by Lyla Payne
A knock at the window startles me so badly I yelp. For a brief, nightmarish moment, I think it’s the lecherous marina manager leering at me, but it’s only Trent Boone.
My hand shakes as I roll down the window. It’s hard to think straight with my heart jammed up under my chin, and the bad scare brings out a surge of irritation.
“You nearly scared me to death,” I snap.
“Sorry,” he says in a voice that does not sound in the least bit sorry. “Saw you sitting out here talking to yourself. Figured maybe you were here to see me, but I’m leaving to pick up my son.”
“I’m not here to see you,” I tell him, still full of adrenaline and piss and vinegar.
The truth is, I probably should be talking to Trent. There are plenty of questions that need answering, and maybe he’d give me the details on the family court issues Darla asked Birdie Drayton to handle. Because Leo made it sound like more than just the Marcella thing.
“Oh.” Understanding dawns in his bright blue, Boone eyes. They narrow on my face. “Oh.”
“I would like to ask you, though…why did your mom hire family court lawyers?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
“Rarely is,” I concede. “But I am trying to figure out why your dad’s back.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with his death. Now that I have Noah, she’s been reaching out to Lindsay, hoping she might be up for stopping the fighting between them and let Marcella see the family.” He trails off.
“But,” I prod.
He shrugs, but the careful expression in his eyes tells me he’s not all that excited about the topic. “But Lindsay isn’t having any of it, so my mom is thinking about suing for visitation rights.”
“Can she do that?”
“Sure.” He pauses, licking his lips. “I’m not sure it’s the best thing to do, but she really hasn’t been the same since Dad died. I mean, none of us has, but she…she’s hollow.”
The sorrow in his tone softens the wall around my heart. Whatever else I think about Trent, it’s clear that he loves his family. Except for Leo.
And I’m back to wanting to smack him.
“Anything else?”
I bite my lower lip and pull my coat tight around me. It’s cold out and a brittle wind pricks the exposed skin on my hands and the base of my neck. My fingers are stiff and I wrap them around the steering wheel, then flex them to get the blood flowing. “You seen your dad again?”
“Not since I talked to you the other night.” Resentment creeps into his voice. It’s unexpected but perhaps understandable.
If Grams or Gramps decided to show up and start hanging around, it might unnerve me at first. But it sure would be hard to lose them all over again.
“Leo’s seen him, too, and so has Lindsay,” I say quietly. “Do you really think your dad would hang around the guy who caused his death?”
Trent sticks his big, chapped hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He seems antsy. Maybe he’s just ready to go see his boy after a few days at sea. Or maybe he doesn’t like me asking questions he doesn’t want to answer.
“I don’t know, Graciela. My dad was a pretty good guy. I’d say there’s a chance he’s hanging around Leo so he can forgive the guy.” He gives me a smile that’s more sad than anything. “That sounds about right, actually.”
“Your dad was a good guy. We can agree on that.” I lick my lips. “But your brother is, too. And deep down, I think you know he didn’t do anything but have the worst day of his life the day your dad passed.”
“Was killed.” Trent’s voice is tight, and his hard gaze is trained on my face. “Whether or not Leo was involved, Graciela, my father was murdered. He had to have been.”
He turns around after another intense moment of eye contact, striding toward his beat-up truck a few spaces down. It’s parked next to Knox’s big F-250 diesel, rust crawling over the wheel wells, leaving tracks like a snail’s.
Trent’s words roll over in my mind, gaining steam. The strange circumstances of Harlan Boone’s death, combined with the fact that he’s showing up now, years after his death, makes me inclined to agree. There’s obviously something he wants his family to know. And, in my admittedly limited experience, people who died peacefully and have no beef with the living don’t linger.
That said, there’s no proof. Not only that, but Orrie and Amelia’s thoughts about death and grieving have taken root in my head—it’s hard to accept that the people we love can be there one day and gone the next. No farewell. No reason. No answers. Just a kiss goodbye in the morning that you had no idea would be the last one forever. Maybe Darla and Trent are just looking for a way to explain it all.
Even if that’s true, it’s shitty that they’ve laid it all on Leo. Even if I talk to Darla and she’s sad and all of that, I doubt I’ll be able to forgive her.
Leo probably would. He’s a lot like his dad.
I roll up the window and spend a moment with my hands in front of the heater. My fingers thaw. My mind turns back to my original purpose—the reason I came up here, not the impromptu chat that turned out to be interesting, at least, if not helpful.
Once the ignition is off, the car gets cold almost immediately. It’s no longer a sanctuary, so there’s no reason to stay. I gather up the tattered scraps of my sexual confidence before nudging open the door. Together, they barely add up to a handful, but to be honest, I feel lucky to have anything left at all after the year I’ve had.
It hasn’t even been a year, actually, since I walked in on my fiancé having sex with a T.A. on the desk in his office. It hasn’t even been a month since my boyfriend’s ex came back from the dead and whisked him away. It hasn’t even been a month since I lunged at one of my best friends and got shot down.
The fact that I’m here, about to put myself out there again with a guy I barely know, is actually pretty ballsy. It’s either something someone who’s the perfect picture of mental health would totally do—or it’s a sign I’ve finally gone off the deep end.
