Page 13

THIRTEEN

LUCAS

One would think it’d be obvious that a person should not jump off a moving boat, right? Clearly, it’s not to Theo. Unless it’s an explicitly stated rule, he doesn’t understand why it’s frowned upon. So now, every time he sets foot on my sailboat, I have to spend fifteen minutes going over rules that should be common sense to anyone over the age of five.

“Theo, shut the fuck up and pay attention,” Blake snaps, taking the words right out of my mouth. “We’re only listening to these bloody rules because of your dumb arse.”

We’re in Monaco early so we can relax for a few days before our obligations start, but Blake looks anything but at ease. If it weren’t for Ella rubbing calming circles on his back and Champ sitting on his lap—wearing a life vest with a shark fin on it—he’d be shoving Theo into the water.

The Australian simply rolls his eyes. “Says the guy who sunbathed nude on this very boat last year.”

“Because you fucking pantsed me,” Blake growls, a vein in his temple throbbing.

I tip my head back, begging for the Monaco sun to give me strength. Would it really be so bad for Theo to jump off if it meant I’d be spared from arguing with him over why turning the sail the other way won’t make us go backward?

“Only as payback for?—”

“I’m not going to apologize for stopping you from climbing the mast like you were in Pirates of the Caribbean .”

Theo doesn’t understand the first thing about boating, and that’s okay. But he’s a grown man, and he could at the very least not treat it like a jungle gym or playground. This boat was the first item I splurged on. It may not cost as much as Blake’s two superyachts, but it’s my pride and joy. The Blank Check is my escape, and every time I step aboard, a sense of freedom I only ever find here and from the cockpit of my car overtakes me.

Ella raises a polite hand. “Can we skip going through the rules if Josie promises to keep Theo on his best behavior?”

Theo waggles his brows at his girlfriend. “How are you going to keep me in line, princess?”

She’s too busy trying to coax Champ out of Blake’s lap and into hers to pay him any mind. With Josie working a normal nine-to-five job in London, it’s hard for her to travel to races, but she took some time off to spend the week in Monaco with him. She’s coming to the Australian Grand Prix next month and a few more later in the season, too.

“No,” I tell Ella. “While I trust Josie, I don’t trust Theo. Do I need to bring up what happened after the grand prix five years ago?”

“How many times are you going to make me apologize for that, man?” Theo says with a frown. “Rose and Jack make it look so easy in Titanic .”

I hold up my hand and continue with my rules. “No pushing me out of the way and yelling ‘I am the Captain now.’ No jumping off while the boat’s moving. Or pushing people off while it’s anchored. No climbing on anything. If you see a bird, leave it the fuck alone. Do not try to feed it or befriend it. No pantsing or nudity. No?—”

“That’s hypocritical, considering I can see your nipples,” Theo quips.

The irritation simmering in my gut heats to a steady boil. Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal .

“Because I’m in a bathing suit, you annoying piece of shit,” I state calmly, despite how badly I want to throttle him. Turning to Blake, I say, “You have my full approval to push Theo off the boat whenever you feel like it.”

Finally finished with my spiel, I leave my friends and move through my pre-sailing checklist with practiced efficiency. Lines neatly coiled? Check. Sails securely furled? Check. Deck clear of any loose items? Check. I confirm that the engine oil and water tanks are full before moving to the stern, where the marina staff has nearly finished untying the mooring lines. I nod to the dockmaster, and she throws me a thumbs-up, letting me know we’re good to go.

With a deep breath in, I tune out my friends’ chatter and soak up the soft sounds of the morning activity—the gentle clinking of rigging, the distant hum of engines, and the occasional call of gulls—then I climb up to the helm. I start the engine and relish the low, satisfying hum, then expertly guide Blank Check away from the dock, navigating through the narrow marina passage with ease. As we slowly make our way out to open water, the opulent Monaco skyline recedes. The grand facade of the Monte Carlo Casino, the elegant H?tel de Paris, and the colorful buildings of the old town all wave goodbye as we sail farther into the deep, inviting sea.

