Three to Get Ready, page 11
Music blares from a set of speakers behind the fully stocked bar. I had one shot when I first arrived. Didn’t need any more.
Zach slaps my shoulder, harder this time. He’s drunk as hell and still beating me at pool.
“You’re shit-faced,” I shout at him over the music. “How the hell do you keep winning?”
“I’m an expert at pool,” he shouts back. Whisky spills over the top of his glass.
Women in short dresses circle us, leaning in to show off their cleavage. It’s wall-to-wall rich assholes in here. Pure debauchery.
None of it touches me.
It’s a feat, because this place is packed with people. They sprawl on all the available furniture. Most of them are high or drunk or fucking.
I don’t want to fuck someone in one of the staterooms, or on the curved leather sofa, like the couple going at it now. I don’t want to get high. And I don’t want to jump off the side of the yacht into black water.
It’s hot and loud and exactly the kind of scene I spent years seeking out. I drowned myself in these places before. Escaped from my head.
I lose another three hundred dollars to Zach.
He gets pulled away by two women and replaced by a guy I don’t know. He takes Zach’s pool cue, bets me four hundred, and we play.
Can’t keep my mind on the shots. There are too many bodies in the room. Too much heat. It’s a large yacht, though not as big as mine. Still not enough room.
It’s not safe.
The guys were right. I’m not a good time anymore, and it’s because I can’t help noticing how dangerous this is. It’s not likely that there will be an emergency on the yacht, but if there is, there’s going to be a crush of people. Somebody could get hurt.
They’re already in danger from the sheer amount of drugs and alcohol. An overdose isn’t out of the question. And nobody’s looking out for each other at this point in the evening. People will take advantage.
Another game of pool. Another loss. Six hundred this time. At least two thousand dollars of my money is in other people’s pockets.
It was always this dangerous.
The realization comes on slow.
I was in danger at these parties, too. I was in danger when I drove fast cars without any regard for the speed limit. I was in danger every time I visited the underground casino.
It didn’t matter.
My future trapped me, but it also freed me. I could take any risk I wanted. I could sit at the illegal poker table until the cops were bursting through the door. I could go to illicit boxing matches on nights when the crowd was bloodthirsty and out of line. I could drive as fast as I wanted, turning out the headlights to speed through black nights.
Because it would be almost a blessing if I died that way. Any way, before the ugly, lonely end.
“I might have a death wish,” I muse to the guys at the pool table.
One of them blinks at me. “You’re just terrible at pool.”
I’m not even trying. Am I trying in my life, or am I just pretending? Either way, Eva doesn’t need me. She’s a better parent than ten thousand men and women put together.
In fact, she has everything. Wealth. Ability. A sound mind.
Finn: I’m sorry.
She doesn’t answer my text.
I abandon the pool table and push into the crowd. Eddies of people suck me in to dance. My body moves mindlessly, swaying for long enough that they spit me back out again. None of them smell right. None of them is right. None of them is the brave, beautiful Eva Morelli, who deserves so much more than I can give her.
Half of me is searching for her on the yacht. I reach for her in every tight clutch of people, my palms looking for the particular curve of her hips. The fall of her black hair. I won’t abandon you, Finn. Not for anything.
“I’m nothing but pain.”
“You’re hot.” A blonde woman looms in close, a strobe light flashing on her face, champagne spilling from her glass. “Let’s find someplace where we can be alone.”
I laugh at her, and she ignores me.
I didn’t want Eva to ignore me. I wanted her to look at me with those huge, dark eyes and never stop.
Well, I should have been careful what I wished for. She saw past the playboy shell. Oh, she loved visiting the underground poker club. Eva got a rush from betting on an underdog. But she knew. She saw what I was trying to hide.
That I’ll break her heart every day until I’m dead.
“Finn,” someone calls.
