Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Attention, Avalon Bay!”
A voice suddenly blasts out of the boardwalk’s PA system. Deb, of course. I’ve heard Debra Dooley scream into microphones so many times these past two days that I could now pick her voice out of a lineup.
“The winners of the twentieth-annual Avalon Beach Games are about to be announced. Please make your way over to the Tourism Center.”
“Did you win?” Mo asks me, wide-eyed.
“I don’t think so. But if my teammate’s math is right, we may have come in third. I’ll see you guys later, okay? Gotta find my team.”
“We’re heading out now,” Dad says, which tells me he took my warning seriously. “But I’ll call you later. Good job today.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
There’s a large crowd gathered at the tourism hut when I arrive. I search the sea of faces until I spot Zale’s familiar Afro. “Cass!” he shouts. “Over here!”
I join my team, and we wait impatiently while Deb delivers another one of her speeches about how much she loves this town. She stands atop a low stage that barely holds two people, let alone a team of four. The winning teams select one member to go up and accept their trophy.
The firefighters win first place, while the yacht club takes second. And for the Beacon’s long-awaited return to the world of Beach Games, our team comes in third.
We break out in cheers as Gen hops on to the small stage to accept our third-place trophy from a beaming Deb Dooley. It’s about ten inches tall with a copper finish and gold accents around the beach ball figurine at the top. The brown wooden base just has a generic THIRD PLACE engraved on it.
Gen flashes the Hartleys a smile as she saunters past them holding our trophy. “Aww, they don’t give these out for fourth?” Gen asks sweetly. “Look how cute it is.”
“A third-place trophy, Genevieve?” Cooper shoots back. “Grow the fuck up. If you don’t win, you lose.”
Mac offers a brisk nod of agreement. “He’s not wrong.”
“You two psychos are made for each other,” Evan mutters.
“Hey, Cassie,” Mac says, turning to smile at me. “Thanks so much for being on our team—this was such a blast. Will you come back next year?”
“Really? Even though I don’t work at the hotel?”
“What do you mean? The Beacon was in the Tanner family for fifty years. You’ll always have a place here.”
I’m so touched, my eyes start to sting. I didn’t expect to form genuine connections this summer, but I’m so glad I did. Stupid Grandma was right. It is nice being part of a group.
Speaking of Grandma, I suddenly spot her in the crowd, a frown staining my lips when I notice she’s alone. I excuse myself and make my way toward her. She greets me with a smile, but it’s clearly strained.
“Hey,” I say, leading her toward a less busy section of the boardwalk. “Where’s Mom?”
“Well …” Grandma presses her lips together.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. But … perhaps a little hiccup. We just ran into your father and his family in the parking lot.” Grandma pauses. “Your mother stopped to speak to Clayton.”
Shit.
“Damn it,” I mutter. Then I force a smile so Grandma doesn’t worry. “Are you cool waiting here for a minute? I want to go and make sure nobody’s been killed.”
I race off in the direction of the little gravel lot behind the tourism center. This situation needs handling ASAP. Last thing I need is for Evil Mom to make a reappearance when we still have a week left in the Bay. Which means I need to defuse any bombs that might blow the rest of my summer to smithereens.
I catch sight of them immediately, gratified that it’s just the two of them. Nia and the girls must be in the car already. Silver lining, I guess.
Hurrying toward them, I manage to catch the tail end of Dad’s incensed accusation.
“Using the miscarriage to turn our kid against me? Trying to make yourself look like some sort of martyr? That’s low, Vic, even for you. You fought for custody because you’re a selfish—” He stops abruptly. “Cassie, hey. Hi, sweetheart.”
Mom whirls around. Her brown eyes blaze with anger. Not directed at me, though. She’s still wholly focused on my father.
“Guys,” I beg. “Please. I don’t want you two to fight.”
“Neither do I, Cassandra. But I’m not the one fighting, am I, Clayton?” Mom says coldly.
Dad frowns. “Victoria …” I don’t know if it’s a warning or an appeal.
“No, I think this conversation is over. Why don’t you go now? Your nurse and her children are waiting in the car.”
“My children,” he growls.
I reach for Mom’s arm. “Come on,” I urge. “Tate’s taking us to lunch. He and Grandma are waiting.”
Her thunderous expression doesn’t change, but she also doesn’t object when I start leading her away. I glance over my shoulder at Dad, whose face is bright red, his movements jerky as he repositions his glasses on the bridge of his nose.