Clearing the harbor, I cut the engine and move to unfurl the sails. The mainsail goes up smoothly, catching the gentle morning breeze. I adjust the jib, and immediately, the boat leans slightly and gains speed. The sound of the engine is replaced by the peaceful rustle of the wind through the sails and the rhythmic splash of water against the hull.

I fill my lungs with sea air and exhale the tension from my body. Now we’re talking .

Charlotte climbs across the spacious cockpit toward where I’m stationed at one of the twin helms. She greets me with her signature wave, then settles in to watch me with quiet curiosity while the rest of our group noshes on breakfast from a local bakery around the alfresco table.

After several quiet minutes, she speaks. “How long have you had your boating license?”

“In Monaco?” I ask. “Nine years now, I think. I’ve had a boating license in Massachusetts since I was thirteen, though.”

“Thirteen?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Christ, the most complicated thing I was doing at thirteen was figuring out how to put in a tampon.”

As the words register, I abruptly jerk the wheel, causing a chorus of whoa s to erupt from our friends. Oops . With a sharp breath, I readjust the wheel.

“Sorry, that was probably too much information.” She grimaces. “That’s young to be driving a boat, though, right?”

“I never really thought about it,” I admit. “It’s sort of a tradition to get your boating license once you hit thirteen in my family. My mom’s parents lived on Martha’s Vineyard until they retired, and they had a boat called Blank Check that we took out every summer.”

While one grandpa taught me about watches, the other taught me about boats.

“ Oh .” She sits straighter. “That’s where the name of your boat came from. I was wondering about that.”

The scrutiny in her tone has me raising my brows. “You don’t like the name?”

“No, I do. It’s adorable, and you know I’m a sucker for a good pun. But without the backstory, it seemed a little pretentious for you.”

I snort. “It’s an homage to childhood summers with my family.”

Head tilted, she surveys me, her expression soft. “Have you considered getting merch made?”

“Merch for a boat whose only passengers are my friends?” I arch a brow. “No, I haven’t.”

“Fine, don’t make merch. Just make a one-of-a-kind special-edition shirt for me.”

“Ah, to add to your collection.”

“Mm-hmm.” She unscrews the cap of her giant water bottle and takes a few large sips. “I’ve decided to get one from each new city I visit, but Monaco’s punny shirt scene is seriously lacking. The only touristy stuff I’ve found are magnets and mugs, and they’re disgustingly expensive.”

Charlotte stays at the helm with me as I navigate along the coast. Even when everyone heads out to relax on the deck, she stays put, asking me questions about the boat, the places I’ve sailed, and anything else that pops into her head.

We’ve been on the water for a good hour when I ask, “Want to give it a try?”

She looks up, her lips parting in surprise. “I thought the ‘no asking to sail the boat’ rule extended to all Walkers, not just Theo.”

“Unless you plan on racing my boat like we’re escaping from a diamond heist, we’ll be fine.”

Adjusting the tiller, I find the perfect angle to catch the wind, and the boat responds instantly, cutting through the water with a sense of purpose.

“Are you sure?” She takes a hesitant step forward. “I don’t want to fuck anything up.”

“I’ll be right here with you,” I reassure her. “It’s easier than it looks, I promise. Come on, give it a go. ”

It’s definitely not easier than it looks, but I’ll do all I can to make this a good boating experience. And I’m eager to see how hot she’ll look behind the wheel.

At my words, she bounces over, her face split into an eager smile. Though when she lifts her hands, she holds them so they’re hovering over the wheel uncertainly. Smiling to myself, I move behind her, close enough to guide her but leaving enough space for her to feel in control.

“Okay, place your hands here,” I say, gently grasping her wrists and positioning her hold. “Feel the way the boat moves with the wind and the water. Don’t fight it, just guide it.”

She nods, gripping the wheel more firmly. The sensation of controlling the sailboat is clearly as exhilarating for Charlotte as it is for me. Beaming, she peeks over her shoulder. “Am I doing it right?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say with a smile and an encouraging nod. “Now gently turn to the right. Just a little.”

She follows my instructions, and the boat responds, smoothly changing direction. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I’m actually doing it. Can we go a bit faster?”

With a laugh, I appease her. “Let’s trim the sails a bit and catch more wind.”

