Ties (19 page)

“Hattie, that’s really strong,” she says, but I wave her words off and pour more.

“This is for Grandpa, I promise,” I assure her and my now-frowning brother.

Then I crash into a chair.

Hard.

Enzo jumps up and grabs me under the elbow.

“Whoa, chica, slow down! This shit knocks your right in the kneecaps. Let me help.”

I’m too embarrassed to tell Enzo I’m fine, so I just let him lead me to the living room and sit me on the couch. He hands Grandpa his glass, bumping fists and pulling him in for a hug as he does.

“I haven’t seen you or that numbskull brother of yours in a few weeks,” Grandpa says. “Someone else buying your beer for you?”

Enzo laughs. “Don’t play, old timer. You know I’m an old man myself now. I can buy that shit legal. Nah, you know, Cohen and Maren are doing all kinds of planning for the wedding and the new place. And I’m just being an unmotivated bum.”

“Maren doesn’t have a sister she could trick into going on a date with you?” Grandpa demands, tossing some pistachios Enzo’s way.

“I wish. Maren’s sister wouldn’t look my way if I was the last guy on earth. I’m a lonely boy, Gramps.”

Enzo winks at me and I manage a weak smile, wishing hard I’d never tossed back that third glass of grappa.

Especially since the only thing I’ve had to eat all day was a couple of Marigold’s cookies.

Which kind of operate as the antithesis of a meal. Deo was right...those cookies work like a combo laxative and enema.

“I have half a mind to set you up with my granddaughter here,” Grandpa says, shaking some pistachio shells in his fist. “But I don’t know if I want your ugly mug around that much. Plus she has the hots for my boat guy.”

“Your boat guy?” Enzo chuckles, looking me up and down. “Gotta be summer lovin’ then. Deo says you’re like a nuclear engineer or something.”

I try to roll my eyes, but they’re kind of swimming in my head.

“A nuclear engineer, huh?” I shake my head as much to clear it as to disagree. “He’s wrong. So wrong. I’m a computer science major.”

“Is that different?” Enzo asks.

I’m nervous that he’s only half kidding.

A sudden roar from the TV screen has all three of us looking up and freaking out. A shark is leaping out of the water, mauling some kind of shredded bait meat hanging off the side of a boat.

Enzo and Grandpa cheer and slap their knees.

I feel my stomach churn.

“Uh-oh.” I cover my mouth and run to the little pink bathroom for the second time today.

I wretch, but there isn’t enough in my stomach to give me any relief. It’s mostly dry heaves and bile. Disgusting.

When my body is done trying to turn my stomach inside out, I hear the knock at the door.

“Wait!”

I manage to get to my feet, burp a few times, wash my face and rinse my mouth, then open the door and see my grandfather’s worried face.

“Was it the shark stuff? Too graphic?” he asks, reaching out a hand and touching my shoulder.

“No. It was the grappa, Grandpa. I’m officially a lightweight.” I lean heavily against the doorframe wishing for--

Before it’s even a fully formed thought in my brain, he has his solid arm around my shoulders and is walking me to a small, dim guest room. He leads me to a narrow bed with fresh sheets that smell like lavender. I lay my head down on the cool pillow and close my eyes.

My grandfather pulls my heels off my feet and puts them down right next to the bed, then pulls the covers up to my chin.

“Marigold will bring you her special concoction. A little hair of the dog and you’ll be good as new.” He runs a shaky hand over my hair. “You know, she developed that brew for your grandmother back when she and your father were first dating.”

I smile through a moan. “No kidding? So I can blame Grandma Harriet for my inability to hold my liquor?”

Grandpa pulls the chair that was tucked under an ancient desk over to my bedside, laughing the whole time. I catch tones of Deo’s laugh in his.

“Your grandmother loved to drink, but she could never handle it. Whoa girl, let me tell you. That woman would drink
anything
. We vacationed in Tennessee once and she drank a whole jar of corn moonshine she bought from a roadside stand. The guy who sold it to her had no more than three teeth in his head. She had a five day hangover, poor thing.”

We’re both laughing now, even though it’s making my head ring. Grandpa leaves for a second and returns with a cool, damp washcloth.

Possibly the same one Whit used on my head before. I’ve never in my life fallen apart like I am now.

Thank God I have people who love me to catch all the pieces while I do.

