Inseverable: A Carolina Beach Novel (3 page)

I close my eyes and sigh, knowing who it is even before I straighten. I recognize her voice. This homecoming queen or whatever pep squad she leads is loud for a little thing.

I lean back on my heels and cross my arms, not bothering to smile. “Yeah?”

She grins, her large brown eyes blinking with something what, Lord help me, resembles excitement. “I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Trinity, Trinity Summers.”

Of course it is.

She waits, still smiling, I suppose for me to shake her hand or something. When I don’t, her smile fades a little and she glances over her shoulder to where her friend, the tall blonde is sitting. Her friend taps on her ear and quickly turns away.

I don’t know if it’s some secret girl code she’s doing with the blonde until she yells, “I said I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Trinity. TRI-NI-TY SU-MMERS. You know, like the season?”

Right now, I can do little more than blink, wondering if there’s some kind of hidden camera trained on my face and what the hell she snorted before she walked in here. No one is this high-strung sober. No one.

She leans into the bar, keeping her smile. “And you are?”

Someone not named after a porn star, that’s for damn sure.

It wasn’t too long ago that the same “please die” look I’m pegging her with would have sent dangerous men running. Instead this woman here giggles.
Giggles
.

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me your name, I’ll have to give you one.” She twirls her dark hair, so thick it looks like a wet towel slapped on her head. She sits up and beams even more, if that’s even humanly possible. “I know. How about Spanky?”

How about you skip along the beach with a band of puppies and leave me the fuck alone?

“No,” I respond.

“You sure?” She frowns, like she’s confused. “You look like a Spanky.”

If I were a pit bull, my lips would be peeling back from my gums. “My name is Callahan Sawyer.”

She clasps her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “My stars, he speaks.” She drops her hands and offers an exaggerated wink. “Or should I say Callahan speaks?”

I’m annoyed on multiple levels, don’t get me wrong. But the fact that Tinkerbell here has tricked me into telling her my name pisses me off more than it should. “Do you want a drink or not?” I manage, grinding my teeth.

“Sure,” she says, oblivious to my growing desire to strangle her. “Pour me a taste of your finest.”

I pour her a shot of Tequila and step back. She looks down at the shot, then back at me.

“What? No lime. No salt?” she asks. She leans forward, resting her arms across the bar in a voice that sounds husky, but I determine is grossly sarcastic. “I thought this was a classy establishment, sir.”

I bang the bottle of salt in front of her and pass her a lime punctured with one of those tiny swords, careful not to actually touch her. She licks the salt she added to her hand, slams back the shot, and attempts to suck on the lime.

I expected the usual, for her to actually
swallow
the damn thing. But no. Not this woman. Instead she spits the booze out, spraying me in the face with enough force to slap the lime against my mouth.

The mangled piece of fruit falls back on the bar as I swipe at my skin. This time, I do blink. A lot. Booze to the eyes will do that to a man. As I watch, a deep shade of red creeps up her neck and into her face.

“I’m so sorry. So, so very sorry!” she says. She whips back around to look at her friend who now has her face buried in her hands. “Um. If you give me a second I think I have some tissues in my bag.”

She spit tequila at me—and a Goddamn lime!—and she thinks I’m going to let her wipe me down with
tissues
. As the sting eases from my eyes, I take a moment to question her sanity, and my ability to snap her neck without anyone noticing.

She covers her mouth. “Oh, my God. You look like you want to kill me.”

And she’s right. But then she starts laughing, because clearly this woman isn’t loud enough. Her face reddens further. Maybe she’s embarrassed and maybe she does feel bad. But something in the way that she blushes . . .

“I’m really sorry, Callahan,” she says. “That’s never happened before. I think it went down the wrong way.”

“It’s fine,” I say, tearing my eyes off her. I reach for a clean rag beneath the bar to wipe my face only to have her lift it from my hand.

“Here, allow me,” she says, dabbing my nose.

She passes the towel along my skin, using care that I’m not used to. I step away from her reach, wondering why the hell she touched me, and why the hell I let her.

“Look, Trixie―”

“It’s Trinity,” she answers quietly, her bright smile returning like I invited her to Disney to meet Mickey Mouse or whatever the fuck. This woman can’t possibly be real. No one is this . . .
her
.

