Chapter 1 #2
“What is this?” Gray asks, his mouth open with a confused smile. “You booked a vacation home?”
“Not exactly,” Dad replies, bouncing on his sneakers like a kid with a secret.
Mom gets up to wrap an arm around his back. “It’s our home. We bought it.”
My lips pop open. No fucking way.
“To live in?” Gray asks.
“Of course,” Mom says.
My whole family begins talking over each other—even Wyatt, although he can barely be heard through the screen. All I can do is stare at the photo while my stomach sinks all the way to my fucking toes.
“You bought this house?” I blurt out, pointing at the derelict disaster staring back at me.
Dad moves behind me, clapping his crinkled hands on my shoulders. “Sure did! It’s on an island in North Carolina called Inner Shores. Right on the beach too.”
My entire body stiffens. North Carolina? An island?
“I understand it’s a lot to take in, boys.
But you know we wanted to retire at the beach, and just look at how fantastic this place is.
” Keeping a hand on my shoulder, Dad clicks through the image gallery of the four-bedroom beachfront home.
As he excitedly describes their vision for each room, his fingers tighten around me, like he’s silently urging me to support this.
I get it. I’m not the son who’s always off doing his own thing and doesn’t really care what the rest of us do as long as we’re happy—that’s Wyatt.
I’m not the son who was born with a million-dollar smile, always supporting and caring for everyone, including defenseless animals—that’s Gray.
I’m the one who’s hard to please. Moody.
Cautious. The kind who refuses to slap a fake smile on my face if that’s not what I feel in my heart.
I can’t believe my parents spent money on this dump of a house without even talking to their eldest son about it, who is a fucking expert in buildings.
From these pictures alone, I can tell that the windows need replacing, the roof is in bad shape, and the crumbling outdoor stairs are a catastrophe waiting to happen.
“Dad, this house looks like a money pit,” I say, trying not to sound as horrified as I feel. When I twist to glance at him, a wayward lock of dark hair falls into my face, and I brush it away.
“I know that,” Dad says gently.
“We’ve hired someone to fix it up for us,” Mom explains, back on the couch with her phone facing us. My youngest brother leans out of the frame, distracted by something. Classic Wyatt—not even his parents moving to another state can keep that guy’s attention.
My gaze cuts back to the projector screen. “These kinds of repairs could cost a fortune.”
“We’re happy with the quote from our contractor.”
I can’t believe they already hired someone to do the work. Who is it? Do they realize there can be a lot of hidden costs involved? Did they budget for those as well?
Dad steps back from me to collect his beer and holds it up for a toast. “Now, boys, I want to say a few more things.” He swallows hard and takes a beat. “I know that Inner Shores is a bit of a drive away.”
A bit of a drive? North Carolina is more than six hours away—and that’s without traffic.
“But your mother and I love it there,” Dad continues. “We received an offer on this house, which was more than we were expecting. We weren’t sure what to do, then this beauty popped up. When we drove down last week, we knew, didn’t we, honey?”
Mom nods, her eyes glassy with tears. “We made an offer on the spot, and the sellers accepted.”
My throat refuses to work.
“I hope you are all happy for us because we are very happy,” Mom adds, her gaze shifting to me.
“’Course we are,” says Gray, jumping up to give her a tight hug.
“Whatever you guys want is always good with me,” Wyatt chimes through the phone.
I want to be happy for them. I want to be cheery and smiley like my brothers, but I can’t even feel my damn legs.
This is my parents to a T—seeing nothing but the good parts of a dream that they’ve conjured up together.
They see a huge family home (which will be empty far more often than it’s full), a staircase to the beach, and incredible views.
I see a house that’s built on fucking stilts because it’s in a high-risk flood zone. Not to mention the hurricanes that slam the East Coast. One big storm and that rickety beach house will blow into the Atlantic. And don’t even get me started on rising sea levels.
“When are you moving?” Gray asks. A trace of sadness coats his eyes as reality begins to sink in.
“Fourth of July weekend,” Mom replies.
Just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse. If they hit any problems, that deadline is going to go right out the window.
“That’s when the new owners of this house will be moving in,” Dad explains, waving his beer around the living room that harbors all the best memories I have.
Watching movies in our PJs, Gray and Wyatt fighting over the popcorn bowl behind me.
Building complicated Lego structures while Dad sat at my side constructing something silly with the scraps.
Helping Mom organize the piles of test papers she had to grade for her students.
Unfortunately, there isn’t time to dwell on the past when the future looks so bleak. “That’s not a lot of time to make that house ready to live in.”
“Ethan,” Gray warns.
I stare at him. “What?”
He purses his lips while Dad says, “Our contractor knows about the deadline and says it’s more than enough time.”
“What’s the contractor’s name?” I ask, pulling out my phone.
Dad’s lips press into a tight smile as he shares a look with Mom.
Maybe I should keep my mouth shut and play along, but my family means everything to me, and if I think they’ve made a mistake, I’ll say it straight.
Screw playing nice and telling people what they want to hear when their safety—and likely their entire life savings—are on the line.
“What’s the name of the contractor, sweetheart?” Dad asks, sounding a touch exasperated.
Mom heads into the kitchen and opens a drawer, pulling out her Rolodex. After flipping through it with her glasses on, she glances up and says, “Quick Fix Construction.”
I google the name on my phone, but I can’t find a website for it at Inner Shores—just a Facebook page that looks hardly used and, hang on—a Reddit article?
I tap open the post written by some random person complaining about how shit the company is and that they’ll never use them again.
It could be taken as one rant from a disgruntled customer if it weren’t for the line-up of comments from others agreeing that Quick Fix Construction also screwed up their houses and wasted their money.
“Did you research this construction company before you booked it?” I ask.
They both frown like that idea didn’t occur to them. Which of course it didn’t. My parents still use the Yellow Pages, for fuck’s sake, and they always think the best of everyone.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, tossing my phone onto the sofa.
“What’s wrong, Ethan?” Dad steps over to me, and I run my eyes over his face, the concern in his brow joining the creases that followed his forty-four years as a high school physics teacher.
“Quick Fix Construction has some really bad reviews.”
Dad lets out a heavy breath and glances at Mom, whose skin has whitened.
“But we can’t afford the other companies we looked at,” she says, and my chest pinches at the disappointment in her voice.
This is the woman who spent hours baking birthday cakes shaped like dinosaurs and sewing elaborate costumes for school plays—not only for us but also for kids across the neighborhood.
My parents deserve this retirement. They deserve to be happy.
My shoulders lift and fall with a heavy sigh. “You really want this beach house?”
Mom steps close to ruffle my hair. “We do, darling. We’ve felt worn down by the city for a while now. A place like this—it’s our dream.”
I grip my knees over my worn jeans and swallow hard. Because there’s really only one option here.
So much for my long rest, reading Nelson Mandela and eating Cajun chili.
I lift my weary gaze back to Mom and Dad. “I’ll fix up the house for you.”