I sat at the battered picnic table watching moths around an overhead light. One of the handful of boats docked nearby was playing yacht rock. They had queued up “Summer of ‘69” at max volume. I sang a bit while it echoed over the channel, bouncing off the water with every off-key shout of “those were the best days of my liiiiife.”

I was nursing the last of the Seagram’s when the rest of the group spilled out of the bunkhouse, their argument about the best local pizza already at full volume. Braden led the way, carrying two six-packs like they weighed nothing, a minor league hockey t-shirt straining across his chest. Mario and Kash followed close behind him, deep in their debate. Karma brought up the rear, arms folded tight, her laugh a jagged cut above the rest. The noise faded as Braden set the beer on my table, his dominant presence making him the group’s immediate center of gravity.

They settled in a loose circle around the two picnic tables, but not before stopping at the cooler by the grill, where everyone grabbed a beer like it was a defensive shield.

I watched them grab their drinks, caught between the urge to stay invisible and the childish need to not be left out. The debate lasted a full second before I pushed off the table. If I was going to be in weird funk, I might as well do it with company.

“Thought you’d be halfway through a six-pack by now,” Kash greeted me, dragging an Adirondack chair to a primo spot beside the table.

I snorted. “Can’t compete with pros. Besides, this is barely alcohol. You’ll have to try harder than that to get my secrets.”

Kash gave his best evil villain laugh—“Mwah ha ha”—and pulled out a bottle of tequila, a salt shaker, limes, and a knife.

“Oh my god. You didn’t.” I couldn’t stop the laugh.

“I did.” Kash looked pleased with himself.

“Want some help?” Braden asked Kash.

“Sure.” Kash tossed him a lime, a second, then a third, which Braden caught. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them juggling through the air, using just one hand. Kash stared in stunned silence as Braden grabbed the knife, hilt first.

“Did you remember cups or shot glasses?”

Mario poked at Kash. “You can remember a salt shaker but not the glasses?”

“Hey… I was rushing around,” Kash said. Without a word, Braden dropped his lime show and headed to the boat. He came back a few moments later, holding a stack of red solo cups he’d clearly known were there all along.

“Where’d you find those?” I asked.

He leaned closer, his voice a low murmer just for me. “Liberated them from the Captain’s private stash. Our little secret.” He gave me a slow wink that had nothing to do with stolen cups.

Braden and Mario set up the shots. Mario passed me one. “Lick, shoot, suck.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mario. I’ve had plenty of practice.” I rolled my eyes him a look before taking the first shot.

Laughter rang out, and then cheers as the alcohol burned all the way down. I chased it with a sip of my wine cooler.

Braden came and sat across from me. “What’s with the sweet stuff? He glanced at the drink. He grabbed it. “Was that Brian’s idea of a joke?” he asked, swishing the drink around.

“Mostly a joke,” I said, grabbing the bottle back. I took a swig, letting the fizz bite at my teeth.

“May I?” he asked. I passed him the bottle, and he took a sip. He grimaced. “Eww…” He passed it back, giving the drink the stiff-arm push.

Karma stared daggers at the exchange. She sat directly to Braden’s right. She had pulled her still-damp hair back in a loose knot, exposing the clean lines of her neck and the old scar that bisected her left collarbone. She’d changed into a Texas Longhorns tee and gym shorts, but her presence was the same as ever: you noticed her first and last. She smiled at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She grabbed a cup.

A few more rounds, and the world tilted at a better angle. The porch light, the music from up the hill, the smell of grill smoke wafting from someone’s illegal barbecue, all layered together in a haze that made the whole day seem less fraught.

It was Kash who remembered the pizza. He stood abruptly, nearly upending the table. “If they don’t show in ten minutes, I’m calling to threaten violence,” he announced. “Who’s with me?”

I raised my hand. “I can run interference. I speak Pizza Hut.”

He grinned. “That’s too classy for this place.”

As Mario picked up the phone to dial, a beat-up Chevrolet swung into the lot, its headlights killing the mood. The car’s paint was a mottled shade that should have been red but looked more brown. The man who got out was a wiry twenty-something in a red-and-white tank top and jeans, his movements sharp and agitated, with brown hair spiking in every direction.

He unloaded two large stacks of white pizza boxes with shaking hands. “It’s 168 without tip.”

Karma handed over four bills. “Keep the change. Got any paper plates and napkins?” She flashed a 1,000-watt smile. A bit too bright.

The wattage seemed lost on him.

“Um. Uh yeah. Plates. Plates.” He kept repeating that as he gathered the stuff from the backseat.

Brian, who had been quiet until now, watched the delivery kid. “Think that guy should be driving?” he asked Mario, then turned his attention to Braden.

“So I didn’t catch your story. What brings you to this town?” He put a subtle emphasis on “you.”

Wouldn’t you like to know?” Braden’s gaze was steady, a little serious.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking,” Brian said, unfazed. “You have the look of a military man,” he added, his tone sly.

I grabbed a slice of pizza, making a show of focusing on it to hide how intently I was listening. When Karma jumped in to suggest a game, I just kept chewing, tuning her out completely as I waited for Braden to answer.

“I’ve got a bottle of vodka in my car,” Kash murmured.

“Sold!” Brian declared. “Never have I ever. You guys are too crazy for truth or dare.”

Mario guffawed. “True, true.”

I wanted answers, but a practical concern cut through the tequila haze.

“A gust of wind rattled the overhead light, a sudden reminder of the weather system offshore. “Isn’t Hurricane Navarro coming through tomorrow afternoon? We should be back in time… maybe… but it’s going to be rocky.”

“You scared?” Karma smirked.

The guys went still. Kash froze with a lime halfway to his cup. Mario looked from me to Karma, then studied the condensation on his beer like it held the answer.

I really wanted to smack that grin off her face. Instead, I said, “Never. Game on.”