Chapter Twenty-Two
—JAMIE
The sunshine, although fading, makes my eye hurt. The entire area pulses, aches. At first, I thought Matteo had broken my eye socket, but the ambulance assured me it’s just a nasty bruise. Either way, it hurts like hell.
Shawn left for dinner while Noa and I decided to walk back to the beach. I needed time to gather my thoughts, some fresh air in my lungs. While I was sitting in the cell of the sheriff’s station, waiting for someone to bail me out, I assessed my options.
I’m not going to lie, I considered leaving Cape Hope and never looking back. Protecting Noa from my father by disappearing and ignoring her calls—just like I did before. But leaving like that would crush her. Honestly, I’d rather be dead than hurt her again.
Another option was to tell the sheriff everything I know, implicating my father in a crime. Of course, I don’t have any proof, just my word against his—and it’s pretty obvious who they’ll believe. Then, of course, my father could make good on those consequences.
So now I’m stuck between two terrible options. And I’m scared, and I’m alone. When I called my mother from the jail, she barely got out the word “no” before hanging up. She didn’t even want my side of the story. Nothing has changed. After everything, nothing has changed.
“Jamie,” Noa says softly from next to me. Her voice is filled with concern, and when I turn to her, she smiles sadly. “You’re going to need a new shirt,” she says, poking her fingers through the holes near my collar.
“Maybe I can borrow one from the Surf Shack,” I say, my voice still scratchy.
“That would actually be super cute,” Noa replies, gingerly taking my arm as we walk together. “You’ll look good in the tie-dye.”
The single-lane road to the beach is deserted, piles of sand built up along the curb. The sun has warmed the pavement and I can feel it through my shoes. Noa smells like salt and coconut; she smells like home. I finally let down the last of my walls.
“I need to tell you something,” I say. It’s hard to talk, my throat tight from swelling. “It’s really bad.”
Noa doesn’t flip out. She stays steady, holding on to me. “Okay,” she says, preparing herself.
“Before the fight with Matteo,” I tell her, “my father pulled me into a meeting. Among other choice words, he introduced me to two of his associates.” I look sideways at her. “They were the guys from the Starline Hotel. The men who tried kill us—they work for my dad.”
Her lips part, shock sweeping over her face. “Who are they?”
“I don’t really know,” I say. “They didn’t outright admit to trying to shoot me, but my father knows I was there. He knows you were there too.”
She seems to think it over, like her mind is spinning out of control.
“Maybe this is good,” she suggests. “Your father knows about Rum Runner Island. Tell him that’s where Felix was actually found, and maybe…
maybe he’ll flip on those guys. Then we can get the city to open an investigation into everything—including the Starline itself. ”
My chest hurts, an ache deep and dark. “He already knows,” I tell her. “My father knew about Felix.”
She stops walking, her hand dropping from my arm. “What do you mean?” she asks. “He knows his body was at the Starline Hotel?”
“Yes,” I say, ashamed of him. She’s trying to catch her breath, her eyes darting around.
“But…” she starts. “But how? What did he say about Felix?”
“I asked him if he knew there was a body there,” I say, “and he told me that he did. And that… that it was just business—for a client. But he wouldn’t say who or even what.”
Her eyes are blazing with anger, fear. “Why would your dad tell you all of this?” she asks. “Why introduce you to the men?”
“Because they wanted assurances that I wouldn’t talk,” I say.
“Well, too bad,” she replies, starting toward the beach again. “We have to tell somebody.”
“I want to, but…” When I catch up with her, I take her hand, turning her to me.
“Noa, he knows about you,” I repeat. “He remembers you. He knows how I feel about you. He… he would use you to punish me. Whether it’s physically or financially, I’m not sure.
But if we keep quiet, I think he’ll leave us alone.
Let’s not provoke him until we have something that will stick. ”
The fact that my father threatened her is not lost on Noa. Her eyes weaken, and she turns to look toward the Augustus Resort perched menacingly on the hill. Her hair blows over her face, and she peels it back as she thinks over my words.
“He would take the Surf Shack,” she says. “That’s the first thing he would do.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “I swear I’m not like him.”
