I snort a laugh. Shawn is the queen of dating apps—an instant yes to every girl… who she will later ghost. Paradise Beach is littered with the hearts of lovelorn tourists who thought they had a chance with her. She’s an icon.
Shawn hangs dramatically off the ladder with one hand, calling to Tech again.
I hear the screen door slam, and look down to see Tech’s mom step onto the front porch. I smile instantly. Angela is carrying a tray of icy drinks and a plate of sliders that I know are going to be spicy as fuck—just the way we like them.
“I made you all a little something to keep you going,” she calls, her voice warm. My smile fades slightly when I notice how tired she looks, how worn down. Angela has been a second mother to me, especially when I needed her most. But lately, I can see the toll the storms—and the changes in Cape Hope—are taking on her. I swear, her hair is a little grayer each day.
When I was a kid, Angela would show up at the beach in a red bikini, pull on a wet suit, and paddle out like she owned the tide, my mother confidently at her side. They’d spend the day surfing while Tech and I built sandcastles outside the Surf Shack, our dads having beers on the dock. She was always cooking, always laughing, and occasionally singing during our late-night bonfires on the beach.
I would give anything to go back to that. To hear my mom singing off-key, see my dad laughing. Watching my brother and his friend Felix steal a beer when they thought no one was looking. The world was different then. We were different.
But then my mom got sick. She… died. She died and it cracked us straight down the middle. I didn’t think I’d make it through that. Honestly, some days I still don’t. But Angela was there to help us, cookingwhen none of us had the will, singing softly when I couldn’t lift my head off the pillow. Even after she lost everything, she kept checking on us. Especially when Ellis left.
I look again at the plate of food, sliced up and garnished like we’re still sitting oceanside on her restaurant patio, minus the side of fried plantains. She’s always been the best cook in town.
At the thought, I’m struck with the familiar sadness. Familiar anger. Because although Angela’s restaurant survived hurricanes, it couldn’t survive the resort investors. The Collective pushed her out, piece by piece. Higher taxes, fines, health inspections that were falsified. Eventually she had no choice but to close down and move inland. Now she cooks from her house off the books, selling to the locals who can still afford it. Or giving it away to those who can’t.
“Thank you, Angela,” I call down to her. “You didn’t have to make all that.”
She laughs. “Who are you kidding, Noa?” she asks. “You would eat these all yourself if I let you. Oh,” she says, looking back at the house. “I forgot the hot sauce.”
She disappears inside, and just then, the sound of tires sloshing over the muddy road cuts through the otherwise quiet morning. I glance over as a souped-up white Jeep pulls to the edge of the yard. When I recognize the occupants, my heart starts beating faster.
What are they doing here? They never come out this far.
Shawn’s the first to break the silence, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and concern. “What the fuck do you want?” she calls to them.
In the backseat, Mike Treble stands up like he’s going to do something. He’s big and kind of goofy looking, but I know he’s just a henchman. The real piece of shit is Creed Hutchins, sitting behind the wheel. They’re part of the Collective—the worst ones. The one who thrive on cruelty.
I brace myself on the roof, holding steady as my nerves ratchet up.
“What do I want?” Creed replies. His voice is slightly slurred, and I’m sure that he’s been drinking. “I want you and all your trash friends out of Cape Hope,” he says with a sneer. “You’re stinking up the place.”
“Pretty sure that’s just your upper lip, babe,” Shawn calls back, casually lethal.
I blurt out a laugh before I can stop myself, loud enough to make Creed flinch. Immediately, I can see that his pride is wounded. His eyes darken as he zeroes in on me.
His look scares me a little, and I adjust my stance on the roof again, making sure I have a good foothold. But what’s he going to do? Climb up here and get me?
Creed turns to reach into the backseat of his Jeep, and for a second, I think he’s grabbing a towel or something. Maybe a breath mint. But when he cocks back his arm, glass catches the sunlight as he launches a bottle at me.
I scream just as it shatters against the roof a few feet away, spraying me with shards of glass and cold beer. Little cuts sting my arm, and then suddenly, my foot slips in the liquid. My hip hits the surface hard, and I gasp as I begin to skid down the slope of the roof. I scramble for a grip to stop myself, but my gloves glide along the bumpy surface as the edge rushes toward me, too close, too fast.
“Noa!” Shawn yells, scurrying up the ladder as if she’s going to catch me out of midair.
She reaches for me just as the heel of my sneaker hits the rain gutter, jolting my knee as it stops my fall. I grunt out in pain, shock. And then, for a second, I’m afraid to move—just in case I’m still falling and don’t realize it.
I wait a beat, and then I turn my arm and see a few cuts there. It’s nothing serious, but they sting. A little bit of blood. I adjust my grip, and then I give Shawn a thumbs-up to let her know I’m okay.My hand is trembling, my heart pounding loudly in my ears.
I… almost went over the side.
Shawn’s eyes blaze with anger, and then she’s gone. She drops down the ladder, her sneakers hitting the grass with a thump. She yanks the hammer out of her belt loop and stomps toward the Jeep. I sit up straighter, wanting to call to her, but my voice is still strangled from the spike of adrenaline. Honestly, I’m a little lightheaded—which isn’t great considering I’m still on the roof.
For his part, Creed tries to laugh off Shawn’s approach, but the sound is hollow. He can see the hammer in her hand, and he knows she’s not afraid of anything—including bludgeoning him on a public street.
Quickly, I dart my eyes at Tech, who is already staring up at me, as if he still expects me to come tumbling down. Neither of us says anything, and I think I’m probably in shock. I can’t believe how close I came to falling, to cracking open like the bottle that nearly took me out. Creed literally almost killed me.
Just as Shawn gets close to the Jeep, Creed throws another beer at her—but his earlier bravery is gone. The bottle lands unbroken on the grass, spinning toward Shawn’s feet.
