2

Late spring bleeds into early summer, the weather ideal for a road trip. Windows down, wind rushes through the car and swirls around me in a mini hurricane. My hair is loose from its usual high ponytail, whipping and dancing in a tornado of black strands that are sure to be tangled later.

With a smile, I realize I don't care. Music fills the air as I crank the knob and sing along, my heart lighter than it has been in a while.

The wedding is in Southport, a coastal town just north of Myrtle Beach, making it a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Charlotte. Sunshine warms my skin as I glance up at the sky, fluffy white clouds meandering across the sea of blue in a lazy roll. It's picturesque, quelling the turbulence in my mind.

This is what I need.

Time away from my life.

Time to regroup.

The trip is uneventful, and as I get to the resort and sling my bag over my shoulder, I can't help but smile at the elegant building in front of me. Marbled, intentionally imperfect stone and wrought iron gives it a timeless, old-world vibe, even though it was built just a few years ago.

Weather-worn in a way you know was stupid expensive.

Old money lines the Armani pockets of my cousin's fiancé, and they've spared no expense in the accommodations. I tried to argue that a week was excessive, but was shut down and then threatened with bodily harm when I offered to pay for my stay.

Considering my cousin, Cho, is barely five feet tall, I'm not too concerned.

The wedding is huge, but the bridal party isn't, with only four bridesmaids and groomsmen. They're both insistent they want to treat us, but even I'm impressed with the scene before me. As I glance around at the colorful grounds and serene waters beyond the building, I realize this might be the perfect place to force myself to relax.

And not the type of relaxing that's curling up with a book for a few hours and losing yourself in a story or treating yourself to a nice dinner. Those are nice—necessary—but they're just a temporary reprieve when you know your quick return to real life is inevitable.

No, right now, I want to forget who I am. Part ways with the stress of my life.

Leave myself behind.

I need that more than oxygen.

Vines coil their way up the stone surrounding the giant double wooden doors, and as I walk inside, a woman at the front desk greets me with a smile. It's genuine, the kind that reaches her eyes and warms her entire face.

Another sliver of stress falls away from my shoulders.

"Good afternoon!" she says, smile never faltering, and I find myself grinning back.

"Afternoon. I'm here as part of the Morris wedding party."

"Oh, yes, of course!" There are a few seconds of quick clacking on the keyboard as she pulls up the reservation. "Name?"

"Hiyama… Tai."

"Got you right here, Mr. Hiyama." She keeps typing as she reviews the amenities and hours. I only half pay attention, already daydreaming about spending my days basking in the sun by the ocean or happily buzzed in my room with a good book.

"You've extended your stay for an extra four nights after the bridal party's reservation?" I nod my agreement, and she punches a few more things into her computer before she hands over my keycard.

"There's a note in here to pass along a message. The wedding party will meet for dinner tonight at six in the on-site formal restaurant. They've taken care of the RSVP, so I'm just supposed to remind you."

A quick glance at my phone shows that it's two o'clock, giving me plenty of time to unwind and stretch out before dinner. After thanking the lady and getting directions to my room, I head to the elevators and ride to the fourth floor.

The room is comfortable and modern—creams and soft sage greens, with two king-sized beds and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the ocean.

My mind elsewhere and eyes locked on the cerulean waters just past that thin plane of glass, I drop my bag on the first bed, the thud of it hitting the mattress the only noise in the silence. Walking towards the sliding door, I pull it open and step out onto the balcony, instantly hit by the scorching afternoon sun.

I shut my eyes, allowing the warmth to wash over me.

Waves crash against the shore and the cool breeze kisses my face as my earlier stress melts away. A few minutes pass and I stand there, leaning against the railing as the salty ocean air fills my lungs.

Every breath takes a notch of stress off my shoulders, replaced with a deeper sense of calm. The silence isn't so oppressive here, with the splashing water and the call of the seagulls, and I find that, for once, I don't have to fight with the heaviness of being alone.

My flaws fade away, no longer important, and for now, I allow myself to be at peace with the fact that I'm single.

Alone.

I'm just… me.

For the first time in months, it feels like it's enough.

Sneakers are exchanged for sandals, and I pocket my phone and keycard as I slip out the door. There's no one on the small trail that leads to the private beach, and a stupid, dopey smile is on my face before I can stop it from spreading.

White sand gives way under my feet as I tug my shirt over my head, tossing it over the fencing. My shoes follow, and a groan slips from my throat as my soles hit the scorching sand. I dig my toes in, enjoying the slight burn as I bury them.

