Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel

by Canterbary, Kate

  "I won't call myself an expert, but I think it depends on the size of the fight. We weren't yelling at each other about berries or sheets or dog grooming. We were yelling about time. I'm pushing a new product through beta testing and I've been spending unconscionable hours at my computer. The summer season is kicking Owen in the ass and he's exhausted. We had to get our frustrations out, even if that meant going hardest on the person we care about most." He slipped his phone in his pocket. "Owen needed a couple of hours to be angry, but once he works his way through it, he's done with it."

  "And what if you go to him before he's done with it?" I asked for entirely selfish reasons.

  "Then I give him the space he wants," he replied. "I've learned to accept that Owen works through things differently than I do and I can't expect him to hurry up because I'm ready to move on."

  Cole tried to drop some cash on the bar, but I waved him off. "Don't drink this on the walk home," I cautioned, setting a fresh bottle of beach rose gin on the bar. "Thank you. I can't explain how much I appreciate this."

  "No need for pleasantries. We'll thank each other when we've grown a new economic base for this town and my Silicon Valley friends call me the craft gin evangelist."

  The door thunked shut and I caught sight of Owen Bartlett. "There you are." He charged across the room. "I've been looking all over for you."

  "Found me," Cole chirped. "Look at this, it's gin flavored with beach roses. Do you know what those are? I'm sure you do. Maybe you can show me tomorrow because I have no idea. Also, it's amazing and I worked out a deal so we're getting a case of gin every month. Isn't that awesome?"

  Owen smiled at me over Cole's head. "If that makes you happy, baby, then I'm happy."

  "Can we go home now?" Cole asked.

  "That's why I'm here. I came to get you," Owen replied.

  "Good night," I called as they shuffled out, their arms tangled around each other. Watching them together hurt like I couldn't believe, but I had my phone out before the door rattled shut behind them.

  This was the only thing for me to do—wrap my arms around her as best I could from hundreds of miles away and ask if she was ready to come home.

  JJ: There are a lot of things I want to say. I've been trying to figure out the right place to start all day, but I don't think I know where it is.

  JJ: Since there's no good place, I'll start with the thing I wish I'd said the yesterday.

  JJ: I don't want you to leave, but I'm not talking about Talbott's Cove. You can go anywhere in the world. I want you to be where you're happy. But please don't leave.

  JJ: I didn't tell you about losing Barry and his investment because I didn't want to bother you with it. I know it wouldn't have bothered you. Hell, it might've been a good distraction. But then everything happened with the baby, and the distillery was the last thing on my mind. I can't convince myself I should've added that to your plate, sweetheart. Not right then. I'm sorry it came out the way it did, but I'm not sorry for protecting you.

  JJ: I'm going to keep doing that, you know. You'll hate it and you'll throw fire at me, but if I'm extremely lucky, you'll put up with it.

  JJ: I think I'm extremely lucky, Brooke.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Brooke

  Hedge Fund: a pooled, collective investment vehicle used to yield aggressive returns.

  I knocked on Jed's door. At first, it was a polite knock. A light tap of the knuckles against solid wood. When that resulted in nothing, I put some muscle into it. A deep thunk vibrated across the slab and echoed down the street. Damn near bruised my hand in the process.

  It was the middle of the night, the summer air heavy on my skin and cicadas hissing in the trees as if I required more recrimination. I did not. I knew where he kept the spare key, but it didn't feel right to let myself in, not when I'd escaped from the Cove before sunrise like a fugitive.

  Even if I wanted to climb into his bed and tuck myself up against his body and sleep for the longest time, I couldn't do that. Not until I'd earned the right.

  The door swung open to reveal Jed in black boxers, that delicious line of fuzz running down his belly and the octopus climbing his arm. Butterscotch galloped up, her tail wagging her entire body while her front paws danced. She jostled Jed out of the way and circled me twice, huffing and whining as she went. She nudged me over the threshold and into Jed's house.

  "Okay, Scotchie, okay," I sang, my hands sweeping over her coat as she nuzzled my legs.

