And as far as my brother goes, anyone in the Mancini family would be lucky to be friends with him. Felix certainly felt that way. In fact, he and my brother had plans to start their own charter business in Cape Hope. There was a future, one that came crashing down when my brother left. So if Felix has gone to join my brother somewhere, it’s not a bad thing. It’s because they’re doing something good. At least, that’s what I want to believe.
“You’ve got one hour,” I tell Matteo, done with the conversation. “I’m setting a timer.”
He smiles bitterly. “Don’t go running off with the Matthews kid while I’m away,” he says.
“Okay, I’ll try not to,” I say mockingly.
I walk back toward to the Surf Shack, cursing under my breath as I go. I wasn’t lying about Matteo being insecure. He’s always been that way—too worried about what the others in the Collective think of him, even if he is their top dog. Sure, he’s had his moments of being a real person, but those have grown few and far between. I blame that squarely on his father’s influence.
As I reach the Shack, I stop next to Shawn, who is watching the group from behind her reflective sunglasses. Her jaw is tight, and I already know her opinion.
“It’s just an hour,” I tell her, and she hums like she’s not happy about it. Neither am I, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to stay afloat here.
I glance over to the counter and see that Jamie is still standing there, looking annoyed, while both Tech and Shawn ignore him. When I turn to Shawn accusingly, she fights back her smile, as if telling me he’s my problem to deal with.
“Mean,” I say, making her laugh before heading toward the counter. She’s not wrong, but I still don’t want to deal with this right now.
I round the counter wordlessly and reach underneath to pull out the rental paperwork. I’m poised and professional as I attach it to my clipboard and slide it in front of him.
Jamie continues to stare at me, not moving. When I drag my eyes up to his, he tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “A pen?” he asks.
This is torture. I’m not sure if I’d rather he beg for forgiveness or yell at me for stealing his boat. Butthis,whatever this polite bullshit is, sucks. I glance at Tech, and he nods as if telling me I’m doing a great job.
With that, I take out a pen and set it on top of the papers with a loud click.
“You’ll sign here,” I say, pointing to a line at the bottom. “And initial each of these,” I add, tapping several other lines.
It would be responsible for him to read over the contract, but he just signs it and pushes it back toward me. Not a care in the world. He opens his wallet again, digging through until he pulls out an American Express Gold Card. It figures he’d have a Gold Card by now. I mean, he has his own boat. The perks of the Collective life, I guess. The life he used to say he didn’t want.
“Tech,” I call, turning to him again. “Can you grab me the card machine?” Our register is old-school, cash only. Tech walks inside the Shack, and the screen door slams closed behind him as if accentuating his annoyance.
With Jamie’s hand still extended, I reach over to pluck the Amex Card from between his fingers, but he holds it firmly. Surprised, I look up just as he leans toward me.
“You don’t think one fifty is a bit uncalled-for?” he asks, studying me. “You told me in the sheriff’s station that stealing was a onetime thing for you.”
I hold on to his card, neither of us giving in. “You must be confused,” I tell him. “This is free-market capitalism. Sunset Beach is just down the way if you want to go there instead.”
Jamie watches me for a moment, his eyes trailing over my face with a mixture of admiration and regret. And, of course, a bit of irritation. I’m sure he’s still upset that we messed up his boat, which I get. So then why did he show up here today? Why pay my ridiculous price? No matter what I did yesterday, he still owes me an explanation.
Reluctantly, Jamie lets go of his card, and my hand snaps back. I’m disappointed at the sudden loss of tension, a tether between us.
He leans his elbow on the counter, looking down the dock. “So you and Matteo Mancini?” he says casually. “Was that actually a thing?”
“Do you really want to know?” I ask. He flinches slightly, but then shakes his head.
“Nope,” he replies.
I have a flash of guilt. I’m not trying to hurt his feelings, even if he’s the one who ended things between us. Despite everything… I could never hurt him.
“It was barely a thing,” I admit, and when he starts to smile, I add, “Don’t gloat.”
“Just think you can do better, is all.”
I’d tell him to stop gaslighting me, but I said something similar to him about Jordan Miles. I don’t want to be a hypocrite. And I figure, this is okay—this interaction. It’s easy enough. It doesn’t hurt too bad. We just… keep it friendly. Casual.
“Hey,” I say, drawing his attention again. “I really am sorry about your boat. I thought we had a good reason. I thought it would be worth it—that it would change things around here. But it didn’t.” I look past him to the others waiting near the water—the Collective wholly unaffected. My heart sinks knowing we risked it all for nothing.
Jamie’s eyes weaken as he watches me. Reading me. “I don’t care about the boat,” he says, low and heavy.