The waves are chilly as I step into the rolling tide, goosebumps rising over my skin despite the higher-than-normal temperature. It's too early in the year for the water to be more than lukewarm, but after a few minutes of walking along the beach, my body acclimates.

New words and a fresh melody dance in the back of my mind, teasing the edges of my consciousness. It's been too long since the music felt like my ally… too long since it came to say hello for no other reason than we missed each other.

Maybe the absence of music is why the silence has been so suffocating.

"I've missed you, old friend," I whisper into the wind, and could swear there's a song on the breeze as it blows across my face.

Scattered people mill around the beach, the mumbling of their chatter a distant lull as I stroll alongside the oceanfront. Rows of chairs with the resort's logo are neatly arranged along the coast, just past the tide's reach. I drop into one, savoring the heat of the sun as it dances over my closed eyelids.

A gentle breeze tousles my hair while the sun's warmth seeps into my skin, making me sink into the chair as my muscles loosen and my limbs become pleasantly heavy. They twitch as my consciousness wanes.

The high-pitched, shrieking laugh of a child startles me awake, and I rub the sleep from my eyes with a yawn. When's the last time I relaxed enough to take a nap?

My bare chest is flushed, and with a muttered curse, I press my fingers into the overheated skin, watching it turn white before settling back into pink. It will transform into a full-blown red by tomorrow.

At the moment, I can't find the energy to care.

My skin sticks to the vinyl as I peel myself off the chair and stand, stretching and taking one last walk through the lapping tides. Thankful that my shirt still hangs where I left it, I slide it on and head towards the building.

Two hours remain until dinner, so I rinse the salt and sand of the ocean away in the tiled walk-in shower. Luxury soaps made with mint and lavender line the shelves, the steam making the entire bathroom smell like a spa as I crack them open. I push the hair products out of the way and replace them with my own bottles.

Listen, my hair reaches my waist. If there's one thing I'm loyal to, it's my own damn conditioner.

The familiar scent of blueberry surrounds me as I finger comb through my wind-tumbled strands, washing the rest of the beach from my skin as I let it set.

Eric texts me as I climb out of the shower, making sure I made it here safely. Fully aware of how rude it is, I send him a quick thumbs up before silencing my phone.

Just that simple reminder of home brings back a splinter of stress, and I wasn't kidding when I said I needed time away.

My hair is still wet as I change into linen shorts and a navy button-up short-sleeved shirt, a stark contrast to my typical goth-chic attire. After managing my tangles with a final pass of my brush, I leave it loose and settle onto the bed with a book.

Twenty minutes have gone by when a knock pulls me out of the pages. I frown, but it eases to a smile when Cho's voice yells from outside in the hallway. "Open up Tai! I know you're in there; I saw your lazy ass sleeping on the beach earlier!"

A quiet laugh leaves me as I swing the door open to find her smiling face. She squeals and bounces on her feet before pulling me into a tight hug. Cho and I have been tightknit for our entire lives. She's a few years younger than me, but she's always been the first to come to my defense.

I'll never forget the day she charged in like a tiny, pissed-off knight in shining armor. To say my parents had a negative reaction to my sexuality is an understatement. Some days, they pretended I'd never told them I was gay and continued to set me up on surprise blind dates with random women. Other days, there were words.

Lots of words.

Lots of disappointment.

One day, I'd had enough, and called Cho in tears. She drove three hours to help me pack my bags, and despite my mom and dad once being as close to her as her own parents, she severed all ties with them. Seventeen years old, and she walked in with her shoulders thrown back and her spine made of steel.

She supported me every step of the way and never looked back.

"Why is it so unfair," she asks with a sunny laugh, "that you, a guy , will be the most beautiful bridesmaid?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

She pulls away but keeps her hands wrapped around my arms. " I'm lucky you're not wearing makeup, otherwise you'd outshine me at my own damn wedding."

"Hey, don't tempt me," I say with a grin. "I know a guy who can cut eyeliner so sharp, it could be lethal."

She smiles, but a familiar expression covers her face—one that tells me she's holding something back. "You know you're shit at keeping secrets from me, Cho. What's up?"

"Okay, so there's been a little bit of a mix-up…"

"A little bit?"

She holds her thumb and pointer finger up, so close they almost touch. "Teeny tiny. Microscopic, even. Practically non-existent."