“Thank you,” I say when he lays it over my forehead. “This is really nice. I didn’t get much pampering like this when I was legitimately sick as a kid, so it feels pretty shady to have you taking such good care of me just because I drank too much.”

“Didn’t your mother nurse you through your fevers?” Grandpa asks, refolding the cloth with his sun-speckled hands so a new, cooler spot is on my skin.

“Mmm. I went to boarding school for most of middle school. I was home on the weekends, but most of my illnesses I just weathered in the infirmary. Our nurse was German and old-school, so no comfort there. When I was really young Mom was still trying to make partner at her law firm, so she worked insane hours. Her mother stayed with me, and she was a big believer in tough love.”

Grandpa offers a quick half smile and wink. “Well, tough love never hurt anyone. But sometimes it’s nice to have a little pampering. Your grandma Harriet could be mean as a hornet, but her heart got pretty mushy whenever her kids were sick.”

I turn my face toward him as he presses the cool washcloth onto my skin with more pressure. “Yeah?” I want to keep hearing his ragged, smoky voice talk about the woman I never got to meet.

“One time, your halfwit brother climbed into your grandmother’s old Lincoln--damn, she loved that car--and he proceeded to eat three blueberry pies your gram baked that day for a church bazaar. She even picked the damn berries herself. She was pissed.” He leans back and his eyes go soft and dreamy, like he can see her in his mind’s eye, fuming over Deo’s crazy pranks. “She spanked his ass until her hand ached. And then the kid cried till he puked.”

“Another family trait, I guess.” I smile weakly through the headache that’s clamping down on my temples like a bear trap. “You Becketts are exposing me to all kinds of crazy genetic peculiarities.”

Grandpa rocks back and forth as he laughs. “That’s for sure, sweetie. Maybe you better run back east before you start getting to the really crazy stuff.”

I reach a hand out and grab his tight. “Nah. I like a little crazy to shake things up.” I roll onto my side and squeeze his fingers. “So Deo was getting a solid ass-whooping from our gram?”

“Oh! Yeah.” Grandpa’s eyes sparkle. He’s definitely enjoying this more than any jolly grandfather should. “So the fool had gotten his spanking and cried until he made himself sick. At first I thought your grandmother would have no patience for his crap. But she saw that her little angel was sick, and she whisked him off to bed and showered his spoiled ass with treats. That little brat ate all her pies and puked on the bathroom rug, and he got treated like a raja for the day.”

I snuggle down into the pillow. “I like that story.”

“It’s always nice to picture Deo getting his comeuppance,” Grandpa says. “And then it’s nice to know how he charms his way out of it. I’ll deny it if you ever repeat this, but I love seeing how that boy always lands on his feet.”

“I agree.” We both sit in the cool, pleasant dim of the room for a few long seconds. “Grandpa?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He sounds old and frail, like his present voice is only a copy of a copy of the original. 

“Do we have any clue where my father is?”

His sigh is long and so disappointed, I wish I’d let him sink into his memories for a little longer. “He’s in the area, Hattie. At least I think he is. He called a few weeks ago, but he’s been busy with some new project. Your father has strange concepts of priority.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, staring at the ceiling in an attempt to keep the room from spinning. “How can a guy who grew up in this family with all this love wind up so...disconnected?”

Grandpa clears his throat.

“You know what, sweetheart? I don’t know for sure. I have a theory, and it could hold water. I think we doted on him so much, he never had to think about anyone else. Grandma and I took care of each other, and we both took care of him. Dante’s entire world revolved around him and what he wanted and needed. We encouraged him to look out for himself, but he took it to an extreme. I’ve thought this through a million times, because Dante was the kind of boy who grew up surrounded by love and loyalty, so your grandmother and I just thought he’d follow our lead.”

“But he didn’t?” My voice is soft, because I want to listen to Grandpa tell his version of this story without jarring him out of the moment. I don’t want him to leave anything out.

“He didn’t.” Grandpa leans closer. “One of the reasons I think he probably didn’t mention you was because his mother and I were desperate for him to get his head out of his ass and marry Deo’s mother. She’s always been such a strong, beautiful person, and once Deo was born? Harriet and I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going through his thick skull. I think he saw Marigold had us and we all loved Deo, so he was off the hook again.”

