in the sand the day he’d bought the place. The three of them were his closest friends in the world; they all shared the same passion for sports and music—jazz in particular. They were grunting and shouting, and making serves and volleys as if they were professional athletes and the championship hung in the balance. The sight of it tickled him. If he weren’t busy tending the grill, he’d be out there with them.
At twenty-eight, Darius had been a hot commodity in the tech world. Having graduated at the top of his class from North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University with his master of science in information technology, he’d earned the opportunity to intern for his mentor, Joseph Franklin, at his software company. In a little less than four years, Darius had created the first smartphone operating system and sold it for $300 million. He then happily left the office politics and stuffy meetings behind. Even Rashad, Darius’s closest friend, had called him a dumb ass for getting out of the software game when he did, but he had no regrets. He’d loved the creative side of software development, but the business side of things had pushed him far away. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life sitting in board meetings, going over expense reports and kowtowing to stockholders.
Now, at thirty-six, Darius spent his days doing the things he loved, and felt incredibly blessed to be able to do so. His time was his own, and that was just the way he wanted it. Just a few days after his official retirement party, he’d done the one thing he’d always wanted to do, the thing he’d been planning for months—form a band. He’d given up playing his bass during his early days in the tech business, but the day he’d picked it up again was as if he’d never put it down. His boys had been happy to join him in practicing, and once they’d felt comfortable with their skills, he’d started marketing the group. He and his friends were now the Queen City Gents, a jazz quartet that played regular local gigs and enjoyed an enthusiastic, mostly female following.
He watched Rashad McRae, his buddy since undergrad, take a flying leap that would have made any professional basketball player jealous as he returned the ball to Ken Yamada and Marco Alvarez on the other side. Rashad, who was the band’s pianist and vocalist, had always imagined himself as the world’s most powerful athlete. Darius wasn’t a bit surprised that he’d chosen to play alone against their bandmates.
The grill’s timer buzzed, and he opened the lid once again. He punctured the steaks with a fork to be sure they’d reached medium-well perfection. Satisfied, he grabbed his tongs and began moving the steaks to a ceramic platter. “Yo! Steaks are done!”
What had just moments ago been the most serious volleyball game ever played immediately came to a halt. The saxophonist, Marco Alvarez, captured the ball between his hands instead of returning it. All eyes turned toward Darius standing by the grill.
He made a gesture with his tongs, and the three men jogged up the sandy slope.
Rashad got there first, and leaned over the platter, inhaling deeply. “Smells good, man.”
Darius jabbed him in the shoulder with the nonbusiness end of the tongs. “I know, but if you don’t go wash your hands and quit breathing on my steaks, me and you are gonna fight.”
Ken, toweling the sweat from his brow, chuckled. “He’s right, Rashad. Don’t let your hot breath overcook them.” The laid-back drummer rarely spoke, but when he did, no one could predict what would come out of his mouth.
“Hardy har har.” Rashad gave Darius a slap on the back before disappearing into the condo through the open French doors.
Darius shook his head. They were a crazy bunch, but that was part of their charm. “That goes for all of you. Go wash them funky, sweaty hands before you come near my food. And put on some damn shirts while you’re at it.” The last thing he wanted was a bunch of sweaty shirtless dudes hanging around his culinary masterpiece.
While they went inside to do as they’d been told, he moved to the round table a few feet away from the grill. There, he’d set up the side items: grilled corn on the cob, baked beans and a Caesar salad. He placed the platter of steaks in the middle and set out the matching plates and the silverware. Then he lifted the lid of the cooler on the patio floor near the railing and pulled out four ice-cold beers.
By the time the guys returned, hands clean and chests covered, he was already sitting down, looking out over the water. They joined him around the table, loaded their plates and dug in.
Later, they were still reclining in their seats as the sun began to dip on the horizon. The bands of color seemed to go on forever, until they met with the rising waves. The sound of lapping water could be heard in the silence, along with the calls of a few seagulls.
Ken drained the last of his beer. “That’s a beautiful sight, man.”
Marco nodded, tossing his own empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Sure is.”
“Yep. Wish I could stay longer, but I gotta go to work in the morning.” Rashad stood up from the table, dragging his long dreadlocks into a ponytail at the base of his neck.
Darius groaned. “Aw, come on, y’all. You just gonna abandon a brother like that? How can you walk away from a sunset this magnificent?”
Marco snickered. “Easy. I just think about my mortgage.”
“I work for the county, dude. I can’t just not show up—my assistant will be happy to take my job in my absence.” Rashad worked as register of deeds for Mecklenburg County.
Darius turned to Ken. “What about you? You work for yourself. Don’t you wanna hang out here for a few more days, and enjoy the place with me?”
“I would, man, but I didn’t bring my computer.” Ken offered a shrug. “No laptop, no work.”
Marco leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “I could be convinced to stay if you pay my mortgage.”
“I’m with Marco. Pay my bills and I’ll hang out with you as long as you want, D.” Rashad cocked a thick eyebrow, waiting for his response.
Darius looked at his watch. “Um, never mind. Y’all better get out of here.”
Chuckling, Marco got up. “Yeah, I thought so. We’ll see you when you get back to Charlotte.”
“Bye.” Darius watched his buddies file into the condo to get their things. A short time later, he waved to them as their vehicles pulled out of the small lot in front of his condo.
Back inside his condo, he stripped out of his T-shirt and athletic shorts to climb into a hot shower. He stood there, enjoying the multiple jets of steamy water hitting his body from all angles. Once he’d dried off, he slipped into a pair of black boxers and stretched across his bed.
He mused on when he’d go back to Charlotte and decided he’d head back in a few days. He had a pet-sitter who looked after his golden retriever, Chance, so he’d just let her know when he was coming back. He would have loved to bring Chance along on the trip, but for some reason the dog hated Marco. Every time the dog got within ten feet of Mr. Costa Rico Suave, he growled and bared his teeth. What made it particularly weird was that Chance loved Ken and Rashad, the maid, the mailman and just about any other person who came by the house. Knowing Chance would’ve freaked the hell out if he had to be near Marco over the weekend, he’d decided to leave the dog with the sitter. But when he traveled alone to his vacation place, Chance was always by his side.
The faint sounds of the water splashing against the shore reminded him that he’d