  "My dog has never loved anything or anyone the way she loves you," Jed mused. "If you're not here to tell me something good, I hope you know you're gonna break the old girl's heart."

  "I tried to go home today," I said, still dividing my attention between him and the dog. "I have a townhouse in Brooklyn. The Vinegar Hill neighborhood. I don't know if I've ever told you that."

  He leaned back against the door. “Probably not.”

  "But I didn't have a key," I continued. "I'm sure I did at some point, but I couldn't find it today. I couldn't get in."

  Jed crossed his arms. "Seems like an important detail."

  "Not anymore," I replied. "I sold it. I sold my townhouse."

  "Wait—how? In one day? What?"

  I ran my hands through my hair, shrugged. "I know people. I know how to get things like this done and I wanted it done."

  "You sold your place in Brooklyn," he murmured. "Now what? Buying something new?"

  "That would be a smart investment," I said, pacing the length of his living room. "Generally speaking, real estate is the most stable, low-risk investment most people will ever make." I turned back toward him, my hand on my belly as it had been all day. "I'm not a stable, low-risk investment. I'm a high-risk investment."

  He stared at my torso for a second. Then, he tipped his chin up. "How do you figure?"

  "I'm-I'm not going to pretend my head isn't a mess," I said. "I've been dragging a little red wagon's worth of issues around since forever. I'm still fucked up over losing my mother the way I did plus everything I went through with my father. I don't think any of that is going away right now." I shook my head, willing him to understand. "I am a high-risk investment, the kind of risk on which I'd never gamble. And I'm proof that babies don't make people happy. They don't make anyone fall back in love and they don't solve relationship problems. Babies can't fix their parents."

  "I know, Brooke. I know that."

  His gaze skated over me from head to toe as he stood silent. Eventually, he reached out, grabbed a handful of my dress, and yanked me up against him. Butterscotch protested with a series of yips and barks, wiggling her body between us.

  "She wants to protect you," he whispered against my neck. "Can't say I find any fault there."

  "I shouldn't have left the way I did. I shouldn't have said the things I did. I was wrong, although I had to go. Had to drive to Portland in the dark, wait for my flight there, wait on the ground at Teterboro, crawl through traffic in Manhattan and over the bridge, all to find out I couldn't go back to the place I'd thought was my home. I had to figure this out, Jed."

  "I could've gone with you," he replied. "You could've figured it out with me right there beside you."

  "Maybe that's true," I conceded. "But I don't think you would've let me sit on the grass at John Street Park and cry for an hour. You would've insisted I tell you how to fix it and I would've told you I wanted to fix it myself. We would've argued under the Brooklyn Bridge and solved nothing."

  "That's where we don't agree. I want to fight with you. Every damn day of my life. I don't want a day to go by without feeling your fire. But understand this, Brooke. I don't want to fight you. I want to stand on the same side as you."

  "I don't know how to do that, Jed. I don't know how to do any of this." I layered both hands over my belly, my eyes wide and pleading as I stood there, the farthest thing in the world from perfect. I was exposed and vulnerable, and terrified he wouldn't understand. "I am telling you I don't have the answers and I don't know w
hat I'm doing, and I don't think I've ever been so—"

  He pressed his lips to mine. "Beautiful." Another kiss. "Open." Another. "Real." And another. "Mine."

  "But Jed, I'm—"

  "Are you staying?" he asked. "Or am I going with you?"

  "Staying. I'm working on getting used to that idea but I sold my townhouse so I'm running short on options at the moment."

  "Are we still in this thing together?" he asked as he steered me down the hall.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  He tugged the dress up, over my head. "Are we still having a baby together?"

  Another nod, a terrified gulp, a hand to my bare belly, and— "Yes."

  He wrapped his arms around me, brought my head to his shoulder. "There's nothing to forgive. We'll argue, probably every damn day. We'll walk away, cool off, come back. We're in this."

  I tapped my index finger against his sternum. "About the distillery—"

  "Handled," he replied.

  "Yeah? The meeting went well?"