Before I can decide which, I’m on the rickety wooden dock outside Knox’s boat. The gentle lapping of the water against the pilings works its magic on my nerves.
“You going to ask permission to come aboard or just stand there and meditate or whatever it is you’re doing?”
My eyes fly open to spy Knox on the bow, staring down at me with a bemused sparkle in his deep brown eyes. I feel a smile tug at my lips in response. I’m about twenty pounds lighter already. As if all of my troubles and cares and worries stayed back in the car, held in tight by the slammed doors and the slightly funky smell no one can put their finger on. They’re not gone. I don’t want them to be.
But they’re quiet.
“Permission to come aboard?” I request, the words almost hard to form through my smile. Best not to comment on the whole meditation comment. He’s not far off.
“Granted. Even though you’re empty-handed. I like cookies, for future reference.” He extends a hand to help me over the railing, one eyebrow quirked. “Unless you’re hiding something under that coat.”
The implication is clear. He knows why I’m here. I know why I’m here. For a moment, fear and anticipation sizzle through me in equal measure, but then something else—the desire to forget—overpowers them.
“I suspect you’ll find out if you invite me inside where it’s warm. Otherwise, I guess it will remain a mystery forever.”
“We can’t have that,” he says, his tone wry as he sweeps an arm out in an arc toward the cabin. “Please.”
I’m hyper aware of the heat of him at my back as we descend the stairs. The scent of his aftershave mingles with the sea salt clinging to everything else and goes straight to my head, enough so that my fingers need to tighten on the railing to keep me steady. Now would be the moment to question what I’m doing here. To think about what happened with Leo, and what I’d like to happen in the future.
To question whether I’m ready, or if peop
le are going to judge me for jumping into bed with someone else so soon after my breakup with Beau.
With great purpose, I decide not to do any of those things. The past is the past. The future is going to happen regardless of whether I follow Knox straight into his bed and stay there for a week.
I’m tired of thinking.
At the bottom of the stairs, Knox brushes past me and into the galley. There’s a drink sweating on the table next to an open laptop and a batch of brownies cooling on the counter, their scent tantalizing in the small space.
I raise an eyebrow as he strides over and starts to cut them. “You baked?”
It could be my imagination but I swear the tips of his ears turn the slightest bit pink. “I did. And before you ask whether you can have any, you should know that they contain a decent amount of marijuana.”
If I had a drink in my mouth, I would have choked on it. He’s watching me for a reaction, and even though I try my hardest not to give him one, whatever he sees makes him smile.
“Not your thing?”
“I mean, it’s not like I’ve never tried it, but it’s been a while.” David, my ex, had believed people who smoked pot were no better than those who did heroin or robbed liquor stores. When it came to legality, there was no gray area for him, though his moral compass was clearly much more forgiving.
I’m not saying that’s why I reach for a brownie, but I’m not saying it isn’t, either.
“Good,” I say around a mouthful of gooey chocolate. There’s only the slightest hint of an aftertaste. I nod toward the laptop. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Nothing important.” He closes the laptop screen, but not before I see a website called Caring Bridge. Knox smiles, but there’s a slight edge to the nonchalance. “What brings you here on such a chilly night? Need another tire?”
“Not in so many words, no.” I slide into the chair opposite and take another bite of my brownie. Knox nudges his drink my direction and I take a sip to wash it down.
Some kind of smooth whiskey.
Knox studies me with those brown eyes, which are somehow serious and playful at the same time. “You thought about my suggestion?”
Not consciously, but on some level, I did. So I nod. I bite my lower lip, and the brief flash of desire on his face sends a shock of heady power through me. But curiosity wars with the lust, and even though my mouth is often what gets me in trouble, I turn it cautiously loose.
“I know you said you don’t want to talk about anything, but are you sure that you want to do this? I mean, you seem like a nice guy, and you even seem like you have your shit together, which I definitely do not, and…” I trail off as he stands up and walks around to my side of the table, pulling me to my feet in one smooth motion.
My heart pounds at his nearness, and honestly, his confident air produces a slight swoon in my knees.
“Let’s get a couple of things straight,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on mine. “I do not have my shit together, and maybe you don’t either, but I don’t see why that should limit our compatibility if this is something we both want.”
“Oh,” I manage through the fog thickening in my brain. I lick my lips, my gaze dropping to his mouth, and feel a surge of sizzling desire shoot through me. It lands in places that have been neglected for longer than I care to admit. “What’s the second thing?”
“I’m not that nice.”
With that, his lips land on mine and every single coherent thought goes out of my head. If I’m being honest, I haven’t been kissed so thoroughly in maybe my entire life. I know for sure that I haven’t needed to be literally held up by a man since my first kiss with Will all those years ago, but if Knox lets go of me now, I’ll fall down like my skeleton has turned to tapioca pudding.
Luckily, he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t stop kissing me, and I don’t stop kissing him, and somehow we manage to get into the bedroom and into the sheets that smell of sea and man and, honestly, a decision I cannot imagine regretting for a second.
