Mia
I’m trying to look at job openings, and all I can think about is the possibility I’m related to Skates and Casey Cline. I finally shut my computer and remove the photos out of the drawer that I brought from the Brooks’ house. A picture of my mother and Casey sharing what they probably thought was a secret glance makes my stomach churn for the millionth time.
My entire life, I’ve wanted to know who my father was and if he even knew I existed. If he did know, would he want a relationship with me? Was there still time to have one?
The idea Casey Cline could be my father makes me wish I was still in the dark.
How could she have been with him? He was so much older than her.
The eight-by-ten photos that were anonymously mailed to me are sitting on the counter, and I pick up one that has me in it when I was around the same age as my mother in the photos. I lay them side by side.
My mother and I look almost identical. There is no resemblance to Casey that would give me any clue if he really is my father.
Do I look anything like Skates?
I don’t remember the face of Skates when he shot me. The dark room made it hard to see. I remember his blue eyes, but that is it. My mother and Casey both have blue eyes.
I open up my laptop and go to Instagram. I don’t have an exciting account and didn’t have a phone to be able to post anything, but I created it to try and figure out how to apply makeup and look at what current fashion trends are, which I was able to view on my laptop. It didn’t help me, and I still am clueless when it comes to that, but nonetheless, I have an account.
I type in the search bar @skates, and after about a half hour of searching, I come across it. His id is @skatesami, and as soon as I see him, I know it’s him. He has the same eyes as in my memory. A scar runs down his cheek. Unlike Clay and me, he has blond hair, just like his father.
The chill that runs through my body intensifies when I see the tattoo on his forearm—a skateboard with the twisted hearts gang symbol above it.
Veronica’s laugh and, “I wouldn’t exactly call it dating. More like, we had a lot of fun together, if you get my drift,” plays over and over in my mind.
I look back at the tattoo on the Instagram picture. It’s the same.
It can’t be a coincidence. When did she get involved with Skates? Was it before or after my brother’s death?
I continue scrolling through Skates’ feed, and my pulse increases. Veronica is in multiple photos over the years with Skates, kissing him, making faces with him, doing other things that people who are romantically together do.
Tapping on one of the photos, I see she is tagged, and I click on it. Her feed displays more pictures of Skates and her. It takes a lot of time, but I finally get to the bottom of her feed. Her entire timeline has Skates in it, but she posted the first photo eight years ago.
They could have gotten together before or after Clay died.
You need to find out.
Despite my promise to Beckett to stay at the house or only go somewhere with him or his brothers, I remove my gun out of the safe and toss it in my purse.
It doesn’t take long to drive to the shop where Veronica works. I’m pretty sure she is there because her Instagram story had a video of her complaining she had to go into work with a hangover.
With a racing heart, I pull into the parking lot. I get out of the car and go into the shop.
It’s a large store, but no one seems to be in it except Veronica. Since it’s off season, it isn’t abnormal. When I walk in, she has her back to me and is singing to the music, putting sale stickers on some T-shirts.
I slowly make my way to the other side of the rack, and she jumps.
“Jesus, Mia! You scared me!”
I don’t say anything and stare at her.
What now, Mia? You should have planned this better.
“Can I help you with something?”
“What was your relationship with my brother,” I blurt out.
She rolls her eyes. “We had fun together.”
“What does that mean?”
She looks me up and down. “I think you can use your imagination.”
My stomach flips.
“Did you love him?”
She laughs so hard tears come out of her eyes. Wiping them away, she says, “Of course not. We were teenagers, and I’m pretty sure we both were seeing other people.”
So she could have been seeing Skates then. “How did you meet him?”
“At a bonfire. Why do you want to know this?”
I shift back and forth on my feet but finally say, “I’m trying to figure out more things I didn’t know about him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s my brother.”
Veronica peers at me. “We had fun. It wasn’t serious. I can’t tell you much more than that.” She turns and strolls toward the counter.
“Were you sad when he died?” I blurt out again.
She keeps moving, and nonchalantly says, “Sure.”
Wow. That sounds convincing. She was sleeping with him, and it sounds like she didn’t care about him at all.
“Were you there the night it happened?”
She spins back to me. “No.”
“Why not? If you and Clay were seeing each other, wouldn’t you have been there?”
Veronica steps closer to me. “I told you we weren’t serious. And what does that have to do with anything?”
My pulse inches up. “I don’t know. I’m just curious. So, why weren’t you there?”
“How would I remember? It was over ten years ago.”
You would remember where you were the night someone you were sleeping with got murdered, even if it was casual, wouldn’t you?
“Really? You don’t remember why you didn’t go?”
Her eyes become slits. “Whatever you’re trying to dig up, I’m sure doesn’t exist. Beckett killed Clay. No one knows why, end of story.”
