Chapter 1

1

“The worst part is that she’s right."

I put my head in my hands.

Before Gray could respond, I continued. "Near the end, it did get pretty bad. But still, I didn’t see this train wreck coming."

Gray ran a hand through his light brown hair, his eyes set obliquely to the left. "Must’ve been crazy rough, having to cancel that five-hundred-guest wedding she’d arranged down to the last pink peony and everything…"

"Don’t remind me."

Gray had been one of the intended guests—my best man, in fact. He, along with Paul, and Reid, my other friends, and of course, good old Parker—trusted friend/fiancée stealer/MIA asshole of the year.

My hands clasped into tensed fists on the table. How long? Cassidy said she’d finally given up on us that morning, so exactly how long had they been having their naked sleepovers? I shouldn’t really give a fuck, but what—? Had the idiot planned to accept Cassidy as my wife and still fuck her on the side? He’s more of a moron than I thought possible. A look around the restaurant provided nothing in the way of interesting distraction for me. Everything was too dully recognizable, from the cheery streams of sunlight filtering in through the wide-open windows to the faces of the patrons it illuminated. Vaguely familiar faces looking just as delighted to be here as I wasn’t.

Sure, it was good to see Gray, but the past weeks had been nothing short of hell on earth. Concerned calls from those I considered "close" alternating with judgmental and fucking obnoxious inquiries from far-off relations, and barely friends of my ex-fiancée streaming in on the regular.

My parents and I weren’t on speaking terms over it, and Cassidy had been true to her word. After her spiteful letter, I hadn’t heard a single bitchy peep from her. Which I guess was good, all things considered. She’d actually disappeared from Charleston entirely. Was apparently sunning it up in Barbados with her asshole beau, which explained fuckhead Parker’s absence.

I tossed some water down my throat, careful not to slam the glass on the table with the anger I felt. "A fucking letter?" I swigged the ice around in my glass listlessly. "I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I got the most overdramatic letter from a failed actress."

Gray poured me some more water. "Please take comfort she did this before the ceremony, and you weren’t in a tux in front of five hundred watchful wedding guests like Paul. You dodged that mess, at least.

I smiled bitterly. "It’s the little things, true. Just wish it wasn’t my so-called friend who took my girl, you know?"

"But did you really think of Cassidy as your girl, Gage? Not to be an asshole, but from where I was standing, she didn’t make you happy. She was never…easygoing or…friendly."

I got that Gray was trying his best to be diplomatic in saying that my ex was a fucking bitch most of the time. Honestly, I haven’t mourned her departure.Have enjoyed the silence. He should, because diplomatic skills were burned into his DNA. Grayson T. Lash III was the grandson of a former POTUS and the current Attorney General of the great state of South Carolina. To me, he was just my friend since as long as I could remember. I shook my head, my eyes going to the corner of this place. Jazz Street, it was called. There was no actual jazz here and, to my knowledge, there never had been in its long and illustrious history, dating back a good hundred years. But Jazz Street did have good food, windows that looked toward the beach, and a decent wine list.

Gray and I had come here more times than I could remember, right to this vaulted-ceiling corner with the slightly tippy table. Our usual spot for catching up on the latest news in our lives. He’d heard all about the perpetual Cassidy issues that had plagued my life over the last two years, so I figured it was past fucking time to find a new topic of conversation with one of my best friends, who also happened to be married to my cousin, Reese.

"She’s definitely right about one thing," I said suddenly. "I’m not husband material, and I think I’m meant to be single. For good."

Chin in his hand, Gray tilted his head toward me, raising a brow.

"I mean it." I chomped on an ice cube, annoyed. Already, I could guess what Gray’s reaction would be. "I know how things ended up working out for you and Reese, but that’s not in the cards for me. I thrive on working hard and, to be honest, I probably haven’t viewed any of my relationships as more than a convenience for getting laid." And I can’t even remember the last time Cassidy and I fucked.

Over the rim of his crystal glass, Gray regarded me. "Has it ever occurred to you that you haven’t met the right person yet?"

I shrugged. "With the number of women I’ve been with? No."

The other part I didn’t mention to him. That last line of Cassidy’s hatefully penned rant, the one telling me to enjoy being alone forever. Reading that part had sent a shiver through me like the unmistakable precision of a very sharp fucking blade. An omen of sorts.

My gaze absently left our table and spanned the familiar faces arranged within the white-walled, white-floored room. There was my old gym teacher, Mr. Cho Mi, with the perfectly spherical bald spot on his hair and too-bright, darting eyes. There was Laney, one of the many girls I’d dated, doing her best to keep her pointy chin turned well away from me. There was even a third cousin of mine, Paulina, who also wasn’t looking at me, since she’d taken Cassidy’s side in our breakup—for reasons that still escaped me, since they’d spoken to each other all of maybe two times.

As I sucked on an ice cube, my gaze snagged on one of the last people I wanted to see.

