Page 9 of Until We Break

“Hi.” I looked down at her. She was cute. Most of the girls who came to the parties were. I chugged the warm beer trying to get it over with.

“This is my first time here. It’s a good party.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m Abby.”

“Caleb.”

Her eyes flickered against the light from the bonfire. “How long have you been in?”

I had to keep that laugh down in my chest. The way she phrased the question sounded as if she was asking about my prison sentence. If I wanted to go home with this girl, I couldn’t make fun of her. I hadn’t decided I wanted to hook up tonight, either.

“I take it you know everyone here is in the Coast Guard?”

She nodded. “I heard it’s a locals’ party. Did I get it right?”

“Seven years,” I answered.

“You must be a good swimmer.”

I had to hold the bottle away to keep from choking on the last swallow. “I can swim.”

“Is it dangerous what you do?” she asked. Her eyelashes batted. She licked her bottom lip.

I turned to answer Abby. “Maybe. Some days.” She wanted a story about a heroic storm rescue or a capsized boat. She wasn’t the first girl to hang on to my every word. The problem for Abby and me was that I wasn’t in the mood for this shit tonight.

She should talk to Gabe or one of the other guys. They loved to tell stories. They would probably tell mine for me. Telling a tourist I was a rescue swimmer was almost a guarantee they would throw themselves in the deep end of the pool or wade into choppy surf to test my skills. I didn’t do that. I didn’t play their games.

It was only the beginning of summer. Usually my favorite season. Days on the water that were hot and beautiful insteadof cold and frigid. It was what I always loved about growing up on Marshoak Island. This summer felt different. There was a restlessness under my skin. Something stirring in me I hadn’t had before. Something that made me want to ignore girls like Abby.

“Want another beer?” she asked.

“I can get it.” The truth was I did want another beer. A cold beer. But I didn’t want to drink it with her, or her best friend or her roommate, or whoever she had dragged to the bonfire. “Thanks, though.” It was all I could think of to say to soften the blow as I drifted away from her and headed to the cooler.

“Not interested in her?” Gabe had his hand on the lid of the cooler at the same time I did. “I was eyeing her the minute I got here. She came with a big group.”

I plunged my hand into the ice water. “She’s all yours.” I cracked the beer open. “I hope you two live happily ever after,” I teased.

“I don’t care about anything after tonight. These girls never stick around.”

“No, they don’t,” I admitted. Maybe that’s why I had lost interest in Abby before she even spoke. I was tired of the gone-before-fall girls. Tired of summer romances. Tired of getting my hopes up that long-distance shit had a shot in hell of working. I’d made that mistake before. I blamed it on being too young to accept reality. Or did I blame it on the girl who put my heart in a blender? Didn’t matter. She left and she never came back to Marshoak. She never would.

He slapped me on the back. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” I toasted him in the air and watched Gabe walk through the sand toward Abby, still pouting that I had left her abruptly.

He didn’t need luck. Gabe was confident and good-looking. What he needed was the inability to fall for tourists. A hard shell around his emotions. The stomach to do it over and over and over. He had to forget their names, the softness of their lips, and the long tan legs. Before he knew it, Abby would be on the ferry and never travel back to Marshoak Island.

FIVE

Margot

Iclutched the paper in my hand, drawing it downward as I stared at three rows of piers and boat slips in front of me. I slid my sunglasses off my nose, and planted them on top of my head, as if that would make the view any different. This disaster did not look like the photo I’d been given. It didn’t match the written description or the one planted in my memory either. If I hadn’t known where I was going, I would have thought I had taken a wrong turn.

What in the hell had happened to the Blue Heron Marina? When had things gotten so bad? Why didn’t I know half of it had fallen in the water?

I gawked at the sunken shrimp boat near the entrance to the creek. The entire marina was a boating ghost town. I tiptoed toward the first pier and shrieked when the pressure from my foot made the wood start to crack. I tried to turn back. Too late. My foot was instantly in a hole of mud and muck. Minnows swam around my ankles.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I wiggled my toes inside my shoe. I could feel everything. Thank God, I hadn’t broken them. I took mytime pulling my leg between the broken slats on the pier. Water dripped from my shoes. I emptied the drudge, turning my nose up at what spilled out.

I wanted to crumple on the gravel parking lot, land on my knees, and scream. But no one would hear, only the gulls squawking overhead and maybe the man in overalls gutting a fish. I wandered back to my car.

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