Chapter 2
Organization has never been my specialty. I was that kid who never put the assignment in a folder, usually tossing it into my backpack, later handing it in late with crinkled corners and tiny tears along the edges. And now? I’m the thirty-seven year old who has approximately ninety-one folders on the desktop of my computer.
“You’re up early.”
My brother-in-law eyes me curiously, his light, bushy eyebrows knit together. “Or maybe you didn’t sleep and are just up late.”
Righting myself in the chair, I smirk. “Somewhere in the middle.”
“And why exactly are you at your desk?” Finn reaches for a wetsuit hanging on a shower curtain I’ve sandwiched between my office walls—that’s how small the space is. But this is The Surf Shack . Give us consistent branding, or give us death.
Or Southern California rent prices.
“I’m sending that stuff to the accountant,” I lie.
Finn throws the wetsuit over his shoulder. “Didn’t he want that yesterday?”
I move my mouse, minimizing the browser. I swear, over a week later, in the right light my hands are still stained pink from the frosting of the dick cake that Harper made me and Nate deconstruct and carve into something more appropriate. We didn’t succeed, but Claire did manage to save the day and bake one while all the kids played.
Moms, man. They’re the real life heroes.
“Last week actually.”
The first thing it takes to be successful in business is to recognize your strengths. Finn is a better teacher than me. He can handle snobby locals with ease, and I pitch in to help during high season when we also bring in another instructor.
But no matter the season, I’ve got all the admin work because legal and business jargon gives Finn a headache. And having gone to law school, I’m technically the better choice for such work even though this stuff isn’t my cup of tea either. It’s not that I mind doing these things, it’s just that anything involving my brain and words on paper can come as a struggle. I’m not sure how the partner with dyslexia ended up at the helm of the administrative ship.
Riley, if you went to law school, Finn always argues. You can deal with our taxes and shit.
I can’t disagree. There really is nothing harder than law school.
Except maybe, sitting for the State of California’s Bar Exam.
And failing.
Twice.
What Finn doesn’t know is I’m sitting at my desk instead of out catching the best and earliest waves of the day because I’m waiting for my results to see if the third time is the charm or I should just give up.
My phone vibrates against my desk.
“Why is your wife calling me?” I ask Finn as he comes out of the bathroom, arm raised and bent to tug the zipper of his wetsuit up.
“Riley, she’s your sister. ”
“Pity that didn’t end after you married her.”
Finn gives a half shrug. “She’s been up since the middle of the night. Had some conference call with clients in Beijing. Some big deal is on the table. I’m not sure she slept at all. And she’s on a red-eye tonight to New York.”
“Of course she didn’t. When money is on the table, she can turn into a zombie. She got that from Dad. He’d be proud.”
I’m kind of joking. But sell out or not, Caroline is the favorite child. What I mean by that is she earned a law degree in an appropriate amount of time, passed the Bar on the first go, and began to work for my father’s corporate firm that was left entirely to her when he died three years ago.
“All good?” I ask Finn. He’s staring at my phone with a distant look on his face.
During my best man speech at their wedding, I took an oath I’d never involve myself in their marriage. But something about Finn’s look and ambivalent tone tells me he isn’t all that happy with my sister’s workload and frequent travel. I don’t know why. If I married someone like Caroline, I wouldn’t mind time away from her.
“All good,” Finn offers lamely.
“You sure? Nothing you need to tell me?”
“Nothing to talk about.” He taps the door frame. “See you out there?”
I let him have this one because guy code is a lot easier than girl code. If a guy says he doesn’t want to talk, he means it. If a woman says the same thing and you respect it, she suddenly will have a lot to say. Usually it’s about how much of an ass you are even though three seconds ago she was upset about something else.
Finn leaves and my phone vibrates again, notifying me of Caroline’s voice message.
Did you check yet ?
It’s times like these I’d prefer Caroline just text me because that would make it easier to ignore her tone. I get she’s doing me a favor with the voice note. I normally prefer it over text since my forte happens to be listening over reading.
In comes another message.
I know you don’t want to hear it, but Dad would be really proud.
Caroline is an excellent attorney because she’s an excellent bullshitter. I almost believe her. But I never made Dad proud one day in my life. Instead of dishing out praise for accomplishments, I got served with reminders of all the things I should do differently.
Do better in school.
Sit up straight at the table.
Tuck in your shirt.
Don’t believe them about this dyslexia nonsense. You’re seventeen for god’s sake. Just focus more while you read.
I was a senior in high school when I was finally diagnosed with dyslexia. Until then, I thought I was what everyone, including my dad, told me I was—lazy, unfocused, undisciplined, even stupid.
You can still go to law school if you work hard enough.
The irony is that even though they called me stupid, I was smart enough to understand—dyslexic or not—since one third of the LSAT is reading comprehension, my worst subject, I had to be damn near perfect in the logical reasoning section to have a high enough score to get into law school. And I did that.
I mean, I did flunk out after the first semester due to frustration. But after a long break, I enrolled in a part time program. It might have taken me five years instead of three, but I do have a law degree under my belt. I just have no interest in using it.
So why did I take the Bar? To tell my father, who might think I’m a good for nothing asshole even somewhere beyond the grave, go to hell .
I lift my head from the monitor when a familiar bark echoes from outside. I can picture the four feet running back and forth along the crashing surf, kicking up sand. The noise repeats, now punctuated by short whines. I shake my head and chuckle. Tides is always nervous at the beach.
Leaving my desk, I tug the wayfarers from my head, shielding my eyes from the sun when I get outside.
“Want one?” Nate finishes half a donut in one bite.
My fingers sink into the still-warm, donut and my mouth waters at the crispy Fruity Pebbles on top. “I thought only cops on sitcoms took donut breaks.”