“I really am sorry,” she says yet again. Her eyes, despite their dark color, sparkle beneath a veil of thick lashes, and the way she looks at me, it’s like she’s known me forever.

But she doesn’t know me. No, not at all. I slap the rag on the bar and wipe it clean in angry circles.

“So . . .” she says, resting her chin on her hand as she leans against the bar. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind pouring me another shot?”

I’m ready to tell her that I do mind—that something’s wrong with her, and that maybe she should skip back to her friends and far away from me. But those words lodge in my throat when I catch sight of her face, and notice something beyond that smile she’s pegging me with.

Before I can figure out what exactly that is, I pour her another shot, focusing on my task and once more wrenching my eyes off her.

Chapter Three

Trinity

I wave to my new best friend on our way out and throw in a big grin since that’s how I roll. “Thanks, Callahan. It’s been real!” I call to him. He pauses in the middle of shoving a chair beneath a table just to narrow his eyes. But I’ll admit, it’s my, “See you next week” comment that causes his upper lip to curl.

That man is all sorts of crazy about me.

I hop down Your Mother’s worn wooden steps and join the rest of my crew gathered at the bottom. “Trin!” they yell when I reach them.

Since I’m the last one to exit the premises save for Jed and that Yummy Callahan, my presence is everyone’s cue to disperse. The designated drivers do their best to shove their drunk passengers into their cars, most of them swearing and cranky since they’re the ones scheduled to work in the morning and not the ones who got to slam back shots.

Mason, and a young co-ed visiting for the week are talking softly by the Brewsters’ Jaguar. He bends and kisses her slowly—very unlike the way Sean had made out with her friend on the dance floor right before closing. Goodness, Sean and his lady friend were like a pair of horny dolphins during mating season, except not as graceful and certainly not as chipper.

The Brewsters simply shrug and use it as an excuse to take a walk along the beach. The Brewsters have always been cool like that. So have Jimmy and Millie Rossen who are getting pretty friendly all over the hood of Mr. Rossen’s latest muscle car. Hopefully, the cops won’t catch them naked with Mrs. Rossen bent over the hood like last Christmas. And Easter. And yeah, Arbor Day, too. Lovely couple, the Rossens.

Hale hurries to my side, but I suspect it’s because Becca’s next to me. “Can I crash at your place, too, Trin?”

He asks me, but is looking at my very sloppy yet gorgeous friend. “Of course,” I say.

“Cool,” he answers, although yup, still giving Becks the eyes.

As per our usual Friday night festivities that come with every start of the season, we leave Becca’s jeep at Your Mother’s and head toward my place which is only a mile up the road. With Momma, Daddy, and Landon gone, I don’t mind the company. And they don’t mind their presence whether they’re home or not.

My folks are awesome. They always have been. For as long as I remember, our house was burstin’ at the seams with my friends and Landon’s. When I went away to college, that’s the first time I noticed my parents begin to age. No more kids running in and out of the house to keep them young.

It made me sad. But I suppose it made them sadder.

So now instead of trekking through malaria-infested jungles, with Landon and I in tow to immunize children or rock sick babies to sleep, Momma and Daddy spend their retirement travelling the world in style. Well, if anyone deserves a happily ever after, my folks sure do.

Becca swings her arm around me, a friendly gesture, and also one that will keep her walking straight up the incline. “Love you, Trin,” she half slurs, half yawns.

I push up on my toes to kiss her cheek. “Love you, too, Becks.”

Out of the five of us who started, I’m the most sober. And because Mr. Perrington, who is one Viagra-inspired-ejaculation away from an early grave, decided to go beer for beer with some of my boys―Mr. Perrington won by the way―we picked up another three lifeguards too drunk to drive home. They stagger behind us, excited that they’re not the ones on-call tomorrow.

“Where’s Sean?” I ask.

“Throwing up in the bushes,” Hale replies, smirking.

“And where’s that girl he was with?” I ask.

Hale laughs. “Her friends shoved her in their car when she tried to pull down his shorts.”

“Good call,” I say. I glance behind me. “Sean, you okay?”

