I’m not sure what to say, so I go with, “Sounds like things turned out as well as they possibly could, given the circumstances.”
“Yeah, but that’s thanks to Bran. I know that much.”
He’s still standing behind me, and I don’t want to disturb this connection. He’s sharing more than I ever thought he would. “It’s kind of a miracle he shut the boat down when he did.” I can’t let myself think of the alternative outcome.
“It’s more than that, though.” Milo exhales, and it tickles my head. “Everly and Shayla denied that they had anything to do with the whole thing. Said we tricked them into going out there and even lied that they didn’t know they were smoking weed. Bran got good and pissed, telling anyone who’d listen that it was a crock of shit—down to Everly bragging about how she guessed it was PCP lacing the weed because the feeling was so familiar. Shayla finally fessed up when she couldn’t explain how her diving gear got on board, and Everly wasn’t far behind. Bran took the wrap for the weed, and he’s probably working on his community service as we speak.”
My lip curls at this new information. “I can’t believe they did that, especially with how you saved Everly.”
“Some people feel entitled to special treatment.”
My stomach turns at the notion that he might place me in the same category. I admit, hearing the story gives me more insight into his state of mind, but I hope he’s not letting his horrible experience paint the way he views everyone. It never hurts to hope.
With that in mind, I choose my words carefully. “The world is filled with good people and bad people, rich people and poor people, but I’d hate to think you’d forget all the layers in between.”
“I haven’t.” He drops his hand from my shoulder, and I can feel his absence when he steps back. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
But I do! I want to say.
Instead, I turn, deciding the only thing now is to lighten the mood before either one of us says something that will stick forever. “Oh yeah? I gotta say I’m kind of worried we’re never going to finish this walk and get our doughnuts, SCUBA boy.”
His mouth curves in a grin, letting me know he’s happy to drop the topic. I’m not sure if he shared his whole story to explain why he gets judgy and angry, or if he just felt like he could trust me. And it doesn’t really matter in the end. I’m just happy he let me see inside.
We keep walking until we reach Wake N Bake and Milo gets his much-touted bacon doughnut. But the story plays over in my head until I fall asleep in the wee hours of the next morning, only to have a nightmare that Milo died and Leah sat in the front row at his funeral, telling everybody that she always secretly loved him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MILO
The combination of wine and comfort food appears to be Jill’s Achilles heel because she hasn’t sent me so much as a dirty look since we sat down to dinner. Turns out I’m batting a thousand in this whole apology thing.
Now the only problem will be getting my mom to back off with all the questions. Well, that’s not the only problem, but it is a big one. I suppose it’s no surprise that when your son who’s never cooked a damn thing other than a sandwich in his life asks for an easy but impressive recipe, the maternal wheels start turning in a nosy-ass direction. I was able to put her off for now, but we both know she won’t give up that easily. Which brings me to my other problem.
Jill Holloway is lounging in one of my deck chairs with her eyes closed, humming Lynyrd Skynyrd and looking like any man’s fantasy with her bare feet, tight jeans, and a cotton tee that shows off her breasts to perfection. She’s two glasses into the bottle of wine, and it appears to be her mellow place, something I’m careful to make a note of in case this information could prove useful in the future.
The sun set while we were eating, so now it’s just the house lights and the moon casting a dim glow on the deck while the surf plays out its dependable rhythm. I’ll need to check the perimeter of the house in the morning for storm damage, but it can wait.
Jill stops humming for a minute and tilts her head toward me, her lips spreading in a lazy smile. “Why didn’t you ever bring me here that summer?”
It isn’t what I expected her to ask, but I can’t say I haven’t been thinking about the past lately too. “I don’t know. I guess maybe I thought you’d think it was trashy or something.”
“Seriously?” She’s not truly irritated, something I can probably thank the wine for. “It’s a beach house.” Her arms spread wide for emphasis like this is my first time here.
“It’s a shack that just happens to be on the beach, and you know it.” I take a sip of my beer and shake my head at her.
“Who cares? Look at your back yard. And, besides, all it needs is a coat of paint and maybe some throw pillows.”
“Throw pillows? You think that’s gonna do it?” The fridge, range, and deck were just the tip of this home-improvement iceberg. Wait until her bed comes crashing down into the kitchen one of these days.
She shrugs and takes another sip of wine before glancing back at the house. “Don’t you have any pictures or anything you can hang on the wall? You’ve got to admit the lack of personality lends a bit of an American Psycho vibe.”
I smile because, when she’s not mad at me, she’s witty as hell. “Sure. I’ve got a bunch from South America and a few other places.”
Her mouth turns down. “No, I mean personal pictures. Family, friends, beloved childhood pets with lame names like Fluffy and Kitty.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure my mom has pictures. My dad never put any stock in sentimentality.” She can’t be surprised by that.
“And what about Fluffy and Kitty?”
“I hate cats,” I say around the mouth of my beer bottle.
“Can’t really argue with you there. But what about Fluffy? He’s a dog. Everyone loves dogs.”
I decide to trust her on that one. “Dogs require attention, and everybody was always working—me included. Believe me, it’s no tragedy.”
“Well, that’s just sad.” Her gaze shifts to the ocean. Jill is the kind of person who probably had an entire menagerie of animals as a kid.
“I’ll get over it.” She’s so pliable right now, I decide to test my luck. “My turn to ask a question.”
When I get no response, I take it as an okay and lay it out there. “What are you doing here?”
She doesn’t act surprised by my question, but she can’t help being a smartass. “Like, existentially?”
I roll my eyes for maybe the first time in my adult life. “No, wiseass. Like in this town. After all this time.”
She sets her wine glass down on the table between us and sits up, tucking her legs under and angling toward me. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders and I notice for the first time that her t-shirt says, “Surely not everybody was Kung Fu fighting” right over her tits.
“You know, I knew you’d ask me this question at some point, yet I still don’t have a good answer.”
“Somebody once told me a good place to start is the beginning.” I wink at her, and she chuffs out a half-laugh.