Page 3 of South of The Skyway

“It’s probably best to just give up. There’s nothing to miss unless you bring it up.”

Noel bent down to unclip the leash when we stepped inside the dog park’s gate. “You’re thinking too hard again. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You just need a fling. A very belated rebound.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, taking a deep breath as the blessing of thick foliage shade blocked off the sunset. End of day or not, the heat was everywhere. Palm trees bordered the entire dog park enclosure, towering along the walkways beyond and marking the perimeter of the grassed-in space. The telltale buzz of a mosquito cut my relief short. Yep, that was par for the course.

“Youdo!”

“I guess,” I grumbled, throwing the neon tennis ball and smiling as my girl sprinted straight for the far side of the enclosure.

“Well, Iknow, and as your best friend, you’re obligated to trust me.” She knelt to accept the ball when Royal returned it, throwing the slobbery thing and wiping her hands on her jeans as she rose, glaring at me. “Starting tonight.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Fine.”

TWO

RHYETT

“I swear to God, man, if one more contractor tells me it’s the supply chain problem, not their lazy asses to blame, I’ll can every single one of them and build the damn thing myself.”

Broderick sighed at my frustrations. “It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, but it is. One delay after another. There’s a reason I’m down here and not out on the boat with Jameson. They’re freaking raking it in this season.”

“Of course. It’s Murphy’s law, Rhy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” At that, Broderick’s smooth laugh cracked through the speaker, and I smiled. I didn’t believe in any of that pessimistic bullshit he clung to, but something about him falling back to it was familiar in a way I needed during all the upheaval. He’d been in my life nearly as long as I could remember–my younger brother, Jameson, picked a fight when we were four and five, and we’d all been best friends since. “Miss you, man. How’re things up there?” Byup there, I meant with his witch of a woman. Broderick was the kind of guy that had never struggled to get a girl but struggled to keep one worth hanging on to. We had that in common. However, where I relished loving freely, Broderick had wanted to settle down since we were in college. Now, he taught at the damn place and was settling for the girlfriend from hell.

“Miss you too. Same old, same old. Nothing to report here.”

Like he’d get away with that shit. I was just waiting for the phone call that he’d finally freed himself from those shackles.

“How’s Sarah?” I pressed. His hesitation spoke volumes.

“Fine. Great, she’s working a lot.”

“Good, hope that’s going well. How are you?”

“You know. Just hanging in there. Work’s been great. Some truly promising students this semester. I’ll enjoy these last few months with them.”

“Well, there’s always that.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, a beat too quickly. “Hey, Rhy, I gotta run. But keep me posted on things down there, will you? And do your research before signing any out-on-his-luck, Joe-blow with a clipboard onto the legacy house, alright?”

“Like I’d do something like that.”

“Totally would. Talk soon.”

“Yeah, man, talk soon.” The phone disconnected, my truck speakers flipping back to Pink Floyd. I rolled down my window, setting my arm on the edge and savoring how the warmth wrapped around my bones here, the breeze kicking up as “Money” started blaring on the speakers. I chuckled at the irony. That’s about what the family account sounded like with this project finally up and rolling. My mother had dreamed of retiring in south Florida for as long as I could remember, starting a little mini homestead somewhere her bones didn’t ache for half the year.

We’d gone a few times growing up, although traveling with your own freaking football team-worth of children certainly posed its challenges. Last year she’d found the perfect property, not too far inland, still within range of that coastal breeze, and a quick jaunt to the beach. Just enough land to keep a handful of animals and grow her own garden. The quest to build the first family home on the land consumed enough mental energy that she’d finally asked if I’d be willing to oversee it.

Maybe it was being the oldest son, or perhaps it was that I’d dabbled in construction between commercial fishing seasons, but either way, I’d agreed. Which brought me here. Basking in eighty-degree sunlight as rubber met pavement, climbing up the four-mile bridge between the central city and southern retirement communities. They might be ready to settle down on the sleepy stretch of the coast, but I thrived under pressure. My bar back in Mistyvale was thriving, despite the challenge of a limited demographic. Working from fifteen on had its benefits: like saving up enough to start businesses in my twenties, and push them to thrive by thirty. It started with The Grizzly Grind, a coffee shop on the harbor. My next venture was a grungy, industrial bar called The Birch Barrel, and both businesses had grown to be local favorites. If I could embrace a tiny, cold rock in the middle of the ocean and make magic on it, a thriving metro like this would be freaking epic.

Where my siblings saw endless competition, I saw the infinite potential and a culture ready and teeming with patrons who would delight in the character we’d intentionally build into the space. This shit was my catnip. Planting businesses, feeding them as they grew until they flourished. And today was day one. Ground zero. My first attempt at recon in my new city—checking out the cool parts of town and dropping in on the nightlife to get a feel for the local vibe, and my soon-to-be competition. It would be a much-needed reprieve from the chaos of the build job, endless meetings with architects and engineers, soil tests, and tracking down permits.

First on my list? A little pub that commanded live music and raving reviews, not three blocks off the bay. Five minutes on foot would drop me at my second, a bougie little sushi joint with an exclusive list of guests that—to me—indicated I’d have the perfect clientele. An odd combination? Hell yeah. But there was studying to be done everywhere, if only I remembered to slow down and look.

Speaking of which…damn. The view from the top of this thing was ridiculous. Ripples of white-capped waves to either side, the teeth of urban skylines ahead and behind. Enormous barges drifted calmly through the bay as boats tore trails through the water. It wasn’t particularly windy, though I’d bet there would be windsurfers on a good day. And thatglorious sun. After spending my first three decades as a consistent companion to fog and rain, there was something so satisfying about knowing I’d see it every day. My sisters were going to lose it. If anyone wore anything besides bathing suits for the first six months, I’d be flabbergasted. And was that—holy shit, yeah—that was a fishing pier in the water, lined with car after car, spots of colored shirts and buckets littering the side of it as people milled about. The thing must’ve been miles long. Jameson, Axel, and Broderick would never leave. They’d just camp out right there in the middle of the bay.

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