Meg disappears behind a stack of books, leaving me to deal with the red-faced woman who used to be one of my friends.
“I’m not here to cause problems.” I keep my voice neutral, repeating the mantra that seems to follow me everywhere.
“So Alana says, but I have a hard time believing that.” Violet stabs me in the chest with her finger.
Delilah frowns as she tugs on her friend’s arm. “Come on, Violet. Just leave him alone.”
She glances over at her friend. “One second.” Her head slowly swivels back toward me like something out of a horror movie. “If you’re here to screw with Alana again—”
I stop her. “I’m not.”
“You’re still drinking,” she states.
“Is that considered a crime?”
“It’s pathetic,” she hisses. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, yet having the words slung at me from someone who was once a friend cuts deeper than I care to admit.
You are pathetic.
A heavy weight presses against my chest, making breathing an impossible task.
Her upper lip peels back. “You’re no better than her sister, making all these promises and never following through.”
My hand holding onto the bag tightens until my nails bite into my skin. “I know. Why do you think I left in the first place?”
Her eyes bulge.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to go now.” My feet feel like someone attached two anvils to them, making every step exponentially more difficult than the last.
I bypass my car and head directly toward Last Call at the end of Main Street. It is a locals’ spot, so my entrance stirs up whispers and glares from everyone gathered around the bar.
I stick to the unoccupied stool at the end of the counter, right across from a few people I recognize from around town.
The dark-haired bartender walks over to me with a frown. I remember him from one of Lana’s birthday parties, although his face has filled out and his muscles have muscles.
Henry shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Vodka tonic, please.” I ignore him as I smack a fifty-dollar bill against the counter.
His scowl only deepens. “No.”
“Seriously?”
He crosses his bulging arms against his chest. “Isabelle warned us about you.”
For fuck’s sake. Did they have a town hall meeting about me?
“What did she say?”
The veins in his arms jump. “We’re not allowed to serve you.”
“Of course you’re not. That’s fine. I’ll just take my money elsewhere.” I snatch the bill and pocket it. I’m sure a nearby town will be more than happy to take my money and help me avoid an exchange like this again.
“Go to hell!” someone shouts from across the bar.
Little do they know, I’m already there.
16
CAL
Things finally feel like they’re falling into place for me. Lana has even trusted me with a key to the house again after I needed access to it and she had plans for the weekend.
Even packing has gone smoothly over the last week. Most of my grandpa’s items are cleared out of the attic, and the only thing left is to pack up is my old bedroom. It’s located at the farthest corner of the house, a long way away from the childish giggling happening on the other side of the second floor.
Walking into my childhood room feels like I’ve been launched directly into the past. Besides a few taped boxes stacked in a corner, the place looks untouched. Even the glow-in-the-dark stars Lana and I superglued to the ceiling over two decades ago remain, although a few are missing or hanging by a single point. The window overlooking the lake snags my attention in the same way it did years ago when I picked this room as mine.
My brothers never understood why I wanted the smallest room located in a cramped corner of the house, but I thought the answer would be obvious if they took a moment to look out the bay window.
It feels strange to return here after six years away. I’m not sure why my grandpa and Se?ora Castillo kept the room the same, but it feels like it’s been trapped in time.
The floor-to-ceiling shelves covering each of the three other walls feature the model boats I built during my summers here. From my first sailboat to a mini version of the Titanic, each boat holds a fond memory of a summer spent at Lake Wisteria. Of Lana and me staying up far too late working on them in the study.
My throat tightens as I stare at the last ship we started building the summer of my accident. The USS Constitution Lana bought me for my birthday sits unfinished on the lowest shelf, looking abandoned with its incomplete hull facing toward the ceiling.
You never had a chance to finish it together.
My chest throbs.
“Whoa.”
I turn on my heels to find Cami staring up at the shelves with wide eyes. “Did you make that?” She points at a replica of La Candelaria sitting on the highest shelf, far away from anyone who could accidentally knock it over.
My throat tightens. “Yeah.”
“Really?” She looks over at me with a strange expression.
I nod.
“What about that one?” She directs my attention toward the shelf above the window, where an Elizabethan Navy Rowan warship model sits, the wood dulled from the amount of dust and cobwebs covering the hull.
“Yup.”
“And that one too?” There is a special sparkle in her eyes as she checks out the Viking ship.
“I made all of these with your mom.” Hopefully that will answer any lingering questions she might have.
She gasps. “My mom? How?” Her forehead wrinkles from her pinched expression.
You spoke too soon.
I run a hand over my stubble, considering the best way to explain the process. “Have you played with Legos?”
“Yes!” She nods her head with a smile.
“It’s like that but harder.”
“Why?”
Instead of explaining the process, I pull out my phone and show her a time-lapse video of someone building a model sailboat. It’s the first time I’ve been able to keep her quiet for a solid five minutes, so I count my idea as a win. Even I find myself getting swept up in the familiarity of the process and the therapeutic aspect of boatbuilding.
And that right there is why your brothers teased you endlessly about being a nerd.
Once the video ends, she looks up at me with a big smile. “Cool!”
I rear back. “Really?”
Her head bobs up and down. “I want to try.”
She might not look like Lana, but she is 100 percent her through and through.
“You do?”
“Yes! Can we make one together?”
I blink twice, focusing on how she grouped us together. “What?”
“Please can we do one, Cow-l? Pretty, pretty please.” Her bright eyes pierce through my resolve, tempting me to say yes.
“Ummm…”
She bats her lashes. “I’ll be your bestest friend ever.”
Don’t you dare fall for that.
Except it’s pretty hard not to with the way she looks up at me with a beaming smile full of hope. The idea of killing her budding interest makes the acid in my stomach bubble.