Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

It’s chaos inside my head, and there’s little I can do about it.

Taylor and I had plans to host an intervention with Elio tonight. At the last minute, she was invited to meet her new partner’s family in the next state over, so I’m stuck carrying the load on my own. They’ve only been dating for about five weeks now, but she says she’s never felt this way about anyone before.

I’m happy for her, truly. She deserves this.

Besides, who am I to ask her to stay? I know she feels terrible about it, even though I’m fairly certain I can handle this on my own. Elio’s not someone I should be afraid of. I’m the older brother, the responsible one, and I can lay down the gauntlet all by myself.

I just might need a little extra mental prep beforehand.

Right now, the plan is to wait until our parents and siblings head to bed, hopefully after a family holiday well spent. Post turkey and stuffing, of course, since it’s my intention to catch him in the best mood possible.

Harper warned me to go easy on him before I left today. She said he’s “just a kid” and that we all make mistakes when we’re that age. While that may be true, I’m almost positive he lied straight to my fucking face. Not only that, but he took money from Taylor’s pocket and, indirectly, from mine. It pisses me off, especially when he knows how strapped for cash we all are.

Not to mention, our little sister, Giorgie, really fucking needs the money he’s been skimming off our parents.

Being the kind person she is, Harper offered to go home with me for moral support, but this is a family matter in the end. I can do this alone like I’ve always done. Plus, I wanted her to spend time with her roommates for Friendsgiving. It’s their tradition, apparently, and I’ve been eating up enough of her free time as it is.

It’s nearing six o’clock by the time I realize my plan is officially fucked. The table’s nicely set, the turkey is well rested, and my little siblings are already loading up on mashed potatoes. That’s one of Giorgie’s preferred foods, thankfully, so she feels comfortable enough to join us for the meal.

Unsurprisingly, though, my little brother is nowhere to be found.

With a tired, frustrated sigh, I ask, “Mamma, where’s Elio?”

She waves a flippant hand, pretending to tidy the napkins on our perfectly prepared table. “Oh, your brother’s at a friend’s house. You know Jackson?”

Yeah, I definitely know Jackson, the same fucking kid Elio got drugs from a few weeks ago. If he’s off doing that again—rather than spending a nice family holiday together—then I might actually lose my mind.

“Are you kidding me, Ma?” The reality of the situation weighs heavy in my chest. “He’s seriously missing Thanksgiving dinner with us?”

Her hands move to fuss with Vivia’s hair, patting down the flyaways as my little sister swats at her. “Luca, non è importante.”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“Yeah, it’s a big deal,” I argue, lifting a brow in disbelief. “He’s being a complete jerk.”

“Eh basta!” She gestures to the empty chair at the end of the table. “I don’t see your sister here, either.”

I blink at her, incredulous. “Taylor actually had somewhere important to be tonight. I can guarantee you E’s just trying to avoid spending time with me.”

“You’ll see him later, Luc,” my dad cuts in, gaze narrowing in my direction. He carefully carves up the turkey, one thick piece at a time, loading up a plate to serve his wife first. “Give your mother a break.”

“Yeah, I will see him later.” I rub at the back of my neck, blowing out a heated breath. “Tonight, because you’re going to give me Jackson’s address.”

My mother tsks. “After dinner, caro.”

“Sure,” I relent, taking a plate from my dad’s outstretched hand, “after dinner.”

In an attempt to enjoy the rest of our meal, I push the frustration to the back of my mind. It’s no easy feat, considering I’m now flaming with anger, but I’d rather not stress my mom out any more than I already have. Besides, my little sisters seem to be enjoying themselves well enough. It’s a rare occurrence for all three of them to stay seated at the family table.

And I don’t want to ruin the fun with a sour attitude, so I sit myself down, shut myself up, and enjoy my damn food in peace.

After helping my parents clear the table, I take some time to tuck Giorgie in for bed. There’s this book she’s obsessed with about a little witch called Hazel, so naturally, she picks that one for me to read, forcing me to switch voices for each new character. It’s goofy, sure, but even I’ll admit I make a pretty awesome Toad.

Besides, spending half an hour laughing with Geeg is exactly what I needed to clear my mind.

When I arrive at Jackson’s place an hour later, it’s pretty fucking clear there’s a party going on. Loud music is booming from the house, the front lawn is scattered with drunk teenagers, and the distinct smell of marijuana is wafting through the windows of my car.

It sure seems like kids these days don’t give a shit about being caught.

Sadly, in order to find a vacant spot, I’m forced to park a few blocks away from the house. There are a lot of cars here tonight, which serves to irritate me even more. It’s fucking Thanksgiving, for God’s sake. These kids should be spending the holiday with their families. At least, Elio should since he has no good reason to actively hate us.

As I walk up to the front door, I pause for a long moment, attempting to ground myself first. I don’t want to go in there guns blazing, completely and totally pissed off at my brother from the get-go. I need to be rational for a moment. Approach this with caution. It’s the only way I might be able to get through to him.

After my third and final knock, a tall kid in a letterman’s jacket opens the door for me. His gaze flits up and down my frame, two quick passes before he opens his mouth and says, “Dude, aren’t you a little too old for this?”

“I’m looking for my brother,” I mutter, forcing back an eye roll. “Elio Reynolds.”

“By all means.” He swings the door open, gesturing behind him and into the packed house.

