“Where’s he going? Is he okay?”
“He’s burning it off. He’ll be okay.” I motion to a concrete fire ring in the sand. “You guys up for a fire and s’mores before you head back?”
The kids jump with excitement, the mere mention of more junk food erasing what just happened from the forefront of their minds, but Trix doesn’t look at ease.
I pull her to my chest. “Babe, what’s wrong?”
She curls into me easily, not seeming to care that I’m wet. “He’s my baby brother, Mase.”
“I know and he’ll be okay.”
“I guess B3 is a bigger deal than what you told me. ‘Just kids’ my ass.”
I fumble with how to tell her this and have it make sense, or better yet not freak her the fuck out. “B3’s a big deal around here. It’s a big deal to a lot of people. It means very little to me anymore. If my brother weren’t neck deep in it, and if I didn’t need to use it to keep your brother from getting sand in his blood, I’d never think about it again.”
“Your brother and all those guys who came to Vegas, are they . . .?”
I nod into her hair. “They are.”
“So, B3’s a real gang.”
I run my hands up and down her back with a soft pressure and feel her melt deeper into me. “Started off as a way to protect the locals here, but greed led them to hook up with some bad dudes, and things went downhill from there.”
“That’s what your brother’s involved in now, all the stuff they had lying around the hotel that first night?”
“Yes, and no matter how many times I try to fix this shit for Drake, he just keeps running back to it because of his dad.”
She pushes back enough to peer up at me. “I guess any relationship with his dad, even an unhealthy one, feels better than none at all.”
I nod and lock my hands together behind her back. “Let’s not waste the rest of our time together, focusing on that shit. I’m going to blow my surfer girl’s mind with the best s’mores she’s ever tasted, and then we’re going to get these kids home before they all pass out on the beach and we’re carrying sleeping bodies back to your van. Sound good?”
The dark shadows from her eyes clear and she grins. “Sounds perfect.”
It’s been a couple of hours since the sun dipped below the horizon, and our fire is burning the last piece of wood we have. Leah and Aaron are sound asleep on Trix’s lap, their mouths caked with a mixture of sticky marshmallow and sand.
Trix’s hair is pulled away from her face, the flicker of fire light highlighting her cheekbones and full lips. She looks focused, but somehow vacant at the same time as she watches the flames dance.
I wish I knew what she was thinking, could see inside that pretty head of hers, and carry the burden of whatever makes her drift off like this. Other than the run-in with those locals, today couldn’t have been any better.
After Isaac got back from his run and we stuffed ourselves with s’mores, we sat around while everyone shared stories about growing up on this beach. They all lit up with stories about Lana, their sister, all except for Aaron and Leah, who were too young to remember much of her.
As quiet as Isaac and Trix are now, I have to think they’re lost in memories of her life or her death.
“Thank you for this.” Trix slides her hand into mine. “We needed this day.”
Her face is free of makeup and a little sunburnt and reveals so much more than her beauty, something heavy. It’s the softness in her eyes, the transparency of a day without guards up, and the vulnerability of being herself rather than Trix the Vegas stripper. It’s as if I’m seeing her.
I pick up her hand and press her knuckles to my lips. “I needed you like this today.”
Her mouth tilts in a shy smile.
“Feels good to get you away from Vegas. Here you’re Bea, the greatest big sister ever.” My thumb traces circles against her wrist. “Not Trix, the . . .” Stripper.
Her smile falls. “Yeah.”
I don’t mean to upset her, but after these last few days, having her in my bed in Vegas, spending time with her at my beach, and watching her with her family, I don’t want to give her back. The thought of her dancing for strangers, using a body that I’ve watched comfort her young siblings, a body I’ve claimed for myself, it’s enough to make me want to pop the eyes from every man who steps foot inside Zeus’s.
I place one last lingering kiss against her hand. “It’s getting late. I don’t want your parents to worry.”
“Sucks, but . . .” She nods and shifts, waking the sleeping kids sprawled on her lap. “Wake up, guys.” She runs her fingers through their hair. “Time to go.”
Life returns to their faces and their limbs as they yawn and stretch. After a few protests, they get up, and we pack up our day-long campsite and head to the parking lot.