Page 25 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Twenty-Four

CALLUM

W hen Iris called this morning over the radio, I thought I was ready.

I also thought this day would be one I’d never have.

The water is choppy as Firefly powers over it, bow proud. The sea is a direct reflection of my gut. I’ve spent the last two hours trying to find the right words to say to someone I’ve never met.

An impossible task.

Will he be anything like me? Or has Ava nurtured the McCreary right out of him?

Contemplating a thousand scenarios of what his childhood was like—what his relationship is like with his parents—I grip the wheel too hard.

The bitterness of missing my son’s life churns sour in my gut. I remind myself it wasn’t his doing. It was Ava’s. Her parents.

Oh, of all the ways our parents can screw us up, this one’s a clusterfuck.

Bay Shore comes into view, and I slow Firefly. I’m not entirely certain what’s going to happen, and it’s doing my head in.

“It’s only a first meeting,” Iris had said. “Ava thought it was fair that Reese comes to you, that way he can see a little of your life. And maybe next time, meet Evie.”

Evie will be pacing the living room floor with bated breath, no doubt.

She’s up in her head about this, too. But what took me aback about her reaction was the fear I would choose my son over her.

I highly doubt it would ever come to having to choose.

Like I said, after all we have been through and the soul-deep need we have, nonnegotiable.

Em’s waiting as I slip into the dock and kill the engine. He moors the lines and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Easy trip?”

“Choppy.”

“The water or that mind of yours?” He raises a brow.

“Both.”

“You’ll do fine, Cal. I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want you for an old man, hey?”

I punch his arm, and he sways with the impact, chuckling.

“Is he here?”

“ They are here.”

Shit, I’m late. Great first impression.

“Ava’s here, too?”

“Yup. Apparently once she comes back from the dead, she’s hard to get rid of.”

I shake my head at Em’s ridiculous sense of humor. “Let’s do this, then.”

I sound far more confident than I am. My own hands have worked up a shake, and I wring them as we make our way to the café.

It’s busy. Too busy for an intimate meeting of father and son for the first time.

The doorbell jingles, and everyone but Errol, who’s sitting at his usual spot at the counter, stops and stares.

Fucking Christ, the last thing I need is an audience.

I’m about to do a swift about-turn when Em nods toward the counter. Iris is waiting, and she smiles at me, gesturing for us to come out back. Thank god.

Em goes first as I run through my rapid thoughts for the least idiotic thing to say. I don’t trust my words at this point, and I wish Evie was here. Since they’re her thing. And she’s literally my happy place. I have no doubt one glance of those beautiful browns would calm me down.

“Callum.” Ava stands from where she’s sitting at Iris’s dining table.

Em and Iris huddle before making themselves scarce.

“Hey,” I say, but the word is strangled as it wedges past the stone in my throat.

The young guy sitting on the seat beside Ava has his head down. The same shaggy brown hair as mine covers his face. He’s staring at his phone, like nothing interesting is going on. Wearing a black T-shirt and a black jacket, his moody vibe is emanating around the room.

“Reese,” Ava starts, glancing at her—our—son, “will you get off that thing?”

He ignores her.

“Hey, bud.”

He scoffs. “I’m not your bud.”

Now he looks up. It’s like someone spun a goddamn mirror around and I’m catching my own reflection. A few decades ago, but still. He’s the spitting image.

Exactly the way Evie described the guy she ran into in the street the other day.

I take a seat and lean back, crossing my arms.

Since my carbon copy sits across the table from me, I have a fairly good idea of what’s going on in his head. As soon as the thought formulates, I scoff at myself internally.

“What year is she?” I ask.

His head pops up, the phone forgotten. “Who?” His face doesn’t improve—in fact, the frown turns into a scowl.

“Your bike.”

“What bike?”

“The one you’ve been scouring the streets of Bay Shore in.”

Ava’s face turns to surprise laced with annoyance. “I told you to stay off that thing. It’s a damn death trap.”

Reese rolls his eyes at his mother. I suppress the laugh wanting out at his defiance.

I shouldn’t laugh. She’s raised him, housed him, and fed him.

Kept him alive and thriving for two decades.

But that bitter little streak in me centered around her keeping him away lets the chuckle escape as a barely contained smile.

“Just a piece of junk I picked up secondhand. Nothing like what I plan on getting.”

He looks at his mother as he says this, as if this is her punishment for keeping the bike from him.

This boy isn’t a chip off the old block. He’s the exact replica of it.

The attitude. The defiance.

The contempt at anyone trying to tell him what to do...

