Page 3 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

"No sweat, Ma. There's always next time." The words are automatic, but they leave an odd hollow feeling in my gut.

We say our goodbyes, being careful around the words we don't say. "Love you, Mom," I manage.

"Love you too, Dakota. Goodnight."

The line goes dead, and I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror—hazel eyes that look too much like hers.

As the miles slip away, I'm left alone with the ghosts of what used to be. The divorce sliced through our family years ago, leaving behind a scar that never quite fades. Mom tries, in her own way, but the distance isn't just miles—it's memories, misunderstandings, and the fear that creeps into my heart, warning me I might end up just as alone.

Chapter 3-Harmony

The wheels of our plane kiss Charleston airport’s tarmac.

"We're actually here," Marina smiles as she claps her hands together.

She flew into Oklahoma City yesterday, spent the night, and then we flew out early this morning to Charleston.

It only takes a little while to taxi up to the terminal and for us to unload from the plane. Then we weave through the crowd to the baggage claim.

At the rental car kiosk, I tap my phone against the reader.

"Convertible or coupe?" Marina asks.

"Let's not tempt the weather gods," I say as I knew I’d reserved a sturdy SUV.

I slide into the driver's seat, and we begin our short journey to Pawleys Island, just beyond Love Beach. The coastal scenery looks like a postcard. I roll down the windows, letting the salty breeze ruffle through my curls, untamed for once.

"Imagine, Harmony, this time tomorrow we could be sipping cocktails with some Spring Break hunks," Marina teases, nudging my arm.

"Or buried in a book under an umbrella," I counter, though the idea of toned men lounging nearby isn't entirely unpleasant.

We cross the causeway to Pawleys Island, and the feeling of quaintness hits me.

"Home sweet temporary home," Marina declares, snapping a photo of the two-story beach house for her insta-story.

The key slides into the lock, and the door swings open to reveal our paradise for the week.

"Here we are." I step over the threshold.

Marina's already bounding up the stairs.

"First dibs on the bedroom with the sea view!" she calls back laughing.

I choose the opposite room on the second floor, dumping my duffel on the bed. It's smaller but feels cozy, almost bohemian with its eclectic mix of patterns and colors.

"Okay, schedule time!" Marina pops her head around the doorframe, tablet in hand, eager as ever to organize our fun.

"Let's keep it loose," I suggest, unpacking my clothes and placing them in the dresser. "You know, like, some beach volleyball, a few lazy afternoons reading at the coffee shop that’s on the water, maybe check out The Sand Dunes Bar & Grill one evening?"

"Perfect. Also, don't forget about the Yacht Club." Marina grins. "I've heard that's where the real action is."

"Action?" I arch an eyebrow. "You mean watching boats bobbing on the water?"

"Harmony, you're hopeless." She laughs and shakes her head.

With our week loosely sketched out, we wander downstairs, slipping on sandals for an impromptu sunset beach exploration.

"Can you believe how beautiful this is?" Marina's eyes are wide while her dark hair whips around her face.

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