  His body shook as he barked out a laugh. "The meeting was a train wreck," he said. "But Cole McClish came into the tavern tonight and we started talking about gin. He sampled the beach rose batch and funded the entire launch on the spot." He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head, my temple. "You can blame Cole for robbing you of that bargaining chip."

  "So, that's it?" I asked, glancing up at him. "Cole saved the day and you've accepted my apologies? It's that…simple?"

  He dropped his hands to my ass, squeezing and grinding me against him. "If you really want to make amends and apologize for putting me through hell today, you're welcome to suck my cock."

  I sighed. "I'm going to be someone's mother, Jedediah. Mothers don't suck cocks."

  "And yet the term motherfucker exists," he mused as he relieved me of my bra.

  "It's only available to those up to the task," I replied.

  He dragged my panties down, his eyebrows arched. "Since I'm the one who knocked you up, I believe I'm uniquely qualified for this job."

  "Can I make one request?"

  His chin bumped my head as he nodded. "Anything you want, Bam."

  "Take your fucking boxers off."

  "All right. That's what you want? Not a problem." He drove his fingers through my hair and tipped my head back. "Don't think I'm throwing you on the bed. You deserve it, and fuck me, I want it like you wouldn't believe. But you ran off to New York City and you cried in a park and you're carrying my child. Right now, I need to hold you more than I need to give you a good toss."

  I eased out of his arms, climbed onto the bed, and settled in the middle. "Come here. Come hold me." I nodded at his boxers. "After you drop the shorts."

  His underwear hit the floor and then he was beside me, one knee between my legs and his arm under my shoulders as he skimmed a hand up my torso. He gazed at my belly for a long moment. "You're a real piece of work, Bam. The shit you put me through, my god." He rested his forehead between my breasts and released a jagged exhale. "Promise me you won't stop."

  I reached for the knot at the base of his skull, pulled his hair loose. The unruly strands fell to my chest and I lashed my arms and legs around him. "Never."

  He brought his hand between my legs. "What am I allowed to do?"

  "Everything," I replied, arching into his touch. "Give me everything."

  Our lips met as he pushed inside me, a chorus of groans and growls passing between us. To the corner of my mouth, he said, "You will tell me if anything is uncomfortable, Bam."

  I hummed, canting my hips up to take more of him. "I will."

  "You'll tell me to slow down." His hips rolled gently while he continued gazing at me. "I'm not letting you hurt tomorrow."

  "And I'm not letting you give me a weak fuck," I replied. "I don't want you holding back. I know how to speak for myself and you know I will. Give it to me or get off me."

  "I love you a whole fucking lot," he said, roping his arms around my torso.

  "I love you just as much." Then, I felt a flutter on my foot—and wetness. "Jed, honey, oh my god, she's licking my foot."

  He peered at me. "What are you talking about? Who?"

  "Butterscotch." I gestured to the side of the bed where she had her front paws perched on the mattress and her tongue trained on my toes. "She's licking me like a popsicle. This seems incredibly strange but I can't move since I'm trapped under a lumberjack."

  He glanced behind us as Butterscotch hopped onto the bed and plopped down right beside me, her face tucked into the crook of my elbow. "Oh, fuck." He snapped his fingers, pointed to her bed. "Scotchie, off."

  She turned her head in the opposite direction and thumped her tail against his ass.

  "What do we do now?" I whisper-screamed.

  "I-I don't know." To the dog, he said, "Butterscotch. Off. Right now." She huffed out a sigh and nuzzled closer to me. "Looks like you're the boss, Bam."

  "Butterscotch," I sang. Her ears perked up. "Go to your nest, pretty girl."

  She licked my arm, shot Jed a disgusted glare, and jumped off the bed. She trotted over to her corner, circled her bed twice, and dragged a paw over the fleece surface. Eventually, she flopped down and started snoring.

  "And here I thought I could keep you all to myself," Jed mused.

  "I told you I can't be kept." I locked my legs around his waist and drove my fingers through his hair. "But that doesn't mean I can't keep you."

