Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom, #2)(66)

Jiya slid over a large metal container from its place of honor on their counter and scooped cumin from its smaller compartment into the pressure cooker where Andrew had already started soaking the ghee to make khichdi, their morning staple ever since Jiya had taken pity on three starving men.

Knowing she would twist his ear like silly putty if he didn’t get up to help, Rory stood, breathing through his nose when his brain lurched and smacked off the front of his skull. “Fuck me,” he rasped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate summer.”

During the rest of the year, Rory worked the bar five nights a week. He made enough money to be comfortable and contribute to the mortgage he shared with his brothers. His customers were regulars. Friends. Locals. As soon as Memorial Day weekend hit, Long Beach transformed into a whole different animal. For one, lifeguarding season began, which meant waking up at the ass crack of dawn. Everyone on the beach was jacked for the time of their life, which meant they acted like idiots—and he couldn’t even escape them at the end of the day, since they inevitably showed up at the Castle Gate at night.

“I love summertime,” Jiya breathed, turning and leaning back against the counter. “My tips at the restaurant triple. By September, I should finally be able to afford the lessons.”

As far back as Rory could remember, Jiya had wanted to fly an airplane, but slow season at the restaurant she ran with her parents always seemed to eat into her funds. Every year around this time, she said the same thing. I should finally be able to afford the lessons.

Rory glanced over at Andrew to find him staring at Jiya’s profile, a frown marring his features. “Hell yeah.” He moved around Jiya and elbowed Andrew. “That’s great, Ji. Where are you flying us first?”

Andrew handed her a mug of coffee and she breathed in the steam, her dark eyes sparkling. “I’m thinking a pit stop in the Maldives before we hop over to Australia.”

“Count me in,” Jamie said, joining them at the counter to grate ginger onto the cutting board. “Let me know when to start packing.”

“He’ll need three extra suitcases for his books,” Rory laughed, then winced when his cranium protested. “Son of a bitch. Today is going to suck.”

“There’s Advil in my purse.”

He almost dove for the leather satchel she’d hung on a chair. “You’re an angel.”

“True facts.” Jiya took an exaggerated breath, set her coffee down and the four of them fell into their usual routine of making breakfast. “What time do you have to be at the Hut?” she asked, referring to the squat, brick headquarters adjacent to the boardwalk where the lifeguards checked in each morning.

“Eleven,” Andrew answered, saluting the kitchen in general with the spatula. “Long Beach, your lives are in the hands of the Prince brothers.”

Rory dry-swallowed a painkiller. “God help them all.”





CHAPTER TWO





The Prince brothers lived, ate, argued and worked two jobs together, so there was no shortage of face time. Hell, they were never not in each other’s faces. There’d been no formal discussion when deciding that morning not to ride to the Hut as a trio. It had gone unsaid they would find their own way there.

Did they love each other? Yeah. Would they have each other’s backs in an alley, even if the odds were three against three hundred? Rory would already be searching the ground for a potential weapon. Did they need some space occasionally? Bet your ass.

While Jamie hopped on the bus, Andrew and Jiya had driven together in his pick-up truck toward the boardwalk. Hoping the late-May breeze would clear the vodka cobwebs from his head, Rory walked, instead of taking his motorcycle. The last-minute decision to hoof it had thrown off his morning routine, resulting in him forgetting his cell phone on the kitchen table, but judging from the packed avenues, he should be thankful he wouldn’t have to battle for a parking space with a hangover.

At ten o’clock in the morning, there was already a traffic jam at every intersection, college kids staring at their smartphones at stoplights, the nasal voice of their navigation systems drifting out of the open car windows. A news helicopter circled above, probably feeding footage of the filling beach town back to a local station where a newscaster chirped to the audience. This Memorial Day weekend is certainly shaping up to be the busiest yet, Bob!

Andrew had been right about the last four years yielding big changes for the Princes. Their mother lived in Bayside, Queens now with her sister. Their father wasn’t around anymore. It was just the three of them, back in the house they’d been raised, working to pay bills.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, though, right? The walk down National Boulevard toward the beach felt like it had been recycled from the four previous summers of his life. Wake up after a night of blurry, shit-faced memories, face the guarded disappointment across the kitchen table, while nursing a healthy dose of his own. Fall into the same routine. Beach, bar, bed. Never changing. Never growing or taking on more responsibility. An actor trapped in the reruns of his own life.

What would he do if Andrew asked him to help manage the bar? Or hire and train this year’s newest crop of lifeguards? Not that such an occurrence would ever take place, but would he be able to deliver on more, if asked?

Rory was distracted from his thoughts when a blonde walked past him on the sidewalk with her face buried in a book. “Jesus,” he muttered. “The female version of Jamie.”