“My mother told me that they never meant to get too serious. That she really liked him, and that I was a happy accident. He told her he’d support her no matter what she decided. And she decided she wanted his baby. So here I am.” I sound sarcastic, a little bitter, and a little slurry.

Grandpa looks at me with watery eyes and a smile so wide, it’s got to hurt his face.

“Here you are.” He shakes my hand back and forth. “And, I have to be honest with you: Dante may not show. Or he may show and be a real disappointment. I can’t imagine what a girl would expect of a father after all these years...” He pauses to rub a hand over his face. “Whatever he is or isn’t, we love you, Hattie. And we hope you’ll keep coming back to us. We hope you know we’re your home.”

“Of course.” I pull his hand up to my lips and kiss the wrinkled, leathery skin. I hear the din of Marigold’s party starting and groan. “Grandpa, you go have fun. Let Marigold know I’m an idiot, and I’m so sorry.”

“She’ll bring you her magic potion, and you’ll be kicking up your heels in no time.” Grandpa leans over and kisses my forehead before he gets up, and then stops in the doorway. “Hattie?”

“Yes, Grandpa?”

“The boat guy, Ryan?”

“Yes?” I hope my voice doesn’t shake the way I think it might.

“He’s come by a few times since that night your brother spooked him. I’ve got a good feeling about that guy. Not that a good feeling from an old man means one thing or another. But I like him.”

I hold my breath for a long few seconds.

“Thank you,” I say finally. “And it does mean a lot. To me it does.”

15 RYAN

Nothing is fucking going right.

The boat needed a few repairs Bex deemed ‘minor.’ Problem is, when you race--when
I
race--it’s the minor details that make every ounce of difference. The sail shape isn’t holding up. The rig tensions are off. It’s all slight...Bex thinks slight enough to not to worry about, even when it’s all exploding in our faces.

The solution to every problem seems to be getting in my face and strutting around like he knows what the hell is going on.

“We’re losing the lead!” Bex screams.

I grit my teeth, calling out a few commands to the other sailors, capable guys who do and don’t share my philosophies. They’re a solid enough crew, and I’d be able to work with them just fine if I wasn’t also jumping in to stomp out every fire Bex seems intent on lighting.

Amid the chaos, I get a sense, subtle and up the back of my neck, of a wind shift. A quick glance to the side lets me know the other guys--out for a practice run that’s become a high-paced informal race--are a step behind.

I need to catch this, but I’m busy fiddling with the sail that refuses to cooperate. The one Bex says will do fine as long as we “keep an eye on it.”

“Shit!” Bex kicks at nothing, and, though a guy overboard is the last thing I need, I half hope he’ll fall in.

“What is it?” I release tension, increase it, and the sail finally tightens exactly the way I need it to. We catch the end of the gust, and it’s not enough.

“Get your fucking heads straight!” Bex roars. “We missed the layline!”

My hands tighten around the ropes by my ear, and I clench my jaw. I’m trying hard not to smash my fist into his face. The other guys around me fall dead silent. Everyone keeps working on what he needs to, but there’s no rush now. The wind is against us, we’re off course, and the other boats are flying by.

The other boats aren’t even the ones we have to worry about. They aren’t our worst competition by far.

I should rally.

Bex glares at me like he’s waiting for it to come.

But this is my seventh sixteen-hour-plus day in a row. I haven’t gotten more than three hours of sleep a night for the last two weeks. My muscles are cramping, I feel like my blood has ice chunks running through it, and my hearing and eyesight keep blurring in and out.

My edge was always something elemental, something in me, but with a sponsor who’s constantly screaming on deck and a boat that looks like a million bucks but sails like shit, I can’t tap into what’s left and pull this together.

I think about bringing up these arguments, but I’m supposed to be the come-back kid. I’m supposed to be the dark horse, the underdog, the one who makes everything right by carrying it all on my back against other guys who don’t have any weight to lug plus better crews, vessels, team leaders.

Once we dock, dead last, so far behind time, it’s not worth clocking this one, Bex is livid.

“That was inexcusable! That was a fucking joke, Byrne! I had a feeling you were all hype.”

Rage burns through my veins. The other guys tie everything down as quickly as they can, then get lost, not so much as a good-bye from any of them.

“Lay off,” I growl. I should be double-checking things, I should be making sure it’s all in order, but I just don’t give a damn right now.

