Chapter 6
Fletcher tugged open the creaky door to his old bedroom and stepped aside to let Baily in first. When he’d first moved back home, he hadn’t been able to decide where to sleep.
The master…or here. It had felt strange to stay in his parents’ room, but even odder to live in all the memories of his childhood… of Baily.
Everything about this room reminded him of her. The scent of lavender from her body wash still clung to the sheets. His mind filled with every kiss they’d shared. Every intimate secret that had passed between them in their youth filled his heart profoundly.
So, he’d opted for the master bedroom.
Baily stepped over the threshold with a familiar grin tugging at her lips. “God, every time I walk into this room, I feel like I’m walking into a museum to our youth.”
He glanced around his old room. It had the same dark green carpet, sprawled wall to wall, that it had always had.
The thick matching curtains sagged slightly off their rods, and the wallpaper—green and blue stripes—still curled at the corners.
A lava lamp sat on the dresser like it had been waiting for someone to ask it to dance.
The ceiling fan overhead gave a little rattle as it turned.
As a teenager, he would lie in bed and watch the blades spin while Baily curled up in his arms.
“You’d think after all these years it would’ve faded out of memory,” Baily said, brushing her hand over a stack of old books. “But it’s exactly the same. Down to the smell—dust and citrus polish and whatever cologne you used to drown yourself in.”
Fletcher smirked. “I was trying to impress you. Clearly, it worked.”
She gave him a sidelong glance, amused. “Worked well enough. But this room? You were all about your pride back then.”
“Still am.” He reached into the closet and pulled out the old box labeled FLETCHER, his mother’s loopy handwriting still legible despite the dust and time. “Found this not long after the accident. Never opened it. Figured it was just old junk.”
“You haven’t looked inside?” she asked softly.
“No. I wasn’t ready. And then... I just never got around to it.
” He set it on the floor and sat cross-legged beside it.
Baily lowered herself next to him, knees bumping.
There was something grounding about sitting on that old shag carpet with her—it reminded him of simpler days, when the future had been just something you dreamed about, not something you carried on your back.
He peeled back the flaps.
The first layer was what he’d expected—faded report cards with red pen scrawled across the tops, a cracked plastic trophy from peewee football, a faded Polaroid of him in a Halloween costume made of duct tape and determination. A few letters and cards.
Baily leaned over his shoulder. “Oh my God, that’s my handwriting.”
He held up the envelope. “Ninth grade. Valentine’s Day. You stuck it in my locker.”
Her cheeks colored. “I remember that. If I hadn’t made the first move, you never would’ve.”
Fletcher opened it and read aloud, “‘I like your smile. And maybe your arms. Don’t tell anyone.’”
She groaned. “Kill me now.”
He grinned. “Why? That’s pure gold. Frame-worthy.”
They dug deeper. Photos, mostly. One of them standing in front of the old marina sign. Another of Audra, mid-tackle, landing on a juvenile gator while Ken and Fletcher shouted in the background.
“She was wild,” Baily said, laughing. “That gator never saw her coming.”
“She screamed, ‘This is for science!’ and dove.” Fletcher chuckled. “Ken nearly had a heart attack.”
“But then he bought her that damn T-shirt about how small her boobs were because when she surfaced with that gator, it was like a wet T-shirt contest, and all you boys were staring.”
“Was not,” Fletcher said.
“Right, like I believe that.”
“I only had eyes for your…breasts.”
She gave him a little jab in his forearm. “Your mom made Audra soak in bleach water after. Swore she brought home bacteria from the swamp.”
They laughed until their sides hurt.
Then, nestled between a stack of baseball cards and a cracked compass, Fletcher pulled out a worn brown notebook with a band around it.
He stilled.
Taped to the front was a note in rough handwriting: Please give to Fletcher.—Ray Mitchell
Fletcher blinked. “That’s your dad’s.”
Baily’s breath caught. “Yeah. That’s his.”
Carefully, Fletcher opened the notebook. The pages were filled with frantic, looping handwriting—thoughts scrawled in the margins, half-formed sentences, as if Ray had been trying to make sense of something and couldn’t.
Marina’s bleeding money. I can’t stop it. Every day’s worse, and every day, something weird happens or breaks.
Ken said the loan was a sure thing. That he had a connection who’d fast-track it.
