The Summer Girlfriend (Heart Beach, #1)(30)

“What are you talking about? You act like I’m out here getting into fights or driving drunk,” Jeremiah said. “I just had a few drinks, and I walked home. What’s the problem? Why are you judging me?”

“I’m not judging you.” Pop sighed, and Jeremiah realized how tired his grandfather looked. “My wish is for you to realize your potential and to find your purpose and work toward it, no matter what it is. I can tell you’ve been unhappy working for the company, and that’s okay, Miah. Maybe you need to find what’s best for you and your life. But you won’t find it by going out every night, especially not with people who don’t care about your well-being. Come on, let’s get you a glass of water. We can talk about this more in the morning.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it more.” Jeremiah backed away. He couldn’t stand to see the look in Pop’s eyes, a mixture of disappointment and fierce love. It asked too much of him. It asked that he be the person whom Pop thought he was capable of being. Jeremiah was terrified that he’d never live up to whoever that was, and he’d let Pop down even more. He didn’t want to talk about it then or the next day. He wanted to run away from the conversation entirely. “I’m going back out.”

“Miah,” Pop called after him, but Jeremiah kept walking until he was out the door. Only when he was walking down the driveway did he realize that he forgot his shoes.

He walked to the beach. The cold, wet sand and the chilly night air helped sober him up. He sat on the beach for a while, breathing in and out and listening to the waves crash loudly against the shore. He replayed his conversation with Pop and felt like the world’s biggest asshole for walking out. He needed to go back and apologize. He splashed some ocean water on his face and jogged back to the house. But when he returned, Pop was asleep in his room. First thing in the morning, Jeremiah vowed to talk to Pop and apologize. He went to bed that night and closed his eyes as soon as his face hit the pillow.

In the early-morning hours, he felt someone trying to shake him awake.

“Miah,” Amara whispered. “Miah. Get up.”

Jeremiah struggled to open his eyes. His mouth was dry and tasted of the previous night’s liquor. His limbs felt like they were weighed down with sandbags. “W-what?”

“It’s Pop,” Amara said.

His vision cleared, and he realized his sister was crying. Jeremiah hastened to sit up. His hangover pierced his skull.

He followed Amara to Pop’s bedroom. Percy and Robin were standing in Pop’s doorway. Robin held her hand to her mouth as Percy rubbed her back in slow circles. They turned to look at Jeremiah and Amara.

“He’s gone,” Percy said, eyes red. “I don’t know what happened, but he’s just…gone.”

Jeremiah blinked, sure he’d misheard his brother. He still didn’t believe him, even as he moved past Percy and Robin into Pop’s bedroom and saw Celeste standing by the window, wiping her eyes as she talked to the 911 dispatcher.

Jeremiah couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Pop’s bed, where he knew he’d find his lifeless body. He’d just talked to Pop the night before. He’d planned to apologize in the morning for stupidly walking out on him mid-conversation. Pop wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to defy death and live forever. He was infinite. He hadn’t even been sick. So how could this have happened?

It wasn’t until later that Celeste revealed Pop had been having heart trouble, and that he’d asked her not to tell anyone. He hadn’t wanted the rest of them to worry. Because that was the type of person he’d been. Selfless, who cared more about the rest of his family than he cared about himself. At first, Jeremiah had been riddled with sickening guilt that his argument with Pop had caused the heart attack. But from his autopsy, they learned that Pop’s heart attack had most likely developed gradually throughout the day with subtle symptoms, which meant that, without medical attention, it had been inevitable.

Pop was irreplaceable, and Jeremiah missed him all the fucking time.

He stared at the house as he and Noelle walked up the driveway. His heart was in his throat. He didn’t know if he was ready to step through the front door again. But it was too late to turn back. He was already here with Noelle, who was looking up at the house in awe, and he’d made a promise to pay her.

They walked up the porch steps, and Jeremiah inhaled deeply before he turned the knob and opened the door.

They stepped inside, and errant grains of sand crunched beneath their feet. Flip-flops were scattered in the hallway, and one of his nieces had left a water gun abandoned at the foot of the wide staircase that led to the second and third floors. To their right, navy blue and white furniture was arranged in the living room. The windows were open, letting in the summer breeze.

A sense of belonging and nostalgia washed over Jeremiah. Even if being back at the house was complicated, it would always feel like a constant base in his life.

“Hello?” Jeremiah called out. No answer. To Noelle, he said, “They’re probably in the backyard. I’ll show you where we’ll be sleeping first.”

He carried their suitcases upstairs, and Noelle followed behind him, observing the paintings of boats and fish and whales that lined the staircase walls.

“My mom loves a nautical theme,” Jeremiah said. He pointed at a painting of two dolphins jumping out of the ocean. “Amara painted that in middle school.”