“Is this seat taken?”

A busty blonde in a pink bikini top and tattered denim shorts pulls out the wooden barstool next to mine, setting her piña colada beside my half-empty beer. She smiles suggestively, showing off a blinding white mouth of veneers.

“I’m married,” I say, looking away. I go back to staring past the thick crowd of beachgoers, into the ocean horizon. The tiki bar where we’re waiting for Sykes is a tourist trap with some dumbass name like High Tide Harry’s or Cooky Coconuts. We’ve been to so many, they’ve all become a blur.

“Thanks for the status update,” the blonde says, a note of humor in her voice. She hops up onto the barstool anyway, crosses her tanned legs, and turns toward me. “So what’s your story?”

Did she not hear me say I’m married? I’ve only used that excuse a few times this past month, but up until now, it’s always sent a clear message. “Sorry. Not interested,” I say with more emphasis. I down the rest of my beer in two gulps, then slide the empty bottle to the bartender.

“Because you’re married,” she repeats, nodding. “I heard you. That doesn’t matter to me. Besides, you’re not even wearing a ring.”

There’s a confident spin to her voice. Too much humor sparkling in her blue eyes.

I spin my barstool around. Sure enough, Davey is a few tables away, sandwiched between two bikini-clad twenty-somethings, and the three of them are staring this way, grinning.

“He put you up to this?”

One corner of her mouth curves. I knew it. That annoying meddler has been trying to help me “bounce back” ever since we landed. He feels obligated because of all the times I was there for him. Well, lesson fucking learned. Never again will I help him recover from a breakup, not when it leads to this kind of twisted karma.

“He thinks you’re depressed,” the blonde explains, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “For the record, I would’ve wanted to meet you anyway. I’m Lacy, by the way.”

I look at her more closely. Despite the cliché plastic LA look she’s got going, she’s pretty enough. The old me would’ve quickly taken her up on what she’s offering. The new me, however, is a pathetic piece of shit that can’t fuck random women, or any women for that matter that aren’t linked to me in matrimony. The new me has been ruined by my goddamn wife, of all people, and now nothing else will compare. The new me would rather sit here and wallow, holding onto painful memories instead of looking for something new.

The bartender finally picks up my glass. “Another one, champ?”

“Yes. Fuck, please.”

He pops the cap on a fresh bottle, then slides it to me. I catch sight of Rashi heading back this way, and I get up from my seat.

“Leaving so soon?” the blonde asks, raising a brow. “Was it something I said?”

“Married, remember?” I grab my beer, leaving a few bills on the bar. “And it may not matter to you, but I happen to love my wife.”

God, I wish it was just an excuse. But every word pouring out of my mouth is the goddamn hilarious truth. I didn’t notice it before, the difference. With Amelia, I never felt that restless anxiety or the need to distract myself by doing crazy, spontaneous things to get my heart beating. Because it was already beating. For her. She calmed my soul in a way I didn’t know was possible.

And I threw it all away.

Rashi tosses his dripping-wet black hair out of his eyes as he approaches. “Jesus, Cas. You look like hell,” he says, breathing heavy from just coming out of the ocean. His natural tan has darkened into a deep mocha. There’s a pink burn across the bridge of his long nose and sunglass streaks around his eyes. “Have you and Davey been drinking all day?” he asks, accusingly.

“That depends. What do you consider all day?”

He furrows his bushy brows. “You should’ve went surfing with me and Zara. The weather was perfect.”

“I wasn’t up for it,” I say, using the same excuse I gave him when he asked me to go this morning.

“But you were up to barhopping for the umpteenth day in a row?”

I don’t bother denying it. “Yeah.”

“You have to get over this shit, Cas. We keep this group to a minimum of one alcoholic, and Davey already has that position filled.”

I give him a dark look. “Fuck you, Rashi.”

He laughs, taking my anger in stride. “Is Sykes back yet?”

