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Reaching up, he messes my hair like a little sister, and I have to pull out of his reach before he tangles it completely. I don’t like wearing my hair down often, it gets in the way and in my face, forcing me to constantly tuck it behind my ears. Wearingit in a ponytail is just practical. Thankfully I just got my bangs trimmed so it’s not as annoying as it could be.

I stick my tongue out at Warren, which only makes him chuckle.

“Can we get going now? I’d like to get there before it gets dark.”

It’s only six o’clock but night settles earlier and earlier the closer to winter we get. It won’t stop Owen and Warren from staying at the bar until midnight though, so I don’t know why Owen is complaining.

“Chill out, Owen. We’ll get there soon enough, and you can party to your heart's content,” Izzy elbows her brother and they both make their way to the driveway.

“Is James meeting us there?”

James is Izzy’s fiancé. They’ve been together for years and are planning a wedding, but Izzy hasn’t set a date yet. She can’t make up her mind if she wants a winter wedding or a spring wedding. We go back and forth about the benefits of each, and the conversation usually ends with me telling her, once again, to just go down to the courthouse and get it done. Then we can have a party at Gigi’s afterword. No fuss no muss.

I don’t know why she insists on a color scheme and five bridesmaids, with flower arches and a four-tiered wedding cake. None of that matters in a marriage. Just the two people who love each other and a celebration of their union. Why does everyone have to make such a mess out of something so simple? However, I will admit I do love looking at wedding dresses with her. I’ve never had much reason to wear a dress, let alone one as fancy as a wedding dress, but it would be nice to wear one someday.

“Yeah, he’s going to meet us after he gets off work. Which means we can all ride together in Owen’s car.”

“But I plan on partying. How am I supposed to get home once I’m smashed?” Owen pouts as if this is the biggest inconvenience in the world, even stomping his foot like an impertinent child.

“Don’t worry, you big baby, I’m sure you can find someone to give you a ride home.”

Owen is more likely to go home with someone than the other way around, but I don’t mention that. We all pile into Owen’s SUV, Izzy in the back with me as usual, Owen driving and Warren in the front seat, and head out to the bar. My mood only grows more dour the closer we get.

Chapter 2: Warren

Thinking of her as a sister would be incestual

I’ve been waiting half my life for this. When I’m finally ready to leave Homer, Alaska and make a life, a better life, somewhere else. I know Owen, Izzy, and Bambi don’t want me to go, but they don’t understand. They don’t know what it’s like to be so suffocated by a place that it drives you crazy.

Most of that is because of my family. Having an abusive drunk as a father and complacent nitwit as a mother doesn’t make the best environment for a child. Because of that I became known as a wild child around town. I’ve been arrested a number of times for minor things; public indecency, joy riding, public intoxication, speeding, vandalization, noise complaints. Basically, anything fun. I’ve racked up a decent rap sheet here and become more than familiar with the sheriffs in town. Something that I can finally escape when I leave. They see me and assume I’m doing something wrong and pull me over or question me without cause. I’ve gotten used to it, but it’s still fucking irritating. I’m surprised they didn’t pull Owen over on our way to the bar tonight. I wasn’t driving but I was in the front passenger seat and that’s usually enough for them. They probably heard about me leaving next week and figured they’d leave me be.

There are only a few people at the bar when we arrive, but within an hour practically everyone I’ve ever known is present. Except for my parents, thank fuck. I doubt Owen even told them about tonight. He knows I haven’t spoken to them in years. Trying to keep your distance from problematic people in a town the size of Homer is doable but requires effort. I put in the fucking effort. Jean and Isaac Graham are the last people I want to cross paths with while grocery shopping on a Wednesday afternoon.

A few high school friends are here, a couple of guys I’ve worked on the boats with, Owen, James, Izzy, Izzy’s parents and Gigi, of course, who’s been more of a mother to me than my own mother. But Bambi is most definitelynotmy sister. I may treat her like one sometimes but with the amount of X-rated thoughts I’ve had about her over the years, thinking of her as a sister would be incestual.

Not acting on those thoughts was the least I could do to protect her from my fucked-up life. Besides, she’s far too good for me, just like my father said. If there was ever one thing he told me that was true, it was that. Being her friend is more than I could have hoped for and has been more than enough throughout the years.

Speaking of Bambi, I slide my index finger under the elastic hair tie on my wrist and snap it for good measure. Stealing her hair ties became my little way of having a piece of her without getting to have her. Not to mention it reminds me of my twisted desires and how if she ever discovered them, she would no doubt be disgusted by me.

I try to spot her in the bar, hoping to tease her a little more beforenotgiving her hair tie back. This bad boy is going right into my creepy stalker box with the rest of them. She’s sitting at the bar, facing backwards so she can better talk to the people around her. Her copper red hair is still hanging down straightjust below her shoulders and she tucks a strand behind her ear while smiling politely at whatever someone said. In the low light of the bar, her amber, green eyes appear more like caramel covered apples, her freckles less prominent.

There’s a half-drank beer in her hand, that I know is her first and will probably be her last. Bambi’s not much of a drinker, never has been. I like that about her. I like a lot of things about her. Like the fact that she always wears overalls. They could be denim, pants, shorts, skirts, stretchy, anything and she wears them. Tonight’s are turquoise corduroy. Sometimes I wished she wouldn’t wear them so frequently because they hide her body from me, but then I remind myself why I can’t have her and hate myself for a little while. It doesn’t seem to stop me from looking forward to summer, when it’s finally warm enough to go swimming and I get to see her in her two-piece suit.

I shake my head to remove the image of Bambi in a bikini and force myself to participate in the celebration. What I don’t do is go over to Bambi and pull her off the stool and place myself between her and Jordan, a kid from high school who’s being far too chatty with her tonight. I’m not sure if my need to separate them is protective or possessive. I try not to think about it and snap the hair tie on my wrist once more for good measure, compelling my body to turn and face Owen and Lexi, a local girl he has a casual thing with.

“So, where are you going first, Warren?” Lexi asks, effectively pulling me back into their conversation.

“Probably a coastal city, just for a night or two, like Seattle. But my first big stop will be Hawaii. After that I’ll head down through Central America and the Panama Canal. I’ll probably stay down there for a while before coming back up to the states and checking out Texas and Florida. Then I’ll hit the Bahamas and all the smaller island countries in that area. Puerto Rico and such.”

“Oh my god, that sounds so amazing. How long is that going to take you?” she asks, as if I have a day-by-day schedule of my trip planned out.

I don’t. I have no plans. Other than ports I can dock at in countries I want to visit, there are no plans on my books. I’m letting the wind take me and guide me to where I should be. Once I find a place that calls to me, I’ll make more permanent plans. Until then I want nothing and no one guiding my path.

“As long as I want it to,” I say, giving her the abbreviated answer.

No one really wants to know why I’m doing what I’m doing. They all think it’s a whim, a flight of fancy that I’ll work out of my system then come home. They are so fucking wrong. I’ll never return to this city if I can help it.

The thought saddens me a little when I consider that means never seeing Owen, Izzy or Bambi again. Maybe I can convince them to come see me. To leave cold, boring Homer and visit the warmer, more tropical area I settle in.