Mrs. Bardot–-aka—Cassidy’s mom, whose stick up her ass was roughly the same size as her daughter’s. Her chlorine-colored eyes locked on me with nothing short of absolute hatred. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to her, given that the apple certainly hadn’t fallen far from the tree. And why the fuck is she angry with me? Cassidy fucked off and stopped the wedding.

I emptied the rest of my water glass. "Think it’s time to hit the waves."

Gray shifted uneasily in his seat. "You okay?"

I felt my brows knit in irritation. I’d always liked Gray’s no-bullshit attitude. But ever since he and Reese had gone all BMCF—my business partner, Reid’s cheeky invention, Best Married Couple Forever—he’d reached obnoxious heights of openness and transparency.

Which meant that right now, he was annoying the shit out of me by asking a question I didn’t want to answer.

"You know, it’s been four weeks since the letter." I picked up a napkin, tossed it up a few inches, then let it fall. "It still feels like yesterday."

I squared my shoulders as I rose.

There. I hadn’t told the I’m fine lie. The one, which in the past month, had become my refrain to the point of sounding glib. But I hadn’t told the truth either. I was fucking weeks, probably years away from fine. Because although I didn’t miss Cassidy and knew I could get laid easily enough if I bothered to go out and find someone for the night, I didn’t want to be alone forever. Which is possibly why I asked her to marry me in the first place. Idiot.

"Gage," Gray said sharply.

He smiled apologetically. "I am sorry. But you may want to stick around for another fifteen minutes or so."

I eyed him warily. "Why?"

He glanced at the door, then back at me. "It was Reid’s idea. Lena’s fresh out of her divorce, so we thought maybe that you two could…"

I shook my head. "Oh hell, no."

I’d heard enough horror stories through Reid to know that his psycho half-sister, no matter how chastised from her failed marriage she may have been, was the last thing I needed.

Demandingand over the top were not things that would make me a happy camper right now.

"Sorry, man." I tossed two twenties on the table. "But I’ve got to go. Glad we could meet while you were in town."

I barely gave him time to say "Bye, Gage" before my legs rapidly weaved me past rows of round tables toward the door. I was practically through its heavy frame when I nearly collided with her.

Lena raised her drawn-on eyebrows at me, to which I gave her a curt nod. She’s lucky she’d even got that before I continued out the fucking door, the adrenaline ricocheting inside me fueling me forward.

Most of my relationship with Cassidy had been on her terms, and I wasn’t about to subject myself to that doomed experiment again. Over the course of the time we’d been together, Cassidy and I’d enjoyed weekly yell-fests, monthly breakup threats, and quarterly out-and-out walkouts. Cassidy had also been especially skilled at meticulously outlining every single one of my faults.

Faults, which, as it turned out, were as numerous as the fucking stars in the solar system…apparently. Fucking socks on the floor? All her complaints had circled back to one overarching theme: I never opened up to her, and I hadn’t truly appreciated her.

Heading to my Mercedes-Maybach with the wise owl of hindsight on my shoulder, I had to admit it was possible that she’d had a point there. Whatever the case though, she should’ve made up her mind then—either accepted me for the disappointment I was—or left me a long fuckin’ time ago. And it now makes me wonder if Parker is the first? Ah, who gives a fuck.

Finally inside my car, I closed my eyes and pictured the beckoning vista of blue that awaited me to help me calm down before I started driving. When I opened them a minute later, I wasted no time in heading out. It was a twenty-minute drive to Folly Beach in low traffic, and no way did I want to be thinking of my dearly departed, bitchy ex for the duration.

That was harder than it should be, though. This whole area was haunted by her to some degree—because we’d lived here together for two years.

And yet, Charleston was my place, had been since I was a kid. As easy as it would have been to leave, it felt like there was something wordless tying me here—something like unfinished business. Or maybe it was because this was the only home I’d known, and that I’d designed the beach house I now lived in. Or rather in my ex’s words: this godforsaken beach shithole. Again, I should be offended, but what-the-fuck-ever.

Its location right on Folly Beach was perfect for surfing when I wasn’t working. No way would I give that up because the woman I’d made the mistake of trying to build a life with had decided I wasn’t husband material. She hadn’t minded my money though. Cassidy had liked to spend it with gusto, so I hoped that fucker Parker was up to the challenge of credit limit increases on his Amex. I think the real beginning-of-the-end came when I asked her to sign the prenup. I’m not that dumb. I wouldn’t have married her without it, and she must have known it.

It was time to quit fucking crying over a girl that probably never even loved me anyway. Had I ever loved her, though?

No, was the honest answer to that question.

I was better off without her. Gray was right. I didn’t miss Cassidy as much as I was furious about how she’d left me standing at the proverbial altar with my dick hanging out and thirty thousand dollars of non-refundable wedding cancellations. The blow to my ego in being dumped still stung, but I’d have to get over my butt hurt with that. I hadn’t loved her any more than she’d loved me. Honestly, I doubted I’d ever fall in love. Maybe I was broken when it came to loving someone.

Sometimes we all needed a sharp kick in the balls to move on, I thought as the water came into view. Taking my own sharp kick from the waves would do me the most good. And then? Forget the bitch, pay the debts, and move the fuck on with my life.

