The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

James nodded, and the car sped down the darkened avenue. “Home, sir?”

“Fuck no,” Holden said. He looked to us. “Thoughts, gentlemen?”

I exchanged glances with Ronan who nodded once.

“My place,” I said and told James the address.

At the Lighthouse Apartments, James parked the sedan in a visitor spot, and we climbed out.

“Cozy,” Holden said, eyeing the complex. “After-party at Chez Stratton?”

“Not quite.” I nodded at James in the sedan. “How long will he wait?”

“As long as I need him to.” Holden lit a clove cigarette and waved away the smoke and our curious stares. “Fear not, James is being well-compensated for his time.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Ronan and I led the way down the beach, over the roughest rock and lashing surf. If Holden was upset that his expensive clothes were getting wet and caked with sand, he didn’t complain.

At the fisherman’s shack, he glanced around, peering in the darkened space.

“Not bad. Could use a few upgrades.”

In front of the Shack, Ronan lit a bonfire. The vast black ocean touched the shore in white foam thirty yards away while a million stars wheeled above.

I sat down heavily on my rock and pulled out a few gummies.

“CBD?” Holden said. “Sharing is caring, Stratton.”

“Not CBD. Glucose. I have diabetes.”

A genuine look of concern flashed over his green eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I glanced at him sideways. “What did you do to piss off River Whitmore?”

“I pissed off a lot of people tonight. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The quarterback. When you were playing that Seven Minutes game.”

“Ah, yes.” Holden cleared his throat, then shrugged, his eyes on the ocean. “Don’t remember.”

“You sure?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I was hoping you kicked him in the nuts.”

“Do tell?”

The weight of the night and all that had happened—and not happened—weighed on me, pressing me down. Making me tired. “Not tonight.”

“Fair enough.”

Ronan offered us beers from the cooler he’d stashed in the shack. Holden took one, I waved it off.

“Still feeling low,” I said and pulled an OJ out of my backpack.

“It’s nice here,” Holden said after a minute. “Really fucking nice. Like I can just…breathe.”