Prologue
Jay
Eleven years ago
“Twenty bucks says I can swim over to the rocks at the Point faster than you.”
Rafe Goodman—all six foot something of him splayed out facedown on a beach towel so tiny it left most of his legs in the sand—turned his head toward me. A big hank of damp brown hair fell across his forehead as he lifted one eyelid only halfway, like the sunshine and salt air had stolen the energy he’d need to open his eyes fully. “Twenty? Did you take lessons overnight or something? ’Cause Ijustwon ten dollars off you yesterday swimming that exact same distance.”
“That was a one-off.” I waved a hand. “You can’t win ’em all. The law of averages says so. Also, yesterday we raced in the morning. Now it’s afternoon.”
He grinned up at me, his teeth a stunning flash of white against his golden skin, and propped himself up on one elbow so he could run his fingers idly over the strings of the guitar cradled in my lap. “You swim faster in the afternoon, is that it? Like the inverse of the early bird getting the worm? You’re an afternoon bird…”
“No.” I shuddered. “Do not compare me to one of those horror movie rejects.”
Rafe pushed his lips together and nodded solemnly. “My bad.”
Rafe knew—was maybe the only one who knew—about The Terrifying Seagull Incident from six summers ago, when I’d spilled a bag of chips on the dock outside the Goodmen Outfitters Tours office in the center of Whispering Key. The way I remembered the story, I’d barely processed dropping the bag before an entire phalanx of winged creatures dive-bombed me, cawing and shrieking. It had been as terrifying as anything Alfred Hitchcock ever dreamed up… and the fuckers had taken my Cool Ranch Doritos, too, which had been more annoying than traumatizing, but still.
Rafe flipped onto his back and stacked his hands behind his head, supremely unconcerned that his legs were covered with sand or that his broad, tanned chest gleamed in the sunshine. His gaze held mine. “Forget the money,” he said softly. “If I win, I want a song.”
Oof. The guy made me feel warm all over when he looked at me like that. Made me think thoughts and dream dreams… and write songs that were all about him.
Chill out, Jay.
I clutched the neck of my old guitar and made myself stare up and down the empty beach until I was able to swallow down all those sappy feelings. I had already thought things through and decided not to tell a soul about my sexuality, including Rafe. I couldn’t be out and do all the things I wanted to do with my life.
“Pssht. You hear me play all the time! That’s not a payment for a bet. Shit, sometimes I think my dad would pay me to stop playing entirely.”
“Because your dad is incompetent with anything that doesn’t have a dollar sign in front of it… whereasmyfamily can’t deal with anything thatdoeshave a dollar sign in front of it. Families, Rollins. Pick your poison,” Rafe drawled.
I huffed out a laugh. He wasn’t wrong. Rafe’s mom liked to say the Goodmans were “rich in ways that didn’t involve money.” And it was also true that I talked to my dad as little as possible and never about anything that mattered. Neither of these situations was ideal. But though I knew better than to ever say it out loud, if I had to pick a poison, I’d pick Rafe’s.
I mean, yeah, he was in college on a scholarship, rather than having his parents pay tuition like mine did. And yes, Rafe had worked five shifts a week at their family’s tour boat business all summer, basically for free. And yeah, the Goodmans lived in a small house on Whispering Key rather than having a three-floor showplace in Rock Gulch, Alabama,plusa summer cottage on the Key, like my dad and my stepmom, Belinda. And it was also true that Rafe was pretty much expected to come home after college and keep working for Goodmen Outfitters Tours.
But when Rafe had come out as bisexual in high school and his brothers had come out as gay, too, everyone on Whispering Key had taken the news without a blink. Rafe’s mom had gotten a pride flag somewhere, and his dad had constructed a flagpole to hang it from the front porch for her, and that was that. His parents wanted him around, and they accepted him as he was.
Me, on the other hand? I didn’t have a place where I fit, except during these summers with Rafe. I’d figured out years ago that the only thing I was good at was playing music, which was handy since it was a thing I loved, but my dad refused to accept it. He wanted some alternate-me he’d envisioned when I was born, the son he’d christened for his grandpa Jay and his grandpa Don, who’d become a legacy member of the Rock Gulch Country Club. And once a semester, like clockwork, he called to tell me what a disappointment I was and not to expect financial support from him if I didn’t give up my silly dreams.
Ironically, my dad’s doubts made me a hundred billion percent more determined to make those “silly dreams” happen, no matter what I had to sacrifice… including the possibility of having a relationship.
I mean, it wasn’t like I was fighting off potential relationships anyway, you know? The world was full of hot guys, but I’d only ever wantedone… one who’d never shown any indication he was attracted to me in the slightest. And as I looked down at that man, I had to remind myself to pretend I wasn’t soaking in every detail of his face, his body, hispresence, because the last thing I wanted to do was make our friendship awkward.
“Hey.” Rafe nudged my knee with the palm of his hand, and his fingers brushed my thigh—a total accident, but so fucking thrilling I committed it to memory. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh… just thinking. You know, sometimes I feel like you’re the only one who believes in me and my music.”
“No way,” Rafe immediately denied. “Everyone who hears your stuff loves it. You know how muchIlove it. Even my dad thinks you’re incredibly talented, and I’m not sure he’s really liked anyone since Duran Duran. Plus, I happen to know your sister thinks you’re amazing.”
I felt my face go warm, basking in his approval.
“Aimee’s biased,” I argued. “She loves me, and she’s loyal. She’d think I was great no matter what.”
Since our mom had died back when Aimee was a preschooler and I was all of seven, I’d tried to look out for her. I wanted to shield her from Dad’s lack of attention and Belinda’s quest to turn her into a mini church lady. She was a pretty cool kid for her age.
“Doesn’t mean she’s wrong,” Rafe said mildly. “But it’s cute the way you two protect each other.”
I rolled my eyes. “Cute.Pfft. You’re the same way with your brothers! I mean, maybe not Beale, since he’s bigger than you…”
