Chapter 7

DYLAN

T he beach is calmer today, which doesn't make for great surfing, but sitting on my board out past the breakers as the sun begins to rise is still the best way to spend the morning.

I start most of my days out here in the ocean, something I feel has become more of a necessity than a want. A way to clear my head before I get on with my day.

Tilting my head to the side, I release the kink that's been there since the other day. I could put it down to the crooked way I slept, trying to accommodate for the giant canine that insisted on sharing my bed. But it most likely stems from the anxiety that has plagued me since that phone call with my father.

It isn't like me to worry about the things I can't change. I've always had a laid-back nature. Maybe that's why I always found it so hard to fit in at home.

I usually don't have to try so hard not to let things get to me, but ever since this situation with my parents escalated, my stress levels have been sent through the roof.

Finally, I sense what I think will be a decent wave and position myself on the board, anticipating the water's movement. I begin to paddle as the wave builds, synchronizing myself with its energy. I speed up, popping up swiftly when I feel its sheer force lifting my board, guiding me into the shore.

I don't think I'll ever not be in awe of the ocean's power, of the push and pull of the tides, the way it can be both tumultuous and serene.

Chance barks at me from the sand, bounding up to me like the ever-loyal companion as I wade through the shallows.

"Hey, boy," I say as I reach down to scratch his head.

He responds with another bark, shaking wet sand and seawater all over me. I drag my board across the shore, then hoist it up under my left arm, heading for the beach house. The greatest appeal to living here is having the ocean in my backyard.

Though this modest little beach shack definitely has its issues. It's always filled with sand, no matter how much I sweep or vacuum, and there are mysterious sounds in the night that I don't think I'll ever get used to. The house needs constant maintenance, which I know should be the sole responsibility of my landlord, but I've learnt that if I wait for him to get his act together, I'm waiting all day and night.

My impatience with that sort of stuff generally gets the better of me and I end up taking matters into my own hands. Nobody could ever accuse me of not being proactive. Although it did take me two trips to Bill's hardware and four hours to fix that leaky pipe the other night. Maybe next time I will leave it up to the landlord.

Pausing halfway to the house, I pick up a twisted lump of driftwood and throw it for Chance to fetch. He gallops off after it, collecting it as he goes. His bark resonates through the side passage between our house and the one next door. This isn't unusual behaviour for him but the way his yelping intensifies tells me something has caught his attention.

When I round the corner to the outdoor shower, I realise why. My blood pressure rises a little higher, undoing the work of the salty waves.

My sister, Claire leans up against the side of the house, one hand on her hip, the other scrolling something on her phone. Her red locks fall loosely down around her shoulders. In her black stiletto pumps and business formal dress and blazer, she looks wildly out of place against the backdrop of beach grass that divides my house with the next.

"Finally, Dyl," she says as she slides her phone into her bright red Gucci handbag. "I've been waiting here forever."

"Nice to see you, sis," I offer, and I do mean that. I'll always hold a special place in my heart for my big sister, even if she has just been sent here to do my parent's dirty work. "So… Something serious must be going down for you to have driven down from the city this early."

"Actually, I was in Little Beach. I stayed with a friend last night." She folds her arms across her chest, a sign she doesn't want to be pressed with questions.

Too bad she's in the presence of her annoying little brother.

"A friend, huh?" I query with a single raised eyebrow. "Anyone I know?"

"Nope." She doesn't offer any further information.

"But you have come here with ulterior motives, right?" I bend down and pull the stick from an impatient Chance's mouth and toss it into the distance.

"Can't a sister check up on her baby brother every once in a while?"

I aim a cynical glance her way as her phone begins to ring. She retrieves it from her bag, swiping the answer key.

"Hi, yes," she says to the caller. "No, they need to be round… White ones, yes…With the floral centrepieces. They go much better with the lighting…Okay… Thank you. Bye."

"What was that all about?" I flip on the outdoor shower tap and begin rinsing the salt from my skin, goosebumps forming at the sudden drop in temperature.