“Lay off? Do you have any idea how much I’ve already invested in this? In you?” he snarls, grabbing me by the arm.

“Invested?” I laugh. “What, the money? Darryl threw a sixteenth of what you have at me money wise, and I beat my times on every run.”

“Maybe you should go back to racing with Darryl as your only sponsor. But kiss your chances of winning good-bye. Kiss your dream of making it to the top good-bye. Because you may have some natural talent--
some
--but this whole world is about pushing yourself, Ryan. It’s about digging in when shit gets hard and you’re tired and discouraged. And today you gave up.”

“I can’t hold it all on my shoulders!” I shake his hand off my arm and get close to him, face to face, not backing down. “I can’t do what I do when the fucking boat is falling apart around my ears and you’re distracting the crew!”

“Distracting them from what? Losing every lead?” He stands back and crosses his arms, looking at me like he’s not remotely surprised that I came up short. I burn. Right down to my bones, I fucking burn. “Excuses are for losers. Winners get shit done.”

Maybe it’s supposed to motivate me, make me want to jump up and do more. I have no clue, but it doesn’t work. It just saps the last temper out of my blood and leaves me even more exhausted.

“Yeah. Alright. Well, right now this loser needs to get some sleep.” I turn to my truck, leaving Bex on the dock, glaring.

I put the key in the ignition and turn it. Nothing.

Fuck. Me.

This is the absolute last thing I need right now. The last thing. I get out and pop the hood. The battery is brand new. Damnit.

“You need a jump?” Bex’s voice comes from behind me.

There’s not another soul in the parking lot. “Sure.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m seriously considering just sleeping in the back of the truck so I can round out this miserable day with some shitty sleep.

“It’s not working.” Bex glares at the engine, his crap mood an exact reflection of mine. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Pass.” I check my phone. Mom and Tommy are at work. Caro is in class. But they’ll all be free in another hour, so I can definitely wait.

“Look.” He shakes his head, looking like the coach of the losing team at the Super Bowl. “Competition, getting to the top, it’s not easy. I’m sorry to ride you so hard, but I’ve seen my share of guys who have so many elements, but they never make it. You’ve got more than most, but you have to stop cracking under the pressure. Got it?”

“Sure.” I reach under the hood and unclip the jumper cables. “I’ll try harder tomorrow. Seriously, I need sleep. Badly. I’m going to be worthless. So I’ll chill here until my brother can come pick me up. Fresh start tomorrow.”

Go. Team.

“I’ll take you home and pick you back up in tomorrow morning,” Bex offers. “C’mon. I lost it a little back there. Let’s put it behind us. No hard feelings.”

I nod, just barely, and follow him, zombie-like, to his tricked-out Tundra and slide onto the leather passenger seat. Something old school punk blares when Bex starts the car, and he doesn’t turn it down enough to ease my throbbing headache.

“I know I get off on winning more than I should.” He shrugs. “The thing is, I’ve got everything I want. I make more money than I need. My girlfriends--and, yeah, I’m juggling three right now--are hot as hell and don’t nag. I travel. I eat and drink the best that money can buy. There’s not a lot left. Trust me, my money could buy me a sure win in this race.”

“Why not buy it then?” I ask, staring dully out the window as the sky cools with the sunset.

I think about watching the sunset with Hattie on the beach. Right now, I can’t make my mind believe I ever felt as alive as I did that day. I’m so tired, it doesn’t seem possible I ever wasn’t this exhausted or even that I won’t be again after some sleep.

“Because there’s zero thrill in that. Same in all aspects of my life. Used to be one hot girl was enough. The richer I got, the easier that got. There was no chase. Now having three is how I keep it fresh. Knowing I could afford to win means nothing to me. Knowing I can cruise the finish line on a boat manned by an unknown? That gets my blood flowing.” He looks over at me. “Tell me what does that for you.”

I roll my head to the side and suppress the urge to tell him to just pull the fuck over so I can get out and never look back at him.

“Well, I guess I’m working a little backward according to your theory. As an example, I got as many girls as I wanted for a long time, a lot of times more than one a night. Sometimes more than one at a time. There was nothing
but
chase. But that got tiring. When I race, it’s not all about the win. It’s also about being there, being a part of it all. It’s...elemental.”

I knew she was smart, but holy shit, Hattie nailed so many things right on the head.

