Morning crept up slowly on me as I stirred awake, blinking a hazy sleep out of my eyes. Light filtered into the room through blinds on the window, sending streaks of dusty sunlight onto the bed, and I needed a moment to remember where I was waking up. I rolled over to see an empty space beside me, but an imprint where Brooklyn's body had laid so close beside me. The sheets still radiated with his warm scent.

I made my way out to the common area and felt a gust of cool, salty air. The doors to the balcony were slid open, and Brooklyn leaned on the railing with a cigarette hanging between his fingers.

"Hey you," I said as I approached him.

"Hey yourself." Brooklyn dropped his cigarette in the ashtray on the small glass table next to them. A number of them had already piled up, and I wondered how long he had been sitting outside in a perpetual cloud of smoke.

The sun hung high over the ocean, decorating the waves with glints of gold and white. A comfortable quiet consumed the space, with nothing to hear but the faint sloshing of the ocean.

Brooklyn put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his chest. It was amazing how at home I had become in his arms, letting his warmth and tangy cigarette scent consume me.

"It's so pretty out here," I said.

"It is," Brooklyn sighed. He gently kissed the top of my head. "Not as pretty as you though."

I nuzzled in closer to his chest, and I felt a smile pull at my lips. I wondered for a moment if this was really how it was going to be. Mornings on the ocean, coffee and cigarettes, warm bodies and the fluttering sensation I got in my stomach every time he smiled at me.

Or maybe it was all just an illusion. A trick my mind was playing on me to deflect me from the next crash. The constant threat of his relapse crept in the shadows of my mind, only exposing small bits of itself and making me wonder if I could handle another collapse, or if I'd collapse with him. I shook my head, desperate to expel the darkness of my thoughts.

A knock at the door of the suite disrupted the brief lull of peace.

"I got it!" Ella burst from her room in yoga pants an a sports bra. Brooklyn whipped his head around when he heard a man's voice at the door. I faintly recognized it, but couldn't put a face to it. It was only until after a head of floppy brown hair came into view that it clicked.

"Brooklyn, you gotta learn to pick up your phone." Ricky came striding into the common area of the suite, skin just as tan and hair just as floppy as I remembered when I first met him. He slid a bag of golf clubs off his shoulder, letting them clatter to the floor. "Our tee time is in a half hour."

"Shit," Brooklyn hissed.

A disgruntled look washed over Ricky's face. He blew a chunk of hair off his forehead. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"Give me five minutes," Brooklyn replied hurriedly. "I swear I'll be ready."

"Take a shower, you smell like an ashtray," Ricky called after him.

Brooklyn groaned and retreated to our room, leaving me alone with Ricky and Ella. The tension between the two of them was so thick it was almost physically tangible. Ricky cleared his throat.

"Nice to see you again, Nat." Ricky nodded at me.

"Likewise," I replied. I looked down at my newly manicured nails and fought the urge to bite at them.

"You can come to the golf course if you want," Ricky offered.

"Oh no, that's okay," I shook my head. "I don't golf. I can't golf."

Ella slung her arm around my shoulder. "You don't actually golf. You just sit in the golf cart with me, drink bloody marys and watch them golf."

I cocked an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

Ella nodded with enthusiasm. "Would I steer you wrong?" She paused and tapped her chin. "Actually, don't answer that."

The golf course was within walking distance to the estate, and while the walk was pleasant, it was at least 10 degrees hotter on the golf course. Thankfully Ella and I sat in the shaded confines of the golf cart with icy bloody marys clutched in our hands. The boys unloaded their golf clubs and set them down in the tee box. Brooklyn looked out of place in his loud jellyfish patterned shirt and blue tinted sunglasses. Older men in conservative colors with greying beards and cigars in hand strode past their group, eyeing Brooklyn with furrowed brows and noses turned up.

"I didn't even know you golfed, Brooklyn," I said with a playful smirk.

"He doesn't," Ricky chimed in. "He has more of a Happy Gilmore approach."

Brooklyn struck a match on the bottom of his sneaker and lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He pulled a golf club out of his bag and swung it a few times. I took a sip of my bloody mary, letting the tangy frigidness of the drink cool my throat. I nudged Ella.

"So is Ricky like...your date to the wedding?" I asked with a coy smirk.

