1. Sail

sail

. . .

S ail Carter groaned and rolled over to push his face into his pillow. The motion had his stomach performing a ten out of ten gymnastics routine. He sat up quickly, regretting it instantly when he felt his temples threaten to explode and his forehead pound so hard he thought someone was stepping on his head.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he hung his head below his knees. Blindly, he reached for the small garbage can he kept next to his bed. He opened one eye and peered at it, making sure it was in the right location before he heaved the liquid contents of his stomach into it. When nothing came, he stood gingerly, testing his weight on the balls of his heels before traversing the mess on his bedroom floor.

His hand touched the knob of his door, twisting the metal until the latch released. Sail pulled his door open, hard. Much harder than he needed and smacked the corner of the door into his bare toe. He cursed again and leaned into the wall for support as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom.

Sail slumped against the door for support. He thought about knocking, but the idea left his brain as fast as it had entered. He twisted the doorknob, fell into the bathroom, and collapsed in a heap on the cold tile, and likely dirty, floor.

The cold felt good though, and the idea of moving made him queasy. Sail either needed to puke the alcohol up or find food. A plate of greasy hash browns would do the trick, along with a strong cup of black coffee.

Sail stared at the toilet, the walls, and then shook his head. He was a mess, and the new school year had just started. He hadn’t gone back to Seaport over the summer, opting to stay in Miami and party.

The three Bs of the summer had been everything he’d hoped for: beaches, babes, and boats. The fourth b—booze—was an added luxury as far as he was concerned. He and his friends had spent every day lounging on a friend's yacht, either docked or out in the water, just beyond the reach of the average swimmer. Besides, there were sharks in the water there, and it was never safe for someone to swim that far out. When the month of August reared its ugly head, everyone agreed they’d slow down.

They hadn’t.

The partying increased, especially when the freshman arrived.

Sail’s hand combed over the tile floor in search of his phone. He was certain he had a class to get to, but when he tried to remember which one, his mind was fuzzy. Hell, he couldn’t even recall what day of the week it was and for all he knew, it was Saturday, and he could go back to bed.

A fist pounded on the door. “Hurry up, man. I gotta shit,” the voice on the other side said.

“I’m in the shower. Go downstairs.” The throbbing intensified. He held his head in his hands and groaned. A shower would help wake him up, then he’d get some coffee, and head to class.

Sail turned, leaned over the tub, and turned the water on. While it ran, he splashed his face with the cool water and then slapped his cheek twice to get himself moving. When another fist pounded on the door, Sail hauled his ass up.

At least to sit on the edge of the tub.

“I’m naked.” He warned whichever of his fraternity brothers was at the door. Thankfully, they didn’t knock again, which gave Sail a bit of a reprieve. He stood, looked at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror, and wondered just how fucked up he got last night. The last thing he remembered was doing a keg stand and someone betting him a hundred dollars. For what? He had no clue and also had no idea if he won or lost.

He undressed and stepped into the shower. The water felt good and did its job to wake him up a bit. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he’d struggle through the day though. Sail stood under the water for a long time contemplating life. His head hurt, his stomach was sour, and he had zero desire to do anything.

After washing his hair and body, he felt slightly better. He could at least face the day and its challenges without giving up right away. Sail rinsed off the soap, got out and dried off. He picked his clothes up off the floor without falling over, which was a win in his book this morning. When he opened the bathroom door, he expected to find a line of men holding themselves and doing the potty dance, but the hall was empty.

Back in his room, he surveyed the mess on the floor. He had only moved back in a couple of weeks ago and already the mess was out of control. Among the pile of dirty clothes were his books, takeout cartons, and beer cans. He picked up a shirt, scrunched his nose, and let it drop from his hand. Thankfully, Sail found a clean pair of boxers—at least he hoped they were clean—a pair of shorts and a shirt that looked and smelled okay.

Sail rubbed his towel over his wet hair, shook it briefly until his head started hurting again, and called it good. As he looked at the books on the floor, he had no clue which ones he’d need for class today and opted to “forget” them. He rummaged around his room, found his backpack, which had his schedule in there, and swore under his breath. According to the time, he had ten minutes to get his ass across campus.

He came to the end of the hallway and shook his head. There was a guy, asleep or still passed out, on the stairs leading to the third floor. When he looked down the staircase, he saw bodies strategically placed on the stairs, allowing for people to zig and zag their way up and down. Sail was about to yell at everyone to wake up, but he couldn’t muster the strength. One of his other brothers would do it later.

Sail sidestepped another group of undergrads and walked toward the living room to see which of his brothers was awake and watching TV. Another group of co-eds were asleep on the floor. The television was on, but no one seemed to be watching. He grimaced at the odor emanating from one guy on the floor and saw a brown stain on the kid’s backside.

“Jesus,” he muttered as he pressed his nostrils closed. Sail looked around at the bodies, trying to see if he recognized any of them. None of their faces rang a bell and none looked like they lived in the house with him.

He recognized one freshman from rush week and nudged him with his toe. “Get up,” Sail said a few times before the kid began moving. “Get these people out of the house.”