As I walk her through how to adjust the sails, explaining each step, she follows my lead, and soon the boat picks up speed, slicing through the water with a little more momentum. Unable to resist touching her, I place my hands over hers once again and guide her with subtle movements. The warmth of her hands under mine and the steady presence of her back against my front fill me with a warmth the sun can’t compete with.

“You’re wearing your new watch,” Charlotte says, just loud enough to be heard over the flapping sail.

I grin down at the item in question. I haven’t received a gift from a woman that wasn’t a family member since… Kylie. And he r presents were lingerie. Sure, they were enjoyable, but they didn’t hold any kind of meaning, really. This gift? It’s rife with it.

I’ve always liked accessories—hence my rings and bracelets—but I started collecting watches as a kid. My grandpa was a jeweler, and my dad now runs the business, with Ezra working under him. For my bar mitzvah, he gave me a Celestial Chronos watch. More accurately, I suppose, he gave me the parts of a Celestial Chronos that were necessary to restore it. We spent the next year tinkering with it in his shop when I wasn’t racing. In a lot of ways, watches are like Formula 1 cars. Both require several mechanical processes that underscore their engineering precision, performance, and craftsmanship. They’re technological works of art. Masterpieces in their own right.

I’m particular as hell about my watches, though there is no specific criteria for what makes one stand out to me.It’s more of a when you know, you know sort of thing. That’s why no one ever bothers buying them for me. Sure, if I did receive one, I’d be appreciative, and I’d wear it on occasion. But it’s unlikely that I’d feel the need to add it to my treasured collection and show it off like a proud parent.

This watch? It’s a clear fucking winner. When I texted Ezra a photo of it late last night, he immediately recognized it as a Longines from the early ’80s. It features a manual wind, luxury leather strap, elongated hour markers, and sleek hands finished in gold. It’s easy to read while maintaining a sophisticated look. There are a few minor scratches and dents, but that only adds to the vintage character. I felt a bit like Don Draper when I put it on this morning.

“You’ll teach her how to drive your sailboat, but you won’t teach me?” Theo asks, interrupting my tranquility.

“Yes,” I reply with absolutely no remorse. Though my heart lodges itself in my throat when I realize how close Charlotte and I still are. I take a subtle step back, dropping my hands back to my sides.

Theo, luckily, seems unfazed.

I don’t even trust the man to water my plants, so he definitely has sun poisoning if he thinks I’m letting him anywhere near the steering wheel of this thing. Theo’s way too competitive to drive anything but a Jet Ski on the water. There are unspoken rules out here that he blatantly ignores.

Though it shouldn’t, my succinct answer throws him off, and instead of replying, he simply waves his arms around and sputters in frustration. He knows Blake will take my side, so he doesn’t bother roping him in to the conversation.

Finally, he answers in a way that throws me off. “How are you going to name me your kid’s godparent if you won’t even let me take care of your firstborn?”

A bark of laughter erupts from me. “I’ve quite literally never told you that. Ever.”

“It’s part of the plan, Lucas,” Theo says, rolling his eyes as if I’m an idiot for not knowing this. “I’m your kid’s godparent, you’re Blake’s kid’s godparent, and Blake is my kid’s godparent. We’ll reverse the order for our second kids.”

“This is news to me,” Blake says, approaching us with Ella at his side.

Oh great, now everyone’s joining the party .

“After you nearly killed Champ, I can’t say I like the idea of you anywhere near my future kids.”

“You said to give him treats when he was being a good boy,” Theo pouts. “It’s not my fault he was a good boy the entire weekend.”

Ella playfully shoves him in the chest. “It is your fault I had to pick up fucking dog shit for?—”

“Fine,” I interrupt. “You can be my kid’s godparent.”

I’m not sure who’s more surprised by my easy acquiescence, but it stuns the hell out of both of my friends .

As if he’s worried I’ll take it back, Theo spins and heads down into the salon level of the boat.

“Are you dehydrated?” Blake asks, wearing a concerned frown.

“Godparents aren’t a Jewish tradition,” Ella answers for me. “Theo can have the title, but it’s honorary only. It has nothing to do with legal guardianship.”