Ella sighed. I couldn't see her eyes through the thick frames of her cat-eyed sunglasses, but I could hear the tinge of hurt in her voice. "No, his whole family was invited. We all grew up together, and even when my cousins moved, we still all went to Montgomery Prep together. He's just always been around, pretty much for as long as I can remember."

I looked down at my half finished drink, watching the droplets of condensation drip to the bottom of the cup. "Why don't you just tell your brother the truth?"

She took a long gulp of her drink before answering me. "I don't know, honestly. Everything with Brooklyn has been so volatile over the past few years, I just didn't want to make things any more complicated than they already were."

"You're a good sister," I said softly. I felt a pang of guilt thinking about my own sister, and how even though she was hurting, she still tried to protect me in her own twisted way.

"I'm going to get another drink," Ella piped up. "Do you want one?"

I hadn't even realized how quickly I had finished my drink, leaving only the olives rolling on the bottom of the cup. "Sure," I nodded.

I bit down on my lip as I watched the two boys interact. Their sunglasses hid most of the emotion in their eyes, but Ricky talked loudly with his hands, and Brooklyn kept his gaze away from Ricky. He was fidgeting with his gloves, or taking swings with his putter.

I tried to fish out an olive with my finger, but only managed to succeed in spilling ice in my lap. As I dumped the rest of the ice into a nearby bush, my ears perked up when I realized I could hear Brooklyn and Ricky's conversation. Ricky's voice was even-toned and smooth, a distinct difference from Brooklyn's, rough and deep.

"Look, I'm just saying if anything were going to happen with me and Ella, I'd tell you," Ricky said. "Just hypothetically, of course."

"You know what? I'd rather you not tell me." Brooklyn reached down to the green and placed his marker next to the ball. He swung his putter back and forth a few times, keeping his gaze away from Ricky. "I really don't need to know who's screwing my sister, it's weird."

Ricky clicked his tongue. "So things are getting pretty serious with Natalie, huh?"

I bit down on her lip. She tilted her head to the side in an attempt to hear them better.

"Smooth subject change," Brooklyn muttered, his cheeks turning a blotchy red.

Ricky laughed. "Oh I know that look. You're really in deep here."

"Yes Ricky, I'm in deep." Brooklyn sounded bored. He stepped up to the ball and swung his putter a few more times. "I'm in so fucking deep I think I'm drowning."

Ricky whipped his sunglasses off and let them dangle around his neck. "Wait, are you serious?"

Brooklyn stepped away from the ball and put his hands on his hips. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "What do you think?"

Ricky huffed out a breath. "Well...I mean, do you like...love her?"

Brooklyn met Ricky's question with silence. He licked his lips before lining back up with the ball, swinging his club back and hitting the ball further up the green.

"Oh my god," Ricky continued. "You do. You love her."

After a long pause, Brooklyn sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "It's fucking terrible isn't it?"

Fucking terrible. The words echoed in my head like a broken record. I tried to keep my head steady to keep myself tuned into their conversation.

Ricky scoffed. He picked up his own marker and swung his putter back and forth. "Terrible? How is that terrible?"

"Because I'm terrible for her," Brooklyn answered. He chuckled dryly. "But I can't stay away. I crave her like fucking heroin. It's like even when I'm not getting high I'm still fiending like a junkie."

He took another absentminded swing of the golf club and scraped the ground, sending a chunk of grass and soil flying into the air.

"That's kind of insane." Ricky scrunched his nose. "Have you told her?"

"I tried to last night." Brooklyn groaned and rubbed the side of his face. "But I got nervous, and I couldn't get it out."

"Well you better tell her," Ricky said. "Before you fuck something else up."

"Yeah," Brooklyn replied and clicked his tongue. "I know."

My heart jumped into my throat. I didn't know how to feel, some fuzzy mixture of confusion and happiness and a little bit of nausea, though the latter was probably from the alcohol and the heat.

"Here." Ella reappeared with drinks in hand, sticking another bloody mary under my nose. She squinted her eyes at me. "You okay?"

I let out a heavy exhale. "Yeah, just a little hot that's all."

I looked back towards Brooklyn, still lost in his conversation with Ricky. He glanced in my direction and smiled at me.

I realized the fuzzy, sickening feeling that rattled my stomach was whatever feelings I had for Brooklyn, taking a form and shape I could finally recognize. It took the air from my lungs until I was just about ready to pass out.

Because I did. I loved him too.

✗✗✗