Yes, I proposed. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t how she wanted it to be. The proposal hurt her as much as telling her I didn’t care. The truth is that I don’t really want it. I don’t want her shackled to me by a wedding band. I don’t want her to see me drooling and senseless and afraid.
Fuck, I’m so scared.
It’s a broken champagne glass through my heart. Jagged glass. I put a hand to my chest and stumble out onto the deck of the yacht. Cool evening air makes it easier to breathe, but what’s the point?
What good does it do anyone, least of all me?
Eva doesn’t have to go down like this. She can be like my mother. It hurt when she left. I won’t pretend it didn’t. I spent a long time raging at her, if only in my thoughts. She found some happiness for herself, though. Some peace. That’s not on offer at home. Daniel Hughes doesn’t know who he is, more often than not. He doesn’t know who we are. His confusion makes him violent and unpredictable.
An image flashes into my mind. Eva, stoic despite her fear, her gorgeous mouth set in a firm line as she tries to fend me off. A boy with her hair and my eyes hanging back, watching his father attack his mother. I barely have to work to imagine it. I saw it happen at my own dinner table.
I could be sick.
Still no answer.
No son of Eva’s would let her face me alone. He’d be part of her family, too, for as long as she was in her right mind. And she has a family who won’t fuck off to Switzerland at the first sign of trouble. The Morellis have their problems. They sure as hell do. They’re all wrapped up in each other. Demanding too much from one another. Running hot.
I won’t abandon you, Finn. Not for anything.
She learned that loyalty from somewhere. I wish it could have been from me and not from surviving the tyrant reign of Bryant Morelli. But she had to know it before she could give it to me.
Try to give it to me. I can’t accept. It’d be the same thing as locking my hand around her ankle and pulling her underwater. It would be okay if I died a few years early. It would be a goddamn tragedy for Eva to spend a single day less on earth.
I barely had anything to drink but somehow I’ve ended up at the railing, my stomach in knots.
She doesn’t know what she’s asking me to do. She has no idea how it’ll feel to deal with my diapers and watch me stop loving her.
You wouldn’t ever stop.
“You’re full of shit.” The voice in my head doesn’t know. Does my father still love my mother? Sure. For thirty seconds a day, when he forgets that she left him. Soon it’ll be twenty seconds a day, then ten, then none.
Somebody runs into me.
Eva: I know.
Zach, with three of the guys from the office. He slings an arm around my shoulders and shakes. “There’s no fucking way you’re seasick. We’re not even moving. Did you have too much fun?”
“Way too much.” I’m basically sober at this point. Doesn’t matter. I feel like hell. Goose bumps pull at my arm hairs.
“Wanna have some more?” His mouth is a white cut in the night. The party’s all over the deck. Two guys collide with the railing further down. One of them is trying to fuck the other one. His pants are in the way.
“You want to win more of my money at the pool table?”
“Hell no. Let’s race the boats to the north side.”
It’s a bad idea under any circumstance. The north point of Bishop’s Landing is rocky as hell and takes concentration to navigate when it’s broad daylight. It’s the middle of the goddamn night.
But my mind latches on to the word race. It sounds like reckless speed and it feels like an adrenaline rush. It is an adrenaline rush. Clears my head.
“You’re too drunk to race.”
Zach shakes his head. “I’m not. I sobered up. And I need to work off some of this energy.”
The rest of the guys behind him lean in, buzzing with anticipation. They’re wearing drunk, wide grins. They want me to go with them.
I used to chase this feeling every night. It was the only way I could feel alive. It was the only way to flirt with death. That’s what I was doing, wasn’t I? Flirting with the idea of being dead. Giving it a kiss on the cheek, even if I couldn’t go quite yet. A final thrill. A last hurrah. Then darkness.
It sounds so good.
“Why the hell not? I’ll even take my boat.”
Zach thrusts both fists in the air and cheers. Then they’re pushing through the party, getting off the yacht, sprinting down the docks. We end up with more people by the time we’re at the sailboats.
