His voice audibly cracks. It’s a noise I’m not used to hearing from the big lug. That kind of loss when you’re a kid—losing your best friend without warning—that shit stays with you. It’s probably why he smothers us with love and affection. He doesn’t want to see us up and leave him without warning.
“We moved to Georgia. Then Florida. Ended up in Virginia my senior year of high school,” Ryan says quietly, fixing his outfit that Oliver wrinkled.
“Man, I missed you so much. Remember how we used to sneak out at night to look at the stars? You had that telescope your grandpa gave you.” Oliver’s eyes shimmer with memories. “Do you still stargaze?”
A blush creeps up Ryan’s neck, and he ducks his head. “I—yes. I still do.”
The soft admission alters the air around us. Even Kyle stops scowling for half a second.
“That’s amazing,” Oliver breathes. His voice holds a tone of reverence I’ve never heard before. “We have a lot to catch up on. How’s Marvin? Is he still obsessed with building models and reading skin mags for the stories?”
“Yes and yes. He’s at MIT.”
“I’m not surprised. That dude’s as much of a genius as you are.” Oliver turns to the rest of us, still keeping one hand on Ryan’s shoulder, no doubt afraid he’ll disappear again. “This kid is incredible and scary smart. He knows all the constellations by heart—learned them by the time we were seven. Could probably navigate the galaxy better than most adults.”
I catch Jackson’s eye, and we share a look of mutual bewilderment.
“This is weird,” Gerard whispers loudly to Elliot. “Good weird, but weird.”
“Everything about your friend group is weird,” Elliot responds, watching Oliver and Ryan with interest.
Nathan clears his throat. “So, uh, are we still doing this Polar Bear Plunge thing? Because my nipples are about to fall off.”
“Right! Yes!” Oliver suddenly remembers where we are. “Ryan, you’re not going in, are you? You always hated being cold.”
“Absolutely not. I’m here for moral support and potential medical emergencies.” Ryan adjusts his glasses. “Also, to document Jackson’s inevitable hypothermia.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, roomie,” Jackson salutes with a smile.
Oliver turns to the group. “Okay, boys! Let’s do this! For charity and bragging rights!”
I deliberately do not stare at Jackson’s abs contracting when he takes off his sweatshirt and sucks in a breath.
I don’t observe his back muscles flexing when he hands Ryan his clothes.
I don’t notice his nipples pebbling from the brutally cold wind.
Nope. Not me. I’m completely focused on…Gerard’s jiggling ass as he runs toward the spot where the water meets the shore. Same as Nathan. Same as Elliot.
6
DREW
The shoreline of Berkeley Shore has morphed into what looks like the set of a raunchy college movie. Half-naked men from every corner of campus crowd the beach, their bodies shivering in anticipation.
The rugby team lines up, resembling a pack of highlighters. One guy’s bright red Speedo clings to him, the fabric straining against an ass as round as the moon. Another dude in electric blue keeps trying to pick out a wedgie. The guy in neon yellow turns sideways, and I swear I could tell you his religion from here. Lime green bends over to stretch, and several people behind me audibly gasp.
And, naturally, there’s Gerard in the middle of them, gesturing wildly with his massive hands. The rugby guys hang on his every word.
“—and that’s why you should always do a pregame handstand!” Gerard’s voice carries across the beach. “It gets the blood flowing to all the important places.”
The soccer team is here, too, appearing appropriately preppy in their matching board shorts. The baseball team is goofing around with a beach ball, wearing nothing but jockstraps. Fratboys roam in packs, their Greek letters stamped across swim trunks and contraband coolers, pretending theNo Alcoholsigns don’t apply to college royalty.
“I’m starting to think this was a terrible idea,” Jackson says, sidling up next to me. “That water looks angry.”
I follow his gaze and realize he’s right. Gray-green waves crash against the shore with a violence that suggests Neptune himself doesn’t want us here. Foam flies through the air, and the wind whips it at our faces in tiny frozen bullets. The sun is out, but it’s that weak January sun—the kind that provides light without warmth.
Jackson steers me over to where the football players have gathered, his calloused hand resting on my lower back. A shiver runs down my spine to my tailbone. I act as if it’s the effects of the wind.