Chapter Thirteen
“You really just have this obnoxious smile on your face,” my cousin observes as we walk toward Stella’s, Aunt Karen’s favorite new “it” restaurant in Charleston. “It’s annoying.”
“Sorry.” I make a slight effort, but the goofy grin is stuck in place. Knox must have some kind of magic brain eraser in his pants because I haven’t felt this light in months.
Amelia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you sound sorry.”
“It’s not like you’re not having sex, you know. I’m not gloating.”
“Sex with your boyfriend and sex-to-forget-your-boyfriend are different. And my mom is totally going to know something’s up if you can’t control your face.”
“Come on, Millie,” I sigh out. “You’ve known me my entire life. Since when has self-control been part of my repertoire?”
“Fair point. But if Mom gives you a lecture on the proper behavior of modern ladies, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She hikes Jack’s car seat up on her forearm, waving me off when I offer to take him.
I grab the door to the restaurant instead and hold it open for them. The interior smells like heaven. A place that, according to my Aunt Karen, I’m unlikely to ever glimpse firsthand.
Which may be true, but I’m pretty sure she’s not making the cut, either.
She’s already here, of course. Millie spots her in a booth near the bar and her shoulders immediately tighten. If she thinks the smile on my face is telling and weird, she should grab a mirror. There’s no turning back now, however, as my aunt has spotted us and lifted her hand in a small, beckoning wave. Her own smile is pasted on and awkward, but that could be the Botox.
We get to the booth and Amelia sets Jack’s car seat down and unwinds her scarf. My aunt Karen barely glances at her grandson, her lips twisting into more of a grimace than a smile, before she looks away and greets her daughter.
They acted excited to have a grandchild, and I think they still are, in theory. The day-to-day with a newborn isn’t perhaps as sweet and fun as they expected, I guess. Amelia thinks they’ll get more into it as Jack grows.
I’m withholding judgment.
“Amelia, darling, you’re looking well.”
“Thank you, Mother.” My cousin slides into the booth while her mother stares down at Jack. There’s no doubt in my mind that we’ll be having drinks with lunch today. At least, I will.
“Hi, Aunt Karen,” I say, more amused than hurt that she’s trying to pretend I don’t exist. I guess saving our family’s future and her daughter and grandson’s lives doesn’t earn me lasting credit.
After a couple of decades of the same treatment, it rolls off my back.
“Hello, Graciela.” Now she is frowning. As much as the Botox will allow, anyway.
After last night—and this morning—with Knox, pretty much nothing can dampen my mood. I plop into the booth next to my aunt, leaving Amelia plenty of room with the baby. The menu at this place is expensive, but the food looks good. Aunt Karen will pick up the tab out of pride if nothing else, so I’ve got free rein to eat like I don’t work at a small-town library for a living. It’s a beautiful day.
“Why are you smiling like a deranged baboon?”
Amelia looks up and raises an eyebrow in my direction, her “I told you so” coming through loud and clear. My smile stretches wider as I set down the menu. The waiter, a snobby-looking man who is a few years older than the typical college-aged staff around town, picks his way toward us.
“It’s because I got laid last night, Aunt Karen. By a very handsome, testosterone-filled man who knows his way around a woman without needing a map.” The horrified look on her face stretches my grin so far I’m in serious danger of laughing out loud.
The waiter arrives and opens his mouth to speak.
I hand him the menu, cutting him off. “I’ll have a spicy Bloody Mary, a grilled cheese, and fries.”
“Excellent.” The purse of his lips suggests my order has disgusted him,
too. Or maybe he’s miffed that he didn’t get to spout the daily specials or whatever.
The weather is frigid and Stella’s, even though it’s a Greek restaurant, is famous for its grilled cheese. I make no apologies.
“I’ll have the same,” Millie orders.
Aunt Karen heaves a long-suffering sigh and asks for a glass of water and more time to peruse the menu. The waiter nods and leaves the table looking a little worse for wear. My aunt gives me a once-over but decides not to pursue the previous line of questioning, which should relieve me but instead it makes me suspicious. The look Millie shoots me says that she agrees.
Silence hangs over the table while we wait for Aunt Karen to make her choice. Jack stirs but doesn’t wake up and Amelia busies herself with fussing over him. I pick up my phone and see a message from Travis.
Had some thoughts about that stone. Let me know if you’ve gotten any leads or when we can talk.
I frown at the screen, then type out a quick reply.
At lunch with my aunt ttyl
I turn it off without waiting for a reply. The waiter’s returning with the drinks, and I feel a powerful need to get my hands on mine. My aunt orders a salad—a plain salad with oil and vinegar for dressing, after making everyone wait an extra five minutes. Once he’s gone, she sips her water, sets it on the table, and then heaves a sigh.
“Well, girls, I suppose I’ll find out eventually, but what is the reason for our little tète-a-tète today?”
“It couldn’t be because you haven’t seen your grandson in a month?” The venom in my cousin’s voice takes me by surprise, though it probably shouldn’t. She and my aunt aren’t exactly BFFs, but we both expected Aunt Karen to take more of an active role. Not that we deluded ourselves into thinking she’d want to change diapers, but all the same…Jack is over a month old and she’s been to visit a grand total of four times.