That was me from the month my parents died to the moment I met the woman in front of me right now. Five years of running riot without a care in the world for the damage I caused.

And it cost me.

Everything.

“You working on modifying it or going to upgrade?” I ask.

“This is what you came here for? To chat about bikes? You don’t want to hear what my first word was, or when I lost my first tooth, or how my shitty grades were?” He leans back, imitating my position.

I smile at him. What else can I do? I imagine this is what the town saw back then. A boy with an attitude bigger than the chip resting on his shoulder.

“Nah, past is in the past. Besides, I don’t reminisce.”

He scoffs, looking away.

Ava shifts on her seat. “I’m going to grab some coffee.”

She leaves the table and disappears from the room.

“So you’re like some loner locked up on an island in some lighthouse, then?”

“Absolutely, and you’re some misunderstood guy with shitty parents, right?”

“I don’t want your sympathy. Or anything else from you. I came here because my mother wanted me to.”

“So, you do have a conscience . . .”

“Barely.”

“Right, because that doesn’t sit well with the broody guy act.” I lean forward and study his face.

“Fuck off,” he mutters.

I sigh. “I understand this is a lot. You’re not the only one whose world got flipped like a goddamn trash can.”

He doesn’t reply, simply stretches, his hands clasping the back of his neck as he stares out the window. So we sit in a companionable silence for a moment. The first part of this encounter we both agree on. I can just hear what Iris would be saying: Pot, kettle. Pigeon pair, you two.

Reese lowers his arms. “What’s your island like?”

“An island. Quiet. No place for young blood, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, right . . .”

Two men of few words, we sit in silence once again. As if she’s been watching, Ava reenters the room. “Well, how’s it all going?”

“We’re eloping next Saturday,” Reese drawls with an eye roll.

“Reese,” she scolds. Looking at me, she tilts her head. “Sorry, I don’t know where—” Her face tightens with a flat smile.

Oh, he absolutely gets that from me. I resist the urge to chuckle at the two of them.

“Are you staying on the mainland for the rest of the day?” Ava asks, sitting down.

“Nah, gotta head back.”

“Oh, sure.” She forces a different kind of smile.

“You’re welcome to come over to Fire Island any time,” I say to Reese. “If that’s something you want.”

Ava studies her son, but his expression doesn’t change. “I’m sure that would be fine, when he’s ready.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Reese stands and swipes up his phone.

He’s tall. Built like me, and I even recognize the gait as he walks away, disappearing through the door to the café.

“I would appreciate it if you would run any offers past me first.” Ava’s shoulders are set back, her chin tilted up.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “You want me to ask permission to see my own son?”

Her mouth opens to say something.

I don’t give her the chance. “So we’re clear. You faked your death, turned an entire town against me, and ran off with my flesh and blood. And now you’re trying to set the rules?”

“I—”

“You don’t get a say, Ava. He’s twenty-one. He doesn’t need your permission to do a damn thing. And neither do I.”

I stand and stalk from the room.

She can sit in her propriety and stew, for all I care. If she’s doing such a wonderful job, why is the boy not in college? Why is he being chauffeured around by his mother? And why the hell is this town so okay with what she’s done?

It’s almost as if . . .

Small-town business is everybody’s business.

But this is surprisingly not getting the reaction I thought it would.

They either truly do hate me that much, or something else is going on here.

I find Iris behind the counter with Paige.

They are tallying the bill for a disgruntled customer, and I give them a wave as I head for the door.

Iris mutters something to Paige and slips out from behind the counter, following me out. The door jingles to a close behind me, and she grabs my arm. “So? What’s he like? How did it go?”

Her green eyes are lit by hope and curiosity.

“As I’d expected. Awkward and short.”

“Urgh, come on, you have to give me more than that.”

“He’s a chip off the old block, that oughta tell you all you need to know.”

Her eyes narrow and she folds her arms over her apron-clad chest. “He looks so much like you. Is he coming back?”

“I have no idea. I invited him out to the house, but something tells me Ava isn’t on board with that.”

“Well, he is old enough to do what he wants. So maybe he will?”

“Maybe.” I move to leave, but she stops me, a hand on my arm.

“Cal, I’m—” She tamps back emotion. “This feels like a good thing.”

“We’ll see, Irry.”

She shakes her head, stepping out of my space. I press my lips to her forehead. For all she’s done for me. For the way she constantly fights for me. With a brief squeeze of a hug, I leave her on the sidewalk and head for Firefly. The only person I want to see right now—to talk to—is Evie.