She throws me a wink, knowing neither of us will have to worry about Theo having any legal claims over our kids. I have no doubt he’ll be a great dad when the time comes, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have the right to tell my kid to do anything.

Theo returns a few minutes later with an armful of snacks, so with the whole group here, I fill them in on my plan to drop the anchor so we can swim and hang out for the rest of the day. When Charlotte slips out of her crochet coverup, it’s a damn good thing that we’re in the middle of the sea without another boat in sight. That’s the only reason we don’t fucking crash. Christ Almighty . Her bathing suit is a simple cobalt blue triangle bikini, but it leaves little to the imagination. A simple pull of one of the ties, and she’d be— get it the fuck together .

Blake’s been on Blank Check enough to help me anchor with ease. He holds the boat steady from the helm, then slows and points the vessel into the wind before gently easing off the throttle so I can release the anchor, letting the heavy chain rattle through my hands and into the water below.

Anchored and secured, I do a quick stretch and dive off the boat. The cool saltwater is invigorating, and I resurface with a grin on my face. Blake sets up an inflatable beer pong table while Theo blows up giant pool floats shaped like jungle animals, Ella plays water fetch with Champ, and Josie connects my phone to the speaker system and puts on a playlist. Surveying my friends one by one, I scan my surroundings. When I catch sight of Charlotte, a thread of concern weaves its way through me. She’s sitting on the edge of the boat with her feet dangling off, barely grazing the ocean.

“You don’t want to cool off?” I call out.

Peering into the water, she shakes her head, causing her curls to sweep over her shoulders. “I’m good right here.”

“Is it because of your pump?” I ask, nodding to the wireless device to the left of her belly button. I’m grateful for my sunglasses, otherwise I’d surely get caught checking her out longer than what’s considered friendly.

“No, this bad boy’s waterproof,” she tells me, giving it a gentle pat. “It’s more of a me thing. I don’t like swimming in water where I can’t see what’s around me. I love pools, but oceans? No, thanks.”

I still for a second, processing her words, but kick below the surface again quickly to keep from going under. “Wait. You’re serious.”

“Eighty percent of the ocean hasn’t been explored yet, and the 20 percent we know about is scary as fuck. Do you know what a deep-sea dragonfish looks like?”

Wincing, I rake a hand through my wet hair. “Uh, no.”

“You’re lucky. I don’t recommend googling it unless you want to have nightmares for the next five years.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Fair enough.”

We spend the next few hours swimming, then break for lunch. No one came close to convincing Charlotte to get into the water, especially after she saw a jellyfish. As I towel off and let the sun warm my chilled skin, she slaps my phone into my hand.

“You have a text,” she says, eyes darting down and to one side.

Curious, I take a peek at the device. All that appears on the lock screen is the Spotify icon showing that “Shirt” by SZA is playing. “Are you?—”

“I read it,” she blurts out .

A chuckle threatens to escape me, but I bite it back. I really hope she never commits a crime. The cops would have to do absolutely nothing to wring a confession out of her.

“Okay,” I reply, one brow arched. “It’s not?—”

“I wasn’t reading your messages or anything,” she interrupts, her expression dripping with guilt. “It popped up on the screen when I was trying to change songs, so it’s not really my fault.”

Confused, I ask, “How’d you unlock my phone?”

Sunlight dances in her eyes as she rolls them, turning them the same color as the sea we’re sailing on. It’s like looking into the waters. They draw me in, urging me to dive deeper. “It’s tattooed on your arm in Roman numerals.”

“Huh.” Amusement flickers through me. And here I thought I was clever using 052384 as my password. Who would guess my parents’ anniversary date as a lock code? Charlotte, apparently.

“Who’s it from?” I ask as I hold my phone in front of my face to unlock it.

“Jesse.”

At those two syllables, my stomach drops farther than the anchor of our boat. Shit . Quickly opening the Messages app, I find the text from Jesse sitting there like a ticking time bomb.

Jesse Adler

Hey. I’m on a ridiculously tight deadline right now, so I can’t make it to Montreal next weekend, but I’ll be finished when you’re home. I’m hoping we can talk one-on-one.

I miss you, bro.

I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. At least in Canada, I could claim to be too busy for the heart-to-heart he seems hell-bent on having, but now he’s going to double down on “talking” when I’m in Boston .