Nate chuckles. “Art imitates life sometimes. Don’t tell Harper though. She’s after me about my cholesterol.”
“I’m sure that’s my fault.”
Shaking his head, Nate rolls his eyes.
Even when there isn’t a problem, Harper will find one and blame me for it. It’s amazing she doesn’t have a constant tension headache considering how hard she searches for tits on an ant when it comes to me. But I was here first. She’s the one who married my best friend.
“Better tamper with the evidence then, officer,” I tell Nate, giving his chest a pat to wipe crumbs from his uniform.
Nate leans against the railing, his focus on the crashing waves but his voice still directed at me.
“Any news yet?”
I feel more relaxed when Nate opens the subject instead of Caroline, and maybe that’s because I never planned to tell her I took the Bar again at all. She only found it because I used her address, thinking I could intercept the mail there easier than at Harper and Nate’s considering how much Caroline travels.
That didn’t work in my favor.
But Nate? At this point, after what feels like years of helping me study, he might be better equipped to sit for the Bar than me .
I shake my head.
“Third time is the charm. Bet on it. You passed.”
Nate might be trying to convince himself more than me. I don’t know if he has it in him to help me study again . But who am I kidding? If I fail again, Nate will be knocking on my door at eight-thirty, armed with a thermos of coffee and bags of chips and candy, ready to sneak into the university library. He’ll read aloud from study guides until his voice is raw.
Like my sister, Nate knows my neurodivergent ass reads better through a sense other than sight.
He looks at his watch. “Go check.”
I groan.
“Riley, come on. If you don’t check, you won’t know if you passed.”
I raise a finger. “I also won’t know I failed either.” I think this is a fair point to make as a possibly licensed attorney.
“Can we focus on the potential positive ?”
“I am.” I lick my fingers clean. “If I don’t know I failed, that’s a positive.”
Nate’s eyes drift into the shop and I can read his mind.
“I’m locked out of my office,” I lie.
He takes a step closer to the door.
“My computer is broken.”
Now I’m following him.
“I forgot my password and reset it and it said the new password can’t be the same as the old password.”
By the time I finish talking, Nate is in my office. I hardly fit in here and he’s got four inches and probably fifty pounds of muscle on me, but somehow he manages. “Sit.”
“Fine.” I groan. “You check it. Refresh the browser.”
I don’t really feel the need to be here for this, so I walk back outside. I only catch the tail of Finn’s blond head before he disappears into the barrel of a wave and Tides grows frantic.
“Come, Tides! ”
Tides doesn’t give me the time of day. He paces along the beach, only stopping when Finn reappears.
And it’s at that moment Nate comes up beside me.
“Sorry, man.”
If you keep your expectations low, you’re never really disappointed. And everyone else has low expectations of me. So why should I be any different?
Nate clasps my shoulder. “We’re going to spend a lot less time together. Because you passed.”
I turn my head quickly, unsure I heard him right. But that grin on Nate’s face never lies. Just in case, I slide my sunglasses down to the bridge of my nose to double check.
Nate pulls me into a tight hug.
“Would you be careful? You have a gun on your waist,” I mutter as I lose the ability to breathe under his strength. But I manage to hug him back anyway.
“I told you.” He slams his palm against my chest excitedly after releasing me.
I laugh. “Yeah. I guess you did.”
“We’re celebrating tonight. I’m off the next two days.”
I rub my chest where I’d bet good money my sternum might be cracked. “Check with your keeper and let me know.”
Nate shakes his head. “Nothing stopped me from helping you. And nothing’s going to stop me from celebrating you. Harper would get that, you know, if you let me tell her.” He looks out at the water. “ And Finn.”
I didn’t take the Bar for anyone else but my father, so I see no reason why I need to involve anyone now, especially Harper. I can only imagine the fake smile followed by, so what’s next ?
This translates to, so when are you moving out?
There’s some mumbo jumbo coming from the radio clipped to Nate’s waist. “Gotta jet. Ship-Slapped tonight? Let’s go around nine?”
“You’re driving,” I tell him. “I’ll be getting shit- slapped.”
“Deal.” Nate nods before he whistles. “Let’s roll, Tides. ”
It’s rare that Tides doesn’t listen to Nate, so when he has to whistle again to even get the dog to turn around and acknowledge him, I contemplate grabbing another donut because there’s no popcorn to enjoy the show.
“Tides!”
The dog tips his head toward the water, as if he’s beckoning Nate.
Nate hollers, “He’s fine!”
“That mutt isn’t afraid to go after a guy with a gun but cringes from the surf? I don’t think he was made in California. If they told you that, you should ask for your money back.”
Nate calls Tides one more time, and finally, the dog listens. “Would you relax? Finn is fine. God, I don’t know why this dog hates the beach so much. Doesn’t fit your name well, does it?”
Tides whines again beneath Nate’s touch. I click my tongue and toss him the rest of my donut which he catches even though he’s caught off guard.
“You’re just a ninety-pound pussy cat around waves, aren’t you?” I pat his head and Nate clips his harness back on.
“Alright, we’re out.”
“Sure you don’t want to join?” I place my hands on my hips and look out at the ocean. “Killer surf today.”
I can’t help but laugh when Nate shakes his head. After all, he taught me to surf back in high school, always down to cut ceramics class and go to the beach. But these days I’m lucky if I get him in the water more than a handful of times a year. He might be the one holding the leash now, but Nate has a tight, invisible one on himself.
It must be hard to really lean into the laid back culture of Orange County when your wife walks around with an East Coast stick up her ass, like Harper. But I’ve accepted Harper for who she is—viciously Type A and meticulously annoying. It’s her turn to get used to me .
But hell, sometimes I’m not even used to me.