Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
I stare out the window, remembering but not caring. We were with Clay Collins and Krisjen Conroy, and we stole a Seminole flag, and all I wanted was for everyone to leave. I was on a downward spiral I couldn’t climb out of by then.
“I remember the first time,” I say instead. “Now, that was a night.”
Of course, I’d been to the Bay before—for the beach, for parties at the lighthouse, for key lime pie at Mariette’s…But the night of that summer storm when Dallas Jaeger issued his first dare to me, that was when we first came over for some real fun.
“I can’t even remember where I slept that night,” Milo jokes.
Vincent laughs under his breath as he taps away on his phone, and I toss Milo a glance, remembering how I didn’t get any sleep that night. I bite back my smile, catching Jerome’s eyes on me before I shift my attention back out the window.
Trucks pull out of driveways as men start to head to work, and we pass a porch with a woman drinking her coffee. Rain bounces off the mud, shrouding the Bay—of course—in its own world.
As we travel down the main drag behind our tinted windows, we note some improvements, though. There are more paved streets—some with sidewalks and streetlamps even, and there’s a gas station now and a small grocery store. Mariette’s looks like it’s gotten a fresh coat of turquoise-blue paint, and we pass a sign pointing the way to the beach boasting full services. I guess that means they’ve put in bathrooms. I remember seeing them apply for permits two years ago when my friend in the town hall was keeping me in the loop, but as far as I know, they never applied for funding. How the fuck is Macon Jaeger paying for all of this?
“They’re renovating the drive-in.” I maintain steady breathing, but I can’t stop clenching my teeth. “Moving their shitholes off the beach to preserve the coastline. Liv and Clay bought the lighthouse, too.”
They’re turning the area into a recreational destination and renovating local landmarks.
The Jaeger house starts to come into view as we travel up the street, and my heart pumps in my ears, thinking about how close I once thought I might get to that family. Fucking stupid.
The broken-down wing has been completely restored, the cracks in the pink stucco that once exposed the frame in the walls now fixed. Their dilapidated ancestral home with three floors and a Spanish-tiled roof would almost be worthy of St. Carmen. If not for the people in it.
They’re getting money from somewhere, and it isn’t from mowing fucking lawns.
“Their roots weren’t supposed to get deeper,” Jerome says.
“That stops today.” I nod at all of them and then call out to the driver. “Stop here.”
He pulls over to the side of the road, across from the Jaeger house, and I doubt this car will go unnoticed, but I don’t give a shit.
The garage still stands to the right of the house, and I remember that one of the kitchen windows inside looks out into it, but another window looks out onto the pool. They’ve always operated under the guise that they simply nurture what they’ve been given, but still, they live in a mansion and no one else in the Bay does. When the going gets tough, will their people fight for them?
“It pisses me off, how he’s managed to thrive,” Milo bites out, all of us staring at the Jaeger house. “Fucking roads and streetlights and a cop in the family now.”
Krisjen Conroy—Krisjen Jaeger now—closes her front door, holding an umbrella to protect her nice little cream-colored suit of dress shorts, white blouse, and a blazer. A gold broach pinning closed the collar at her neck glints in the sunlight that peeks through the clouds as Macon Jaeger steps out of his garage to get her car door for her. She must be on her way to St. Carmen, as she sits on the city council. No need to dress up like that for anyone in this shithole.
Milo seethes across from me. “They can have that bitch,” he spits out. “I already did.”
Krisjen’s husband leans in for a kiss, reaching out his hand, and she darts back out of his reach. They proceed to play, him trying to touch her as she escapes the car grease on his fingers, which are going to fuck up her nice clothes. He smiles, finally grabbing her by the back of the head, both of them sinking into a kiss.
I can’t say I’ve ever seen that guy smile before. How fucking happy they all are.
“Married or not,” I say, as if her husband can hear me, “Jerome can still have a piece of her.”
I look to our friend who grew up at the same time as Macon and didn’t give a shit that Milo had her in high school. He wanted to marry Krisjen. Unfortunately, her pussy wanted a roughneck, as most pussy does.