Chapter Two
—JAMIE
Rain pelts the hurricane-proof windows of the restaurant as I watch the storm.
It’s brutal out there. The gale-force winds shaking the glass should have me a little more worried, but with all the old money lying around this resort, I have no doubt they paid big bucks for their safety features.
And I’m sure my father is the one who sold it to them, charging top dollar.
I take a sip of my midday coffee, trying to stay awake after traveling from Connecticut to Florida, the last half hour on the helicopter dicey in the rising winds.
Once we arrived, my parents started arguing in their bedroom suite, and my little sister blasted reality TV from her tablet while curled up on the couch.
Considering my head is still throbbing from the turbulence, a quick escape to listen to the rain on the restaurant balcony sounded relaxing.
A guy near the window laughs loudly, the sound of it sharp and cutting through the near-empty restaurant. It feels inappropriate as rain pelts the glass, like a laugh heard at the end of the world. He does it again, and I’m internally cringing. I set my cup down with a clank on the saucer.
“James,” the guys calls, glancing back over his shoulder at me. He looks vaguely familiar, but it’s been a while so I’m not entirely sure if I know him. “It’s Creed,” he says, pointing at himself. “Hey, are you seeing this shit?” He motions out the window.
Although my family spends a lot of time at the Grand Augustus Resort, I’ve missed the last few years. I’ve been away at school and spending my summers in law-school-prep courses and learning IT security—the family businesses.
But man… I used to love this place. We’d come here every summer, on breaks, over long weekends. I would even sneak off on my own a few times just to spend the night here.
I made friends with the locals. I fell in love. I fucked it all up—the typical summer camp story, I guess. Only it hurt way more than that.
So now I’m kind of dreading being here at all.
“James, seriously,” the guy, Creed, says again with a laugh. “Check this out.”
I hum out a sound as I get up from my chair to move closer to the window, pulling up a seat next to him and his friend at their table. “It’s Jamie,” I correct him simply, “and yeah, looks like a hurricane.”
“Not the storm, man,” Creed says. “Those…” he laughs again, “those idiots on the dock.”
Immediately, I dart a look toward the beach and see that the dock is a mess.
The waves are making the boats crash against the wood planks, debris flying everywhere.
Well, that’s concerning—one of those boats is mine.
More than that, I’m concerned about the actual people still there, racing around in the middle of a dangerous storm. They need to get inside.
“Oh, shit!” Creed’s friend howls with laughter when the older man on the dock wipes out, falling to his knees painfully. I wince. As the two guys next to me continue to chuckle, I look sideways at them—disappointed? Disgusted? I just… I don’t get what they think is so funny.
I turn my attention back to the workers on the dock, leaning forward in my chair to see if I recognize any of them, but the storm makes it impossible.
The group is scrambling, tying down the boats while the wind blows them around like rag dolls.
Their movements are frantic, sharp, desperate.
And I hate that I’m sitting here as a witness instead of helping them.
I feel the storm too, but instead of battling it, I’m surrounded by people who don’t care.
Not about the storm. Not about the workers on the dock.
There’s nothing even remotely humorous about that.
Wind rips the blue tarp out of one of the girl’s hands, nearly hurling her into the water. I flinch in response, almost like I can catch it.
Creed laughs again, louder this time. When I sigh heavily, annoyed, he turns to me. “Oh, come on, Jamie,” he says. “Don’t look so concerned. They’re fine. They were bred for this shit. Don’t go soft for a bunch of Chasers.”
You know what, I’m pretty sure I do remember this guy, and he was always an asshole. Still… considering I promised my parents that I would stay out of trouble this summer, it wouldn’t be smart to begin the season by punching out one of the prodigal sons.
I shrug like it’s nothing. “I’m just worried about my boat,” I tell him.
To this, both guys nod emphatically, and Creed even gives me a hand slap of understanding. As he pulls back, I furrow my brow.
“What’s your problem with them, anyway?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
“What, Chasers?” he repeats. “Oh, come on. You know the story.”
I stare back at him, only vaguely aware of where the nickname comes from. Probably because I spent my summers having fun with the dock workers instead of judging them. I swallow hard, imagining they wouldn’t be all that happy to see me now.
Creed smiles and elbows the guy next to him. “Mike,” he says to his friend. “Jamie here wants to know why we don’t like Chasers. Where do we even start?”