“No,” I grumble. “He’s doing some sunset photo-op on the beach. Said he’ll meet up with us after.” None of us realized how much of a celebrity Sykes has become. He destroyed his last few competitions, always placing in the top five, which has put him under the radar of everyone in the surf industry.

Rashi nods. “Good, that gives us a little bit of time.”

“Time for what?”

“Let’s take a walk, old friend.”

“I’m not up for a walk.”

“You’re not up for a lot of things these days. Very unlike the Casper I know.” He crosses his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels in the sand. “That’s fine, you don’t have to come with me, but then you won’t get to hear about my encounter with your wife.”

I snap to attention at that, sobering instantly. Rashi walks away, heading down the beach by himself.

I rub my hand over my face, sighing. He must’ve found her at his house.

He doesn’t even have to turn around to know I’m coming. “Leave the beer, Cas. Time to sober up, my friend.”

“Rashi, if you don’t stop right there, I swear to God I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” He turns around, and I almost smack right into him. “You won’t do anything because you know you want to hear this. Leave. The. Beer.”

I pour my beer into the sand. “There. You happy?” Goddamn little punk. I should’ve taken him for all he was worth when I had the chance.

He looks me over, then drops to the sand, sitting cross-legged. “Eh, you won’t last long on a walk. Sit.”

Feeling my head spin, I sit next to him.

He gets straight to the point. “Imagine my surprise when I find this beautiful, doe-eyed brunette in my house. Thank God Zara wasn’t with me. She can be insanely jealous, and had she seen Amelia…” He lets out a low whistle.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He frowns. “Because you’ve been busy drinking your problems away with Davey the entire time I’ve been here.”

I stare out into the ocean, then ask the question I’m afraid to ask. “How was she?”

“She looked hurt. And numb. And tired.”

The hole in my chest expands a little.

“She told me you ditched her without an explanation or warning. Casper…I’m not going to tell you how royally you fucked up there, because I assume you already know, but why did you leave her like that?”

I swallow, keeping my reasons to myself. “What happened after that? Where did she go?”

“Back to London. I gave her the Audi. Figured since the two of you were married, it technically belongs to her, too.”

I nod. “I’m glad she has it.”

He raises a brow. “If you love her so much, why the hell are you here?”

It should make me mad at how fucking obvious I am, but I don’t have the energy to care. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated, he says.” Rashi rolls his eyes. “You think you regret Evie? You’re going to regret this one more.”

“Careful, Rashi. I appreciate what you did, but you’re about to cross a line.”

“I already crossed it, my friend. Called your dad a few days ago.”

“You did what?”

“He flew in this morning. He’s at Sykes’s house, waiting for you.”

“Why would you call him?”

“Because I’m worried about you. We all are. Except for Davey. He’s having too much fun with you as his right-hand man. Don’t turn into him, dude. Davey is broken, but your problems are fixable.”

I push myself up off the sand. “You shouldn’t have called him.”

“He was glad I did—hey, where are you going?”

“To let him know I’m okay, and then to send him back to New York where he belongs. Tell Sykes I’ll meet up with everyone later.”

After a twenty-minute car ride, I’m back at Sykes’s lush beach house where my dad has already made himself too comfortable. His cane is propped next to the door, and I find him lounging on the sectional, watching Animal Planet on Sykes’s 110-inch flat screen. He even helped himself to the beer in the fridge.

I grab one for myself and sit beside him.

“Hey, kid,” he says, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

“Hey, Dad.”

“This is a nice place your friend has. How old is he now? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-five.”

“He’s done well for himself.”

“Yeah, he has.”

“Good for him.” He raises the beer to his lips, his eyes glued to some show about pit bulls.

I settle into the sofa, getting comfortable. My dad isn’t usually one for drama, but he’s never been one to beat around the bush either. Since he doesn’t get to the point right away, I go ahead and rip the bandage off myself.

“Spoke to Renzo lately?”

