Page 19 of Brushed and Buried
From across the deck, Vince’s voice cuts flat and sharp. “You’ve known the guy for what, a few days, and now you want to adopt him?”
The silence that follows is brutal. Trevor’s grin falters. Lance freezes mid-sip. Even George’s jaw tightens, like he wants to push back but doesn’t.
I go still, chest locking tight, because I understand exactly what Vince means. And worse, I understand why. He knows me, and he always has. He remembers what my laugh sounded like before I learned to guard it, even what my mouth tasted like pressed against his in the dark behind the theater years ago.
This isn’t about him not knowing me. It’s about him pretending he doesn’t, and the realization twists in my chest, sharp and cruel.
Trevor, bless him, tries to smooth it over, half-laughing. “Come on, mate. Don’t bite. We’re just trying to have a good time.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” I say, forcing the words to sound like it doesn’t matter. I step past the cooler and towels and settle at the stern where the wake fans out behind us, pretending his words don’t bite.
Lance finds me ten minutes later, dropping onto the bench beside me, the sun turning his hair to fire.
“He’s an asshole,” he sayssimply.
“I noticed.”
“But he’s not acting like the Holloway I know,” Lance’s brows knit as if he’s trying to puzzle it out.
That makes me look at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Lance exhales, rolling his shoulders like he can shrug it off. “What I mean is, I don’t get it. I’ve known him and the stepbrothers since college. Vince and Trevor were roommates, while my room was just across the hall. Back then, George was just the guy who always brought extra food to study sessions for his brother, and ended up staying late. That’s how we all bonded, because I showed up a lot for the free food.” A half-smile, then a shake of his head. “And I’ve seen Vince pissed off. I’ve seen him stubborn. I’ve been with him when he was dragged to parties he swore he hated and then stayed until sunrise. But this?” His brow furrows. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”
I don’t say anything, knowing that if I do, I might admit something I shouldn’t. Vince looks at me the way a man looks at the ocean. Equal parts longing and fear, like I’m the tide that could pull him under, and he both wants it and despises himself for it.
And maybe the worst part? I want to be the thing that drowns him.
The boat anchors in a quiet cove just before midday. The cliffs rise sun-bleached and sharp, dotted with tufts of wild grass. The water shifts from turquoise to deep sapphire, clear enough that I can see schools of fish flickering below like quicksilver.
Trevor’s the first to strip down, cannonballing in with a splash that rocks the boat. “Oi! This water’s bloody perfect!” he shouts, hair plastered to his forehead, grin wide as the horizon.
Lance follows, plugging his nose and executing what he clearly thinks is an Olympic-worthy dive. George doesn’t hesitate either, sliding into the water with the smooth confidence of someone whose past job required skill and precision on the water.
I hesitate. The water looks gorgeous, but I’m still anchored in Vince’s earlier words, the ache of them pressing against my ribs. I feel out of place.
“Adrian!” Lance calls, floating on his back. “You want me to write you a note, or can you manage to get in without a nurse’s supervision?”
I laugh despite myself, and that’s enough to make me move. Flip-flops kicked aside, shirt tossed to the bench, I dive. The water hits cool and sharp around me, shocking every thought clean from my head. When I break the surface, dripping, the others are already converging, splashing like kids.
Vince hesitates at the edge for a beat, then finally rolls his shoulders, wades in, and cuts through the water toward us. His usual sharpness softens just a touch, but the intensity in his eyes doesn’t leave, and it feels like even the sea has to negotiate with him.
For a while, it’s easy to forget the sting of his earlier words and fall into their rhythm. All laughter and teasing.
We swim toward the rocks, where the cliffs slope into a hollowed-out cove. It feels hidden, private. Sunlight spills gold across the stone, and the air smells faintly of salt and wild rosemary.
Trevor slows beside me, treading water like it’s second nature.
“So,” he says, voice steady but light, “it’s a bloody strange way to meet someone. But it feels like we’ve known you longer than a week. Don’t let Vince put you off. He’s got his own shit going on. The rest of us? We’re good with you being here.”
I let out a quiet laugh, the warmth in Trevor’s tone settling somewhere deep in my chest. “Alright…thanks. It feels good to be part of this. You and Becca have been excellent hosts.”
“Good,” Trevor says, a grin flashing. “Because we reckon you fit in here, easy as.”
I don’t answer. I can’t, not with Vince’s words still lodged in my chest. But Trevor doesn’t press. He just flicks water at me until I splash him back, and soon we’re both laughing, chasing each other toward the rocks.
By the time the sun dips low, the air is thick with salt, sweat, and cheap beer. The group sprawls across the deck in that loose, satisfied sprawl of men who’ve burned themselves out in the best way.
I sink into it. The teasing, the laughter, the sidelong glances that carry a curiosity none of them can quite name. We clamber back aboard, dripping and breathless, salt drying sticky on our skin.
