Why couldn’t Marcus find his fucking tongue to apologize?
Say something.
But he’d gone from the highest high to a place of total insecurity, where nothing in his future seemed clear anymore, so Marcus could only sit there, numb and kind of shell shocked as Jamie stopped with his hand on the doorknob, prepared to leave.
Several seconds passed.
“I’m so sorry, Marcus.”
The door closed on Jamie’s words, the sound of the door snicking shut echoing in the sudden hollow of Marcus’s stomach.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Growing up with the last name Prince was ironic, because their household had been the furthest thing from a palace. When Jamie was just entering elementary school, he remembered some semblance of happiness between his parents, even if their fights had been loud enough to make the neighbors close their windows. Not unusual in their section of Long Beach. Those fights had steadily escalated throughout his youth, until they’d stopped.
Or until someone had put a stop to them, rather.
Jamie bit down on the disquieting thought and put his head down against the wind, trudging down the boardwalk. The weather was as off kilter as Jamie today, warm, sticky and breezy with a light drizzle to round it out. The beach had emptied early, vacationers piling into the bars off the boardwalk. Bad weather on a Saturday meant the Castle Gate would be packed, people seeking refuge in the cozy pub interior.
He couldn’t bring himself to join his brothers at work just yet, though.
Yeah, he was pretty sure if someone knocked on the bar to get his attention today, he’d probably smash a bottle over their heads. Jamie needed a break from the loud. When he, Andrew and Rory were kids, there was only one place they could accomplish that. The house next door. That wasn’t where Jamie was headed now, but it was the next best thing.
At the corner of the block, Spice came into view and Jamie could already see Jiya Dalal passing back and forth behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. On a street lined with coffee shops and bars, the restaurant stood out like a white stone in a handful of black sand. The eaves were held up by marble pillars and Bollywood music crept out whenever a customer opened the door, along with the scent of garlic and cardamom.
During their youth, Jiya had moved from India to Long Beach with her parents. One afternoon, when their parents were having a particularly bad fight, she’d pushed aside a wooden slat in the fence separating their homes and invited the three boys over to watch television in her garage. Mrs. Dalal had brought them Cokes with straws and told them they were welcome any time. Looking back, Mrs. Dalal hadn’t hidden her sympathy all that well. But they’d been too hyped on free soda to care.
Jamie loved Jiya like a sister. So did Rory.
Andrew was another story altogether.
Almost at the entrance of Spice, Jamie caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the windows and shook his head. Whenever he made it to the Castle Gate, Andrew was probably going to send him home so he wouldn’t scare off the clientele.
After dropping the keys back to Andrew last night and waiting for him to close, they’d driven home together in silence. Jamie could feel his brother sending him concerned looks, but he’d been too punctured full of holes to reassure Andrew. And he hadn’t taken advantage of the few hours of sleep between dawn and his lifeguarding shift, either. Hence his corpse-like appearance.
How had he managed to fuck up so badly?
He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, because he’d gone over to Marcus’s apartment subconsciously hoping something would happen. No sense in denying it. Yeah, he’d been curious about Marcus’s reasons for dropping their friendship like a hot potato, but he’d also wanted to poke Marcus’s attraction with a stick to see what happened.
Now he knew. An absolute catastrophe.
Jamie was back in that place. That dirty, shameful secret place he swore he would never return to—and it was worse this time around. He’d done it to himself and in the process? He’d taken Marcus down with him and that was not fair. As much as it had felt like a slap in the face, he’d deserved to have Marcus push him away afterward.
Swallowing the guilt, Jamie stepped into Spice, winking at Jiya when she looked up with a happy hostess smile parked on her pretty face.
It dropped when she saw him.
“Whoa,” Jiya said, weaving around two tables to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Who beat you with the ugly stick?”
“Me.” He tried to smile, but it fell flat. “I did it to myself.”
“That takes some skill.”
Jamie shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before Jiya hooked their arms together and marched him toward a table, pushing him down onto a cushioned chair. “Stay here. I’m going to tell my mom I’m taking my dinner break. You’re going to have kadai chicken. I’m going to have a salad, but I’m probably going to ignore it and eat half of yours.”