Nate
Wednesday, July 8
There’s something interesting about watching people who think they’re alone. Like Ms. Riordan, who finally dropped the smile she’d been wearing after her tennis partner left their corner table at the Bayview Country Club bar. Now her head’s down, and she’s rubbing both temples like she needs to scrub whatever they just talked about from her brain.
Or Vanessa, who’s pretending to be absorbed in her phone in the hallway leading from the pool to the bar but keeps glancing at Ms. Riordan like she’s waiting for her to look a little less miserable. Vanessa’s the type who’s always putting on a performance, so it’s weird to see her looking unsure of herself, especially when it comes to Ms. Riordan. Addy’s words at Café Contigo pop into my head then: Do you remember that article in the Bayview Blade about Jake? It said he had dozens of pen pals. Is it possible that one of those pen pals was…Vanessa?
Curiosity keeps me eyeing a still-oblivious Vanessa for long enough that Gavin, the bartender on duty today, bumps my arm with his as I wipe down the counter.
“Thought you were all about that girlfriend of yours,” he says.
“Huh?” I ask, a half second before his meaning hits me. “Oh, hell no,” I say, turning away before Vanessa catches me staring too. The last thing I need is her jumping to the same conclusion. “Just zoned out for a sec.”
“You sure?” Gavin asks with a smirk. I glare hard enough that he holds up a conciliatory hand. “All right, all right. Didn’t mean to question your OTP. I’m only asking because I think she’s cute. Vanessa, not Bronwyn. Well, Bronwyn is also cute, but she’s very taken and you’re kind of mean and I’m scared of you, so….” He raises both hands in surrender, and I snort out a reluctant laugh. “What do you think? Is she single?”
“You’re back to talking about Vanessa, right?”
“Obviously. I don’t have a death wish.”
“I have no idea.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Can you find out for me?”
“No,” I say shortly, and he sighs.
“Worth a shot,” he says as a group of men who look like they just finished a round of golf settle themselves at the end of the bar. “How much longer are you here for?”
“Half an hour,” I say.
“Got plans tonight?”
“Yeah. Bronwyn and I are making dinner for my dad.” Or more accurately, I’ll end up making most of it, because Bronwyn is such a careful recipe follower that we won’t eat until midnight otherwise. The amount of time she can spend measuring a single cup of rice is mind-boggling. Maeve is even worse. The Rojas sisters have a lot of skills, but none of them are kitchen-related.
“How domestic,” Gavin says with a grin. Then he waves at the golf guys and calls out, “Be right with you, gentlemen.”
While we were talking, Vanessa sidled her way up to Ms. Riordan’s table, and she’s now perched at the end of a stool, talking animatedly. I gaze around the U-shaped bar to see if anybody’s trying to catch my attention. The blond moms in the corner are still working on their peach margaritas, the two old men across from me are too busy arguing about somebody running for Congress to touch their whiskey, and the lone guy who just walked up is—
“What the hell do you want?”
The words burst out of me in a growl before I remember where I am, and that I’m not supposed to snap at people leaning over the bar with money in hand. Even when they’re Jake fucking Riordan.
“Great to see you too, Macauley,” he says.
I brace my forearms on the bar so I don’t take a swing at him. That asshole. Walking around in his polo shirt and salmon-colored pants like he’s the same pampered jock he always was. Like he shouldn’t be behind bars for the rest of his life after what he did to Addy. To me. And Bronwyn, and Cooper, and Janae, and Simon…
Jake tosses a twenty onto the bar. His hair’s starting to grow out, making him look more like his old Bayview High self. “Chardonnay, please,” he says.
“Fuck off,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows. “It’s for my mother.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re gonna make her walk over here and order herself?”
He’s not getting it, so I enunciate my words slowly and clearly. “Fuck. Off.”
Instead, Jake slides onto a stool with a smirk. “It must drive you crazy, huh?” he asks in the kind of buddy-buddy tone the golf guys use when they try to make me talk sports. “That even though I spent a lot more time than you did behind bars—wrongly, I might add—you still have to serve me. And you always will.” His eyes glint as he folds his arms on the counter. “Ten years from now, I’ll be able to buy this club ten times over, and you’ll still be here trying to scrape enough credits together for a shitty associate’s degree. Maybe even selling drugs again. That was the most money you’ll ever see at one time, wasn’t it?”