“Not about the win?” He snorts. “That’s because you’ve never won yet. Once you do?” He hums low in his throat. “Damn, there’s nothing--not a high, not an orgasm, not another experience in this world--that can compare.”

I’m tired as shit. That’s my reasoning. Because all I can think about is holding Hattie in my arms and not having to stop, never having to let go. I find it hard to believe there could be anything that would be able to top that.

“I guess I’ll never know til I try,” I concede, because that very well might be true.

We stop suddenly, and I sit up. “What are we doing here?” I ask, because, once my eyes adjust, I realize I know this place, but I have no idea why we’d be here.

“I need to drop something off. I’ll be a minute. Trust me, this place can get claustrophobic quick. I love my father, but he’s been on my back since I was sixteen and hasn’t ever let up.”

“Your father?” I repeat, my tongue so heavy and dumb in my head. “Your father lives here?”

“Yeah.” He looks at me, and I see it.

Dimples when he smiles. Eyes a dark burnished gold. The arrogant grin.

He looks more like her brother than her.

“Holy shit.” I sit forward, my head spins. “Bex is short for...?”

“Beckett,” he says slowly. “It’s a nickname from high school. Ryan, what the hell is up?”

“You’re Hattie Beckett’s father,” I accuse.

His entire face goes slack with...maybe shame.
Not
surprise. “Hattie.”

“She’s here,” I tell him. Once again, there is no surprise on his face. “Are you fucking kidding me? You
knew
she was here? Are you going to see her now?”

“Is she staying here? I thought she was with Marigold. She’s young. She’s probably out partying, enjoying the LA scene.”

I have no idea who Marigold is, but something cold and slick coats my guts. And the thought of Hattie out partying? Enjoying “the LA scene”? He really doesn’t know her at all.

“Why the fuck haven’t you seen her yet?” I demand.

“Why haven’t I seen my daughter?” he asks, his features going tight. “First of all, I fail to see how any of this is your damn business. Let’s start with that.”

“Because I...” What? What am I to her? “I care about your daughter. She came here to find you, you know.”

He rests an elbow on the steering wheel and holds his face in his hands. “What are the chances? I swear to God, my life is one insane coincidence after another. You and Hattie, huh? Guess I better stop being such an asshole to you on that boat. I don’t need my girl hating me before she even meets me.”

He says it like a joke. Like a fucking
joke
.

He wants to know what gets my fucking blood pumping? Some asshole treating Hattie like a joke sure as fuck does.

I get out of the truck and slam the door shut. It’s then that I notice the cars parked up and down the street, too many for a regular gathering. One of them is Hattie’s unmistakable blue Volkswagen. All the lights are on in the house, and I can hear the swell of music when I listen close.

A party?

This is the last place I should be. What the hell is my plan? To march in there and what? Be her knight in shining armor? I’m well aware Hattie doesn’t need that. I’m also clear on the fact that, no matter how intense I feel about her, we’ve only known each other a few weeks, and the last time we talked was really fucking messy at best.

I’m pretty sure I’m overstepping my bounds big time.

But I find myself marching up to the door, completely uninvited, anyway.

Why?

Maybe just because the thought of seeing her again is exciting enough to blunt any rational thought.

Bex is still in the truck, and I officially regret my decision the second the door swings open.

“What the
fuck
are you doing here?” Deo Beckett growls.

I hold up both hands. “Listen, man, I’m not looking to start shit--”

“Really?” He gets up in my face. “Then why the hell did you show up here? Was I not clear enough the first time? You’re not welcome around my family. So fuck off.”

“Deo!”

I consider bolting when I hear that voice, but I’m determined to see Hattie and explain before this gets out of control.

“Ryan.” Whit stares at me, but her look isn’t the same as it was the last time I saw her. She steps around Deo, determination apparent in every move she makes. “She’s in the back room.”

“Whit?” Deo glares like he wants to murder me with his bare hands, but looking at her makes him go soft. “Babe, what the hell is going on?”

“Later,” she says, dragging me into the house. “You won’t like it.”

“Then let’s deal with it now,” he argues.

Whit leads me through groups of people drinking, laughing. A barefoot woman with long, wavy hair dances in the middle of the floor with a short, muscled guy wearing Buddy Holly glasses. There’s a crowd around them cheering and clapping. It’s clear why: their moves are straight out of
Pulp Fiction
.