"Just finalising plans for the party next weekend," she informs me, absently tapping away at her phone screen. "Which brings me to why I'm here."

"Oh." I turn the tap off and reach for the towel hanging over the deck railing.

Claire's head snaps up in my direction. "Oh? What do you mean ‘oh'? Please don't tell me you've forgotten. You have to be there."

I hadn't forgotten. My parents had been planning their 30th wedding anniversary party since last year, but with everything that has gone down since then I worry that if I go, I'll just be giving them another chance to corner me. "I'm not sure yet, Claire. I might have to work."

Chance returns with the driftwood stick. He proudly drops it at my feet and then moves over to my sister, nuzzling the bottom of her skirt, leaving a slimy string of drool. She huffs out a frustrated breath at the sight of it but doesn't deny Chance a pat on the head.

"Work?" Her tone is incredulous. "Dylan, do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Dad has offered you a job. They want you to run the family business. I still can't believe what you're giving up."

"I like my life," I tell her. "I love it. And it's not that I'm ungrateful for the offer. I really appreciate it, but I know if I took them up on it, I'd be miserable. I wasn't built for pushing papers around an office desk."

"I get it," she says, unfolding her arms and blowing out a breath. "But I'd take that position in a heartbeat."

I nod sympathetically. "I know you would. And I wish they'd just offer it to you instead."

I might have an MBA, but Claire's qualifications are astoundingly more impressive than my own. At twenty-eight, with an MBA and several other business admin qualifications, plus a doctorate degree under her belt, Claire is more than capable of running the company. Way more so than I am.

"Yeah, well," she says with a frown. "I guess neither of us can help the fact that Dad is a misogynist that doesn't believe in successful women in business."

"I'm sorry, Claire Bear."

Chance impatiently jumps for the driftwood stick as I pick it up, trying to secure it between his teeth. I chuckle as I move it from side to side teasingly, watching as his eyes follow it.

"Get it, boy!" I shout as I toss it as far as I can down the beach.

From my peripheral, I can see Claire watching me. "You really are happy here, aren't you?"

She gestures to the house, then her gaze moves to the waves crashing on the shore and the crazy stray dog galloping back toward us.

"Yeah. I really am." I grin. "I know it's not the life that was planned for me, but it's what I want. I love what I do. And speaking of what I do, I need to get ready for my second job."

I grab the stair railing, ready to take the rickety back steps up to the house when the urgency in Claire's voice stills me. "Dylan."

I spin back around. Her eyebrows are knit in a frown as she lets out a sigh. I get the sense she's about to say something I don't want to hear.

"Look, I didn't come down here to pester you. I came to warn you." Her voice is stern, her facial expression serious to match it. "You need to be at this party. Mum has said in no uncertain terms that they aren't above coming down here to convince you to come home."

"Look, Claire, I'm sorry they're giving you such a hard time because of me," I begin. "I just think going to the party could do more harm than good. Dad and I just can't seem to see eye to eye. Things are tense."

"Yeah?" she retaliates, folding her arms across her chest again. "Well, you know how many high-profile guests will be in attendance. Just how tense do you think things are going to get if the press gets wind of the fact you didn't show up to the party of the year?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I blow out a defeated sigh. "I know."

My sister has made an excellent point. And it's not one that I hadn't considered. If word got out that I didn't attend my own parents' anniversary party, the media will have a fucking field day.

And word always gets out.

"Please, just be there." Claire has always been the peacekeeper in our family, the buffer during family arguments, but it's not often I witness her pleading. This is either really important to her or she knows something I don't.

"Okay," I nod. "I'll see what I can do." I bound up the stairs onto the balcony, then call back out to her before she slips around the side of the house. "Hey, Claire?"

She turns her gaze upward to find me. "Yeah?"

"You don't think they'd actually come here, do you?" I ask. "To Cliff Haven?"

"I wouldn't put it past them. Just be ready.