Sink or Swim (Beach Kingdom Book 3) Read online

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TODAY WAS WEDNESDAY.

  Andrew hadn’t seen Jiya since Saturday night and every hour that passed without her, a little more color drained out of the universe until it was a dull steel gray.

  God, he’d righteously fucked up.

  He should never have gone on that walk.

  When they’d set off down the beach, he’d already been weak for her. Two days around her looking brighter and more brilliant than the sun and he’d been close to cracking. They usually only stole an hour here and there, at their windows at night or breakfast in the morning. But they’d had almost a full two days to be close, to talk, to smile at each other across the room, brush arms. Taking her on that walk had been a dangerous gamble.

  He might have brought her back to the bonfire untouched if she didn’t slip off the goddamn chair. If she hadn’t shaved a decade off his life with the possibility that she might hit her head or break an ankle on his watch. Fuck, he could still feel his heart launching up into his throat. Even though he’d caught her in his arms, his pulse still skipped every time he replayed the scene. Jiya falling. Falling to the earth.

  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?”

  “That’s right.” He leaned a hip against Andrew’s car. “Still haven’t heard from your old man?”

  “Stop baiting me. You know I haven’t.”

  Handler took his time unloading a cigarette from a fresh pack and lighting it. “How do you think I know that?”

  Andrew ordered himself to remain calm. Outwardly at least.

  On the inside, he was a defendant standing before the judge during sentencing.

  “Last time I saw your father, he wouldn’t shut up about the Belmont Stakes. He was going to the races the next day. Had all his bets lined up. And then, nothing. He’s just gone. I found that pretty strange.” He jabbed the air with his cigarette. “You never reported him missing, son. Told the customers he’d fucked off to Florida.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Nothing happened that night to send him on his way?”

  Andrew pretended to think, as if that night wasn’t branded on his insides. “Nothing remarkable.”

  “No?” Keeping the cigarette perched between his lips, Handler withdrew a small notepad from his back pocket. “Took me some time to track down your receipts from your hardware store trip that night. A tarp, bleach, gloves…ringing a bell?”

  His lungs started to burn. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You paid cash. Smart. But I’ve got the time-stamped security footage.” He winked at Andrew. “Matches the receipt to the second.”

  “What exactly are you trying to prove here?”

  “Ah, come on.” Handler lowered his voice. “Your old man was an ugly bastard that knocked your mother around, son. You, too, if I recall those black eyes correctly. I understand why you done what you done, but it’s time to lay down in the bed you made.”

  Despite the roaring in Andrew’s ears, he heard the front door of Jiya’s house open and denial speared him. There she stood b
ehind the screen, wearing her emerald green robe, her eyebrows drawn together. No. Not happening. Not right now. He’d had nightmares about this moment and it was here. It was landing on him like a forty-ton anvil. But if Jiya got mixed up in any part of this, he would never forgive himself.

  Jiya pushed open the screen door and he shook his head.

  She ignored him, of course. “Andrew?”

  “Go back inside, Jiya.”

  Her distaste was obvious as she gave Handler a measuring once-over and he loved her so much. More with every second. Loyal, perfect, beautiful girl. Didn’t she know he wasn’t worth her concern? If she knew what accusations Handler was making, she would never look at him the same again. And she shouldn’t. He wasn’t fit to speak her name. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Please,” Andrew said, pinching the bridge of his nose until it hurt. “Go inside, Jiya.”

  I can’t stand having you around this ugliness. The ugliness I created.

  “No—”

  “I said, go back in the fucking house!”

  His best friend, the great love of his life, stumbled back like she’d been slapped. Tears sprung to her eyes and when she ran into the house, tripping a little over the hem of her robe, Andrew wished he was dead. Maybe he already was. What was the point of living anymore, when he couldn’t have Jiya and now this? Now his chickens had come home to roost. No escaping now. Numbness began to steal through Andrew and he welcomed it.

  “Jesus, son. Maybe you did inherit your daddy’s mean streak.”

  “Just tell me what you want,” Andrew rasped. “Is this blackmail?”

  “Blackmail is such an unsavory word. I’m just letting you know I’ve got collateral.” He stubbed his cigarette out on the roof of Andrew’s car. “When your father was around, he let us use the basement of the Castle Gate as a kind of…storage facility. Once a week, some packages get delivered by one party. The next day, a second party picks up. Easy as pie.”

  “What’s in the packages?”

  Handler hit him with a narrow look. “You sure you want to know?”

  “Drugs or guns?”

  “Neither. Electronics.”

  Andrew let that sink in. “So my father used the bar as a halfway point between trafficker and dealer.” More dots connected and disgust roiled in Andrew’s stomach. “And I’m guessing you get a cut to let this all happen in Long Beach. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  He hated the cop’s impressed expression. Wanted to clean it off his face with one good right hook. “You’re smarter than you look,” Handler said.

  Andrew shook his head. “Fuck you. I’m not doing it.”

  Handler’s sudden, thunderous frown lines reminded Andrew of his father. “You don’t have to do shit except look the other way.”

  “Look the other way?” Andrew echoed with a scoff. “You know how hard I’ve worked to make that place respectable after my father almost ran it into the ground? My brothers and I…it’s our livelihood. It’s all we’ve got and we’re proud of it.”

  “Right.” His smile was sly. Sarcastic. “And it was real decent of your daddy to sign the deed over to you, wasn’t it? Being that he was in such a rush to get to Florida. I’m sure a handwriting expert wouldn’t call the signature on that deed a forgery. Or would they?”

