Chapter Four #2
Before I can respond, my mother quickly speaks up, her voice steady and firm. “He didn’t drop out, Brent. He finished his degree online. It’s the same thing.”
I want to thank her for stepping in, for defending me, but my father’s reaction to the idea of my internship seems disproportioned, like he’s punishing me for asking about the Chasers in the first place.
I clear my throat, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “I got my diploma, Dad,” I say. “I got top scores. I’m a good candidate. I’ve finished all the trainings—I know the software. I can contribute.”
I search his face for any sign that he’s impressed. I’ve spent countless hours studying the family business, understanding some of the intricacies of the software. He knows firsthand how good I am at navigating his software. And, of course, that’s the problem.
“That changes nothing,” my father says flatly. “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do if you want to make it in the real world, James.”
I sit still for a moment. I want to demand to know when it will be enough for him.
When he’ll forgive me. Because I think we both know this isn’t about online school or internships.
It isn’t about Chasers. No, my father still resents me for what happened two years ago.
And I don’t think he’ll ever get over it. And to be fair, neither will I.
I lean forward in my chair, ready to press him for a chance, when the sound of heels clicking on the slate tiles catches my attention. When I turn, I see Jordan and her mother heading in our direction.
Cecelia Miles is royalty around here. Her family owns half the resort, meaning Jordan is princess of the Augustus.
Cecelia is tall, like Jordan, with her dark hair pulled tightly back in a slick bun.
In the daytime, she looks like an average rich person, white shorts and a blouse, sweater around her shoulders.
She’s nice enough, I guess. At least she seems to think I have potential, and I’ve been a little starved for that kind of attention lately.
I stand up as she arrives, and my father does too.
They exchange cheek-kisses, and then she smiles warmly at me.
I nod and sit down again. Jordan takes the spot across from me, but she looks exceedingly uncomfortable, avoiding my gaze.
I’m a bit amused. I know I missed a few calls from her last night, but this seems like an extreme reaction. There really was a hurricane happening.
After a cheek-kiss with my mother, Cecelia Miles slides into the chair and holds court, as if she’s the head of our family. She just has that presence about her. She smiles at each of us, whispering a sweet hello to Astrid, who waves back.
I look across the table at Jordan again, but she’s staring at the breadbasket as if she’d rather be anywhere else. I try to get her attention, but Cecelia breaks the silence.
“You are a vision, Izzie,” she tells my mother. “I hope you’re all having a great time?” My mother immediately assures her that we are.
“Everything’s beautiful, Cecelia,” my mother gushes. “Thank you. And the suite…” She shakes her head as if there are no words to describe its beauty. Cecelia seems pleased by the compliment.
“I know the weather has been a bit… challenging,” she says, and the adults chuckle. “But it’s calling for clear skies the rest of the week.” She turns to Astrid. “And…” she adds playfully, “we’ll be starting up our kids’ camp tomorrow. Lots of adventures and beach activities.”
Astrid’s lip curls before she can mutter that it sounds fun, alongside my mother’s nodding encouragement. My sister is not a big fan of organized events.
Then it’s my time to chat as Cecelia fully turns her body toward me. “And I hope you two,” she wags her finger between me and Jordan, “had a good time last night. I know it was a late one.”
Uh… I have no idea what she’s talking about. I didn’t see Jordan last night. I was wandering the resort by myself, looking for a place to be alone and avoid my parents.
I glance across the table at Jordan. Her eyes are downturned as she fiddles with her bracelet clasp. Her olive skin has gone pale, her posture rigid. She’s shrinking under her mother’s attention. I’ve never related to her more.
I turn and smile brightly at Cecelia. “We had a blast,” I say smoothly. “Then again, Jordan and I always have a great time together.” Jordan’s mouth flinches with a smile, although she doesn’t look up.
“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear,” her mother replies, reassured.
When I dare a look at my father, he also seems pleased. Jordan is obviously the type of person he thinks I should be surrounding myself with. Beside him, my mother is practically beaming at the idea of us as a couple.
“Well,” Cecelia says after checking the time on her shiny gold watch.
“We should get going.” She glances at my father.
“I’ll see you later at the meeting for…?
” she asks him, and he nods before she finishes the question.
“Very well,” she adds. She stands up and snaps her fingers in the air for Jordan to come along.
Jordan gets out of her seat obediently, still seeming mortified by the entire exchange. I realize then that she’s the reason Cecelia came over. She was checking her daughter’s story.
“Let’s do dinner tomorrow night,” Cecelia tells my mother, and the two dramatically clasp hands as if she’s going off to war and not back to a boardroom.
Cecelia waves goodbye to the rest of us, and Jordan rounds the table to follow her. But when she passes me, Jordan ducks down to give me a quick side-hug. When she does, she brings her lips next to my ear.
“I owe you,” she whispers.
She straightens, giving me a knowing look before chasing after her mother.
As I watch them walk away, Cecelia gets fawned over by every guest on the patio. She stops suddenly as a man walks outside, and she bows her head to him politely. For a moment, I can’t imagine anyone worthy of so much of her attention, but as I study him, he looks familiar.