“Yes, sir,” the teen mumbled as he sat up. Sail thought the kid would make a great zombie for their annual Halloween party.

Sail stood there and surveyed the damage to the living room. This had been their third or fourth party—he couldn’t remember—and someone or a bunch of someones had already trashed the walls. Last spring, he and his brothers had spent the week deep cleaning the house before moving out so the school wouldn’t get pissed at them.

He walked by the staircase again. The white ornate railing was dirty, along with the wooden planks leading to the second and third floor. The best thing they had done to this house was to remove all the carpet. Hardwood was easier to clean.

Sail shook his head. He nudged the guy closest to him and repeated the same thing he’d said to the zombie in the other room.

“Why me?” the kid grumbled.

“Because I said so. Now get your ass out of here.”

Sail was pissed. Being pissed off and hungover didn’t go well together. The kid had no right to question his authority. He was president of the fraternity, and everyone needed to do as he demanded.

He muttered a string of obscenities as he made his way into the kitchen, stepping over yet another co-ed. The kitchen was a mess. Red cups, beer bottles, an overturned keg, and who knew what littered the floor. The house really needed to get their act together before the . . . he swallowed hard at the sight of the dean of students sitting at their table with pizza boxes, half-eaten pizza, and Sail didn’t want to guess what else piled high.

“Good afternoon, Sail.” Dean Holmes sat with his hands clasped together. He wore a light blue blazer with a matching shirt and bowtie. He and Sail were not friends.

“Mr. Holmes.” Sail gave him a nod.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Dean Holmes motioned at the chair across from him. Sail swallowed hard and pulled the chair out. He cringed when he reached for the pile of clothes, feeling a wet spot on them. Sail wanted to gag but thought better of it. He reached for a towel and wiped his hand, and didn’t even want to guess what the wetness was from. Already, he’d seen some poor kid passed out with shit in his pants. There wasn’t much more Sail could take this morning.

The dean set a folder onto the table and looked—no, he glared—at Sail and then shook his head. “Do you know what I have here?”

“No, sir.”

“This . . .” He held up the rather thick file. “Is a list of complaints filed by your peers, professors, and the community. All from this year,” Dean Holmes said. “We’re what?” he paused and looked at his watch. “Three weeks into the school year? I think this is some type of record.”

Probably the not record Sail wanted.

Sail cleared this throat and opened his mouth, only to close it right away. There wasn’t anything he could say that would change why the dean was in the house and sitting at their table.

“Do you know what they call you on campus?”

He shook his head, figuring it was better to say quiet on the matter.

“The good-time man.” The dean sat back and tapped his thick fingers on the folder. He had yet to show Sail any of the complaints. For all he knew, they’d been fabricated. Dean Holmes was out to get him, especially after he caught Sail with his daughter last year.

“Do you think that fits you?”

What in the hell was Sail supposed to say?

“I don’t know, sir.”

Dean Holmes opened the folder and picked up the first sheet of paper. “How are your classes?”

Again, Sail said nothing. He was in his last year at the University of Miami, majoring in business management, with a minor in marketing. The plan had always been for him to return home, to Seaport, and help manage the Carter family businesses.

The plan . . . according to his father and brother Dune.

No one ever asked Sail what he wanted to do or what he thought. When he suggested Blue Lobster Adventures expand south, in a more tropical location, his family balked. The truth was, Sail hated the winter and couldn’t see himself living in Seaport year-round.

Sail wasn’t the suit and tie sort of guy either, or the type to sit down and work at a computer. Never mind punching the proverbial nine-to-five clock. None of the standard office practices appealed to Sail. He may have been the next in line after Dune, but he didn’t ask to be there. It was always assumed he’d work for the family. He supposed when his father, Jack, paid for his education, he could mandate whatever.

“Let me help you with that, Mr. Carter.” Dean Holmes took a sheet of paper out of the folder and slid it across the table. Sail looked briefly and felt bile rise. “Do you see a pattern?”

Reluctantly, Sail nodded.

“How many classes have you attended since school started?”

To put in an effort, Sail leaned forward. “Two.”

“You’ve attended two classes in three weeks.”

Fuck.

“Mr. Carter, last semester I put you on academic probation. This did nothing to fix the issue.”

“I’ll be better, Mr. Holmes.”

Dean Holmes shook his head. “Mr. Carter, you are hereby suspended.” He listed off every infraction Sail had committed. He was double penalized because he was the president of the fraternity and therefore held at a higher standard. “You have twenty-four hours to remove yourself from campus.”

“I’ll file an appeal.” Sail thought this was the right avenue to take.

Holmes scoffed. “You can, but I can make sure your hearing isn’t until December. You’re welcome to come back in January, but you will be on probation as well.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

Dean Holmes stood and gathered his things. “This isn’t a concern for the university, Mr. Carter. What is, are the many students sprawled all over this house, passed out. Do yourself a favor, get help.”

With those parting words, the dean of students left the house, and the clock started ticking on Sail’s life in Miami.