He jogs up to me, his long limbs and condition causing him to stumble into a rather graceless swagger. “I’m good, Trin. Must’ve been that last beer.”

“Or the three shots you did off Mrs. Brewster’s belly,” I offer.

Sean nods thoughtfully. “That, too. You know, for a woman who’s well over sixty, she’s surprisingly fit.”

“Hmm-mmm” the group of us concurs.

Becca leans in closer to whisper in my ear. “What happened between you and that hot bartender? You spent a lot of time talking with him.”

She’s right, although I’m the one who did all the talking. He mostly did his best to ignore me. My multiple and animated attempts to draw his smile, only drew more scowls, and a few annoyed grunts. And yet I can’t stop my grin as I think of him. “He wants me, bad. I know he does.”

“Yeah?” Becca asks.

“Nope, not even a little bit,” I answer, laughing.

My smile diminishes as I think about Callahan’s stance: arms crossed, stare hard, and mouth clenched shut. Men can be dangerous. And scary. But those kind of men carry a certain look in their eyes. My Daddy had once compared this look to a door opening and revealing the darkness of the soul.

Callahan doesn’t have that darkness Daddy speaks of, despite the intense leveling stare. He has something more akin to the kind of grief I’d seen too many times—the type that numbs you and makes you forget what it’s like to feel.

The trips helping those in need that my parents took us on were intense, involving countries crippled by war, disaster, or poverty. Some of the people there had that same expression Callahan wears: anger, sadness, and disappointment mixed with despair. Emotions so devastating they hollow out the soul, leaving only a vacant shell behind.

Like those people from those countries, Callahan has experienced his share of torment. If that Special Forces tat hadn’t given him away, the lines hardening his features, and those eyes―
man,
those heartbreaking blue eyes―spilled the truth. He’s broken . . . and probably all kinds of lonely.

“So you’re giving up on him, Trin?” Becca asks, yawning yet again.

I adjust my arm around her waist. “You saying I should?”

She thinks about it. “Yes, and no. I mean, he’s like the first guy you’ve actually taken an interest in since . . .” She clears her throat. “It’s just nice to see you notice someone you don’t have to save from drowning,” she adds quickly.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind a little mouth to mouth action there,” I admit. My comment causes Becca to clutch me tighter and squeal with a little too much enthusiasm. I try to loosen her hold so she doesn’t choke me and only mildly succeed. “
Becks
,” I croak.

“Oh. Sorry, sugar.”

She repositions her arms around me, but thankfully her hold is tamer than what it was, allowing me to move and breathe as I increase our speed up the small hill. Just a few more yards until we reach our property, and a few more after that before we fall into a soft bed.

I breathe in the salty sea air fluttering my hair as I stop in front of the electronic keypad. The house, while a good distance away from the beach, is still only a short walk from the shore. My parents purchased the property when they were first married, but didn’t build the house until Landon was a few months from starting school. They liked the view and the close proximity to the beach, they just preferred not to be smack dab in the face of a hurricane should one hit.

I punch the keypad, causing the gate to open with a mild creak and allowing my drunk cohorts through. “Open sez a me,” I say a little too late.

Sean who’s crashed here before jogs ahead, likely to call dibs on a bed. Hale and Becca have stayed over more times than I can count, but they remain by my side. The rest of our party walk slowly behind us, the solar powered lights casting their glow against the weeping willows, palmettos, and dogwoods, allowing them to take in the property.

“You live here?” the girl who made out with Mason asks. I hadn’t noticed that she’d tagged along.

“I do,” I answer. I offer a smile over my shoulder, making sure to catch Mason’s stare. He tilts his head, his way of telling me he’ll keep an eye on her. While I like to think most people are genuinely good, I still have to be cautious of who I allow in my home.

My attention returns ahead to take in the light brick color Momma and I wanted, and Daddy and Landon did not. It’s a great shade, bordering on tan with traces of peach, and even in the darkness, it seems to welcome us home.

I hurry up the steps and unlock the door. For a brief moment, I wonder if I should have invited Callahan with us. It’s a stupid thought―he would have said no―not to mention I’d just met the guy. But maybe I should have. Like I said he seems so lonely and . . . well, doesn’t everyone deserve a smile?