Then it hits me: His portrait, a younger version, hangs in the entrance of the Grand Augustus alongside Cecelia’s. He is the other half of the resort—Alessandro Mancini.
Short stature with hair graying at the temples, he should be forgettable.
Instead, his presence is an anvil dropped in the center of everything.
His dark gaze is sharp as he glances around, precise and cutting.
He’s wearing a charcoal-gray suit in the summer, tailored to absolute perfection. Expensive shoes. Gold rings.
I look at my father, curious at his reaction, but he doesn’t even turn around—as if he doesn’t care one way or another. A perk of being six foot five, I guess. You’re not easy to intimidate—or impress.
Mancini and Cecelia begin chatting, ignoring the guests who are trying to say hello to them. The two owners leave together, Jordan trotting obediently behind.
For a moment, I feel lucky to have my parents. Those two were intense. When I look across the table again, my mother is serene, as if everything is going to her plan. After all, I was with Jordan Miles—that has to be good news.
At the head of the table, my father picks up his wineglass to take a sip, and then, to my absolute shock, he glances up at me and offers me a little nod—like I’ve done well.
I’m honestly baffled, but I’ll take it. I nod back, as if I really was romancing the princess of the Grand Augustus Resort somewhere in Cape Hope.
But really, I’m wondering why in the world Jordan Miles would need me to lie for her? Whatever she’s hiding, it must be good.
After lunch, still high off the rare positive interaction with my father, I take the winding path from the resort toward Paradise Beach.
I tell myself it’s just to check on my boat.
Routine. Responsible, even. Or at least, that’s the excuse I’m using.
Maybe if I repeat it enough, I’ll actually believe it.
But it’s not the boat. That would be so much easier.
I haven’t been down to the dock in two years. Not since everything fell apart—my fault, all of it—and I know better than to think anyone is still waiting around for me to show up. It could have been different, but in the end, it wasn’t. It was exactly what they expected.
Things change, people change. I don’t know if I’m ready to find out just how much, but I keep walking anyway.
When I reach the sand, I take off my sneakers and find the ground still damp from the storm.
There’s no movement on the dock, and I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved, maybe both.
I dodge driftwood and wood planks, torn bits of umbrella fabric scattered across the sand. The storm did a number on this place.
Still… it is peaceful out here. I pause a moment to take in the salty air, not realizing how much I missed it.
In the quiet, I try not to dwell on my father’s comment about the internship.
To be fair, my life goal isn’t to work in cybersecurity.
I’m only doing that for him. And the law classes I take are for my mother.
Me? I don’t know what I want to do yet, which, according to my parents, is a personality flaw. And so I pretend.
I look toward the dock again. I’m going to take my boat out for a while, even if the water is choppy.
It’s the first time I’ll get the chance to use it here since it’s normally docked back home.
No one was more surprised than me when my father offered to get it sent here for the summer.
I said yes immediately. I made promises about staying out of trouble.
I would have said anything at that point.
I love my boat. She’s the only thing that’s actually mine—a gift from my grandfather when I turned sixteen. I named it after my grandmother.
Samuel Garda, my mother’s father, was a law professor for years before starting his own firm. Now retired, he lives comfortably in California. We used to spend our holidays with him, all the way up until I was sixteen.
If it matters, I regret what happened. I shouldn’t have involved him, or, as my father told me, I should have just minded my own damn business.
After my grandfather tried to stand up for me, my parents went no-contact with him, forcing me and Astrid to do the same.
I’d be lying if I didn’t blame myself for that.
At the same time, if I really wanted to, I could reach out to my grandfather now. But I’m not sure how my father would react if he found out. One thing I’ve learned is that you never want to be in the crosshairs of Brent Matthews. He doesn’t miss.
As I get closer to the dock, I scan the boats, curiously at first. But then, a creeping dread begins to crawl up my throat. I walk faster, my eyes searching, my heart pounding. The spot where my boat is supposed to be docked is… empty.
I blink quickly, stunned and unable to move forward. The dock is battered, sections torn up and missing, pillars bent from the winds. The business itself looks abandoned, the shutters closed and the Surf Shack sign fallen and half buried in the sand.
And my boat is most certainly missing.
I quickly turn to look out into the water, wondering if it has been pushed out to sea, floating somewhere nearby. I walk to the edge of the shore, my feet sloshing in the water, as I shield my eyes and scan for any sign of it. It’s gone. Not drifted away. Gone.
A wave of panic makes my breathing catch. I love that boat. And now it’s gone. My eyes are frantic, darting around and hoping it appears. After a few minutes, I know I have to do something.
Quickly, I take out my phone, ready to call my father. But I stop myself. I can’t tell him that my boat is gone. I can already hear the disappointment in his voice, feel the judgment.
Fuck!
I can’t call my dad. I can’t call my mother. Who can I—
It occurs to me that there might be one person in Cape Hope willing to help. I open up my call log and click Dial.
When Jordan answers, I close my eyes, resigned to my fate. “It’s Jamie,” I say. “Is it too early to call in that favor?”