Thump!Whoever or whatever had tumbled into the sand.
Mia caught her bottom lip between her teeth and stared hard into the darkness, willing her pupils to expand and take in more light. Slowly, a form began to immerge at the edge of the tree line.
She released a shuddering breath. She would recognize those muscled shoulders anywhere. Could pick out that self-assured swagger from a hundred yards off.
Except…the swagger looked…unsteady.
No. No unsteady.Drunk.
A thousand childhood memories tried to claw their way to the surface. But she squared her jaw and beat them back.
Still, a headache began to throb behind her right eye, and she felt nauseous. It happened every time she was confronted with someone who was inebriated. For her, post-traumatic stress didn’t only manifest itself in mental anguish, it brought on a whole slew of physical symptoms.
She sat frozen while Romeo lurched his way across the narrow strip of sand that stood between the back of the house and the trees. She didn’t say a word as he stumbled up the steps, fumbled with the screen door, and then shuffled onto the porch. He glanced around, his head looking unsteady on the end of his neck.
Maybe he’ll go inside without stopping to talk, she thought hopefully.
A second later, her hopes were dashed when he headed her way and plopped down on the edge of the daybed. His weight depressed the mattress and had her sliding toward him until her thigh brushed his hip and made her belly flop. She scrambled away, pressing her back tight against the wrought iron railing that made up the back and the sides of the bed.
“Hello, Romeo.” She was careful to keep her voice neutral, neither wanting him to hear how his nearness affected her nor how his drunkeness hit her where she was most vulnerable. “Is there something I can do for you at…” She squinted down at her watch. “Three minutes past midnight?”
His breath smelled of whiskey when he sighed heavily. “Okay, I’m opening up my closhet…” He frowned and tried again. “Myclosetso you can see all my skeletons.”
“Huh?” She eyed him askance.
He rubbed a hand down his face, and then ran it back up and into his hair. When he dropped his hand, not only was his goatee all wild and ruffled-looking, so was his hair.
She blinked at the incongruent sight. Island living meant none of them were dressed for the catwalk. But even so, Romeo was usually so…tidy, she supposed was the word. Good haircut, clothes that fit his body to a tee, neatly trimmed facial hair.
It was strange to see him unkempt.
“Growing up in L.A. meant I was predish…predish…” He frowned.
“Predisposed?” she supplied helpfully.
He nodded his thanks. “Yes. I was predisposed to a certain lifestyle. No, wait.” He shook his head. “That’s not right. I wasn’t predish…predisposed to it. It was forced on me. Like, I didn’t have an option. It was either get on board or wind up in a pine box.”
He stopped to look at her, and the confusion on her face must’ve been obvious even to a man who was three sheets to the wind.
Okay, maybe notthree.She’d come to discern the different levels of drunkenness from an early age. She’d guess he was…one sheet to the wind. Maybe one and a half.
“Sorry.” He scratched his head, which made his hair stand up higher. “I’m not explaining this very well, eh?” When she shook her head, he went on. “So here’s the deal. I, um, I joined a gang when I was seventeen. And my initiation prosh…prosh…” He growled in annoyance and slapped his cheek before shaking his head as if to jangle some sobriety into it. “Process,” he finally managed and then grinned in triumph, making his dimples wink. “Involved me gunning down another kid.”
Mia knew her eyes got huge when he blinked at her in confusion. Then it was almost like she saw the light bulb go on over his head. He hurriedly added, “Oh, I didn’t kill him. I told all the other homeboys I tried, but the truth is, I aimed for that dude’s leg.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it wheezed out of her. The headache was still stabbing her eye, but she’d stopped being nauseous.Progress.
“Anyway,” he went on, sounding slightly more sober, “I knew my clique would organize a jump on me since the kid lived, but I didn’t care. I figured I’d survive getting the shit kicked out of me, and then they’d make me a homeboy without me having to off anyone.”
He glanced into the darkness of the trees. The moonlight accentuated the firmness of his jaw, the thickness of his eyelashes. “For about six months after that, I sold a lot of pot. Ismokeda lot of pot too,” he admitted with a rueful grin that was lopsided. Then his expression turned serious again. “I flunked out of school and my girlfriend got pregnant.”
He grimaced at her surprised expression. “Yeah. I was shaping up to be a real winner.” He rubbed his eyes. Eyes which, she was happy to say, were looking clearer and clearer with each passing minute.
“So Gina told me— Uh, that was my girlfriend. Gina,” he clarified. “Anyhow, so Gina told me she wanted an abortion. And, of course, she expected me to pay for it. I wanted her to keep the baby, but it was her choice and what the hell did I know about being a father, right? My old man was killed when I was six, and the only other father figure I had to look up to was my older brother, who was a top-ranking member of the gang, so…” He shrugged.
Mia opened her mouth, and then closed it again. What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t think. Her head was spinning.
“Unfortunately,” he continued. “I didn’t have the dough for the abortion, so I put on a ski mask like someFargoshit and tried to rob the corner store. Which is how I got caught by the cops. Which is how I ended up in front of Judge Biltmore who gave me the choice between being tried as an adult or going to military school. And the rest, as they say, is hish…tory.”