"Uh huh," I say with a knowing nod, waving my hand for her to continue.

"We kind of… miscalculated the number of rooms we needed for the bridal party and we're one short. There's nothing available with the late notice, and since you have an extra bed, I was hoping…" She drags out the last word, and I take a deep breath, trying to push past the disappointment that churns in my gut.

I understand what she needs.

And I understand why she's asking me .

Nice, dependable, agreeable Tai… of course I'd be the person she comes to for help.

She knows me… knows that I'll bend, and bend, and bend.

"If there were any other options, I would ask someone else," she continues, as if she can read my mind, "but they either only have one bed or they're couples, and…"

"And I'm single."

There it is.

The bitterness in my tone is unintentional, and guilt bites at me with its little sharp teeth when her face falls. This is her wedding and I'm here as her guest, on her dime, so it isn't fair for me to complain.

I plaster on a smile as I grip her by the shoulder and give her a gentle shake. "You know I'll do anything to help my favorite cousin."

"Even wear a lilac suit," she says, her sunny expression returning.

"Hey, don't act like that's a chore. I'm fucking thrilled to wear that thing." My smile comes more easily as she pulls out her phone, fingers flying over the screen. "Who's this new roommate of mine?"

"A college buddy of Andrew's. I sent him a text and told them to come on up."

"Great," I say with a roll of my eyes that really, truly just can't be helped. "You're sticking me with a frat boy?"

"Oh, God no. Connor is a nice guy. He was older when he started school, so his partying days are far behind him. If I remember correctly, he's in his forties now."

Relief sweeps over me, washing away the stress that had quietly built up inside. I force my molars to relax their tension, easing the strain on my jaw.

A nice guy.

I can handle a nice guy.

It won't be beer pong and drunken hookups interrupting my vacation, or late-night shenanigans disturbing my sleep.

This will be fine.

Famous last words.

"Let me clear off the bed," I say, glancing around at the mess I made by scattering my belongings everywhere. Cho stands at the door, chatting about the upcoming week and the plans for the wedding. When the elevator dings, I take another calming breath.

Deep voices carry down the hallway. Andrew's heavy southern twang mixes with a rich, soothing baritone that immediately catches my attention.

They draw closer, and when the sound reaches the barrier of the doorframe, I turn to get past the awkward pleasantries that come with being introduced to a stranger.

My feet forget how to work as I stumble over the carpet, clumsy as a newborn foal, with eyes stretched wide on my face.

Holy fucking himbo.

A broad back faces the door, clad in a ridiculously tacky Hawaiian shirt covered in flowers and… Bigfoot? My eyes slide up to a head full of dark, wavy hair that curls over the nape of a thick, tanned neck. Almost a mullet, but not on purpose. It's like he got tired of his hair brushing against his ears, so he trimmed it, but didn't bother to style it afterwards.

Somehow, what should look ridiculous is effortlessly hot.

Khaki shorts stretch over a bubble butt that has me drooling before clinging to thighs so thick they could crush my head between them, and I'd say thank you for the opportunity. They taper into calves so thoroughly toned they could be in a museum.

Jesus Christ, the body on this man.

The muscle.

The fucking… everything.

When I catch Cho's amused gaze, I realize I'm staring.

Possibly drooling.

My eyes narrow, and I pull myself together as I approach the group. "Connor, meet Tai, your roomie for the week," she says, and my sights land on his chest and climb as he turns to face me. At five-nine, I'm not the tallest guy in the world, but I'm not short. As my chin tilts higher, I try to guess this guy's height. No less than six-foot-four, because he's close to Dmitri's size, only thicker.

Much thicker.

Dmitri isn't a small guy, but this hunk of man meat makes him look like a string bean by comparison.

"Hi," I offer, suddenly dumbstruck as my eyes snag on his soft lips that contradict the dark stubble and angular lines of his jaw. His mouth turns up in a smile and a twin set of dips carves into his cheeks.

Hello, dimples.

Goodbye, sanity.

Forcing myself to tear myself away from the horridly filthy thoughts that are racing through my mind, my eyes finally land on his. Hazel and kind, they crinkle with his grin. Dark lashes form a shadowy frame so dense it could almost be mistaken for eyeliner, and his thick brows somehow exude happiness as well.

When the hell did eyebrows learn how to smile?

"Hi." He returns my simple greeting, taking a half step forward, and in that moment, I realize that this vacation just got a lot more exciting.