Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(20)

So it’s basically a hotter Ohio.

The sun is burning, so much that I scorch my arm whenever I try to rest it outside my window. My truck’s done wonders on this drive (the main wonder being that it hasn’t completely fallen apart on the side of the road), but I feel it starting to struggle. My gaze keeps darting to the temperature gauge, which has been steadily increasing over the past hour, and the thermometer has officially entered the red territory. Yikes.

This happened before, a few times in Ohio when the humidity and the sun teamed up to kick my truck’s ass. Those times, I would usually just divert from the farm-ridden country roads to the more wooded ones, and let the shade do its work. But I haven’t seen a tree since Georgia, so I don’t have that luxury here.

God, I need a new truck. One that doesn’t give me a heart attack every hour.

My stomach starts to sour at the thought of breaking down here, so close to my destination. I try not to think about it, but it’s nagging at me constantly, especially now that the check-engine light just popped on.

I’m on a two-lane highway with a lot of traffic, but I remind myself: I’m not stuck here. There’s always a solution; there’s always a way out. I clear my head and look for anyplace to pull over so my truck can cool down. It’s just another couple of miles to Aunt Jeanie’s place, but Google Maps says that short drive will take me thirty minutes, and based on the sounds my truck’s making, I don’t have that time.

I spot a novelty beach shop with parking spots under a weird overhang and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s better than nothing, I think as I cut across traffic to pull off the road and into the parking spot with the most shade. I turn off the car quickly, my engine temperature fully in the red, and pop the hood, hoping that’ll help it cool down faster.

I pick up my phone and drop the boys a quick audio message of me shouting, “I need a new fucking truck!” then follow it up with another message that says, “I’m fine, just venting. Had to pull over because my truck needed to vent too. It’s really hot here. Miss you guys.”

Stepping out of the car, the full intensity of the salt air pummels my nostrils, and I’m hit with the very real feeling of being on vacation. We’ve only been to the beach a couple of times—Virginia Beach or Myrtle Beach, never this far south—but Mom loves the beach. Apparently, her sister does too, so much that she stuck it out here. A part of me wonders if they used to come as kids, and that’s why Jeanie chose this life over the one they had in Ohio.

I don’t know if it’s my place to ask, but as my family feels farther and farther away, I hope I get the nerve to someday.

I step into the beach shop and pull out my phone, giving my eyes time to adjust to the lack of sun. The spotty fluorescent lights have nothing on what’s happening outside, so I blink hard until I can actually see my home screen. My first urge is to call Reese, but he’s on a bus somewhere in France right now, and the other guys seem to be occupied too, so I call Diana.

My cousin picks up on the first ring. “Hey, you already here?”

“Nah, I’m like a mile out, but traffic is nuts and my truck was overheating, so I put it in the shade.” I feel momentarily embarrassed about my poor-ass truck, but Diana doesn’t seem like the judgmental type, so I don’t backtrack. I look around. “Found this tacky beach shop, and I’m kind of obsessed.”

She laughs. “Yeah, those are everywhere. You’ve got to stock up on the essentials.”

“Ironically, I did forget to pack sunscreen.”

“I was actually referring to airbrushed tank tops and novelty visors, but sure, sunblock is cool too.”

I make my way to the rack of airbrushed shirts, and I’m assaulted by the colors, the vibrancy. Long board shorts with palm trees or sharks line one wall, while the tiniest of neon pink bikinis line the opposite wall. The souvenir selection is truly something. They’ve got the usual: magnets, shot glasses, and postcards, but they’ve also got a selection of large model boats, some in bottles and some too big for any bottle. The price tags on those have one too many zeroes for me to take them seriously.

I wonder what the guys would think of this, but then I remember they’re very far away and my cousin Diana is not, and I’m totally ignoring her on this call.

“They have a good selection?” she asks.

“You’ve got to see this,” I say.

I request a FaceTime, and she quickly switches over. Her face pops up on the screen, bleached-blond hair framing her face as she gives me a wave. A warmth comes over me whenever I remember this girl’s my cousin. My family.

I have a family, I remind myself, even if it’s not like Reese’s. Even if it’s small.

“I need your opinion,” I say. “Do you think I should get this tank with the two dolphins humping?”

I hear a gargled laugh come from the phone. “I literally almost spit out my drink. It’s perfect.”

“Or … maybe this one with the palm trees? It’s a little classier, I think. For dinner parties, perhaps?”

“Because class is what we’re going for, yes.”

The guy working the register comes up behind me, and I jump, thinking he’s about to scold me for making fun of his collection so loudly. But I see he’s clearly not the owner of this store. He’s about my age, but my defenses lower even more when I see his grin.