Island Affair (Keys to Love #1)(3)

“Take the Fired Up out past the reef on the Atlantic. Troll for some mahi and bring home dinner,” Carlos persisted.

“I hope you get indigestion from wolfing down Mami’s food so damn fast,” Luis said over his shoulder as he pushed open the main door. Hot, humid air blasted him in the face. Early May and already the intense summer sun beat down, threatening to bake tourists and locals alike.

“Bite your tongue,” Carlos complained.

“Bite me!”

His brother barked out a laugh and jabbed Luis on the shoulder with a sharp punch. “Ohh, that mouth of yours. What would Mami say if she knew her quiet, saintly son talked like that.”

“Whatever.” Luis dodged Carlos’s second jab and stepped onto the landing. His brother followed him outside, but while Luis continued to the top of the concrete stairs leading to the parking area below the fire station, Carlos stayed behind.

“Hey, I know this isn’t what you want!” he called out. “Pero . . .”

Halfway down the stairs, Luis paused. “But what?”

He turned to find Carlos still on the landing, one hand wedged between the frame and the door so it wouldn’t close all the way while allowing them a bit of privacy.

They squinted at each other for a few heavy seconds. Luis watched his older brother weighing his words. Carlos’s jaw muscles worked as he chewed on whatever advice he contemplated offering. Advice Luis probably wouldn’t want to take. His brother’s easy grin from moments ago had been wiped away by the serious expression now blanketing his face. He stared back at Luis with the same pursed-lips scowl he used when his young sons misbehaved in a way that might cause harm.

“But maybe it’s time you took a step back from helping everyone else and . . . and thought about helping yourself.”

Across the tiny parking lot, on the other side of the chain-link security fence separating the public area from the runway and tarmac, the prop plane that shuttled tourists to the Dry Tortugas for snorkeling trips cranked its engine. The loud, sputtering noise mimicked the discord pounding through Luis’s chest.

“There’s no need to. I’m fine,” he assured his brother. A refrain Luis had been repeating for years now. Whatever good it did. “I wish everyone else would get that through their heads.”

To Luis’s surprise, Carlos muttered an oath and moved to the top step. The fire station door clicked shut behind him. “Look, I get that you’re pissed about the way the Captain handled things. But you’ve been simmering like Mami’s old pressure cooker off and on for a while. That call a few weeks ago made it worse. I’m not saying you gotta fix things with Enrique, but—”

“Don’t go there,” Luis warned, an angry edge in his voice.

Carlos held up a hand, stalling Luis’s argument. “I’m not. That’s between you two. I am saying, you were dealt a raw deal back then. Sure, we handle things our own way. The thing is, as much as you’d like to think so, you can’t save everyone. But shit, you’re not even trying to save yourself.”

His brother’s plea slammed into Luis like a battering ram to the chest. It caught him by surprise, but not enough to shake his resolve.

“That’s because I don’t need saving.”

He simply needed to keep his mind busy, distracted. That’s what kept unwanted memories and thoughts at bay.

Carlos let out an exasperated huff as he rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a week off, use it to figure out how you can get out of your rut. Hell, surprise us all by shaking things up a little. It’ll do you good, my saintly brother.”

Hands on his hips, Luis squinted up at Carlos, shocked by his unexpected, unsolicited advice.

Rut? What the hell?

“I have no idea where this unnecessary pep talk is coming from. Like I said, I’m fi—”

“Fine. Yeah, I heard you,” Carlos interrupted. “I’ve been hearing you for years now. I’m just . . .”

Raising an arm to wave off his brother, Luis hurried down the last few stairs. “Okay, okay! I’m off to ‘shake things up.’ I’ll catch you later. Don’t pull a muscle climbing into your truck to inspect those runways. I know how demanding that can be on your old-man body!”

“Bite me!” Carlos yelled back, his typical laughter back in his voice. Seconds later, Luis heard the station door slam shut.

Chuckling at his brother’s goodbye, he pulled his Ray-Bans from his T-shirt collar and slipped them on. He crossed the shaded area underneath the fire station to his dark blue Ford F-150 King Ranch pickup, parked in a spot next to the south end of the airport near the baggage claim area.

Shake things up. Get out of your rut.

Carlos’s words taunted Luis with their infantile “I dare you” undertone. He blew out an irritated breath, then pushed the conversation aside when his attention was drawn to a group of rowdy college-aged kids piling into a taxi van nearby. Voices raised, they excitedly discussed barhopping plans while snapping selfies with their cell phones. Behind them, two middle-aged couples dressed in shorts and matching tropical button-ups awaited the next available taxi.

Luis fished his keys out of his front jeans pocket and watched passengers streaming out of the building. Some wearily dragging rolling suitcases. Most clutching cameras, island maps, sun hats, or some type of beach paraphernalia, their expressions bright with expectation.