She turns to me abruptly, her brows pulled together. “Of course you’re not,” she says. “Why would you even say that?” She yanks me into a hug. I close my eyes, her warmth wrapped around me like the sun. “You’re nothing like him,” she murmurs.
It’s exactly what I need to hear, and I hug her back fiercely. Protectively.
After a minute, she takes me by the hand, and we walk the rest of the way to the Shack.
On the beach, the world is quiet. Her father is out on the water in his boat, just in the distance.
Noa and I stand at the counter, exhausted as we listen to the sound of the waves.
There isn’t much to say for now. We’ve already alerted Tech and Shawn, and now…
now we just wait for the sun to come up again so we can make a plan.
For now, we can’t tell the sheriff; we can’t tell anyone. We have to play it cool.
Which means I have no idea what I’m going to say to my parents when I get home tonight. I’m not even sure I can face my little sister.
In my pocket, my phone buzzes with a text. I take it out to check the message, and when I read it, cold stretches over my body. I read it one more time, and then I click off my screen and slide the phone back into my pocket.
I’m reminded again of that blue tarp blowing away in the hurricane, lost at sea.
“What’s wrong?” Noa asks instinctively.
I wait a moment, staring at the water. Waiting until my voice won’t shake. “That was my father,” I say. “He, uh… he let me know that I’m not to go back to the resort. And that I’m not to contact my mother or my sister.”
Noa puts her fingers over her mouth, as if not sure what she can say. And honestly, what words are there? I’m abandoned, cut off from my family once again. As if my dad knew how much it devastated me the first time. He still needed to twist that knife.
But I know better than to let anger cloud my vision. My father is a dangerous man. Doing something reckless now will only blow back on me, or on the people I care about. Right now, we just need to keep out of his way.
“You’re staying with me tonight,” Noa announces. When I look at her to tell her she doesn’t have to do that, she holds up her hand to stop me. “I’m ordering a pizza and I need someone to split the wings with,” she tells me. “I hope you like honey barbeque.”
I stare in the mirror above the bathroom sink, turning my head to one side and then the other.
I think I have a double black eye, which is not nearly as cool as a double rainbow and definitely not as lucky.
Thankfully the area isn’t too swollen anymore.
I can honestly say that I hope Matteo looks worse, and I’ll bet money that he does. I got in a few good shots.
I take out my phone to check for any other messages, and see that I have one from my little sister. She must have snuck it through her tablet. I smile, clicking it open.
Are you okay? she asks. I heard you got in a fight.
I’m good, I type back. How are you?
She doesn’t respond right away, but then it pops up. You promised you wouldn’t go away again, she writes. A sharp pain pokes me in the ribs. She adds, Dad says you’re never coming back.
This hurts me more than anything. If my father didn’t speak to me ever again, I’d get over it. I might even be relieved. But I hate that this affects Astrid. She doesn’t deserve this.
I’m sorry, I write, and have to sniffle back my tears. I’m staying at the beach if they’ll let you come see me tomorrow.
Okay, she answers. I think we both know that our father won’t let her. And our mother, who knows what she’s thinking right now? She’s probably having a drink, pretending it’s just any other day. And that definitely hurts worse than a double black eye.
I put my phone away and walk out into Noa’s house. It’s been years since I’ve been inside here, always struck by how comfortable it is. Atmospheric and messy—in the best way. It’s like a clutter of love.
Noa stands up from the couch and motions to the blanket and pillow she’d brought out for me.
Behind her, a box flashes with red lights and muffled static, boat radios calling in coordinates.
On the desk is a stack of papers and notebooks with little tabs sticking out.
I know she’s doing all this herself. I know she has the whole world on her shoulders right now, and here I am, making it even heavier.
We had called Tech and Shawn to fill them in on my father’s involvement, the men with guns, and Noa’s suspicions that Alessandro Mancini is looking to blame us for the murder. We all agreed to meet tomorrow to figure out a game plan. For now, I just want to rest my face.
“We should put a steak on that eye,” she says, motioning to me as I walk in.
I furrow my brow, which really hurts. “Do you have steak?” I ask.
She laughs. “No, but I have popsicles. Purple or orange?” she asks.
“Let’s stay away from purple for now,” I murmur.