Page 5 of Tin

I crinkle my nose, trying hard to stay focused and not get derailed on the million and one arguments I’d like to make. Starting with the fact that the kids weren’t actually riding as much as they were sitting while being led around in circles, and ending with an exasperated“You’re tired? After the shit you gave me in the car, you’re tired?”But I let it all go and smile instead. “Well, if you don’t need my help with anything else right now, I think I’m going to head down to the sand and go for a run. Maybe clear my head a bit.”

Kirsten just gives me an open-ended nod, which is meant for me to interpret. She likes those. Makes her feel like she’s giving me the freedom to make the right decisions for myself. Or at least what she believes the right decisions are. This move never really works in her favor, though. Just because I know that what she wants for me to say isoh, never mind, let me strap on an apron and help you snap the ends off those green beans while I study your every move so I can become Suzie Homemaker for myself one day, doesnotmean I’m goingto do it.

“Alright, then. See ya.” I wave and take off for the stairs leading down to the basement. I picture her standing behind me, jaw dangling, but I don’t turn around to see.

As soon as I reach the last step, I fling open the door and Harley comes jumping at me. I hate that this is the only part of the house Kirsten deems dog approved, but I have no room to complain after everything she did for him while I was gone.

“Hey, boy.” I tousle the long hair around his neck and give him a good scratch behind his left ear where he likes it. “Wanna go for a run?” He barks loudly. Call me crazy, but my dog understands me better than most humans do.

“Let’s do it.” He barks again and follows me across the large room, doing his little kangaroo hop. Harley lost his left front leg a few years ago after an accident that nearly killed him. He’s made a full recovery since then, and even without the leg, he gets around just as well as he did before. Sometimes people are shocked when they see him down at the beach and realize he only has three legs. When he’s running at full speed, you can’t even tell.

The entire lower level is essentially my domain now. Kirsten complains that it smells of wet dog, so she only comes down here when she absolutely has to. You’d be surprised how often that’s the case. The space was initially designed to be some sort of a man cave/game room, so it’s got all sorts of little perks, like a fully stocked bar and a mini kitchen. Not to mention the pool table, the pinball machine, and the big-screen TV complete with every video game ever made. I think Nate’s pretty bummed I live down here, actually, but it’s where Kirsten put Harley, so it’s where I am. Unfortunately, all the fancy extras are going completely to waste on me. Not counting the use I make of the TV and my sister’s Netflix subscription.

I dig through the dresser in the corner and pull out my shorts and tank top. Then, having lost any sense of privacy and inhibition, I change right there in the center of the room with the wall of windows leaving me completely on display for anyone who might be walking by outside. It’s a private beach, though, so even if I was shy, I wouldn’t be too worried.

Last but not least, I grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge behind the bar and head out through the back door leading directly to the sand.

I’ve been going for daily runs out here since I arrived. They’ve been my escape. My temporary checkout from life. Reality. I know it seems odd to Kirsten that I need to take these breaks from the lavish lifestyle she’s providing me, but this lap of luxury I’ve been dropped in is mostly like constant sensory overload. Some days I think I almost miss the way things were before. But that’s not real either. It’s just a broken mind thinking broken thoughts. So, I run. To keep from thinking altogether.

Usually, I turn left and head straight for the inlet. There are fewer houses along that stretch of sand, which generally translates into fewer people. Today, however, a crowd of at least fifty occupies the beach just a few places down from Kirsten’s. They’ve got tents set up and a volleyball game going. And there are kids running wild between the water and what appears to be some sort of a sand village they’re all working on.

“I don’t know about you, Harley, but I’m not feeling all that.” I gesture in midair as if I can somehow wipe out the scene. “Guess we’re taking an unexplored route today.” I turn right. As always, there are a few scattered umbrellas straight ahead, but they seem a lot more manageable than they did yesterday.

I reach into my pocket for my earbuds and insert them into my ears. Scrolling through my playlist, I tap the first song that has enough bass to drown out the world and then blast it. Harley’s still sitting at my feet, just waiting for me to give him the go-ahead.

I nod. “Let’s do this.” And together, we take off.

CHAPTER THREE

RIKER

I run my hand over the railing. The wood is splintering in places from all the wear and tear of the salty, wet winds that swirl sand across these boards day in and day out. I can’t even remember the last time I treated the panels with a fresh coat of stain and sealant, plus I’m pretty sure just from glancing at it that the post on the corner is completely rotted out.

“This place is turning into a real shithole,” I mutter to myself. I do that a lot these days. And it’s not like anyone’s around to stop me, or even notice. Not that it would affect people’s opinions of me. For the most part, everyone around here thinks I lost my damn mind four years ago. Fuck it. Maybe I did. “Iamstanding here talking to my goddamned self.”

Still resting my hand on the wood, I start tapping my fingers, a nervous habit I acquired right around the time I lost everything else. I take a swig from my bottle of beer and tilt my head into the breeze. It’s unusually warm already for this time of year, but I’m not complaining. I close my eyes and zero in on the loud rush of the wind as it dances over the crashing waves until they’re the only things I can hear. Slowly, the rest of the world disappears until I’m surrounded by a numb nothingness, and for a moment being alone isn’t so unbearable.

Until the sound of a dog barking loudly forces me to yank my eyelids up again.

QUINN

“Hey! You!”

The man’s voice carries, even over my loud music. Still, I clearly have my earbuds in, so he doesn’t have to know that. I could easily keep running and completely ignore him. I go with that.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

He sounds closer. Shit. Is he following me? Considering I’ve only been running for about a mile, I could easily outrun most anyone right now. But I’ll have to come by here on the way back, and I won’t be as energized then. So I come to an abrupt stop and spin around, prepared for a fight. What I’m not prepared for is Cowboy. Or the fact that he wasn’t expecting me to come to a crashing halt midstep—made entirely obvious when he literally runs me over.

“What the fuck? Get off of me!” I’m pummeling him in the chest as hard as I can, but he’s so startled to be lying facedown on top of me that he’s having a hard time getting reacquainted with his feet.

Finally, he makes it onto his knees. Brushing the sand off his bare chest, he scowls at me. “What the hell did you do that for?” Then, squinting because the sun is in his eyes, he takes a second look at me. “You?” He doesn’t even wait for me to answer. Just drops his head back and shouts to the sky, “Come on!”

Apparently, twice is his limit, because his eyes travel in wide circles just to avoid landing on me from then on. He doesn’t even offer an apology or, God forbid, a helping hand to get me off my ass and upright again. He just stands up straight, pats the sand from his board shorts, and growls, “Dogs aren’t allowed on this beach.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s why you chased me and tackled me to the ground? Because of my dog?” I scramble to my feet, fueled by an onset of fury I am only capable of when someone goes after Harley. “What are you, the fucking beach police? Why don’t you mind your own damn business? You don’t own this stretch of sand.”

Then he does something that shocks me. He laughs. Like he’s laughing at me. Like I said something hysterical, only I have no freaking clue what that might be. And I kinda hate that feeling. I hate it so much I’m temporarily stumped. A dangerous thing when you’re standing across from a guy like Cowboy. Especially because this time around he’s not covered in nice-fitting jeans or that long-sleeved button up flannel shirt, both of which made him look like he jumped straight out of a country outfitter’s catalog.

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