Page 60 of Hearts Adrift
He laughs and lifts his hands in innocence. “I swear, it is atotalcoincidence. I amsosorry, bro—”
“I ain’t your ‘bro’, bro!” I snap back.
He recoils, surprised at my temper.
Honestly, I’m surprised by it, too.
Just then, I spot a young woman some distance away with her phone pointed my way. Is she recording this? I’m so surprised that I freeze in place, as if some spotlight just cracked on and craned itself onto me at full brightness.
There’s someone else squinting my way, too—a guy in a pink speedo. He pulls out his phone, but not to record; apparently to check something. He looks up at me, then his phone, then me again, growing increasingly surprised.
“I said I’m sorry,” says the volleyball hottie, but I find myself too spooked to respond. I just gather my gym bag into my arms like a baby and scurry off across the sand.
Then I see someone else looking my way. A group of guys. Phones are coming out. I peek over my shoulder. The young woman is still recording me, following from a far distance. I fight an instinct to shout at her to stop, but the very act of being recorded keeps me silent and scared. In no time at all, it feels like everyone’s eyes are on me. I’ve already passed the Easy, otherwise I would beeline straight in there and duck under the counter, begging Chase to hide me—or Cooper himself, if he’s actually at work today. Just my luck that hewouldbe when I can’t make my way there without walking back past the womanrecording me. Wait a sec—are therethreepeople recording me now?
Over just a simple mishap with a volleyball?
And my angry eruption?
Did I forget to get dressed at the gym and strolled out of it stark naked somehow? Nope. Bright-ass hoodie and shorts: definitely on. What is all of this attention about?
“Is that him?” I hear someone from ahead, causing me to stop in my tracks. It’s another guy with his phone out, a curly-haired buddy standing at his side. That buddy is bold enough to actually talk to me—or yell, rather: “Hey, you! Are you Finn? The island lover?”
What the fuck did he just ask me?“Uh … what?”
“No, it isn’t him,” says the other guy.
“It is!” the curly-haired one insists, smacking his friend and pointing. “I am onethousandpercent certain that that istotallyhim!”
I peer over the beach, bewildered. There are so many people not paying attention to me one bit—but sprinkled throughout them like a horror movie are numerous people who are, their faces zeroed on mine, watching.
Then he asks, “Is it true? About you and River Wolfe?”
The words hit me like the volleyball all over again.
More phones are coming out.
It’s that feeling like you’re twenty steps behind the rest of the world. Everyone knows something you don’t.
The entire beach versus me.
“Is it?” he asks, a touch more desperate for the answer. “You and River Wolfe? You can tell me, man. It’s okay.”
The woman behind me with the phone is catching up.
I take off running the other way.
“Wait!” the guy calls after me.
I sure as fuck don’t wait.
I cut between the outdoor bathrooms and showers and make my way to the street. I hurry down the long sidewalk, still barefoot, concrete burning the soles of my feet, pulse pounding in my ears.
Just as I assume I’ve gotten away from the weirdness on the beach, a car slows down near me. Its driver stares.
What the hell is happening?
How doesanyone know about me and River Wolfe, let aloneeveryone?