Luckily, I’d been prepared when I’d met Gray at Jazz Street by wearing board shorts to our late lunch and taking my surfboard with me. As close a friend as Gray was, instinct had told me that our meal wouldn’t go well. Probably because every time I met up with anyone these days, my failed wedding disaster cast an impossible-to-escape shadow over it.

It cast a shadow over my thoughts these days, too. By now, thanks to Cassidy, I knew more about the dark side of women than I cared to.

Ah yes, women.

Why did we chase after them? Barely memorable sex? I couldn’t remember the last time my cock had been in her mouth for longer than two seconds. Or the cordial treatment in public that was probably all an act in the first place. Her BFF girlfriends tittering as they shopped away our joint finances, in on the big bad secret—that they didn’t need us as much as we needed them. Lies. This was all a bored game for them, a hopeless clash of make-believe with reality. And, in the end, everyone lost. Their Disney Princess bubble view of men was burst, as was our hope for any companionship or comfort. I’d seen them, the longtime "tamed" husbands with the already-dead eyes. The last thing I wanted was to become one. She was right. I’m not husband material, and I never fucking will be. But I hoped she was wrong about the "being alone forever" thing. Wasn’t it possible to have enough in a long-term relationship to keep me from being alone?

Once I finally arrived at my house, I sat for a minute, taking a breath. Mental rants like this—against Cassidy and women in general—were happening more often than I’d like. It wasn’t good for me. Maybe I needed to go on a vacation somewhere…Costa Rica, Bermuda…somewhere hot and sleepy where I could drink away my problems for a good week or three on a beach with some waves.

Going on vacation right now wasn’t an option with work. No, the closest thing I had to an escape was surfing, and I took it every chance I got.

I made a beeline for my house, tossed my shirt and shoes inside, tucked my beloved Hypto Krypto under my arm, and I was good to go.

Sinking my toes in the warm sand, my eyes closed with gratification.

Yes.

No matter what had happened before, things were going to be okay now. The ocean sent a beckoning finger of sea air up my nostrils. My eyes snapped open.

It’s time.

Since it was the middle of a Wednesday afternoon, the beach was empty—just how I liked it. Perfect for how I surfed.

Being out there alone with no one to be seen for miles made me feel like a king, one who tempted fate. Like a fearless explorer or adventurer. I’d loved Indiana Jones as a kid, and riding waves, which were as untamed a beast as Mother Nature gave us, was the closest I could get to my own modern-day adventure.

Sucking in a deep breath, I strode into the water.

Unhalting. The very best way to bear the uncomfortable cold shock of the water.

As it mercilessly encased my legs in its icy tendrils, I soldiered ahead. This was how you dealt with the cold, literally and figuratively. The same way I’d been dealing with the separation. One day after the next, hurling myself into work with a more determined, single-minded drive than I’d ever had.

Once the waves reached my waist, I clambered onto my board and started paddling to the approaching swells.

And then suddenly, I was there. As I was lifted, I arched my back, hyper-focused on popping up. This was it. If I wasn’t focused, the unsympathetic wave’s strength would slam me back down, mocking my paltry attempt.

My squint of focus relaxed only slightly with the realization that I’d done it. I was riding the sea.

Not conquering it, but moving with it—in a synchronized dance between wave and man. Saltwater hung from my face and a far-off gull cry echoed in my ears, and yet none of it mattered in this, this single, perfect instant when I was immortal. When the mirage of life opened its shaded doors to me.

And then the wave crashed, and I was freed, spewed out, to chase the next one. The next fleeting escape.

The next hour was more of the same. The wash of water over my eyes and ears. The dives, the falls, the bravery. My head resting on my board. My feet held fast on my board, sailing on pure liquid rush. The closest I could get to walking on water.

And then it was over.

But my mind was the textbook definition of clear. Maybe even holy calm had been achieved. Like the waves and the daring of them had somehow sloshed the disturbing thoughts out of my head.

No, there was only life, plain and simple and right. The cool lick of the water stroked my front, slipping down my body. The far-off wheeling seagulls, celebrating. The sweeping expanse of tan beach. Empty.

Almost.

Except her.

A girl who was…beautiful and carefree…standing on the beach with the wind fluttering her sea-colored dress against her body and whipping her long dark-blonde hair across her face. She also looked straight at me as I came in from the water.

Or did she?

I craned my head over my shoulder, transported back to high school. One of the handful of times a hot girl—like Nina with her unsettling Spanish eyes, or Chelsey with her rainbow bracelets encircling each arm, or Jeanne with her tall boots on long lovely legs—waved at me, and I’d craned my head around my shoulder to confirm whether they were actually waving at me and not another uniformed boy with floppy hair in the mass of students.

But this time, there was no one and nothing else in sight except for an orange buoy bobbing innocuously in the sea. Only…me.

Catching my eye, a radiant smile emerged on the girl’s face. She waved.

I guess that was a yes?

She was waving at me.