So, she does know something.
“Who said I was trying to dig something up?”
She tilts her head at me. “Aren’t you?”
“No.” I try to sound convincing and decide to change the subject. Her tattoo is half covered with her shirt. “How long have you had your tattoo?”
“A long time.”
“Did you have it when you knew my brother?”
Silence ensues as we look at each other.
Focus Mia.
She peers at me. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Curious, that’s all. My brother didn’t date any girls with tattoos as far as I can remember.”
She twists her hair. “I got it shortly after he died. And we fucked, we didn’t date. Stop acting like we had a relationship. It was fun, that’s it.”
Shortly after. So she could have known Skates when she was with my brother.
Another customer enters the store.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Veronica turns and leaves me.
I pretend to look at a few articles of clothing, sneaking glances at her. She’s behind the counter, turned slightly away from me, brows furrowed, and seems to be in a text conversation with someone.
Another co-worker comes in, and Veronica starts talking to her, giving her instructions on what needs to be done for the day.
She must be getting off her shift.
When I leave the store, I park in the lot adjacent to the shop. Within fifteen minutes, Veronica steps outside, and a man driving a black convertible Porsche pulls up to the curb. He has gray hair and is wearing sunglasses. I can’t see the front of his face very well, but she gets into the passenger side, and they leave.
The island traffic is sparse, so I’m able to stay back and easily watch where they go. He drives down Gulf Drive and out of the city of Anna Maria and into Holmes Beach, stopping at the marina. I drive past it and veer into a parking lot catty-corner to it.
Both Veronica and the man get out. I’m several hundred yards away, so my vision isn’t totally clear, but they go directly to a dock that has a brand-new boat with several cabins in it. It’s not a full yacht, but I’m guessing it’s worth at least several million.
The cabin door opens, and Henry steps out. I catch a glimpse of a man with blond hair inside, but I can’t see his face.
I’ll bet it’s Skates.
Henry exchanges words with Veronica and the gray-haired man, and then he climbs out of the boat, onto the dock, and heads to his police car I hadn’t noticed. He drives in the opposite direction.
Veronica steps into the cabin and passionately kisses the man standing inside, while the gray-haired man turns and gets back off the boat. As his Porsche passes me, I duck down in my seat and tug my cap over my eyes further. He’s at a stoplight, and I catch a glimpse of his face. He’s older than the pictures, but it’s definitely Casey Cline.
The light changes green, and he speeds off. I turn to look back at the boat, but it’s already left the dock.
I can still see Casey’s Porsche, so I follow him.
Why are you following him, Mia?
I continue to drive down the island, barely noticing the blue of the ocean through the houses and condominiums fronting it. The Porsche maneuvers down a side street, and I neglect to notice I’m getting closer, when I need to stay back. We go down several residential roads, and I’m so focused on the Porsche that I miss the dead end sign.
At the end of the street, Casey pulls into a driveway, quickly reverses then passes me and turns his car in the road so it’s blocking any chance I have to turn and leave.
My pulse beats in my neck, and my stomach flips. I try to hide under my hat again, but it’s no use.
Shit, shit, shit! What am I going to do?
He gets out of the car, angrily knocks on my window, and tries to open my locked door. Out of fear, I yell, “Stop.” He freezes as the blood drains from his face. “Mia?”
I don’t say anything, just stare at him. How does he know who I am?
“Mia,” he says louder then tries to open my door again.
“Move your car,” I order him.
“Open the door, Mia.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Open the door,” he repeats, trying the handle again.
“Stop! You’re scaring me,” I cry out.
He releases the handle, takes a step back, and puts both hands in the air. “I’m not here to hurt you. Unroll your window at the very least.”
I take a deep breath and pick up my purse, putting my hand inside it and on my gun. With my other hand, I put the window halfway down.
“Don’t come any closer,” I tell him with a shaky voice.
He nods. “Okay.”
I scan his eyes.
“Why were you following me?” he asks.
I don’t say anything.
He closes his eyes. “You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?”
Opening his eyes, he scrubs his face. “You look just like her.”
“Don’t talk about her,” I snap at him with tears in my eyes.
“Mia, park in the driveway, and let’s go in my house and talk.” He points to a large house, overlooking the bay.
I shake my head.
“I loved her,” he says, almost absentmindedly.
Disgust seeps through me. “You loved her? She was a child!”
He looks away. I think it’s shame, but he turns back. “Age doesn’t mean anything. We both loved each other.”
I blurt out. “Are you my father?”
“Yes.”
Tears fall down my cheeks. Years of anger, sorrow, and grief fill my lungs, suffocating my airways, thicker than the humidity that stifles the summer air.