“My money was on Finn,” Charlotte says, interrupting my doomsday spiral.

Dropping my hand, I assess her. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t drop a bomb like your brother being a douche canoe general and expect me to not want to know which one. I’m nosy by nature, Lucas.”

“And you thought it was Finn?” I ask, fighting a grin. Finn’s got a lot of game, but he’s allergic to commitment and condoms, which makes him a walking red flag for most women.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Process of elimination. Grayson’s married, and since he just posted about their seven-year anniversary, I couldn’t imagine it was him. The next closest to you in age is Jesse, but I ruled him out, since the two of you have always been so close.”

Her words are like a knife to the chest.

“That leaves the twins. Ezra and Finn,” she continues. “Ezra has less game than a dead Nintendo, so I can’t exactly see him being Mr. Steal Your Girl, which leaves Finn. While he’s the most likely to have illegitimate children, I can’t see him sneaking behind your back. He’s definitely the kind of guy to boast about who he’s slept with.”

Fuck. How the hell does she know so much about the twins’ flirting styles? Jealousy rears its head, but I press my lips together to tamp it down.

Charlotte tilts her head, as if reading my thoughts. “I met them at the Austin Grand Prix last year. Watching Ezra try to flirt nearly sent me into therapy for second-hand embarrassment, and there’s no way Finn works full time, since he spends half his days sliding into my DMs.”

My lungs seize, and my phone clatters to the outdoor carpet beneath us. I quickly pick it up and affect a neutral expression, although playing it cool left the boat about twenty nautical miles back .

“My brother is in your DMs?”

She hits me with an affronted frown. “You don’t have to seem so shocked that a good-looking guy is in my DMs.”

I can’t exactly tell her she’s mistaking my anger for surprise, so I focus on the last part of her sentence. “You think Finn’s good-looking?”

Ezra and I take after our mom, with blond hair and green eyes, but Finn, Jesse, and Grayson take after our dad in the classic tall, dark, and handsome way.

“Every member of your family is good-looking,” she says, looking at me in horror, as if I just admitted to loving jellyfish. “Five boys, and all of you could easily be Abercrombie models? That’s got to be a world record.”

I’d normally preen at a compliment like that, but being lumped in with my brothers in her eyes spoils it. Until this moment, I couldn’t imagine Jesse being replaced as my least favorite brother, but Finn is quickly worming his way to the top of that list.

“What’s Finn saying to you?” I press.

“Nothing of importance,” she reveals. “He mostly just sends me fire emojis, the GIF of Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby lifting up a glass of champagne, and random dad jokes.”

That little piece of shit.

“I’m glad I didn’t end up ordering that voodoo doll for you,” she muses, more to herself than to me.

I jerk back so quickly that I nearly trip over Champ, who’s curled into a doughnut-shaped ball behind me. “Did I get water in my ears, or did you just say voodoo doll?”

She nods, her expression serious, as if that was a completely normal question. “Mm-hmm. I was going to order this custom voodoo doll with your evil brother’s face on it.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that statement, but I start with “Custom voodoo dolls are a thing? ”

Maybe Charlotte’s pettiness should weird me out, but it’s honestly sort of a turn-on.

“Clearly you’ve never been on Etsy,” she says with a disappointed sigh. “Yes, of course custom voodoo dolls are a thing. But it would’ve been super confusing if I presented you with one sporting Finn’s face when you two don’t have any beef.”

Considering he regularly DMs Charlotte, I’d say we have beef .

“Based on that text and the way you looked like you wanted to throw your phone into the bottom of the sea when you read it, I’m going to go with Jesse being the culprit,” she continues. “It’s a good thing he’s not coming to Montreal.”

“Hmm.” I keep my response noncommittal. It may be obvious now that Jesse’s the brother I had a falling-out with, but that doesn’t mean I want to outright admit to it.

“Not for your sake,” she clarifies. “For his. Boxers may be forbidden from punching people in the dick, but I’m sure as hell not.”

An unexpected laugh rumbles out of me, and Charlotte’s lips quirk up playfully. I’ve never craved attention or the spotlight, but one smile from her and I understand the temptation.