“Hey.”
My fingers hover over the handle, but I don’t grab it.Instead, I peek behind me.“Yeah?”
He lifts the bread loaf, using it to give me a mock salute.“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
10
FORD
“You’re lucky it’s a dry winter, and there isn’t any snow,” Roman grumbles.He rubs his hands up and down his arms.We came to the beach early to set everything up.The stage.The speakers.The fire.The coolers.The snacks.Yes, there are snacks.Everyone knows a good party requires good snacks.Hot dogs, buns, marshmallows, graham crackers, and a small pack of sunflower seeds just for me.It’s the whole shebang.
Tossing a handful of sunflower seeds into my mouth, I chew slowly in hopes of stopping myself from calling Roman a big baby.Sure, it’s a little chilly, but the guy needs to grow a pair.“Technically, it’s still fall,” I point out.
Roman glares at me.
“The alcohol and bonfire will warm everyone up quickly,” Jagger states, defending the impromptu Harden Night.It’s not our fault we had to throw this together at the drop of a hat.Considering our lack of options and time, I actually feel like it’s a pretty decent idea, thank you very much.
“No bets, though,” Roman says.
“No bets,” Jagger confirms.“Not tonight.”
“Tonight, we remind people why Harden Nights are the best,” I explain.“Free booze.Pretty girls.Good music.That’s it.”
“Until we find the tape, anyway,” Hawke mutters beside me with his hands tucked in his pockets.
Damn straight.
We each look around the beachline, taking in our handiwork.It’s only eight o’clock.The invites say the party starts at nine.And the fact that everyone’s here early instead of showing up an hour late like some eighties numbskull decided was proper etiquette?If that isn’t the definition of success, I don’t know what is.My chest puffs up with pride as my attention lands on our uncle, a half a football field away.The makeshift stage Judge set up is complete with drums, a mic, a couple of amps, a guitar, and all the other music equipment a seasoned rock band could ever need.
“Still can’t believe you convinced Judge to play for us, though,” Hawke grumbles.
I can’t believe it, either.Judge willingly attending a Harden Night.Scratch that.He would’ve been plenty willing before now.This is just the first time we’ve actually extended an invite instead of keeping the man in the dark like we usually do.I still can’t decide whether or not it was a good idea to solicit his help.
Uncle Judge rubs the back of his shaved head as he chats with the guitarist, Paxton Turner, though his stage name is Paxton Six.A few months ago, Paxton purchased a home in Harden Heights that used to belong to our family.Still not sure how Judge managed to convince my dad to let it go to a non-Harden.For all I know, it was a bribe to keep Judge under Daddy Dearest’s thumb.It wouldn’t surprise me.My father’s the master of manipulation, though Jagger insists our uncle is less under his thumb than we like to give him credit for.
Personally, I think Jagger’s smoking something.
The lead singer, Dodger Anders, is MIA, and has been for months, though Judge assured us Paxton could hold down the fort and perform vocals for the night.Beside them is Tuke, the bassist.Now, Tuke is a man after my own heart.He takes a drag of weed and blows it out, letting the smoke swirl with the salty sea air.The man just finished a cameo role in a movie before flying out at Judge’s request.He’ll probably find an island to hunker down on until Judge decides he’s ready to tour again.Wish I could disappear to an island for an undetermined amount of time.My eyes drift to Judge once more.
What does Titas have on you?Why are you still here?
“You sure he’s not still spying on us for Daddy Dearest?”I ask Jagger while eyeing our uncle from across the beach.
After our father found out we were throwing parties in Drift territory—and making friends with some of the less-than-savory people from the wrong side of town, including Gus Toro—our father asked Judge to come back from tour, so he could talk some sense into us.I’m still not sure why our father thought Judge would be able to do anything, but he owed my sperm donor a favor, and when Daddy Dearest calls, people come running, even if it makes them look like a little bitch.
“Judge isn’t as bad as you think he is,” Jagger says, defending our uncle just like he did with this party a minute ago.“Besides, even if he was, we’re in Harden territory tonight, and we aren’t taking any bets.”
“Which means, we should be free and clear,” Hawke adds.
Roman’s head bobs in approval.“Smart.”
“It was my idea,” I remind them.“Of course, it’s smart.”
With a low chuckle, Roman shakes his head but doesn’t bother calling me a smart-ass, even if we all know he’s thinking it.Hell, they’re all thinking it.Even I am.
“Any sight of Morgan?”Jagger prods.