Looks like I’m about to get a history lesson by the two dumbest guys in town. I should have stayed in the suite and listened to my parents fight.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a girl walk into the restaurant. When I turn in her direction, her face immediately brightens. Trouble or a well-timed interruption, I’ll accept either. At least it’s a familiar face.
“Jamie Matthews?” she calls loudly enough to make the restaurant server next to the door jump. “Oh my gosh—you’re here,” she squeals.
I hold up my hand in a half-hearted wave, slightly embarrassed by the scene she’s making. The guys next to me are slack-jawed as they watch us. I’m sure they know who she is.
The gorgeous girl is Jordan Miles—the daughter of my mother’s friend who owns part of this resort.
I’ve met Jordan a few times before, although we’ve generally run in different circles.
But a few months ago, she and her family came for a party at my house in Connecticut.
We hung out that night, skipping the boring adult shit to go night swimming.
Nothing happened between us; we were just bored.
But there is a kind of history there. At least our parents certainly think so.
Jordan is indeed beautiful. Her shiny black hair is clipped level with her chin, her lips full and her eyelashes fluffy.
She’s tall and skinny in an elegant way.
Not exactly my type, except for on paper.
Although we’ve talked for hours at this point, I can honestly say that I know nothing about her personality. Kind of a red flag.
Jordan comes rushing toward me, using staggered steps in her high heels as another girl walks in behind her.
They have matching designer duffel bags, so I imagine they’re here together.
The redheaded girl is new, or at least, I’ve never seen her before.
She’s flawless in that cold and completely unapproachable way.
The girl smacks loudly on gum, looking me over and taking her time to size me up.
She must approve because she parts her dark red lips to smile at me.
She then blows a large pink bubble before letting it pop over her lips.
“I can’t believe this,” Jordan says to me as she arrives at the table.
“Hey, Jordan,” I say, getting up to greet her. She trots around the table to hug me tightly. I pat her back encouragingly. “How’s it going?” I add when she lets go.
“Better now!” she says, beaming. “Your mother told me you arrived in Cape Hope this morning—terrible day for it,” she adds with a laugh.
“Yes, it is a hurricane,” I reply.
“Still, I was wondering when you were going to find me and say hello.”
“Again,” I say with a soft smile, “the hurricane.”
Jordan glances over at the other guys at the table, her shine immediately dimming. “Hi,” she tells them with a flick of a wave. Her friend doesn’t even glance their way. Instead, she’s checking her lipstick in her phone camera, still chewing her gum.
Creed is more than happy to fill in the awkward silence. “Hi, Jordan,” he says. “And hello, Hailey,” he adds dramatically. “Don’t be stuck-up.”
The girl lifts one eyebrow but doesn’t turn to him. “Oh, please,” she says, mostly to herself. “You have a blond mustache.”
Jordan snorts a laugh, and when I turn to Creed, I see Hailey’s comment has burned him. I mean… he does have a pale blond mustache. It’s not a great look.
“Whatever,” Creed says. He turns back to Jordan. “What’s this?” he asks, motioning between me and her. “I didn’t know you two were friends?”
“Of course we are,” she says, like he’s stupid. “Don’t you know who his father is?”
Jordan laughs, but I’ll admit, the answer bothers me. A reminder of who I belong to and not who I am.
In an opposite reaction, Creed’s eyes flash with jealousy, but he tries to play it off. “Sure,” he says. “Still, your boy here doesn’t like us talking badly about the Chasers.”
Your boy? What the fuck? I’m not the one who brought up his mustache.
Jordan shrugs at Creed. “So?” she asks him.
“We were just going to tell him the story,” Creed adds, slapping his friend’s shoulder to get him to join in.
Jordan looks exhausted by Creed, and it makes me like her a bit more.
She turns to me humorlessly. “You know the Chasers are town pariahs,” she says simply.
“And it’s only getting worse. They were fine once upon a time, but now they’re a bunch of criminals.
Some are even murderers. Right, Hailey?” she says, turning to her friend.
“Mm-hmm,” the redhead seconds, still studying her reflection in her phone.
“Oh, sorry, do you know Hailey Babbitt?” Jordan asks me, but continues before I answer. “Anyway, her father owns the Sunset Docks, where my family’s yacht is? Her dad has to deal with Chasers all the time. He doesn’t recommend it,” she adds with a smirk.
