Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
I laugh.
Akara laughs at first too, but as soon as she spins around, his smile slowly vanishes.
“She’s kidding,” I remind him.
He pushes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know…”
Does he?
Sulli only notices Akara is second-guessing that interaction when she’s already on her paddleboard. Momentum glides her further out into the water. “Kits? Fuck. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Akara shouts as she drifts away.
I call out, “He doesn’t think you drool over him!”
Akara shoves my arm like I pants-ed him in front of our girlfriend. “Banks.”
“What? It’s true.”
“Semi-true.”
“True enough.”
Sulli paddles closer to the shore, digging her oar in the water. “I was wrong, Kits.”
He grimaces. “No, I’m being sensitive.”
“You can be fucking sensitive,” she says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He winces more. Like this whole exchange is a shot to his ego.
I try not to laugh.
Akara notices, and he smiles, “Shut up, Banks.”
I can’t kill my laughter.
Sulli suddenly declares, “I wasn’t drooling over anyone. Not you, not Banks. No fucking one. Because I, Sullivan Minnie Meadows, don’t fucking drool.”
“Mic drop,” I say.
Akara is smiling more.
“Okay? We’re okay?” Sulli asks for confirmation.
“Of course we are,” Akara says strongly.
I think he should talk to her about his insecurities. But he’d rather not cast doubt in our triad. Like if he surfaces that shit, it’ll detonate the three of us, and all he wants is the three of us standing at the end together.
Maybe he’s thinking he’ll get over it on his own.
I’m not even a relationship expert, and I know pretending everything is okay isn’t better than hashing out the things that eat at you.
“Banks?” Sulli asks.
“I’m good, mermaid.”
She’s smiling, then paddles towards the center of the river.
Akara continues fiddling with my life vest.
I’m staring through him.
He’s tense. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I screwed up.”
“If you’re jealous of me—”
43
BANKS MORETTI
“I’m not jealous,” he whispers tightly, running another hand through his hair. “It’s my crap to sort through.”
“And you can’t sort it through with her because…?”
“I’m sorting through it with you.” He slaps my arm lightly.
I withhold a smile. “Like I said before, I’m not the one you need to fucking talk to about this. It’s your relationship with her that you’re second-guessing.”
He winces at that word. “I’m not second-guessing me and Sulli. Not even a fraction of a fraction, Banks. And that’s why I don’t think I should bring this up. You know how many different ways I could screw the wordage? It’s not a simple thing. It’s a feeling. Not jealousy. I just feel…” He shakes his head, unable to articulate the grinding emotion. “And then she’ll be afraid I might leave or I’m questioning what we have—when that’s not it.”
“Then tell her that.”
He exhales a strained noise and watches Sulli paddle in circles. Waiting for us. “I know I have to…I’ll talk to her…I will.”
“Now.”
“Later,” he decrees. “I’ll do it later.”
“Nine—”
“I just want to enjoy today. This.”
Alright.
I get that. So I stop pushing.
He finishes with my life vest.
“You try to mess with my balance, you’re going in the water,” I warn him. “I have a longer wingspan, and I’ll tank your ass in seconds.”
“I won’t mess with you.” He’s smiling. “You next.”
Me next?
I check the unsteady river, then the solid ground. Then look to Akara. “You scared I’ll stay on the shore?” I’m thinking about it.
“No.” He holds my gaze. “I just don’t want to leave you behind.”
That gets to me for a solid second, and I take my emotions with me to the board. Ankle deep in the cool water, I hoist myself onto my knees, grab an oar, and paddle into the river. Alright, Banks Roscoe Moretti, stand your tall ass up.
I pretend like I’m on solid land, and I climb to my feet.
Oh shit.
Unstable. Rocking.
I careen over, face first into the water. Not cold, but not too warm. When I hike myself back on the board, Ryke uses his oar to steady the board for me. “Try again,” he coaches. “Crouch lower. Hold a squat if you can, and then when you feel steady, you can stand up fully.”
Water dripping off my temples, I try to stand up again. Doing as instructed. This time, it’s easier. My feet wobble like I’m on a teeter-totter, but I don’t fall into the river.
“Good job,” Ryke says. “It’s going to be harder for you, since you’re so fucking tall. Lower center of gravity helps with balance.”
I nod stiffly, trying to focus on my balance but my mind travels someplace else. Ryke coaching me like I’m his kid. I imagine it’s in his nature. He’d do it for just about anyone that needed help—even his brother—but it feels different today.
Maybe because he knows I’m going to be a dad to his grandkid.
Maybe because he’s a better father figure to look up to than my old man.
I hold that thought as he plunges his oar in the water. “Just keep doing that and you won’t fall in,” he tells me. “But it doesn’t really fucking matter if you do. Dais and Nona try to fall off—”