With a shake of my head, I power on through, parting the crowd until I reach the kitchen. Surprisingly, I spot the little shit almost instantly. He’s pouring himself a drink into a classic red Solo cup. It’s a disgusting-looking mixture of juice and Everclear, exactly what I’d expect my little brother to be drinking right now.

He doesn’t even bother to look up when I enter the room—completely oblivious to my presence—so I take a shot and ask, “What the hell are you doing here, E?”

His head darts up at the sound of my voice, eyes wide with a panic that quickly fades into anger.

“The fuck, Luc?” he spits out. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. You’re really gonna skip out on tonight of all nights to go to a fucking party?”

He glances around us, scanning the perimeter of the room before taking a step closer. He clearly doesn’t want any of his little friends to hear me berate him. “Mom and Dad didn’t give a shit, so why does it matter to you?”

“It matters because I know you’re a fucking liar,” I say, unable to keep my volume down. I truly don’t care if every person at this goddamn party hears us arguing. “I know you’ve taken money from Taylor and our parents. You say you’re paying for classes at the community college, but I bet you’re not even taking them, are you?”

His nostrils flare, body tense and eyes wild at the accusation. He drops his voice to a low murmur and asks, “Can we do this outside?”

“Sure.” I toss a hand up. “Outside, it is.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots, lips flattened into a tight line. He’s actually angry with me right now? Truthfully, it wasn’t my intention to embarrass him tonight. I’d rather not drag him by the ear out of his friend’s party, but at this point, he’s given me no other choice.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing wildly toward the crowd.

I head back to the front door, pushing through the entryway until we’re both out in the open air. He stands in front of me on the lawn now, arms crossed, eyes downcast. Normally, I wouldn’t force the eye contact, but I need to see if he’s hiding something from me.

“Look at me,” I demand.

He lifts his chin and stares me straight in the face—eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed—and it’s pretty damn evident that he’s high again. My heart fractures a tiny bit at the sight of the confirmation.

“So the classes are fucking fake, aren’t they?”

“I was doing them, I swear,” he says on a long exhale. “But I failed a test, and then I couldn’t catch myself back up. It’s not my fault.”

“And the money you borrowed from Taylor?” My eyes narrow. “You wasted that on a class you were already failing?”

He stares at his feet, a muscle in his jaw tensing. “No.”

“The drugs, then? Is that what you’re spending money on?” I snap, acid burning in my throat. “Pills, coke, what else?”

“Nothing, man.” He shakes his head, a pitiful curve to his shoulders. “I’m not.”

I scoff, raising my voice as I shout, “Don’t lie!”

“Don’t fucking yell at me! You’re not my father.”

“No, but I am your brother, and you’re being so careless right now. You realize you’re taking money out of our baby sister’s pocket, right?” At this point, my temper is untamable. “You’re fucking everything up, E.”

“Just shut up!” he screams, head in his hands. “You’re being so goddamn dramatic.”

“You want to see me be dramatic?” I throw my hands up, fire pouring out of me. “Because I can get dramatic.”

“Oh, fuck this.” He spins on his heel. “I’m out of here.”

Fuck, this is not going how I wanted it to go. How I needed it to go. I was supposed to enter into this conversation all calm, cool, and collected, not rip his fucking head off in the process. Taylor would not be proud of how I’m handling this right now, nor would my girlfriend.

“Wait,” I call, reaching out with one hand to stop him.

My fingertips barely graze the back of his T-shirt when he whips around and shoves me with all his strength, instantly toppling me to the ground. I land—knee-first, unable to catch my balance—on the rough pavement of the driveway.

The harsh, disturbing sound of my popping kneecap rings through the now-silent air. Mind-numbing, spine-tingling pain reverberates throughout my entire body, and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep the tears at bay.

“Shit, shit.” My brother’s panicking now, frantically scrambling toward me. “Luc, I-I’m so—”

“Don’t say another fucking word,” I manage to grit out between clenched teeth, my breath leaving me in a series of harsh pants.

My mind is reeling, spiraling out of control, creating every worst-case scenario possible. If my knee is actually broken, I might as well consider this my early fucking retirement. I pinch my eyes closed, attempting to clear my head as I reach for my phone.

“What are you doing?” Elio steps back before he can help me up, arms hanging limply by his sides. “Are you calling the cops?”

I clutch my phone to my chest. “No, E, I’m not calling the fucking—”

“Shit!” a nearby voice calls out. “Did someone say cops?”

From there, everything quickly descends into chaos. “Cops! Cops! Cops!” is repeatedly shouted around the lawn, traveling like a high-speed game of telephone throughout the remainder of the party. About thirty seconds pass before everyone starts to run, funneling out of the house in droves.

“Elio, man, what are you doing?” I glance up, watching as my brother’s friend tugs on his sleeve. “Come on!”

“Yeah, I’m-uh, I’m coming,” Elio says, sparing me one last guilt-stricken glance before darting off with the rest of them.

Now I’m stuck, lying here alone in the driveway of some kid’s house, my fucking kneecap completely popped out of place. No matter how hard I try, I can’t push myself up off the ground.

I think I might be sick. I roll onto my side, clutch my knee to my chest, and vomit out the entirety of my Thanksgiving dinner.

In an instant, my shot at the draft slips through my fingers like sand.