Broken Rules

The skin on my arms turns to gooseflesh when I hear the screen door creak open. My breath is frozen in my chest as I stand perfectly still, waiting on a knock.

It never comes. The door simply snaps shut. My heart thuds with dread as I press back the blinds enough to see a gray Explorer out front. The driver guns it backwards. Horrible timing has a pedestrian walking by at the same instant.

I cover my eyes. When I get the nerve to open them again the Explorer is gone. There's no dead body in the street. I'm weak with relief.

The man who missed getting creamed by mere inches is flipping the driver the bird, yelling, but I can't hear the words.

Something about him is familiar. I finally get a good look at him when he turns and crosses under the streetlight. He's one 2 / of the Archer brothers. A neighbor, and the brother to my good friend Bishop.

His shape gave him away. The five Archer brothers have a distinctly masculine body—tall, muscular, with narrow waists, and broad strong shoulders.

Thank heavens the jerk that undoubtedly left a note on my door didn't run him over.

After a few seconds, he shakes his head, turns, disappears from beneath the streetlight, continuing down the hill toward town.

When I pull open the heavy wooden door, a note is there, just as I expected. The dull yellow paper is haphazardly stuck to the paint with clear packing tape. I snatch the note, slam the door, and stand with a shiver coursing through my body.

The handwritten note says: Your brother owes a lot of money. Ugly things happen to people when they owe us.

The words are more or less identical to the last two notes. Three in a span of a week. Seven days during which I have not been able to reach Cameron.

“Dammit, Cam.” I groan, as the cold fear grows in my gut. Problems aren't new to us...but owing money like this is something I've never dealt with.

There are about a million reasons why he might owe money, but one is front and center—his not so recreational use of illegal substances.

I dial Cam's phone again–third time today—as I plod back to the bedroom. When I pull out the top dresser drawer, I see the two other notes, folded, tucked in next to my socks. This note joins the others.

Cameron's phone rings for a long while, then goes to voicemail. “Cam, call me. Some guy left another note about you owing money.”

BROKEN RULES / 3 My tossed phone bounces on the bed, landing next to the two pairs of jeans I was considering wearing tonight. Not that I feel like going out—especially now. The last thing I feel like doing is celebrating a birthday when I know I'm going to be digging Cam out of another bad decision.

But if I spent every day I was upset over Cam staying in the house in despair, I'd never have a life.

Plus, I promised I'd go. So I make myself get dressed. I pull on a black, slim fitting tank top, and a pair of cute jeans that I got at the consignment shop. At the last second I slip on a grey sweater—it's going to be chilly out tonight down by the ocean where the sea breeze cools the night even more.

The final touch, and the only make up I ever wear, is a coat of pale peachy-pink lip gloss. It's the only color that goes with my freckled complexion.

Before I head out the door, I peek out through the blinds to make sure the gray SUV is nowhere in sight. Last thing I want to do is run into the messenger. Once I know the coast is clear, I hustle to the car and lock myself inside.

It takes 2.5 minutes to drive down the hill to the strip of businesses.

The closer I get, the more the desire to go back home grows.

I don't do bars.

But somehow here I am, pulling into the parking lot. I turn into the small, crowded driveway for the bar. I have to wait on someone to leave so I can park, but it only takes a few minutes.

The windows of the Sea Slug, one of Lynn's Cove's only bars, are blacked out. Or...so dirty I can't see through the glass.

The place is exactly what I would expect from the ancient dive bar.

4 / I have no clue what's inside. I've lived here all my life, and I've never been inside.

I hate dive bars. Drunken antics annoy me. I'm in no mood for the social scene, as a matter of fact I'd rather be anywhere else—like scrubbing toilets, picking cactus barbs out of my feet, or even vacuuming behind the fridge. Anything but this.

But here I am. Dammit. Doing something I never do, dressed more like I'm going to lunch with an aunt than out to a club. I mean, who wears a cardigan to a nightclub?

Fidgeting with my sweater, I berate myself for not leaving it in the car. I should have gone for the tank top and jeans alone. I'm tempted to turn back to where I parked, but I know if I get close to the car I might just drive away.

Get it together, Anya, you don't have to stay long. With a sigh, I walk right toward the front door of the bar because I'm a decent friend. When I give my word, I'm good for it.

Mave made me swear I'd come tonight to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.

Twenty-one. An eon ago for me. I didn't even celebrate my birthday that year. And in the six long years since, I've had enough knocks and dips to count for three lifetimes.

When I pull open the door, a rush of beer-air swooshes out, the buzz of drunken voices floating on its back. The interior is dark, the belly of a cave, punctuated by a few neon lights behind the bar. Loud music starts pulsing as soon as I cross the threshold.

Great. That's even better. I've walked into exactly the kind of place that reminds me how my parents wasted away their lives. I fight down the urge to turn right around and run.

Blinking, I try to settle my gut and command my night vision to work.

BROKEN RULES / 5 Hovering by the door, I strain to catch sight of someone I know. The sooner I get this over the better.

How in the heck do you find someone in here? A sudden booming voice splits the air. “All right people! Let's bring the rooooooooooof down!” A heavy beat shakes the whole building. It's like a cattle call. A herd of people rush to the dance floor and morph into one big loud messy mass of humans.

Suddenly I realize I'm standing right below a speaker. I'm going to be deaf for a week.

I jam my fingers in my ears–time to move out. The search begins in earnest.

A parade of young women roll by as I head away from the speakers. They're wearing cut-off shorts, crop tanks, and weird jelly wedge shoes.

How old are they? There's no way they are of age. Or wait...god, am I that old already? I'm mourning the passing of my youth when I miraculously hear Mave's distinct but weirdly adorable donkey laugh. The laugh goes on and on. It makes me grin. Birthday girl must be tying one on.

As I navigate toward the sound, I recognize other people I know—surf instructors that work with Mave and me, and a few of the lifeguards from Lynn's Cove beach. Their faces are rosy —from beer and sun.

When I catch Mave's eye with a wave, she promptly jumps on me, throwing her willowy arms around my neck in a too hard hug. “You came!”

Gagging, I try to nod. I croak out a few tight words, “I told you I would.”

Jeremy, one of the lifeguards gently pulls Mave off me.

“Easy girl, she's turning blue.”

6 / I rub my throat. “Thanks for saving me.” Note to self, Mave is a dangerous drunk, even if it's only to the necks of friends.

A round of cheers from her little group raises the roof as one of the guys in the group does a shot. He tosses it back and picks up another from a tray loaded with colorful shooters. A drinking game. One I have no clue about. I'm so far out of my comfort zone; I don't even know what I'm seeing. I couldn't even tell you what a single drinking game is. I've avoided alcohol like the plague after watching my parent's spiral down to the ground with its lure.

I shake my head, driving the thoughts out. This is about Mave, and her birthday. Not me. I'm not here to judge anyone. “Can I get you a drink?” Asks a male voice from right behind me. The voice is familiarish. I twist around and peer up at the face that's a good foot above me. My eyes land on the square jaw and neatly trimmed beard of one of the Archer Brothers.

Ah, that explains the familiarity of the voice. They all have a different version of the Archer baritone. He sounds an awful lot like Bishop.

The tall, gorgeous creature looking down at me, however, is one of the brothers that I don't know too well, one of the twins, Brandon. And I'm pretty sure it's the one who nearly got creamed while walking past