“Tech!” I scream. He looks up, eyes wide, and rushes over to help me. The pressure’s so intense now, I can hardly keep my footing, but we finally manage to tie down the last line, the ropes as tight as we can get them. I sag with the momentarily relief.
The rain has turned into a full-on downpour, washing over my face. The world is just wind and rain, and I can barely breathe with the salt and dampness pressing against my chest.
My father stumbles again, this time falling to his knees on the dock. I don’t know if it’s the pain or the exhaustion, but his face is pale, hisbreath ragged. I rush to him and kneel beside him, worried he’s gone too far this time.
“I’m fine,” he grunts, but his voice is strained and weak.
“No you’re not, old man,” I reply, taking his arm. “We have to get inside. The storm’s just—”
A deafening crack of thunder booms around us, and for a moment, the whole world seems to hold its breath. It’s apocalyptic. The next wave crashes into the dock with a force that nearly knocks me off my feet. The boat beside us lurches, its ropes snapping, and it drifts away, free from its mooring.
“No!” I scream, but my voice is swallowed by the storm. I look around desperately, but there is nothing more we can do. “Come on,” I tell my father, yanking him forward as he watches the boat disappear into the storm-tossed sea.
“Not yet,” he mutters, almost to himself. But he’s wrong. The storm’s here. It’s here, and it’s taking everything.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. We can’t win. All we can do now is hold on and hope that when it’s over, there’s something left to rebuild.
“Tech, Shawn,” I shout. “We need to get inside.”
They nod, and together, we pull my father down the dock, away from the last traces of our fight. We have to make it to shelter. Luckily, our beach cabin is above the tide line, and we make a dash for it.
We move fast, slipping and sliding on the dock until our feet sink into the wet sand. I glance back, just for a second, at the empty boats that are still tied to the dock. I wonder how many of them will make it through this. If our business will survive the damage.
I’m suddenly aware of being watched. In the middle of a hurricane, I lift my gaze again toward the Augustus Resort. Its windows glint in the storm’s darkening light. The whole resort looks untouched; the electricityis even still on. Not only that, there are people gathered on the enclosed balcony of one of the resort’s restaurants. Sitting there comfortably, watching the storm. Watching us race to save their belongings.
Even from here, I know it’s the Collective, what we call the rich resort investors and their kids, the ones who truly run Cape Hope. What a joke—theCollective?They sound like a secret society of vampires, and none of them are cool enough for that. They’re opportunists. While we’re hustling just to stay afloat, they buy up whatever they want. For them, living in Cape Hope is easy.
For us? Every day is a struggle, even with my family owning our own business for the last twenty years. It’s the same for all the local families. Every time the Augustus Resort expands, they push more of us into the margins. They call it the price of progress, but it doesn’t feel like progress. It feels like they’re squeezing us out, carving up the land until there’s nothing left.
I hate the Collective. I hate that they don’t have to be out here with us in the storm, tying down boats and risking their lives alongside ours. They don’t have to work for their piece of paradise. It’s handed to them. The beach, the dock, the water—it’s all just something they buy up, package, and sell to the highest bidder.
I grip my father’s arm tighter, my eyes still locked on the Augustus Resort. “Let’s go,” I whisper, finally pulling my gaze away from the resort.
This rivalry will never end. The Collective call us Chasers—locals who have stuck around this long. They gave us that name because they think we’re always chasing what they have, as if we dream about polo shirts and boring business meetings. Not even close.
We’re Chasers, sure. We’re chasing the sun, chasing our dreams. But we’re also chasing our chance to pay them back for everything they’ve done to Cape Hope. Now, that’s a dream we’ll chase until the day we die.
CHAPTER TWO
—JAMIE
Rain pelts the hurricane-proof windowsof the restaurant as I watch the storm. It’s brutal out there. The gale-force winds shaking the glass should have me a little more worried, but with all the old money lying around this resort, I have no doubt they paid big bucks for their safety features. And I’m sure my father is the one who sold it to them, charging top dollar.
I take a sip of my midday coffee, trying to stay awake after traveling from Connecticut to Florida, the last half hour on the helicopter dicey in the rising winds. Once we arrived, my parents started arguing in their bedroom suite, and my little sister blasted reality TV from her tablet while curled up on the couch. Considering my head is still throbbing from the turbulence, a quick escape to listen to the rain on the restaurant balcony sounded relaxing.
A guy near the window laughs loudly, the sound of it sharp and cutting through the near-empty restaurant. It feels inappropriate as rain pelts the glass, like a laugh heard at the end of the world. He does it again, and I’m internally cringing. I set my cup down with a clank on the saucer.
“James,” the guys calls, glancing back over his shoulder at me. He looks vaguely familiar, but it’s been a while so I’m not entirely sure if Iknow him. “It’s Creed,” he says, pointing at himself. “Hey, are you seeing this shit?” He motions out the window.
Although my family spends a lot of time at the Grand Augustus Resort, I’ve missed the last few years. I’ve been away at school and spending my summers in law-school-prep courses and learning IT security—the family businesses.
But man… I used to love this place. We’d come here every summer, on breaks, over long weekends. I would even sneak off on my own a few times just to spend the night here.
I made friends with the locals. I fell in love. I fucked it all up—the typical summer camp story, I guess. Only it hurt way more than that.
So now I’m kind of dreading being here at all.
“James, seriously,” the guy, Creed, says again with a laugh. “Check this out.”