I corral four of them into a ragtag crew and climb onto the deck of my fifty-foot bluewater sailing yacht.
My feet land in the spot where I held Eva in my arms. She looked up at the stars. Beautiful.
I was looking at her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Beautiful, I’d said. To hell with the stars. All I wanted was to drink her in. We can pretend, I suggested.
She could pretend to be mine.
I was fooling myself. I never wanted to pretend. I wanted it to be real, and it couldn’t be. My life is a sham that will end in more secrecy and shame.
But damn it, she was real.
The other guys are getting themselves together. Two of them are on the dock, yelling at Zach and throwing lines onto the boat.
“We’re not letting those bastards win.”
“Hell, no,” one of my guys shouts. At least one of them has sailed before. I lose myself in getting the boat ready to go. Getting it safely out of the docks so we can rush toward a rocky, dangerous turn. It’s easier than thinking of how I’ve disappointed Eva. It’s easier by far than thinking about becoming my father. The moments when he recognizes my mother again hurt the worst. All anyone wants is for those times to last, and they never do.
My mainsail swings into place and the wind catches it. Somebody lets out a whoop. We’re rushing through pitch-black water. Lights from the marina and the party yacht ripple on the surface and fall behind us.
“Faster. Shit.” One of the guys wraps his arm around my shoulder and points. “They’re getting away from us.”
They’re drunk, and they’re not being careful.
I’m done being careful, too.
“Not for long,” I tell him.
I’m going to die on the boat that I first kissed Eva Morelli on. I’ll die on the boat where I held her and asked her to pretend with me. Where I handed over my heart before I knew what I was doing.
What a way to go.
16
FINN
Surprise—I’m not dead.
What I am is cold and wet and miserable. Lockup at the Bishop’s Landing police station blows just as much as any other jail. Funny that they haven’t added any ritzy touches. It’s cinder blocks and a hard metal bench for me.
The boat race did not end in the pleasant darkness I was going for tonight. I didn’t even crash my boat. I’m a competent sailor.
Zach and the rest of the guys weren’t. They were drunk and high and useless, and they ran into the rocks halfway through the turn. The boat turned over. My sober, fully clothed ass jumped in to pull them out before they drowned.
A capsized sailboat and a bunch of guys shouting at each other in the middle of the night were enough commotion to summon the coast guard. They zoomed into the situation on their rescue boat and started arresting people.
Some of the men scattered. I could’ve run, but I stayed to make sure they were all alive. Nine of us went out and all nine came back. Zach inhaled so much water that they took him to the back of an ambulance to have paramedics look him over. Everybody else was fine. Just drunk. About half of us got arrested in the end, including me.
The wet clothes are making my skin crawl. There’s nothing in the holding cell to dry off with. I’ve created a puddle of ocean water around my shoes.
This is not one of my finer moments in life.
I’m in lockup, which is the perfect time to realize that I want to be a father. I want the baby. Is it selfish to want a baby who’s cursed? Or is it selfish to wish the baby had never come at all? It doesn’t matter, anyways. The morality of it. It doesn’t matter, because either way I want the baby.
It took getting thrown in jail to realize it.
Heavy footsteps come down the hall. Keys rattle in the lock. The bars screech.
“What were you thinking, Phineas?” Hemingway saunters into the cell, a stern expression on his face. He’s doing an impression of me. It would be funny if I weren’t so miserable. “It’s dangerous to sail at night. And illegal, if you’re under the influence.”
I rub my frozen hands over my face. It doesn’t help. “I wasn’t under the influence.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Is that what the breathalyzer will say?”
“Shut the hell up, Hem. And yes. That’s what it said.”
“You know we have to discuss this, Finn. This behavior is reckless. You could have been hurt.”
“Please. I wasn’t hurt. This is funny, but—”
“I’m worried about you.” The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s walking a fine line between humor and sincerity. My brother’s probably relishing the fact that I’m the one who fucked up this time. “Running afoul of the authorities isn’t like you. If you need to talk, I’m here.”