  Epilogue

  Brooke

  Consolidation: the joining of two or more organizations to form a new organization.

  The next summer

  It was a gorgeous day for a wedding.

  With my dress gathered in my hands as gingerly as I could, I walked a circle around the outdoor ceremony setup. White chairs curved in a half-moon around the pergola and thick garlands of white hydrangea led the way down the aisle. With the ocean as the backdrop and a bright, shining June sky overhead, it didn't matter that the peonies filling the pergola were a slightly darker pink than I'd expected.

  Satisfied, I traveled toward the tent constructed for this evening's reception. I moved between a pair of long, rectangular tables, each dressed with an assortment of linens, candles, and flowers. The design was simple without being plain, rustic without being rough.

  On the far end of the tent, I spotted Owen Bartlett pacing a short route between the six-tier wedding cake and the dessert table. I headed in his direction.

  "Are you ready for this?" I called, gesturing to the space around us.

  He eyed my dress with a pleasant grin. "Are you?"

  "I will feel much better when you tell you have your portion of the events on lock."

  He glanced at his small leather notebook. "This is my eighty-ninth wedding ceremony. I didn't think I knew that many people, but here I am, presiding over all these unions. It's surreal when I think about it." He patted the notebook. "I have this on lock, Brooke."

  "I expected nothing less." I peered around him. "Where's Cole?"

  "Where do you think? He's back in the distilling room, geeking out over the newest batches JJ has in the works." He shook his head as if he didn't relish his husband's obsession with Down East Distillery's research and development efforts. "Have you given any more thought to the proposals on the table? Mind you, I'm not trying to rush the process. Just curious. I get that from Cole."

  As it did whenever the topic of my father's estate surfaced, a sudden pressure filled my chest. In the year since his death, my perspective on the home my lineage had kept for centuries evolved. At first, after collecting my things and moving them to Jed's house, I'd wanted to sell. Be done with the ancestral property and move forward. But it wasn't as simple as hanging a For Sale sign in the yard, not with generations of history packed into every corner.

  After the summer ended and the loss wasn't as raw, Annette convened a clean-out party disguised as another one of her double dates of vengeance. We managed to remove much of the recent history—leftover boxes of sterile glove
s, dementia-proofed door handles, banana-flavored pudding mix—and that eased some of my tension. I didn't feel the need to avoid the property anymore but I didn't know what to do with it either. Not wanting to deal with that on top of growing a human being and reorganizing my entire life, I set it aside. Until the offers started coming in.

  Most were easy to dismiss—the numbers were too low or the buyers weren't qualified—but each one forced me to think about how I wanted this to unfold. As much as I struggled with the truth, I couldn't walk away. I didn't think I could look at the house atop the hill without believing some part of me belonged there and some part of it belonged to me.

  "I haven't made any decisions, though I am leaning toward the historic preservation proposal," I admitted. "I like their focus on expanding the gardens, converting the bedrooms into guest suites, and updating the outbuildings."

  "And you retain ownership," he said, laughing.

  "That always helps," I replied. "That proposal makes the most sense. Turning the house into a museum as other developers have suggested seems—I don't know—wasteful. The only people who will visit are elementary school kids on class field trips and that's not a punishment I'm prepared to administer. I'd rather reimagine it as an inn, a horticultural center, something like that.”

  "I understand, and I'm confident the town council will approve the zoning changes necessary." Owen jerked his chin toward the main entrance. "You should get back inside. People are going to arrive early. They're all chomping at the bit for a look at the place."

  "As they should be," I said, motioning to the lush grounds. "This place is fucking amazing. Did you see that patio area over there? And the gardens? Holy shit. I didn't know gardens could look like that. It's hard to believe we're in Talbott's Cove." I swept an arm out. "A wedding with three hundred guests tonight? No problem. A grand opening next week? Got it covered. Farmers markets and food festivals and five different pop-up events the week after? Business as usual." I tapped an index finger to his suit coat. "Start planning for more stoplights, my friend. This town is never going to be the same."