Chapter Thirty-Six
REID
BY WEDNESDAY, THE South Carolina heat is brutal.
It’s the kind that makes tempers short and metal too hot to touch.
Things are mighty quiet around here with half our docks now a pile of ash at the bottom of the bay.
I’ve spent the morning replacing boards on the dry dock just to keep busy.
By the time I wander into Tate’s office, sweat has soaked through my T-shirt.
The box fan in the corner does nothing to cool off the space.
I find Tate, behind his desk, making notes in a ledger. When he sees me, he snaps it closed.
“Thought you went home hours ago,” he mutters without looking up.
I drop into the chair across from him. “Figured I’d check in on you. Make sure you filed the insurance claim before the adjuster comes by on Friday.”
“Already taken care of.” Tate leans back in his chair, arms behind his head.
“Good,” I say carefully. “Because the damage from the fire wasn’t minor. We have enough coverage to handle it?”
“We’re fine.” Tate shrugs, evasive.
“Fine doesn’t mean shit to me, Tate.” I nod toward the ledger. “You hiding bad news in there?”
He exhales hard through his nose. “You’re wound tighter than barbed wire, you know that? Everything’s under control.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard you say that before,” I mutter, shaking my head.
He looks up then, something flashing in his eyes. It’s not guilt exactly but maybe exhaustion. For the first time since all of this came about, I wonder if he’s lying to me.
He rubs a hand over his face. “Look, you’ve got enough on your plate with that girl of yours. Let me handle this.”
“That girl of mine is part of the reason we’re in this mess,” I shoot back, ignoring the guilt that prickles at the base of my neck. “You think I’m just going to sit back and watch as everything we’ve built goes under?”
Tate’s jaw tics. “You didn’t build anything. You bought thirty percent.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. “I’ve worked these docks every damn day since I got out. You fucking know that.”
Tate softens a bit, but not enough. “I do know that. And I appreciate it. But right now, I need you to trust me.”
“That would be a hell of a lot easier if you’d tell me what the fuck is going on,” I grit.
“It’s not what you think.” He shakes his head, pushing back in his chair.
“Then what is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands, grabs his keys, and heads for the door. “Just drop it,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ve got to make a few calls.”
I watch him go, the office door swinging shut behind him. For a moment, I just sit there, staring at that closed ledger on the desk. Something isn’t right. I can feel it in my bones.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, grabbing the ledger.
The spine creaks when I open it, flipping to the most recent pages. I skim the line items, tracing each with my finger. Then I see it.
Dock Repairs – $4800 – Paid Cash.
No contractor. No vendor. Just a check mark next to a blank box.
A few pages back, I see another alarming note scribbled in the margin.
Fuel Delivery – Langford Marine – Cash paid in advance.
I feel my stomach twist. Tate would never pay cash up front for anything, not unless he didn’t want it traced. Even then—he’s always been on the straight and narrow. I feel ill.
The fan hums, paper rustles, and I sit there with that sick, quiet certainty that something’s gone sideways.
Maybe he’s being squeezed. Maybe he’s covering something up. Either way, the books don’t balance. And I have the sinking feeling that I can no longer trust my business partner.
BY THE TIME I leave the marina, the sun is low and gold over the water, catching every ripple like glass.
I’ve got the windows down, the briny scent of the marsh flowing through the cab of my truck. But it does nothing to soothe the weight in my chest.
Tate’s words echo in my head on loop:
You bought thirty percent.
You built nothing.
I need you to trust me.
It’s not what you think.
I want to believe him. More than anything. I’ve known him since we were kids. But there is something about the way he slammed that ledger shut, refusing to answer my questions. Then what he didn’t want me to see, the cash payments, the Langford note. None of it feels right.
I can’t shake the thought that everything around me—this town, the marina, the girl I’m in love with—is about to get swept up in a storm we can’t stop.
I pull in the driveway just as the last of day turns into night.
The porch light glows and through the window I can see Emery, dancing around the kitchen, blond hair piled in a sloppy knot on her head.
She’s wearing one of my T-shirts and it’s falling off her shoulder, revealing her clavicle, a part of her body that has very quickly become irresistible to me.
Warmth blooms across my chest and I watch for a moment, letting the tension bleed out of me before going inside.
She doesn’t notice me immediately when I step through the door.
She’s too busy rocking out to nineties pop, and I’m enjoying the show.
In the air, the scent of something soft and buttery fills the air.
When she finally spins around, she startles, eyes widening for a split second before her mouth curves into a crooked smile.
She taps her phone screen and the music stops.
“You’re late,” she says, stepping closer.
“Got caught up at the marina,” I murmur, kicking off my boots.
“Everything okay?”
Emery moves around the peninsula to a casserole dish covered in foil.
I taste the lie on my lips before I can stop myself. “Just paperwork.”
She eyes me for a second, like she knows there’s more to it, but she doesn’t press. “I made cornbread.” She holds up the casserole dish with a smile.
“Cornbread, huh?” I move around behind her, my hands finding her hips while she cuts a buttery square.
“I needed a break from this paper. And carbs fix everything.” She spins around, shoving the square in my mouth.
“Damn, this is good.” I say, licking my lips.
Emery feigns offense. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked.” I chuckle. “I’m impressed. With all you’ve been through these last few weeks, here you are being domestic.”
“Just trying to make something good out of this mess.” She sighs.
I brush a crumb off her cheek. “Hey. You’re something good.”
Her breath catches. “Reid…”
“I mean it.”
She curls into me, my arms encircle her, and I tug her close.
We stand like that in the kitchen, the light low and golden.
I rest my chin on top of her head, syncing my breath to hers.
All it takes to forget the stresses of the day is coming home to this woman wearing my clothes and dancing around my kitchen.
“You ever think this…” she pauses, looking up at me, “us, here together…wasn’t an accident? Like maybe I was meant to find you?”
I dip my chin, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “Every damn day.”