On cue, Andrew abandoned his almighty clipboards and rose to pour her a cup.
Jiya wasn’t technically related, but Rory loved her like a sister. She’d moved with her parents from India to Long Beach the summer before starting fifth grade. One afternoon, Rory and Andrew were playing catch in the backyard—while Jamie read in the shade of their cedar tree—when they noticed a somber brown eye watching them through a hole in the old, rotted fence. That’s when the yelling started inside their house. Not just yelling. Angry, vile words meant to cause pain, coming from their father. In those days, their mother responded in kind, too. Before things had escalated.
Slowly, the fence board had slid to one side, revealing a girl Andrew’s age, wearing a pink Punjabi suit—although he hadn’t known what to call her outfit at the time. She’d waved all three Prince boys through, leading them without words to her garage where they’d watched cartoons on an old television set, Mrs. Dalal bringing them ice-cold Pepsi cans with straws stuck in the top. Jiya’s English had only allowed them the most basic communication back then, but eighteen years later, there was only a trace of her accent remaining and she could swear like a goddamn sailor.
Jiya slid over a large metal container from its place of honor on their counter and scooped cumin from its smaller compartment into the pressure cooker where Andrew had already started soaking the ghee to make khichdi, their morning staple ever since Jiya had taken pity on three starving men.
Knowing she would twist his ear like silly putty if he didn’t get up to help, Rory stood, breathing through his nose when his brain lurched and smacked off the front of his skull. “Fuck me,” he rasped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate summer.”
During the rest of the year, Rory worked the bar five nights a week. He made enough money to be comfortable and contribute to the mortgage he shared with his brothers. His customers were regulars. Friends. Locals. As soon as Memorial Day weekend hit, Long Beach transformed into a whole different animal. For one, lifeguarding season began, which meant waking up at the ass crack of dawn. Everyone on the beach was jacked for the time of their life, which meant they acted like idiots—and he couldn’t even escape them at the end of the day, since they inevitably showed up at the Castle Gate at night.
“I love summertime,” Jiya breathed, turning and leaning back against the counter. “My tips at the restaurant triple. By September, I should finally be able to afford the lessons.”
As far back as Rory could remember, Jiya had wanted to fly an airplane, but slow season at the restaurant she ran with her parents always seemed to eat into her funds. Every year around this time, she said the same thing. I should finally be able to afford the lessons.
Rory glanced over at Andrew to find him staring at Jiya’s profile, a frown marring his features. “Hell yeah.” He moved around Jiya and elbowed Andrew. “That’s great, Ji. Where are you flying us first?”
Andrew handed her a mug of coffee and she breathed in the steam, her dark eyes sparkling. “I’m thinking a pit stop in the Maldives before we hop over to Australia.”
“Count me in,” Jamie said, joining them at the counter to grate ginger onto the cutting board. “Let me know when to start packing.”
“He’ll need three extra suitcases for his books,” Rory laughed, then winced when his cranium protested. “Son of a bitch. Today is going to suck.”
“There’s Advil in my purse.”
He almost dove for the leather satchel she’d hung on a chair. “You’re an angel.”
“True facts.” Jiya took an exaggerated breath, set her coffee down and the four of them fell into their usual routine of making breakfast. “What time do you have to be at the Hut?” she asked, referring to the squat, brick headquarters adjacent to the boardwalk where the lifeguards checked in each morning.
“Eleven,” Andrew answered, saluting the kitchen in general with the spatula. “Long Beach, your lives are in the hands of the Prince brothers.”
Rory dry-swallowed a painkiller. “God help them all.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Prince brothers lived, ate, argued and worked two jobs together, so there was no shortage of face time. Hell, they were never not in each other’s faces. There’d been no formal discussion when deciding that morning not to ride to the Hut as a trio. It had gone unsaid they would find their own way there.
Did they love each other? Yeah. Would they have each other’s backs in an alley, even if the odds were three against three hundred? Rory would already be searching the ground for a potential weapon. Did they need some space occasionally? Bet your ass.
While Jamie hopped on the bus, Andrew and Jiya had driven together in his pick-up truck toward the boardwalk. Hoping the late-May breeze would clear the vodka cobwebs from his head, Rory walked, instead of taking his motorcycle. The last-minute decision to hoof it had thrown off his morning routine, resulting in him forgetting his cell phone on the kitchen table, but judging from the packed avenues, he should be thankful he wouldn’t have to battle for a parking space with a hangover.