Chapter Fourteen
REID
I LEAVE EMERY alone in the lab because if I don’t get out of there, I’m going to do something stupid.
I’ve had to talk myself out of wanting her every day for the past three weeks.
Tate would tell me to fuck her and get it out of my system, but it’s much more complicated than that.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get Emery out of my system.
And fuck if she didn’t just accuse Beau Rigsby—or someone using his boat—of the murder in the marsh.
I promised Beau we’d look into his concerns, doubting we’d find anything.
Now I’m not so sure. But I’ve been wrong before, and it led to major mistakes.
As a result of that, I’ve ignored my instincts and lost someone I cared about.
My mind is a mess, but the fact remains—I don’t trust my own judgment and I’m not sure what to do about it yet.
“Your shirt is wet,” Tate says, eyeing me suspiciously. He’s right where I left him, leaning against the bait shop’s tattered cedar shake wall.
I pull down the hem of my shirt to look. There, in a perfect Emery-sized spot, are her tear stains, just below my peck, darkening my light gray T-shirt.
“Huh,” I say. “Must’ve leaned on the sink.”
Tate rolls his eyes. “Right. What sink comes up to your chest, bro?”
“I don’t know, man. Why are you on me?” I walk past him, down the dock to check the log, Emery’s suspicions weighing on me.
Tate follows me though, falling in step beside me before I can get a good lead. “What’s going on with you and the doctor?” His eyes glimmer with amusement, and I realize he thinks something good is going on.
“Nothing,” I say with enough force that I hope it’s convincing.
“Hey man, I’m just happy for you. You’ve been moping around this place for two years without so much as looking at a woman.” Tate shrugs. “I’m not trying to be nosy.”
At this I exhale, letting my guard down. Tate’s not wrong, and if I’m suddenly spending time with Emery like this, he’s bound to think something is up. Everyone will. “Nothing has even happened yet.”
At this, Tate looks oddly pleased with himself. “Yet.”
“I’m just helping her with the turtle stuff.” I move to the booth and start flipping through the day’s log. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Tate leans against the booth watching me.
“I’m just glad to see you getting back out there again.” Tate lets out a low chuckle then glances my way.
I’m skimming the logs from this morning’s arrivals and departures.
Everything looks ordinary, nothing out of place.
I flip back to yesterday, careful not to go too far—if I dig a week back, Tate will know I’m fishing for something.
His gaze presses against my shoulders, making it harder to concentrate.
“Anyone keeping an eye on things at night?” I ask, forcing evenness into my tone. “Before we’re open?”
Tate shifts, his easy grin faltering. “Not really. Griff used to, but he’s old. I lock up and one of us comes back at dawn. Maybe a cop strolls through, but he’s not counting boats.”
I nod, turning a page, my finger trailing down a neat column of slips. “So, if somebody cast off at, say, three a.m., that wouldn’t show here.”
“Reid,” he says, my name edged with a warning.
“This is Tidehaven, not a naval base. Folks head out before sunrise all the time. Especially the crabbers. They’re out before dawn most days.
I don’t write down every time they come and go or I’d never sleep.
” I recognize the defensiveness in Tate’s voice but it’s not sharp.
More like, he thinks I’m accusing him of not running his side of things right.
“I was just curious,” I say, closing the log. I don’t look at him, instead casting my gaze across the still water of the back bay.
Tate studies me, his brow furrowed. “You’re digging at something, Morgan. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re holding back.”
I turn and meet his eyes but don’t give him anything. “Old habits.”
He studies me, and in that silence, I can feel the weight of our years.
Two boys pulling crab traps up from this very dock, growing into men building lives in the same town.
Then Tate lets out a breath and shakes his head.
“You ever decide to trust me with what’s really going on, I’ll be here.
Till then, quit looking at me like I’m blind. ”
I nod once, unable to answer. Because the truth is, I don’t know yet if he’s blind or just looking the other way.
I PULL UP to Emery’s just before seven, a pizza in one hand and a half gallon of cookie dough ice cream in the other. The door swings open before I can knock. I lift them in offering. “Brought provisions.”
Emery reaches out, taking the shopping bag with ice cream and peering inside. “Where’s the beer?”
I smirk, peering down at her. “Sometimes we have to choose not to drink our feelings away, Doc.”
Emery marches to the kitchen and shoves the ice cream in the freezer. When she spins back, her eyes flash. “In case you haven’t noticed, numbing my feelings is the only way I’m getting by lately.”
Guilt tugs in my chest. I should be doing more to help her through this than showing up with food. “Well, I’m here now. Let me distract you.”
As soon as I’ve said it, I realize how it sounds. Emery does too because a pink blush slowly creeps across her chest. “Whatever,” she says, plopping in a chair. She flips open the pizza box and tears into a slice, devouring it in three bites.
I laugh, shaking my head. “What are you a caveman? Where are the plates?”
“Cabinet next to the stove. Help yourself.” Emery juts a greasy thumb over her shoulder before grabbing another slice.
I grab the plates and drop them on the table before moving into the open living room and flicking on the TV. Jeopardy’s theme song blares. I turn back to Emery, and she’s watching me, a half-eaten piece of pizza dangling in her hand.
“You look good here—comfortable,” she says quietly.
I clear my throat crossing back to her and taking a seat beside her. “Penny—Dr. Young—and I were friends.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Friends? Or friends?”
I bark out a laugh. “The former. She was like sixty. But I helped her with things around here. We got to know each other.”
Emery chews slower this time, thoughtful. “How did she die?”
A tight breath leaves me. “They ruled it a suicide, but…” I hesitate, reaching for a slice.
Her eyes sharpen. “But…you don’t think it was?”
I shrug, biting into the crust. “I don’t know. She never seemed depressed to me.”
Emery’s voice is soft. “Well, that’s the thing about depression. It hides. You never know what people are going through.”
Her phone buzzes against the table. A name flashes. Jason.
We both see it. She doesn’t move.
“Boyfriend?” I ask too quickly. Of course she has a boyfriend.
“Ex.” She exhales, shoulders slumping. “It’s…recent.” Her face contorts from confusion to something bordering sadness.
“Do you want to talk about it?” The words surprise me as much as her. Talking about feelings isn’t my style—she’s only been here three weeks, and even she knows that.
She sets the half-eaten slice she’s holding back in the box and tugs her knees up to her chest. “There’s not much to say.
We have different priorities. I never felt supported or…
” She pauses, the words stuck in her throat.
“Cherished. We were just going through the motions—stagnant. This opportunity came up, and I took it for what it is…a chance to reset and figure out what I want.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. Her gaze locks with mine. “So, why is he texting you now?”
She glances at the screen, then slides the phone toward me. Four words glow. I made a mistake.
“Damn right he did,” I say, pushing the phone back.
The corners of her mouth lift and warmth flickers in my chest.
“Hey, Jeopardy is half over.” I say, standing and heading for the couch. “I guess you’re not beating me tonight.”
“There’s always tomorrow.” A moment later, Emery drops beside me with the ice cream carton and two spoons. She curls her legs under, shoulder pressed warm against mine. The contact makes my skin hum with electricity.
“Now you want to eat straight from the carton?” I give her a mock frown. “Savage.”
Her laugh bursts out, full and unguarded. She thrusts a spoon at me. “Take it or leave it.”
I grin, accepting the spoon. “I’ll definitely take it.”