Page 120 of Tripped By Love
I parked near the beach in a sedan I’d borrowed from the villa’s massive garage and walked toward the café on the corner. There were so many things about Tarifa that reminded me of New London. Like how the sun sprinkled the water with a confetti of yellow, orange, and red as I watched the sky lighten. The soothing sound of the waves crashing on the shore accented by the punch of birds screeching. The smell of the sea mingled with the coffee and cinnamon wafting from the shop behind me.
And yet, the smells here were also different somehow. Tarifa’s were full of suntan lotion and money, whereas New London smelled like old boats and honor. The Coast Guard Academy was as much a part of New London’s essence as the shipyards there were. Tarifa was a mecca for luxurious vacations. It was like comparing a working town to a high society ball.
I’d once thought the only place I’d feel at home was near a quiet lake smelling of algae and pine trees, but now I could barely remember the scents of Clover Lake. Instead, the place that called me home was New London, even if the reason for it had been gone for five years. Flashes of purple filtered through my brain before I could shield them. Proof I really was exhausted from days of nonstop partying and the stress of recent events.
The life I was leading these days was so different from anything teenage me could have pictured for myself that it might as well have been a movie I was watching instead of reality. It was a life I’d carefully divided into thirds. Three worlds with three Dawsons I presented on a regular basis.
After getting a coffee, I wandered through the streets, changing directions randomly, before ending up near a kite and windsurfing shop back by the beach. It was too early for the shop to be open, but the bench outside it was already taken by a man so enormous it was almost impossible for him to blend in like he was trying to do.
Even though I was no slouch at six foot four, Cruz Malone looked like a giant next to me as I joined him on the bench. He had an armored car’s worth of muscles clearly on display this morning in his sweats and a T-shirt. The pale colors contrasted with his dark skin. He’d looped his earbuds around his neck and had a water bottle in his hand in an attempt to be “just another jogger.” But he still stood out like a tank in a parking lot of trucks.
“What happened last night?” he said. His lips hardly moved as he looked down at his phone. From far away, it would look like we weren’t talking at all, but the simple fact that I was on the same bench as him at six thirty in the morning would have been enough for almost anyone to draw the right conclusion.
After the clusterfuck of last night, I’d requested a meet before I took off for Connecticut. Before Malone and the team, who weren’t even supposed to be on Spanish soil, headed back to America as well.
“Nothing we can use. But Ken’Ichi finally agreed to my proposal. Once we get the yacht club committee to approve the race, it’ll be a go.”
“You got it on tape?” he grunted out.
I snorted. Even if we’d been able to keep any of the listening devices live, getting a member of theKyodainato say something directly was like getting the Italian mob to say something more than, “You know, that thing we’ll deliver to that place.”
“We’re so fucking close,” I told him.
“Close to being exposed or close to being in the bag?”
I dragged a hand over my face. The trendy scruff I’d been boasting was verging on unattractive. I needed a shave, some sleep, and maybe a new life. Last night I hadn’t been able to sleep. The glimpse of blood, the way Ken’Ichi had talked to Jada, and the fact that the listening device had disappeared had all haunted me.
“I’ve got management breathing down my neck on a daily basis, Langley,” Malone all but growled. “The expenses are racking up, and we’ve got nothing to show for it.”
My stomach tightened. The last thing I wanted to do was come up empty-handed. Not when he’d taken a fucking risk on me. Four and a half years ago, he’d reached out to me as a potential source, and I’d twisted his arm into making it more. Bringing me in. I didn’t want to let him down, just like I didn’t want to see Jada get hurt or Dax to find out about the deal I’d made that could risk everything we’d built. But these days, the three lives I led were getting closer and closer to merging into one.
Malone left his empty water bottle on the bench, got up, and jogged away.
I sat there for a few minutes after he left, picked up the water bottle, and tossed it in the trash, pocketing the tiny slip of paper stuck to the label.
I meandered through the town and back to the sedan. Only then did I glance down at the paper.
I’ll see you in New London.
And it had an address next to Jada’s place on the cliffs.
Fuck. Moving the operation into New London meant my days were numbered.
I drove to the yacht club, got on the boat Dax and I had won the race back and forth to Morocco in, and put it out to sea. It was an effort to clear my head of a week of partying and tension. It was also an excuse as to where I’d been if anyone asked when I got back to the villa. Jada and I were departing on a private jet to Connecticut in a few hours, and it might have been strange that I’d taken to the sea, but anyone who knew me, knew it was an almost daily occurrence of mine.
I opened the throttle, letting the wind hit me so hard it made my eyes water, wishing I could keep the boat turned out to sea and not return to shore. To just escape the strings binding me.
But it was impossible. I’d tied the strings myself. A fucking noose around my neck.
I was a moron.
No good to the core, my dad’s voice echoed through my head.
When would I learn?
Chapter Five - Violet
IT’S TIME TO GO
