically made of pure sugar and food dye.
As I walk down the aisle, a familiar voice calls my name.
“Mason!”
It’s Bella’s mother, Liz Owens. She’s the owner of Beachside Burgers where I wash dishes and deliver food during the lifeguard off-season. She’s a great boss.
She immediately envelops me in a tight hug.
Her plump body squishes against mine, warm and comforting.
Liz is a hugger. She hugs everyone, including customers and strangers.
Despite working in a cramped greasy restaurant kitchen all day, she miraculously never smells like food.
The familiar scent of her floral perfume fills my nose.
“Hi, Liz,” I say, smiling.
She pulls back from the hug and braces her hands on my shoulders. “Thanks for giving Bella a ride to the parade.”
“Anytime.”
“How’ve you been, sweetheart?”
“I’m good,” I lie, giving her a half-smile. “How’s the restaurant?”
“Busier than ever,” she admits. “Jim and I can hardly keep up! This weekend is going to be crazy with all the tourists in town for the holiday.”
Jim is her husband. He’s a soft-spoken man who always treats me with respect. He has three daughters, including Bella, and he once told me that I was the son he’d always wanted. I know he was joking, but it still felt nice to hear.
After all, my own father didn’t want me.
“How’s your mother?” Liz asks apprehensively. She knows it’s a sensitive topic.
“She’s… fine.”
Liz nods slowly, understanding. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t know what to say. It’s not like I can change my mom’s behavior. I accepted that a long time ago.
“Hey, listen,” she says softly, squeezing my bicep. “We could always use some extra help at the restaurant, if you have time. I know you’re busy with your lifeguard gig, but—”
“That would be great, actually,” I interrupt, maybe a little too eagerly. “I won’t get into the details, but… I could use the extra money.”
Liz gives me a tight smile. “Of course. You know, you could’ve just called us, if you wanted to pick up some shifts. We’re always happy to have you.”
I know she means it. The Owens are kind people, but I despise asking for help. I wouldn’t be agreeing to this if I weren’t so desperate.
“How soon can you start?” she asks.
“As soon as you need me.”
“Great. I’ll have Jim reach out to you about adding you on this week’s schedule, okay? We can work around your lifeguard hours,” she assures.
“Thanks, Liz.”
“Anytime, sweetheart. You know that,” she says, eyeing me sternly. “Take care.”
We hug again before Liz putters down the aisle, pushing her overflowing shopping cart.
I finish shopping and grab a few more items that qualify for food stamps.
At the checkout, I swipe my Bridge Card, ignoring the dirty look I receive from the teenaged cashier.
Maybe I imagined it, but I always feel judging eyes staring down my neck whenever I pay for groceries using government assistance.
Outside, the rain is relentless, flooding the pavement as I load groceries into my truck. My old windshield wipers groan and squeak the whole way home, barely clearing the glass.
When I get to the trailer, I grab all the grocery bags in one trip and haul them inside. The second the door clicks shut behind me, I hear it—drip, drip, drip.
Another goddamn leak.
I rush past Mom, still passed out on the couch, and dump the groceries on the counter. Water trickles from the ceiling in steady beats, spreading into a wide puddle across the linoleum. I rip off pieces of paper towels to soak up the mess.
“Jesus, Mom,” I groan loudly. “You couldn’t get up for five minutes to clean this up?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch. She’s out cold.
I shove the towels aside and pull a plastic bucket from under the sink, sliding it beneath the leak before collapsing in a chair. My eyes drag up to the brown stain spreading across the ceiling.
Drip, drip, drip.
“Why?” The word rasps out of me, aimed at nobody in particular. I don’t believe in God, but I believe in something—a cruel entity that seems to take pleasure in ruining my life.
Heat scorches up my throat. My eyes burn, tears threatening to spill, but I swipe them away with my sleeve before they can fall. Maddie will be home from school soon. She can’t see me like this.
So I swallow the lump in my throat, shove myself to my feet, and set a pot of water on the stove. The hiss of the gas burner fills the silence as I pull a box of mac and cheese from the cupboard.
Dinner, at least, is one thing I can control.