Sink or Swim (Beach Kingdom 3)

Andrew realized he’d been staring out the front door toward Jiya’s silent house for a full minute and turned with a curse. He tossed the morning newspaper on the kitchen island and set about making coffee with choppy movements. A few weeks back, he would have been comfortable in his anticipation that Jiya would walk through their door for breakfast at the same time she always did. But he didn’t have that guarantee anymore.

For all he knew, they’d never have breakfast together again. She hadn’t even been showing up at the window for their goodnight ritual and that, above everything, slayed him. Without that perfect button on his days, his existence moved in a continuous, colorless loop.

Andrew all but threw the coffee pot under the spout and smacked the start button. Then he held on to the edges of the counter and breathed, breathed through his nose.

Satisfy me.

Jiya’s hoarse command traveled down his spine and tightened an invisible knob. His sweatpants were loose, but they grew tight at a moment’s notice, just thinking about how easily they’d slipped into those roles on the beach. His ultimate fantasy come to life and of course—of fucking course—the girl he’d been obsessed with since he could remember knew exactly how to give him what he needed. Just in time to be taken away from Andrew forever.

You can’t have her.

Andrew reached up and took his wallet off the windowsill, tapping his fingers on the worn leather, before opening the fold and thumbing through the contents. When he found the picture of his father, he slipped it out and forced himself to look. He’d been doing this a lot lately. Making himself acknowledge the reminder of why he couldn’t have Jiya. One decision had changed everything and it couldn’t be undone. Assuring himself there had been no other option didn’t help. Nothing helped. But maybe the reminder of his actions and the consequences would get him through another day of staying away from Jiya.

You have to stay away.

And yet, if she walked through his front door and started preparing khichdi, their morning breakfast staple she’d introduced them to, he would soak up the seconds. Try to get as close to her as possible without being inappropriate or obvious. God yeah he would. He missed her so much his bones felt brittle.

Andrew looked harder at the picture of his father, studying it for nuances. The older man sat in a chair by the living room window, leaning forward like he was preparing to stand. The frown lines on either side of his mouth were stark, familiar. So were the fists resting on his knees. Those were definitely familiar. They’d knocked the breath out of Andrew enough that he’d lost count. And those nights he focused on Andrew? Those were the good times.

At least his mother would be safe. Until tomorrow. If Andrew hadn’t gone out that bloody night of his memories…maybe his father would have focused on him, instead. But Andrew knew too well, the past couldn’t be changed. It was amazing that a man who’d sucked up all the oxygen in every room he entered was reduced to a photograph and the stack of mystery boxes he’d left behind in the Castle Gate basement.

The sound of a car door closing outside brought a frown to Andrew’s face. It was early in the morning. Usually Andrew was the only person awake, besides jogging locals. He stuffed the picture back inside his wallet and crossed to the front door, his steps slowing when he spotted the unmarked car at the curb.

Anger infiltrated his gut, twisting like a gnarled branch when the cop climbed out and smiled at the door, letting Andrew know he’d been spotted and would have no choice but to face the music head on. It would be a cold day in hell before he involved his brothers in something he wanted to handle himself, giving Andrew no choice but to leave the house, barely resisting slamming the door behind him.

Don’t let your temper take over. Reel it back.

“What?” Handler said, scratching his thinning hair. “No good morning?”

He took a slow breath, trying to clear the red from his vision. “What do you want?”

The other man chuckled, but his eyes were cold and glinting. “We don’t have to be friends, son, but you might want to turn down the dial on your disrespect.”

“You don’t think it’s disrespectful showing up at my house?”

“You don’t have to invite me inside,” the officer drawled. “But it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stepped over that threshold.”

This man had been inside his house before. Probably one of the countless times the neighbors or passersby had called the police because of the crashes and screaming coming from within. Andrew could recall herding his brothers into his bedroom closet on those occasions and staying there with them. But once or twice, he’d crept to the top of the staircase to listen to female cops plead with his bruised and beaten mother to press charges. He couldn’t remember Handler, but him being called to one of their many domestic disturbances wouldn’t be far-fetched. “Don’t expect an invite any time soon,” Andrew said. “Let’s get this over with. You said something about an arrangement with my father?”