He steps closer, and I clutch the gun inside my purse. “I wanted to tell you. But your grandparents—”
“My grandparents knew?” I gape at him.
His chest rises and falls as he inhales a deep breath. “We were good friends. They didn’t want me around after they discovered our affair.”
“So you let my brother and I be fatherless...parentless, even after she died?”
He closes his eyes as if in pain. “I did the best I could.”
“The best you could? You did nothing for us,” I cry out.
He steps right next to the window. “That’s not true! I protected you all these years!”
I clutch the gun harder, my thumb on the safety, wanting to shoot him. Disgust consumes me, ripping through my core and crushing any sense of right versus wrong. “You protected me? How exactly is that? Everyone on the island believed I was dead!”
Casey nervously scans my eyes. “That was my doing.”
My gut drops lower. “What?” I whisper.
“Mia, come inside the house.”
“You sent me away?”
“It was for your safety.”
“My safety?”
“Mia, please, just come inside,” he tries again.
All the years of grief shatter me all over again, and it’s as if I finally have someone to blame. My mother’s drug addiction and overdose had to be connected to him. Clay’s murder, at the hands of his son and my half-brother, leads to him. The confusion and blame I felt toward Beckett, who lost over ten years of his life and is still looked upon as a murderer, involves him. A decade of sorrow and loneliness I endured, creating the antisocial outcast that I feel like, is because of him.
I whip off my seat belt, throw open the door and jump out, as my purse falls to the ground. Aiming the gun, with tears falling down my cheeks, I glare at him. “Whatever you are going to say, you can say it right here.”
His eyes go wide. “Mia, what are you doing with a gun?”
“Stop asking me questions,” I yell and step closer to him.
He takes a step back and puts his arms out to the side. “Okay.”
“Did you send me the pictures?”
He looks away.
“Answer my question,” I scream.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s not safe for you to be here.”
“You’re the cause of everything.”
“What does that mean?” he asks.
My chest heaves with sobs. “You killed her. You murdered him. Now you want to do the same to me.”
“What?” He looks at me in surprise. “No, Mia. You have—”
“Mia!” Beckett’s voice tears through the air. I turn my head. Ryland’s truck is behind Casey’s Porsche, and Beckett is jumping out.
I shake the gun at Casey. “You deserve to die.”
“Mia!” Beckett yells again, but I don’t look at him this time.
“You don’t know the truth.”
“You’re a liar,” I seethe.
“Mia, give me the gun,” Beckett says.
As if in a trance, I don’t look at him. “No.”
Casey’s blue eyes drift from Beckett to me. “She has it wrong.”
“Don’t tell me I have it wrong,” I scream.
Beckett’s arm goes around me, and he tugs me into his chest. “Give me the gun, Mia,” he murmurs in my ear.
A lifetime of pain overcomes me, and I sob harder. “He deserves to die,” I cry as the gun shakes.
“Shh.” He runs his hand down my arm until it’s covering mine that’s holding the gun. “I’ve got it. Let me have it,” he quietly says, wrapping the other part of his body around me, so my face is in his chest.
“I’ll take it,” Ryland’s voice says, as the weight of the gun leaves my hand, and Beckett holds me tight as I weep harder.
“Shh,” he whispers over and over, kissing the top of my head.
“Everything’s his fault,” I bawl.
I don’t know how long I stand in the street, crying in Beckett’s arms. When my tears slow, Beckett leads me to the passenger side of my SUV. “Let’s go home.”
Somewhere during my outburst, Casey moved his Porsche, and Ryland turned his truck around and is standing outside his vehicle, watching over us.
Beckett belts me in my seat and gets in the driver’s side. He turns the car around and passes Ryland, who gets into his truck.
During the ride home, Beckett holds my hand. We don’t say anything, and I stare out my window.
When we get home, Ryland parks next to Beckett’s side of the car. I go into the house and curl up in my bed, trying to comprehend what would have happened if Beckett hadn’t shown up.
How did he even know I was there?
My head is buried in my pillow when Beckett comes in. He sits on the edge of the bed and strokes my hair. I roll over to face him.
His hair is blonder from working in the sun, and his skin is as bronze as when we were kids. Eyes that can morph between hardened and warm are now full of worry and sympathy.
“You’ve always been beautiful,” I blurt out.
A small smile plays on his lips. He brings them to mine and kisses me, pulling me into our world of peace, understanding, and love. It’s the place where everything’s right and nothing wrong exists, where unspoken promises are created and hope lives.
Beckett pushes his forehead to mine, slowly opening his eyes. “Mia, we have to talk.”
I put my lips back on his. “Let’s not.”
He groans but stops my kisses and positions me on his lap. “You need to tell me everything that happened.”
I sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear. “I know, but you have to, so start talking.”