“What?” my mom cries. “Who in God’s name shot at you? Are you alright?” My mom’s southern accent has thickened as it does anytime she gets worked up.
“It wasn’t at me,” I enunciate for clarification. “I don’t think she knew what she was doing, and I’m okay. Really.”
Generally my dad doesn’t look much older than forty, but with the current stress etched across his face, he suddenly looks much closer to his sixty years. “What happened?”
I briefly summarize the excitement until Emily and Jade race in, both in their bathing suits, trailing a path of pool water as they giggle and squeal and latch on to my dad’s legs.
“Gampa, gampa.” Jade calls, looking up with her blond hair matted to her bony shoulders, successfully providing interference for me.
As they work to clean up the trails of water and usher the girls back outside, I excuse myself to the restroom to clean my small battle wound.
“Harper, I’ve got to run. There was some kind of printing issue and things weren’t delivered to Mobile on time, and they’re about to shit a brick!” Eric appears in the doorway, eyes focused on the screen of his phone while his thumbs rapidly trace over the keypad. After a few moments of silence, he looks up to see me watching him.
“Babe, that’s disgusting. You’re getting blood everywhere, and your feet are filthy.” His face pinches as he remains leaning against the doorjamb.
“Yeah, why aren’t you bleeding out in the yard?” Max’s deep voice drips with sarcasm as he appears behind Eric.
Eric turns and follows my gaze before stepping to the side and returning his attention to me. “What were you guys doing? Where did you go?” I see a hint of accusation cross his face as he tilts his chin and examines me for a second. “Never mind, you can tell me later, I have to go. Harper, I’ll try to call you, depending on how this all goes.”
Max doesn’t turn as Eric strides away. Instead, he steps further into the bathroom. “He just called you Harper.”
The irony that this is the second time this conversation has occurred today isn’t lost on me as I give a similar response. “It’s my name.”
Max’s eyebrows rise and then furrow. “Yeah, I just never hear anyone ever call you by it.” He takes a few steps closer to me. “How’s the leg?”
“It’s nothing. I think I just hit the side of the windowsill when I made my graceful exit.” I attempt to joke, but his forehead creasing confirms it lands flat.
“Are you okay?” I ask, hopping down from the sink.
“Yeah.” His answer is automatic. “Yeah,” he repeats, sounding less sure this time as he reaches his heavily tattooed arm back and rubs it over his head a few times. I catch sight of his arm muscles rippling with each passing movement before I turn my attention to the sink and clean it with a disinfectant wipe.
“That was crazy. It scared the shit out of me when you fell. I thought she shot you.”
“Yeah,” I reply lamely.
He nods a couple of times, his eyes wandering around the small space just as mine do, looking for a safe place to land.
“So I heard you moved back.”
“Yeah, I transferred back to San Diego Sta—” The obnoxious continuation of a car horn breaks his attention. He backs out the doorway, looking over his shoulder toward the now vacant foyer.
I follow him out the front door and into the driveway in the direction of a red vintage car parked beside Mindi’s minivan that emits another blare of the horn. Jameson sits in the driver’s seat wearing sunglasses and a wide smile.
“Asswipe, you’re lucky I was over here! What are you doing?” Max asks with a laugh, clasping his right hand to Jameson’s shoulder.
“Landon made me do it. He was really excited to see you, told me he couldn’t wait another second. Besides, I knew you were over here; your mom’s been reminding you of this all week. Hey Ace.” Jameson turns his smile to me a second before turning his attention back to Max. “I can’t believe I’ve known you for two years, and you’ve never told me about your neighbors. You’ve got some ‘splainin to do, Lucy,” he says with a horrible Spanish accent. He’s much more animated and goofy than he was this morning, causing me to wonder if he’s been drinking.
“When did you guys meet?” Max asks, looking to Jameson.
Jameson laughs and punches him in the bicep a couple of times. “Why? Are you scared?”
The passenger door of the car opens, halting conversation, and a guy I presume is Landon steps out. He, like the other two, is attractive, with broad shoulders and reddish brown hair that he wears short. His red T-shirt exposes several tattoos that artfully wrap down both of his forearms, and his face is warm and inviting with bright green eyes and an infectious smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to let him out of the car unsupervised. I was finishing a call with my mom to let her know I arrived.” Landon’s deep, throaty laugh fills the air as he turns his attention to me.
“That’s alright. Jameson was going to make an ass of himself eventually, better to get it out of the way,” Max teases, locking his arm around Jameson’s neck in a headlock.
“Hi, I’m Landon Turner.” He extends his hand to me.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ace.”
A dark blue Jetta pulls up beside us, and I can feel Abby’s stare.
Abby and I met last year when we realized we shared three classes and an addiction for Antonio’s Pizza. We became pretty much inseparable after enduring our first semester finals, and the hordes of hours we dedicated to them.
Being a New Jersey native, she applied to schools only on the West Coast in an attempt to gain some separation from her large extended family and any possibility of joining her family’s business, a string of bars they own along the Jersey coastline.
My family took Abby in as a sixth daughter and sister after the first weekend I convinced her to accompany me home. She then returned almost every weekend after, falling just as much in love with them as they did with her.
She opens her car door and steps out with a bright smile on her full lips. Abby’s beautiful with long, dark brown hair that falls in natural, thick waves, and honey-colored eyes. She’s a bit taller than me, at five-eight, and built slightly thicker, which she hates and blames it—and her slightly long nose—on her Scandinavian genes from her mother and any other habits or features she deems as unflattering on her Italian genes from her father.
“Guys, dinner’s ready. Let’s go, let’s go!” Dad calls, stepping outside. “Hey, Abby, did you bring some friends?”
“These are Max’s friends.” I reply, brushing loose strands of my hair back as I turn my attention to my dad, feeling the adrenaline from the window incident mixing dangerously with nerves from knowing these guys are all heading to my backyard for family night.
“Oh, that’s right.” Dad takes a couple of steps closer. “Landon and Jameson, right?”
He steps closer as they return greetings and offers his hand to each of them. “Come on back. We’ve got lots of food and drinks. If you’ve got your swim shorts, we have pool basketball, but watch out…” he points to me with a wink “…this one here cheats.”
“Oh, we didn’t mean to impose, sir. We’ll go pick something up and let you guys get back to your meal.” Landon respectfully declines, and I watch Abby swoon a little as he addresses my dad so formally.
“No, no, no. You guys are expected. Just avoid the two pregnant ladies if you know what’s good for you.”
“Are you sure? We can go next door?” Max’s hand runs over his hair again, and his voice sounds quieter, almost hesitant.
“I’m positive.”
“I brought you a new ale. My dad says it’s the best one yet, let me grab it real quick.” Abby grips my fingers, silently indicating for me to stay behind with her. My dad nods and waves a hand for the guys to follow him into the house.