My vision goes red as my right hand curls into a fist. I can hear Bronwyn clearly in my head, saying, Don’t react; he’s not worth it, but the thing is—she’s not here, so she doesn’t have to look at Jake’s smug, incredibly punchable face.
“You know what I can’t wait for?” Jake continues. Still smiling and relaxed, like he’s about to say Our five-year reunion or reminisce about all the great times we never had at Bayview High. His tone hardens, but it’s too low for anyone except me to hear. “For you to lose it all, Macauley. Your job, your pathetic friends, your addict parents, and most of all, your tight-ass girlfriend. Because once she’s gone, you’re gonna spiral so fast that—”
I’m not even thinking when I lunge for him, only to find myself being roughly yanked back, arms pinned to my sides. “Let’s not get fired today,” Gavin mutters in my ear. He’s surprisingly strong as he shoves me behind him, startling the peach-margarita moms. “Get out of here, Nate. Go ride your bike or something. Your shift’s almost done; there’s no point hanging around here and letting this asshole bait you. You touch him, he’s gonna have you arrested for assault. Don’t give him what he wants.”
Jesus, I hate that he’s right. I hate that the only choice I have is to walk away with Jake’s words echoing in my ears and to let Gavin smooth things over. I hate that Jake is back in my world and there’s nothing I can do about it. And maybe most of all, I hate the fact that in less than five minutes, he managed to yank all my worst fears out of my brain and shove them in my face.
Some things never change.
Ms. Riordan’s already at Jake’s side, fussing over him, her voice pinched with worry, and Jake raises both hands. “I’m going, I’m going,” he says. “I’ve got shit to do anyway.” He levels his gaze at me with a sardonic wave. “See you around, Macauley.”
“Is that…,” one of the margarita moms asks.
“You know perfectly well who it is,” another one says. “It’s appalling that he’s allowed to come here. We should complain to management.”
The third woman takes a long swig of her drink before saying, “Go ahead and hit him, Nate. I’ll tell everyone it was self-defense.”
“You’re not helping, ladies,” Gavin says.
He finally releases me when Jake is out of sight. “Don’t worry about that guy,” he says, jaw tight as he watches Vanessa lead Ms. Riordan back to the corner table. “I’m a big believer in karma, and Jake Riordan has a massive reckoning coming his way.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” I say. “Too bad the legal system thought different.”
“Have faith in the long game,” Gavin says. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Whatever.” I should thank him, I know, but I don’t have it in me, so I grab my keys from beneath the counter and take off without another word. I unlock my phone on the way to the parking lot, pulling up a new message from Bronwyn. She left her internship early to go shopping for dinner tonight. Look at this haul, she wrote, alongside a picture of a bunch of vegetables she picked up at a farmers’ market. I tagged you in my IG story, which you would know if YOU EVER WENT THERE.
I stare at my phone for a few seconds. There’s a knot of resentful, self-hating fury inside me that makes me want to text back: forget dinner. Forget everything, Bronwyn, because you’re too good for me and one of these days you’re going to realize it. I’d rather you do it now than later, because it’s only going to feel worse the more time we’re together.
Then I take a deep breath and hold it as long as possible before sending back a normal response. Maybe someday, with a heart so she knows that if I ever start using any of the social media accounts she created for me, it’ll only be to make her happy. Bronwyn has proved a hundred times over that she’s in it for the long haul with me, and I’m not going to let Jake Riordan make me question it. Or ruin it.
It’s unreal, though, how fast the inner voice you thought was gone can jump back into your head to tell you how much you suck. Addy must be feeling the same way, and I have a sudden urge to find her and tell her that she’s awesome and destined for a brilliant life. But then I remember she’s having dinner with her sister and Eli, so I settle for a text: You’re great.
Addy responds instantly. Are you drunk?
I pocket my phone, mood slightly lifted. She knows I’m not.