  A fist drove itself into Andrew’s stomach and it was everything he could do to remain on his feet. “I’m not bringing that kind of shit into my place of business. It’ll start as counterfeit iPhones and eventually, it’ll turn into drugs, and then I’ll be stuck.”

  Handler regarded him with a mixture of respect and irritation. “You don’t want the bar used as a midway point, then you’ll transport the packages yourself.” He leaned in closer and tobacco breath wafted over Andrew’s face. “And before you say no, you self-righteous prick, understand I can make your life a living hell. I can put your father’s disappearance on the department’s radar and name you as a person of interest so fast, your head will spin. I can have the Castle Gate shut down for health code violations and while I’m at it, I’ll do the same to your little girlfriend’s restaurant. Do not fuck with me, son.”

  Rage nearly choked him. “You go anywhere near her, I will—”

  “You’ll do what?” Handler licked his teeth. “You going to murder me, too?”

  Hearing the m-word out loud was a kick to the gut. That’s what he was, though. A murderer. A criminal that hadn’t been caught. He had some nerve acting too high and mighty to facilitate illegal transactions when he’d done something so much worse, didn’t he?

  It’s over. I’m caught.

  For years, he’d kept his head down and hoped the past would stay buried, but he wasn’t that lucky. What choice did he have now but to move the goods? He meant what he said. This situation wouldn’t touch the Castle Gate. More importantly, it wouldn’t touch his brothers or Jiya. He had to protect them. He had to take this on alone, away from the life they’d created in the aftermath of his father. Rory and Jamie were happy. Jiya was going to be a wife someday soon. If he was the only one who didn’t get a happily ever after, so be it. But the people he loved would get theirs, goddammit.

  “This is the last time you come to my house. Or my bar,” he said, cold, hard steel in his voice. “Do you understand? I do this thing, it doesn’t touch my family. Or her.”

  “Knew you’d come around,” Handler said, inclining his head. “You’ll hear from me soon with more details.”

  Andrew watched the dirty cop leave in a dreamlike state. Funny, on the occasions Andrew let himself think of being called to the mat for what he’d done, he’d expected to feel fear. Guilt. Desperation. Worry. Instead, he was deadened. Like he’d been shot full of Novocain.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blinds in the front window of the house move and he glanced over, just in time to watch Jiya disappear. Grief broke through his anesthetized state briefly, but he locked it away. Quick, before it could take hold. He’d do what needed to be done for his family, like he always had, and he wouldn’t dwell on what might have been if his life had followed a different path. Those ruminations were pointless and painful.

  Head down.

  Work.

  Provide.

  Don’t think. Don’t think about her.

  He didn’t even make it five seconds.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “NO, NO, NO. Not today.”

  Jiya turned her key in the ignition and listened to her car engine sputter, before going eerily silent again. Of all days. Of all freaking days, the old rust bucket had to pick the afternoon of her first flying lesson?

  “Please, don’t do this to me,” she wailed into the stifling interior, making one final attempt to start the car before falling back against the seat, utterly defeated.

  What had she done to piss off the universe?

  “Okay,” she whispered, climbing out of the car before she baked to death and starting to pace. “Think think think.” She took her cell phone out of her purse and called her mother. “Hi, it’s me. Is Dad using his car?”

  “Yes. He’s in Levittown buying supplies. Why? What is wrong?”

  Jiya mouthed a silent F-bomb. “My car won’t start.”

  She didn’t have to explain to her mother that she was supposed to be on her way to the flying lesson. Everyone at the restaurant knew about Jiya’s plans because she never took days off and every Thursday for the next five weeks had been blocked out in the scheduling book since her present showed up in the mail. “What about Jamie?” asked her mother.

  “He’s on his honeymoon.”

  “Do not ask the tattooed one. I won’t survive you being in a motorcycle and airplane in the same day.”

  “I doubt they’ll take me up in a plane on my first day, mother. And don’t worry, Rory is on lifeguard duty today.”

  It didn’t escape Jiya’s notice that her mother didn’t suggest Andrew. What was up with that? Of the three Prince brothers, she and Andrew were the closest. May
be her mother had heard Andrew shouting at her outside the house yesterday?

  Just thinking about it made the backs of Jiya’s eyelids burn.

  Jerk.

  She only wanted to help. He’d been arguing with that cop. The same one from the night of Jamie’s bachelor party and she’d intended to have his back. To take his side in whatever disagreement they were having. Obviously Andrew didn’t want her to have his back, though.

  I said, go back in the fucking house!

  Jiya remembered how hollow he’d looked standing in the driveway after the cop left. She’d wanted to fly back out of the house and throw her arms around him. But she didn’t. She’d still been frozen. Andrew had never raised his voice to her, never uttered a mean-spirited word to her or about her. His shout had reverberated through her system until she was afraid of going outside to hug him and being rejected.

  Jerk.

  What was going on with him?

  Fine, the tension between them was partially, if not completely, her fault. When she started dating, she’d stopped going to the Prince house for breakfast, severing that ritual that bound them together. And then…what happened on the beach. How she’d encouraged him.

  How she’d run off afterward.

  She couldn’t really blame Andrew for being a little standoffish with her, but she’d never expected him to be so angry. If she asked him for a ride to her flying lessons, would he even say yes? Could she handle him saying no? Andrew had always been a constant in her life. The one she could count on, no matter what. In the gravest of circumstances, they were there for each other.

  Was he lost to her now?

  “I guess I could Uber…”

  Her mother’s gasp could be heard in South America. “That would be hundreds of dollars, Jiya. Can you not postpone?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I guess I have to. I was just really looking forward to it.” Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t sabotage my car on purpose to keep me from flying, right?”