I can’t even muster a glare. “At least you came alone.”
At least our mother isn’t here with us.
“No, I didn’t. I’m seventeen. Nobody was going to let me bail you out.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Hemingway, tell me you did not bring Mom.”
He gives me a slow shake of his head. “Nope.”
Quick footsteps echo down the hall, and Eva steps into view. Her head is turned. “Yes, thank you.” She’s talking to one of the cops, presumably. My breath catches. She’s beautiful. A queen, even at three in the morning. Sleek, dark clothes. Her purse in her hand.
She turns to look at me, and I want to slide down to the floor and disappear.
I’m a grown man, so I sit up straight and meet her eyes.
Eva lets out a breath, her mouth a soft curve. I’m sure Hemingway got her out of bed to come here. An irritated flush to her cheeks would be normal. I’d deserve it. I’d deserve a terse, thin-lipped greeting. I’d deserve for her to tell me off.
Eva Honorata Morelli is always going to be more than I deserve. She takes in my wet clothes and disheveled hair with an even gaze. Compassion, not pity.
“I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here.” The smile she offers her tone. It says we’re in this together. Embarrassed heat fills my lungs, forcing a deeper breath in my soaked shirt.
What a fucking situation to be in. My shame burrows itself deeper. It’s too late, and I’m too tired, to belabor this by telling her all the reasons she should have let me rot in this holding cell until morning.
I get up from the bench. Hemingway leaves first. Eva waits by the door of the cell until I’m through. I collect a manila envelope with my wallet and keys from the cops at the desk.
Outside, the night air makes the cloth of my shirt stick to my skin. I want to blame the closed-throat, tight-chest sensation on the awful experience of having to exist in wet clothes. That’s not it. Of course it’s not. It’s Eva, ushering me and Hemingway to the curb of the sidewalk. Her driver waits in a black SUV.
Hemingway climbs into the third row.
“Here.” Eva’s holding out a blanket to me. “I thought this might be nice to have.”
You’re nice to have. You’re so nice that I fucked this up.
“Thank you.”
Quiet wraps us up like that blanket on the ride back to the Hughes Estate. Hemingway disappears inside as soon as we arrive. I turn to close the door behind Eva and find her leaning in to speak to the driver.
“What are you doing?”
She stands tall and gives him a wave. The SUV pulls away, and Eva takes my arm. “You need a shower and dry clothes.”
“I can handle that by myself.”
Eva purses her lips, reaching ahead to open the front door. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t care. I’m coming in with you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been in jail. And you’re shivering.”
I hadn’t noticed. Now that Eva’s pointed it out, I feel the tremors moving through my limbs like the chop on the water.
At the door to my bedroom, I stop and face her. “You’ve done enough tonight, Eva. You should go home. Don’t start this now.”
“Don’t start what?”
“Don’t start taking care of me like I deserve it.”
She considers me, her eyes luminous in the dim hallway. Then she turns and goes through the door without another word.
I can’t breathe. My ribs can’t decide whether to squeeze the air out of my lungs or rattle around like a racehorse with a broken leg. A dull throb at my temples feels like a hangover.
Eva’s the one to start the shower. She takes the blanket from my clenched fists and tosses it into my hamper. Her fingers fly over the buttons of my shirt. It hits the floor with a wet slap, followed by my undershirt. My belt. My pants. Everything joins the pile.
I step into the shower with aching guilt pinching at my neck and my back and everywhere. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
The shower closes with a near-silent swoosh across the tile.
Eva lays her hand on my elbow.
My chest collapses. I turn into her arms, pulling her close. My cold hands have to be torture on her soft, warm skin, but Eva loops her hands around the back of my neck and pulls me into a kiss.
The hobbling fear that drove me to that party, that made me race the sailboat, explodes.