Paperwork’s signed. But the money... Where is it? Ken says wait. Says it’s a glitch. It’s not. But Ken said he’d handle it. Said he’d make sure I’d get the money. He sounded nervous and angry at the same time. Something’s not right.
I should’ve talked to Baily. Should’ve talked to Fletcher.
It’s getting harder to keep this from her. From both of them.
Baily leaned closer, eyes scanning every word.
Called the bank again. No record. No transfer. Ken says it’s just delayed. He’s lying. I know it. But I don’t know why. He often avoids my calls or tells me that he’s working on the problem and that I need to trust him. I don’t. Not anymore, and that’s not a good feeling.
The marina’s hanging by a thread. What have I done?
Fletcher flipped the page slowly. The final line was written with a heavy hand, the pen digging deep into the page: I’m not sure I can fix this.
Silence stretched between them. Only the low whir of the ceiling fan filled the room.
“I never saw this,” Fletcher said. “I never knew he was struggling like that. I mean, my folks told me he was distant the last few weeks before his heart attack, but I honestly had no idea.”
“I didn’t either,” Baily said quietly. “He was always...steady. Resilient. At least, that’s what I believed.”
Fletcher closed the notebook slowly. “He believed in Ken until he couldn’t. That much is clear. And Ken let him down.”
“But why?” she asked. “Why would Ken push him into a loan that didn’t exist? One that was tied to payments I’m still making. One that put me in this mess.”
“I don’t know.” Fletcher met her eyes. “But it lines up with the stories about the money. The missing loan. The pressure your dad was under.”
“And then he died,” Baily whispered. “And this is what gave him that heart attack. It’s what killed him.”
Fletcher wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m not going to stop digging until I have all the answers.”
She cried softly. “I feel like I’m drowning.”
“We’re going to figure this out,” Fletcher promised, holding her tighter. “For him. For you.”
The old bedroom—soaked in memories, decorated in outdated colors and thick with the past—suddenly felt more like a crime scene than a sanctuary.
And Fletcher knew this was only the beginning.
Baily glanced down at her fingers intertwined with Fletcher’s. Things were moving fast between them. Too fast. It didn’t matter that he’d been her first love.
Her only love.
They’d spent more time broken up than they had as a couple, and for some reason, she believed that should matter.
But her heart told a vastly different story.
As they strolled down the shell path that led from his house back toward the marina, she did her best to put all the thoughts of their latest discovery in a corner of her brain.
Her brother hadn’t been the man she’d believed he was, and deep down, she’d known that to be true but hadn’t wanted to face it. Perhaps it would’ve been easier had he not died in action. Not died a hero.
Not died at all.
But he had.
He’d also left her with more questions than answers.
The moonlight danced on the water, crickets chirped in lazy harmony with the distant hoot of an owl somewhere deep in the mangroves. It would’ve been peaceful—should’ve been peaceful—if her mind hadn’t been a storm.
“You remember when Silas caught us skinny-dipping in Lester McCurdy’s pool?” Fletcher asked.
Baily snorted. “Which time?”
He laughed. “Right after my seventeenth birthday. He threatened to call your parents and tell them all about it. I was terrified. It was bad enough that my grandma was living with us at the time and would catch you sneaking in, tiptoeing up the staircase, and slipping into my bedroom. She used to wiggle her finger under my nose, while giving me a lecture on the birds and the bees, and tell me I better not get you pregnant.”
“I got a few of those lectures from your grandma, and she even once slipped me a box of condoms.”
“At one point, I had so many, I used to think, even for a horny teenager, I’d never be able to use them all.”
“You certainly tried.” She grinned. “You spent the next month after Silas caught us mowing his lawn to buy his silence and avoid your grandma’s questions. I wondered why you were being so nice to him.”
“I still think he got off on that,” Fletcher muttered. “Told every guy in town I was his ‘personal landscaping technician.’”
They were still chuckling when they reached the marina.
The laughter died the second Baily’s gaze locked on the door.
It was ajar.
Her heart hitched. “Fletcher…”
“I see it.” He stepped in front of her, instantly alert.
His hand went to his waistband, and he drew the sidearm he kept holstered under his shirt.
“Stay behind me.” He pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick group message to the team: **Marina.
Door open. Possible break-in. Being preemptive. Back-up requested.**
“Do whatever I tell you. Got it?” Fletcher said.
“Loud and clear.”
Fletcher pushed the door open slowly, the hinges giving a soft groan that echoed like a gunshot in the silence.