Chapter 3
Chapter Three
S tomping through the sand, I rushed inside my house, unable to get away from Cole Riley fast enough and grateful to see Sadie had already left for the night. Sadie was my dad’s caregiver who came to the house a few days a week to help with everything from mobility to general care to emotional support. She’d been with us since the accident and was a godsend. I didn’t know how I could have gotten through those early months without her.
Sadie was the closest thing I had to a mom. The one who birthed me ran out when I was six. My memories of Rose were faint. If it weren’t for the single picture I hid in the back of my underwear drawer, I wouldn’t remember what she looked like. Her smell was the one thing my brain clung to. Of course, I could always look in the mirror. Rose and I had the same deep, dark hair that waved naturally with the humidity. Except I recently added silvery-blue highlights to my black hair. Our eyes were the same big, almond-shaped, gray eyes. Too many nights when Dad had a bottle too many of gin, he liked to remind me just how much I looked like her.
It was the times he accidentally called me Rose that cut.
Slipping into my room unnoticed, I closed the door and locked it, leaning against the door. My breathing was a little too ragged for such a short sprint. I blamed Cole entirely.
I glanced down at his shirt, torn between taking a pair of scissors to it and tucking it under my pillow. The first. Definitely the first. I didn’t want his scent tormenting me all night.
Padding over to my dresser, I rummaged through the drawers for clean underwear and comfy clothes, putting Cole Riley out of my mind. I peeked out into the hall and dashed across to the bathroom for a quick shower. Afterward, I felt like myself and headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Sadie had left me a note.
Dinner is in the fridge. Your father already ate. He needs his last dose of medication before bed.
??S
I went to the fridge and pulled out the plate of spaghetti. My favorite. Pasta was my weakness. Well, carbs in general, but pasta brought me to my knees. Perhaps it had something to do with my Italian heritage, but no one made a red sauce like Sadie.
Hungrier than I realized, I scarfed down the entire plate, dipping a hunk of French bread into the leftover sauce until it was soaked with it. From our small, round dining table, I could see the side of the Rileys’ mansion. Not a single light brightened any of the windows.
Odd.
But what Cole did in that big house at night wasn’t my concern. He’d probably gone out, and knowing his reputation, he wouldn’t be home until daybreak, just the time I got ready for work.
I had the day off tomorrow, a rare occurrence. When I wasn’t busting long hours at the diner, I worked part-time at my college bookstore, but since it was summer break, my shifts were less frequent.
After washing my dishes, I set them on the drying rack before checking in on Dad. I poked my head through the cracked door, the hinges squeaking slightly. His warm gray eyes shifted from the TV to me. “Hey, B ee,” Dad greeted, using the nickname he’d given me when I was a baby and had constantly made raspberry noises that reminded him more of a bee buzzing.
Tucked into his specialized bed that took me two years to save for, he sat up, partially inclined. His brown hair was a little too long, and I made a mental note to give him a trim tomorrow. Sadie had already taken care of his bath, and he’d shaved tonight. His bedroom had an air of cleanliness to it, another thing I had Sadie to thank for. She went beyond her duties and deserved more than the measly pay I dished out for the few hours a week she stopped by.
“Did you take your meds?” I asked, moving into the room to sit on the edge of his bed.
“About an hour ago,” he assured. Despite the smile he forced on his lips, I could see the strain around his mouth and the effort it took to curl the corners. His grins rarely ever reached his eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw true happiness on his handsome face.
And my father was a good-looking old guy. Not that he was all that old, but he had aged well. Perhaps he had aged more these last few years, but after the trauma he’d suffered, it was expected.
I did my best to stay positive, particularly on his hard days, but it drained me to coerce emotions I didn’t want to feel. “I’m going to make some iced tea. Do you want some?” Well, mine would be bubble tea. I’d learned to make my favorite drink at home to save on the cost of buying them daily. It added up, and I refused to give up my addiction. It was better than getting hooked on heroin.
“Long Island?” Dad inquired, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
“Funny.” I eyed the three empty glasses of what I assumed had been gin and tonics. “It looks like you’ve had enough for today.”
“Have I?” he muttered, and there it was. He attempted to hide the despair, yet the fa?ade always fell flat as if it exhausted him to keep up the charade for long.
Most days, my father was as absent as my mother, and try as hard as I had, I didn’t know how to get him to start living again. His life wasn’t over. Far from it, but I couldn’t make a person see what they didn’t want to see, not until he was ready.
Drinking the misery away helped no one, and it only gave him a tempor ary fix. All those problems he wanted to mask waited for him when the buzz wore off.
I tried not to think of the money wasted on booze. We might be able to fix all the broken shit in this house. I might be able to go to a university. We might not be drowning in unpaid bills.
Not entirely true since our medical debt was a continued gaping crater-size hole in our pockets. It went with the territory for an injury Dad suffered…and continued to suffer. The trauma of it hadn't ended when we left the hospital four years ago. Really, it only began.
The nightmares.
The pain.
The depression.
The helplessness.
He refused therapy despite Sadie's and my insistence.
And so, here we were, on a vicious roller coaster that never ended or stopped.
“I’ll make us some bubble tea,” I said, standing up and adjusting the blanket draped over his legs. “Maybe it will combat some of this heat.” I checked the window before I left to make sure it was open.