Now, other than the issue of competing docks vying for customers, their story seems like complete bullshit. Cape Hope is notoriously safe. Not to mention, my father literally runs the security protocols for the entire resort. And I’ve never heard of any murders.
“Yeah?” I ask them, doubtful. “Who did the Chasers kill?”
Jordan exchanges another look with Hailey, who rolls her eyes and finally lowers her phone, like now it’s time to get serious. Jordan steps closer to me, lowering her voice.
“Listen, Jamie,” she confides. “You just have to trust me on this. You don’t want to get involved with them. They are always looking for a way to take us down. And besides being utter losers, they’re also sirens. Smoking-hot sirens who will pull you underwater with them if you’re not careful.”
“Like how they almost got Matteo,” Creed adds. Jordan and Hailey flash him a cutting glare. I tilt my head, listening a little more intently.
“Don’t you dare,” Jordan tells Creed, jabbing her finger in his direction. “Matteo’s going through a lot right now. He doesn’t need you talking shit.”
“Relax,” Creed says, widening his eyes. “This has nothing to do with his family. You know I’m just talking about him and the Chaser girl.”
My heart beats a little faster. “Which girl?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jordan interrupts. “It’s over now.” She waves off the entire conversation. “Everyone needs to drop it and just leave Matteo alone.”
Matteo Mancini, I remember. Along with Jordan’s mom, Matteo’s father owns the other half of this resort. I’ve seen him over the years because of my father, same as Jordan, but Matteo and I are not friends. We are polar opposites. So, on principle, we stay out of each other’s way.
Of course, now I’d like to hear more about his involvement with the Chasers. But I’m certainly not going to ask.
Rain continues to batter the windows, coupled with the sound of Hailey snapping her gum. Soon, the tension in the restaurant eases, and Jordan resets her expression. She turns back to me.
“Anyways,” she says, tucking a chunk of her hair behind her ear.
Her every movement feels performative. To be fair, she does have the other guys wrapped around her finger; they watch her desperately.
I’ll admit, it feels kind of nice to be the center of her attention, even if I’m not interested in her that way.
“You look amazing, Jamie,” she continues, placing her hand on my upper arm. Her skin is ice-cold. “Didn’t I tell you how cute he was?” Jordan asks her friend, who hums approvingly. “Perfect for Cape Hope,” she adds.
I’m not really sure how to respond to that. I just nod.
“Do you want to hang out later tonight?” Jordan asks, gently running her long nails along my arm. “Me and my parents are having dinner in the cabana—they’d love for you to join.”
“Uh, maybe,” I say. “We’ll see how the storm goes. You know, in case the cabana blows away first. Otherwise, I’m sure I’ll see you around the resort.” I don’t mean the last part to sound so dismissive, but Jordan’s expression falters anyway.
“Of course,” she says, surprised. As she pulls back her hand, her pinky nail scrapes my skin, leaving a red line. “Not many places to hide around here,” she adds with a polite smile.
That’s a bit unsettling. At the same time, I don’t think her invitation to dinner was meant to be flirtatious, either, despite all the touching. I’m pretty sure she wants something from me. I just don’t know what yet.
“It is a small resort,” I agree sarcastically, but she nods along. “I’ll let you know about dinner,” I add. “I’ll text you.”
I don’t know why I offer to text her, but it’s probably to fit in.
I feel Creed and Mike watching me. Plus, I know it would make my parents happy.
Either way, Jordan smiles as if accepting my response.
She and her friend turn to leave, and on the way out, Hailey pulls the gum from her mouth and sticks it to a napkin on the tray the server is holding by the door. The guy frowns slightly in response.
When the girls are gone, I turn my attention back to the chaos outside. The wind is picking up faster now, and the dock looks like a battle zone. Thankfully, the workers are gone, seeking shelter, I hope.
As the storm rages with thunder loud enough to rattle the glass and winds battering the building, I can relate to the windows holding it all back.
There’s a weight pressing in on me too—a building pressure.
From my father, from expectations, from regret.
But I can’t change the past, even if I wanted to.
This is where I belong now, and to have a future, I have to play the long game, which means occasionally suffering through people I don’t like or admire.
So when Creed offers to buy me a drink, I accept. But right now, nothing about my life feels like my own. Right now, I’m like that blue fucking tarp, flown out to sea and floating aimlessly in the wind.