“Yup.” His face stays blank. “He told me what he did.”

Huh. The man came clean to his best friend. Guess I’m not surprised. That’s the thing about Renzo; he makes no excuses or apologies.

“Are you angry with him?”

He nods. “I was livid at first. He messed with my only son. By the way, if you would’ve come to me about it, I would’ve told you I have several emails and texts proving Renzo helped connect you to Vinny Jones. Unless he wanted to go down with you, he never would have turned you in.”

My mouth drops open. “He fucking bluffed me?”

My dad shakes his head. “It wasn’t a bluff. He isn’t aware I saved those emails.”

I stare at the TV without seeing it. I can’t believe this. Why didn’t I just call my dad? If nothing else, he could’ve talked some sense into Renzo. They are supposed to be friends, after all. That phony marriage never needed to happen. If I had just taken a moment to think it through…but it wouldn’t have mattered.

I let this happen.

It’s true. I should have known there was a way out, but I didn’t even try to stop it. Why? Because I wanted it to happen.

Holy hell, I wanted to marry her.

I run my hand through my hair, unable to wrap my mind around my own actions.

“You said you were angry at first,” I say to my dad. “Meaning you’re not angry anymore?”

“Renzo and I won’t be going to any Giants games anytime soon,” Dad mutters, shrugging. “But this one act has finally cracked something in you. I knew it as soon as Rashi called me.”

“Rashi doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. Look at me, Dad. I’m fine.”

He glances at me for a few short seconds before turning his attention back to the TV. “You’re definitely cracked, son.”

Now I want to look in the mirror for actual proof of said cracking. I take another swig of beer. He seems happy about this. It’s pissing me off.

“Time to spill, kiddo.” He turns down the TV volume. “Why’d you leave her?”

“It’s none of your damn business.”

He grins. If I’d said that to him any other time, he would’ve beaten my ass for it. Full-grown adult or not. But now he just grins.

“I think I already know anyway. Get packed, kiddo. We’re going home.”

“The hell we are. You don’t get to waltz in here and order me around, Dad.”

He stands up, shaking out his bum leg. Whatever he wants to say, he’s trying to plan it out very carefully. “I know you pretty well, son. It’s been just the two of us for a long time. I know why you left Renzo’s daughter…The thing you don’t know is that after a little time, a little polishing,” he pauses to clear his throat, “you will deserve her.”

My throat tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure I do. I was married myself, before you came along. Now get packed.”

I feel myself crumbling to his will. I head down the hall to get my stuff out of the guest room. When I return, my dad is so happy, he’s whistling to himself as he waits. “Ready?”

“I hate you.”

“Ah, well. We never went through the moody teenager phase. There’s a first time for everything.”

“Just so you know, I’m not doing this for you.”

He lilts as he speaks, almost singing. “My baby boy is becoming a man.”

“Shut up, Dad.”

“That reminds me. I have the testing schedule for the New York Bar memorized.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“There’s one coming up in exactly three weeks from today. Think that’s enough time to study and prep?”

Three weeks, and I can have something. I can finish what I’d started all those years ago, then turned my back on. A spear of excitement shoots through my chest. It’s a plan. Maybe a good one.

But I try to look grumpy for my dad’s sake. Don’t want him feeling too pleased with himself. “Should be.”

“Perfect. I have all the good food delivery services on speed dial, too. We’ll order in every night. Cram. Procrastinate with a few rounds at the pool table. Cram some more—it’ll be just like old times.”

It sounds like fun. I’d forgotten how much I used to love those study sessions. “Sounds fucking dreadful,” I mutter. Can’t let this shit go to his head.

He holds the front door open. “You never were very good at paying attention, you know. Even to yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you were paying attention, you wouldn’t have wasted a whole month before coming home.”

“What can I say? Guess I wanted to go out with a bang.”

He snorts. “You know something? I love you, kiddo.”

I roll my eyes. “Love you too, Dad.”