Still no lights at the house next door.
“ Y ou got caught swimming fucking naked in Cole Riley’s pool, and you’re complaining about it.” Frankie Barlow shook her auburn hair free from the ponytail. Striking shades of deep red caught in the sun. “Why can’t shit like that happen to me? I’d pay to be in a pool with any of the Rileys. Cole specifically if given a choice. Crew gives me the shivers. He puts the hot in psyc hot ic.”
I rolled my eyes at my best friend. My only friend. “Clever,” I retorted dryly. “I fail to see how being caught skinny-dipping in my neighbor's pool is a good thing.” We were sitting at the beach steps away from my house so Frankie could work on her summer tan.
Propped up on her elbows, she glanced at me as if she hadn’t known me since the fourth grade. “Cole fucking Riley. That’s how. You’re officially envied by every girl in the wo rld.”
I sipped on my bubble tea, squinting behind my shades, the sun in full bloom above. My skin had a natural glow and tanned easily. Frankie wasn’t blessed with the same golden genes. Between the constant laying out and a spray tan, her usual fair skin shimmered in a California-girl glow. “I didn’t know you had such strong feelings about the guys next door.”
“You’re lucky it was Cole and not Crew.” Frankie was classified as a natural beauty, and when she applied even a small amount of makeup, emphasizing her attractive features, she became the girl guys dreamed about. She knew how to use her looks to her advantage. I never minded the attention she got. I preferred it. Being in the spotlight was the last thing I wanted.
My toes shifted into the hot sand, seeking the cool granules underneath the surface. “Whatever. I never want to see any Riley again. Cole or Crew.”
Frankie sat up and slipped off her sunglasses, her rosy lips turning down at the corners. “No, that won’t do. You have to go back. Better yet, bring me with you.” An undeniable gleam sparked in her eyes at her suggestion.
I groaned, swirling the boba at the bottom of my glass. Once Frankie got something in her head, it was impossible to get her to change her mind. “Just go yourself if you’re that infatuated with them. Leave me out of it.”
She snorted. “As if any of the Rileys would talk to me.”
“Since when do you have problems getting any guy’s attention? You’re Frankie Barlow. The town slut.” It was an inside joke, one of those “if you can’t beat them, join them” type jokes. I was the town trash. She was the town slut. Best friends for life, we were bound by the town’s hatred for us.
Frankie didn’t bat an eye. “I know,” she agreed with a pout. “There has to be something wrong with them.”
The ice in my boba had fully melted, no longer clanging against the glass as I snuggled it into the sand. “I didn’t realize how deep-rooted your obsession was.”
She wrinkled her freckle-dusted nose at me. “I’m not really. I just hate being turned down. ”
Surprise widened my eyes. “No way. When? And why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t think you knew them well.” I tried to puzzle together the possibilities. The Rileys were only here a few weeks a year, and we didn’t precisely run in the same circles.
Frankie’s gaze flicked to my neighbor’s house before returning to mine, a frown marring her face. “It was last summer. You were working, like usual, covering the night shift at the diner.”
“Was this the night you begged me to call in sick?” I asked, searching my memory.
“That’s every night, Arie.”
True. I gave her a dry look and waited for her to continue.
“It was of the club’s beach parties. I swear the entire crowd went quiet when they arrived. By that time, I’d had a few rum punches, and the next thing I knew, Sam dared me to hook up with one of the Rileys.”
Sam was one of Frankie’s college friends. Sam and I were more of acquaintances. I liked her but didn’t know her well enough to call her a friend. Frankie had always been better at making friends than I had. It was impossible to keep track of the number of people she met and befriended daily.
“You know me. I couldn’t turn down a challenge.” Frankie loved a dare. She could be competitive, especially when it was something she was interested in, dating being very high on her list of interests. Boys or girls, it didn’t matter. She cared only about the person. If going out on dates was considered a hobby, it was Frankie’s favorite entertainment.
A shirtless guy jogged past us on the beach, and Frankie locked eyes with him, gracing the poor runner with her signature knock-him-to-his-knees smile. As anticipated, he stumbled a step in the sand, enamored by Frankie, but I had to give him credit. He regained his composure with ease, laughing at himself.
Frankie chuckled.
How the hell did she do that? Flirt with an utter stranger and make it seem so natural.
“I thought Brody and I were hitting it off, and I might have won the damn bet if Crew hadn’t gotten in the way. I never met more of an asshole, and I’ve met my fair share of pricks. Crew takes the trophy.”
“What did he say to you?” I inquired, feeling a bit defensive of my friend . If he hurt her, I’d find a way to hurt him back. If people wanted to take shots at me, fine, but don’t mess with the ones I cared about, as small as that circle was. Perhaps it made me even more fiercely protective of them.
She glared at the house again as if she could see Crew in a window and the sight of him drudged up a well of disdain. “The usual shit. But it was the way he said it.” She toyed with her untied bikini straps. An unsettled glint shadowed her eyes. “Let’s just say I don’t ever want to find myself alone with him. He has the eyes of a murderer.”
“Two minutes ago, you wanted me to take you to their house,” I pointed out.
“Uh, yeah, if Cole was home.” She dipped her glasses down the bridge of her nose and winked at me.
I guessed it was a good thing it had been Cole who stumbled upon me and not Crew.