Page 2 of Try Me

“You shoulda saved him!” Declan yelled, spit flying from his lips. “Where were you? You let Eddie die! It’s all your fault!”

Keoni’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw hard enough to shatter his perfect smile. Declan watched Keoni’s throat work as he swallowed his own accusations instead of hurling them at Declan. Keoni wouldn’t fling blame. He was a strong, proud, noble Hawaiian. Keoni would bear the shame, lugging it on his broad shoulders like a canoe full of sorrows.

Keoni’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “I’m not gonna fight you, but you gotta pull yourself together. You gotta quit this shit.”

A movement behind Keoni’s shoulder caught Declan’s attention. The silver moonlight caught on Linda’s pale hair as she strode toward them. Every step revealed a flash of her long tanned legs from the split in her wrap skirt.

Great, just what Declan wanted now. Linda Cooke, with her pretty, forgiving smile and her sad, sympathetic eyes. She’d been Eddie’s girl, and Declan had tried to take her. His behavior was unforgivable.

“Are you guys fighting?” she asked, her baby blue eyes wide with concern. “I can hear you yelling.”

Keoni slung an arm around Declan’s shoulders. “Nah, nah, nah,” he said. “We was just discussing how Declan was getting home. He doesn’t want to drive.”

“Oh, yeah?” Linda said, scrutinizing them both.

“Yeah,” Keoni said.

Declan tried to maneuver away from Keoni’s hold and he stumbled toward Linda.

“I’ll take him,” Linda said, grabbing Declan’s arm. “I’m dying to drive the Stingray.”

Declan let Linda lead him away. He couldn’t take another moment of Keoni, and besides, he wanted a drink. He needed a drink like he needed another wave at the end of a surf session. His bottle was empty, thanks to Keoni, but he had a flask of whiskey in his car.

His Corvette Stingray, painted Rally Red, stood out from the other cars and trucks in the dirt parking lot. The long, sleek hood shined in the darkness, reflecting the full moon. It seemed like a long time ago when he’d bought the Corvette brand-new in celebration of winning his first major surfing contest. Declan loved the Stingray more than anything, but he would trade it for one of the dented-up beaters in the parking lot if it would bring Eddie back.

“Keys,” Linda said, holding out her hand. She was practically drooling over the prospect of driving the Stingray. Declan never let anyone drive his precious baby.

“You’re not driving,” Declan growled. “I’m fine.”

Linda stamped her foot in the dirt. Her fists balled at her slim hips. “You’re not fine,” she said.

Declan reached for the handle. “I don’t need your help.”

Linda inserted her body between Declan and the driver’s door. “What’s going on, Declan?” she demanded. “I’ve tried calling you a dozen times.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to call me back after the night we had together?”

To Declan’s horror, Linda’s eyes filled with tears. The night she was referring to had been years in the making. Declan had always had a thing for Linda. But she was Eddie’s girl. He’d never made a move on her until they had officially broken up. And then, right when Declan got the up the courage to ask Eddie’s permission to go for Linda, they’d decided to go to Sunset Beach instead of Patterson’s to surf and Eddie had died.

Declan reached around Linda for the door. He didn’t want to talk about that night a few weeks ago when he’d gone back to Linda’s apartment, mostly because he was mortified, but partly because he didn’t remember what had happened. For the better part of his teenage years and into his second decade, Declan had coveted Linda and couldn’t have her. Now, all he wanted was to get away from her.

“Declan, stop,” Linda said, putting a hand on his chest. “We need to talk.”

“Not now,” he said, pushing her out of the way.

“You’re too drunk to drive,” she said, attempting to close the door. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, suddenly sober. “I know exactly what I’m doing — getting away from you,” he said. “That was a mistake. Whatever happened” — which, unfortunately he couldn’t even remember — “it was a big mistake. You’re Eddie’s girl!”

“Eddie’s dead!” Linda shouted, her voice cracking on a sob.

Declan yanked the door open and slid into the seat. Comforted by the familiar feel of soft leather on his skin, he pulled the door shut and put his hands on the wheel. The dashboard slipped in and out of focus as he leaned forward to fit the key in the ignition.

Linda pounded on the window. “Declan, you can’t drive right now.”

He turned the key, and the hum of the V-8 engine rumbled to life, muffling her words.

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