Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
The rain picks up again, drumming harder, like it’s trying to get inside. I slip the sketchbook into my satchel, tug on my beanie, and lock up the shop.
The streets are mostly empty, the kind of quiet that makes my thoughts louder. I take the long way to her shop. I don’t want to seem eager, even if I am.
The garage is still lit. I stand in the doorway, watching for a second, smoking a cigarette. I don’t know why my pulse is so high. Everyone else went home. It’s just Dove in there.
Dove and that unworthy engine she apparently loves more than me.
I flick away the cig and slip into the bay, my rain boots squeaking on the concrete. She lifts her head at the sound.
Finally.
She sees me. Straightens up. Wipes her hands on a rag but doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say my name.
“You change your phone number?” I tuck my fingers into my pockets.
“Didn’t check it.”
“All day?”
“Been busy.”
She doesn’t offer more. Doesn’t step toward me. Doesn’t look sorry.
“I brought you lunch.”
“I saw.”
“You done?” I squint at her.
“Give me five.”
I wait in the rain.
She comes out five minutes later, wiping grease off her cheek, her bomber jacket zipped halfway up. No purse or umbrella. The rain soaks her blue hair.
We walk in silence, side by side but miles apart. The dull orange glow of streetlights reflects on wet pavement.
She doesn’t speak.
I don’t ask why.
The harbor appears like it always does, silent, mist-veiled, boats bobbing in their slips. The yacht I share with Leo waits at the far dock, ropes taut against the cleats, haloed in dock lights and sea fog.
Dove follows me down the ramp without question.
I untie the lines and hop aboard first, reaching back to steady her hand as she steps on deck. She doesn’t need it, but she takes it anyway.
That’s something.
Inside, I fire up the controls and ease us out of the slip. The yacht hums as we glide through the black, rain-slicked bay with only the sound of water curling off the hull and the low rumble of the motor.
She sits in the passenger seat, arms folded, watching the shoreline fade into mist. Her fingers twitch in her lap like she’s counting something. Maybe all the things she hasn’t said. Maybe all the things she never will.
I don’t push. I just steer. Back to the island. Back to more silence and loneliness.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She checks it.
Not me.
“Everything okay?” I can’t keep the resentment out of my voice. I don’t want to fight. I want her to talk to me. Look at me. Be with me.
“Yeah.” That’s it. One word. Short. Flat. Nothing behind it.
“You mad about something?”
“No.” She looks out the window.
“Well, I am.” I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, staring hard through the windshield. The rain makes it easier not to look at her. I feel my heartbeat in my jaw, in the back of my neck, in the way I grip the wheel too tight. “You didn’t answer a single text.”
“I was working.”
“You could’ve said that.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
I flinch.
She might as well have kneed me in the nuts.
When I reach the island, I dock, kill the engine, and sit there. My fingers drum the wheel. She doesn’t move to get out.
“I’m not your past.” I roll my neck. “I’m not Jag. Or your piece-of-shit ex. Or any of the assholes who made you feel like you have to avoid men to survive. I’m here. I show up.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
That hits harder than anything she said—or didn’t say—all day.
“Yeah.” Blood throbs in my ears. “You’ve made that clear as fuck.”
For several minutes, the only sound is the ping of the engine cooling down.
“I know you show up.” She exhales and rubs her hands on her thighs. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
I study her features. She looks exhausted. Haunted.
“You don’t have to do anything.” I want to touch her, but I don’t. “Just let me be near you.”
“I’m not good at that.”
“Neither am I.” Dragging a hand down my face, I bark a humorless laugh. “Holy frozen hell, you have no idea. I’ve lived the most abnormal, fucked-up life. I’m not here to compare shitty experiences. But if anyone can understand what you’re going through, it’s me.”
A small smile dimples the corner of her mouth and quickly fades. She finally looks at me. Really looks with those honey-warm eyes. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
“Yeah, you did.”
I lead her to the guest house, shrouded by a dense mist, the windows fogged and lights low.
Inside, I spot a pizza box on the counter, still warm. Someone dropped it off. Kody, probably. Ever since he took over the distillery and expanded into culinary service, he’s been feeding everyone like it’s part of his job description.