He smiles, a bit of levity returned. His spirit is still broken, though. He murmurs good night and heads back inside the Shack.
I stay on the beach, looking out at the scattering of driftwood, broken planks, and seaweed. It’s a mess. I’m sure my friends would sneak out tonight to help if I asked them, but like my father said, I punish myself when I screw up. Besides, I don’t want them to see me cry.
And with that, I tie up my hair in a bun, and I grab the rake and a trash bin to clean up the beach myself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
—JAMIE
My bedsheets are crumpled upin the corner of the mattress as I stare up at the ceiling, the air too humid to move. When I got home last night, I didn’t tell my parents about the stolen boat. I was too scared they would blame me, even though I had nothing to do with it. But since I’m trying to regain their trust, rebuild our relationship, it doesn’t seem like a good idea to immediately get us all involved in a police matter—my fault or not.
And then, of course, there was Noa. Sitting there stubborn and defiant. Angry. Fucking beautiful. She clearly hates me now, which I deserve. To be honest, I’m pretty sure she would have stolen the boat even if she knew it was mine, or maybe because of it.
My heart starts to ache in that way again, that disappointment and regret. I rub at my chest like I can physically push it away. It doesn’t work. Instead, I decide to focus on my anger. It’s easier.
Noa stole my boat. She and her friends committed grand larceny, and then she had the audacity to blame me for it. But this time I’m the one in the right. I’m the one who gets to be mad.
I sit up and sigh out my frustration. No, I lose either way. Because no matter what, I hate being on the opposite side of her.
“James,” my mother calls from the living room. She sounds elated,which is concerning. It’s that high-pitched politeness that mothers reserve for phone calls and cocktail parties. “James, come out here, please.”
Hesitantly, I get out of bed and step into a pair of shorts and yank my T-shirt over my head. When I open the door, the air is much cooler outside my stuffy room.
As I walk into the living room, I pause, a bit startled. My mother smiles winningly, and standing next to her is Jordan Miles. Jordan’s wearing a flowing white dress, her bikini strings tied behind her neck. I glance over to where my sister is lounging on the couch, riveted by the impending conversation. I give her a warning glare to not embarrass me before turning back to Jordan.
“Hey, Jordan,” I say. “How’s it going?” For a moment, I worry that Jordan told my mother about the police station, but I quickly push that idea aside. She’s not the type to snitch to parents.
“I’m good,” Jordan says, and it all sounds a bit rehearsed. “I bumped into your mother in the lobby, and she told me that you didn’t have any plans today.”
I glance at my mother, who has no idea what my plans are any day, including this one.
“Wasn’t that nice of her,” I say, turning back to Jordan.
“Right?” Jordan replies. “Well, then I figured that since Hailey and I were going surfing with Matteo this morning, maybe you’d want to come along.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised to hear his name. Slightly annoyed. “Matteo’s back?”
She smiles widely. “Yes, thank god,” she says. “Things were getting boring around here.”
“You should go,” my mother cuts in, taking a step toward me. “There’s no point sitting at the resort. Have fun. Be young.”
I’m a bit amused. Who is this woman? She’s being so fake in front ofJordan that she deserves an Oscar. “Be young?” I repeat, and she stifles a laugh knowing that I see right through her act. But she likes Jordan—or more specifically, she likes Jordan for me. A good match, in her opinion.
“I’m not really a surfer,” I tell Jordan, just trying to set the right expectations.
“It’s not a problem.” She waves me off. “I don’t even go in the water. It’s mostly just Matteo out there.”
Watching Matteo Mancini surf isn’t high on my wish list, but at this point, I can’t really refuse without a good reason. “Sounds great,” I say politely. “I’ll just… I’ll go get changed.”
Jordan flashes a smile, seeming pleased. As I turn around, I catch my sister scrunching up her nose at me, as if saying she doesn’t approve. Astrid doesn’t like Jordan? Or maybe she’s picking up on the fact that I don’t want to go. Either way, I wink at her and head to my room to change. Behind me, my mother gushes to Jordan about the resort and how beautiful our suite turned out.
The sun feels too hot on my skin as Jordan and I step outside. The heat is thick, the kind that makes the air wave like steam. We walk the narrow path toward Paradise Beach, the surfing area a ways down from the dock, which is a good thing. I don’t think I can handle running into Noa right now. Not with Jordan.
On the way, the sand is dotted with sprouts of grass, wild and untamed. Compared to the perfectly manicured lawns of the resort, this is a refreshing change—liking stepping out of a virtual world and into something real.
Jordan and I fall into a quiet rhythm, the sound of the ocean waves crashing in the background. I glance sideways at her and notice that she seems tense, her movements jerky.
“You okay?” I ask.
