Page 7 of Carry on Wayward Son

JACE

The crowd was packed three deep at the bar of OBX Brewhouse, and the echo of voices reverberated off the high, open rafters.

That was the thing that got me first—not the noise level, which was considerable, but the quality of it. These weren’t people executing a social obligation. They were genuinely happy, and my brain filed the distinction automatically, the same reflex that clocked exits and sight lines and the body language of a man about to do something stupid in a crowded room. That wiring didn’t just switch off because I was home for a while.

I did a slow read of the room from the door before I moved.

The regulars had turned out. Ed Cartwright behind his end of the bar, his cronies, the Gray Beards, occupying their customary stools like a parliament of old men who’d earned their opinions. But they were outnumbered tonight by people who’d come specifically for Rios, and that was its own thing to register. People who lived here and had watched this island decide what it thought about Rios Carrera for the better part of his adult life were here tonight because they’d changed their minds. Or maybe because they’d never believed it in the first place and were relieved to finally say so out loud.

Sawyer found me before I’d made it three steps in. “There he is. What kept you?”

“Had a conversation with Marsha McCubbins about the library expansion grant.”

“Trapped by Marsha. Classic. And you’re too polite to cut her off.”

I accepted the beer he offered. “Wouldn’t do. I’m a Sutter by blood. Still an island son, even if I’ve been gone more than a decade.”

“Rios is holding court in the back. He clearly wants to escape but is too polite to slip out of his own party.”

“Some things don’t change.”

We worked our way through the crowd. Someone I half-recognized from high school clapped me on the shoulder and said something about it being good to have me back, and I replied with something that seemed to satisfy him. That happened twice more before we reached the back of the room. On small islands, you were never just yourself, you were also every version of yourself anyone remembered, and people had long memories here.

Rios had Gabi on one side and a man I didn’t recognize on the other, nodding along to something the man said with the patient attention of someone who had learned a long time ago how to be present in a conversation without giving anything away.

“—always said Carson had it out for you,” the man announced. “Never sat right with me. Not from the beginning.”

“I appreciate that.” Rios’s voice stayed even. Whatever he actually thought about people who’d kept that opinion to themselves for all these years stayed behind his teeth.

The man moved on, satisfied, and Rios looked at me over his beer. “How many of those do you think I’m going to get tonight?”

“Counting that one? Probably seventeen more.”

“I made a terrible mistake agreeing to this party.”

“You’re a public servant now. This is the job.”

He pointed at me. “I will arrest you for something. I haven’t decided what yet.”

Gabi grabbed Rios by the elbow. “Stop threatening your friends and come say hello to the Hendersons. Mrs. Henderson actually teared up when she heard the news.”

“I don’t want Mrs. Henderson to cry at me.”

“Too bad.” She steered him away, shooting me a grin over her shoulder.

I took Rios’s vacated spot against the wall.

From here I could see most of the room. Caroline had a booth with Hoyt and the kids, Aubrey eating chicken tenders with great seriousness while Logan tried to balance a straw on his upper lip, until Hoyt clocked it and shut it down with a firm Dad Stare. At the bar, Daniel talked to Ford. We hadn’t known Gabi’s Coast Guard man that long, but both of them laughed at something with the easy back and forth of two men who’d figured each other out quickly and decided they approved. Madden stood near the door talking to Bree, looking more relaxed than I’d seen her since I arrived back on the island last week.

Sawyer had found Willa, and they’d claimed a corner together, her hand in his, her massive black pit bull, Roy, parked across both their feet. They weren’t performing for anybody. Just sitting there, in the ease of two people who understood each other down to the bone. Their marriage might’ve surprised me, but I couldn’t deny it was good for both of them.

Ford drifted over from the bar. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you case the room like you’re expecting someone to pull a weapon.”

“Occupational hazard.”