Chapter 9
nine
. . .
SUMMER
“Did you get enough to eat?” Rory asks, turning to glance at me from the driver’s seat.
I allowed Rory to drive me home after he agreed he wouldn’t show up at the café for my shift tomorrow. After some ibuprofen and a plate-free evening, my wrist feels rested, so I’m determined to work my shift tomorrow without any assistance. Without Rory Shields’ charming smile and annoyingly attractive face popping up at every turn.
His question makes me smile. He polished off two helpings of the sampler platter and all the shared crab cakes. Mick even brought over another plate of food after. I’d been full, but Rory managed to put that away as well.
“You’ve asked me that three times already.”
He shrugs, his expression turning thoughtful. “When you have an injury, you need to make sure you’re eating well. To help your body heal.”
“I’m good. All I need now is sleep.”
I can’t wait to crawl into bed. The wad of cash from my tips tonight is a bulge in my pocket. For all my complaining about Rory’s help, he came through with his charisma and personality which boosted my earnings.
I’m conflicted. Rory’s charming, sweet, and obnoxiously good looking, as well as a talented swimmer. No person should have that much going for them.
When he showed up at the café earlier, I’d been annoyed at his insistence to help me. As we worked, we slipped into easy conversation one moment, then playful banter the next. As the evening wore on, like a slow drip from a crack in a wall, I’d felt a trickle of relief. A temporary ease from the loneliness, and respite from the burden of being completely on my own.
I never ask people for help, and I’ve found that being distant and guarded has kept others away. But what has easily sent people running in the past, doesn’t seem to work with Rory. He lets my sarcasm and irritability roll right off, then comes back for more. It’s like he’s got impermeable skin. Maybe that’s why he’s such a gifted swimmer.
And that is all the more reason to squash this budding friendship or whatever it is.
Besides, while he felt obligated to help me because of my wrist, there’s no reason for us to hang out after tonight. He’s got training and a million other professional athlete things to do.
So, after tonight, Rory and I will be going our separate ways.
The thought leaves me with a flicker of disappointment. For all the teasing and at times snarky banter between us, I’m not sure why the thought of not seeing him again bothers me. It shouldn’t.
Before I realize it, we’re pulling into the RV park.
“This is me.” I point as we approach my camper van.
I expect him to simply drop me off, but he pulls parallel to my van and cuts the engine before rushing to the passenger side to offer me a hand. I pretend not to see it as I gather my things and hop to the ground. He shuts the door behind me and follows me toward my van.
This morning, my van had been nestled between two RVs but now there are empty campsites next to me. That’s the beauty of a campsite, the people are always coming and going, some are nosier than others, but no one ever gets too attached. I like the anonymity of it.
With a long day behind me, the sight of my cozy camper van gives me comfort.
After I graduated college, I’d sold anything of value to purchase the camper and renovate it. I’d traded a closet of designer clothes, shoes, and handbags for the used van and spent several months remodeling it to fit my needs.
To me, it represents independence and the freedom to choose my own path, wherever it takes me.
“Okay, well…bye.” I give a quick wave, ready to end this.
But Rory doesn’t retreat.
“The color is perfect.” He pats the side of the van, checking out the detailing even though it’s hard to see in the dark. “It’s very you.”
“How is it me?” I scoff, because it’s not like this guy knows anything about me. He knows I like pickles and dogs.
“It’s the same color as your eyes.”
I study the front of my van, wondering if he’s right.
“Azure. Light and vivid, like air.”
If that’s a line, he’s pulling it off with the sincerity of a Boy Scout. He holds my gaze and a rush of giddy anticipation swirls low in my belly, but I shut it down quickly. Nope. No attachments. That’s been my rule in every town. Coral Cove has captured my heart more than any other place I’ve been, but that doesn’t change my desire to stay free from any entanglements.
I need to tell Rory to leave. No, not just leave, but leave me alone.
I’m turning to deliver my speech when I notice the side sliding door to my van is ajar.
“What the—” I step forward, tentatively reaching for the handle.
Rory is right behind me. “Hold on. Did you leave the door open?”
“No,” I whisper. “I mean, it gets stuck sometimes and the deadbolt is rusted and won’t lock into place. I think the salt water corroded it. I was in a rush this morning and forgot to double check it.”
“Someone might still be in there.” He puts a protective hand out, then steps in front of me.
Edgar.
I rush past him because nothing could be more terrifying than not knowing if Edgar is okay.
“Edgar!” I call into the dark van.
My stomach sinks with dread, wondering what we’ll find. I pull the door the rest of the way open and my heart pinches. The small space, which I normally keep tidy, is a mess now.
Looking around, I strain to see any movement. Any sign that life is in here.
“Edgar’s gone,” I pant. My chest constricts, the severity of the situation threatening to kick off another attack.
Stay calm, Summer. Slow your breathing.
“Your boyfriend?” Rory asks behind me as I push past him.
“What?” I blink, then remember my lie about Edgar.
It doesn’t matter now.
“Edgar!” I call as I make my way to the front of the van. “Ed—” I start again, but hear a rustling sound at my feet.
I drop to the ground. There, tucked under one of the van’s back tires is Edgar. He peeks his head out, so I bend down and show him my hand. Relief rushes through me at the sight of his dark nose and big eyes shining in the moonlight. Slowly, he inches his way out toward me, and I scoop him up.
“This is Edgar?” Rory asks, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Yeah.” I cradle the flustered dog to my chest.
“You’re dating a geriatric pug?” He smirks, knowing full well he’s caught me in a lie. Rory extends his hand to dip his fingers under Edgar’s chin.
At Rory’s touch, Edgar melts in my arms. I’m certain it’s because he finally realizes he’s safe from whatever transpired here earlier. I hate that I put him in harm’s way by not having my van properly secured. A security that I can’t afford. Not with the bills that have been piling up.
The thought makes me nauseous.
Rory’s face softens. “I’m happy your little guy is safe.”
“Thanks.”
With Edgar in my arms, I step inside the van to take further stock of the situation. Most of my books, which I keep on a built-in shelf above the dining nook, are knocked on the floor.
“I know this isn’t how it usually looks, but this place is incredible.” I turn to find Rory’s large frame stretched to the top of the van, his wavy, sandy-blond hair brushing against the ceiling as he looks around my home with curious eyes.
Fortunately, I don’t own much of value. It’s a tight space, so besides valuables like my laptop and phone which I bring with me to work, there isn’t room for a lot of possessions. The things I do own—books, plants, art supplies and clothing—have been rummaged through but I’m not certain anything was taken.
That doesn’t prevent me from feeling violated and vulnerable.
It might be a vehicle, but it’s my home . Everything I care about is inside.
I remind myself to focus on my breathing. I can’t afford to get worked up.
“Summer, you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
To keep the tears at bay, I busy myself with tidying up the space. Setting the pillows back on the bed, tucking the books into the shelves above.
Besides items strewn about, at first glance, it doesn’t appear they took anything. But then I see it. The bin I keep my painting supplies. The set of oil paints that Scarlett had sent me for my birthday aren’t there. They’d looked so pretty and perfect in their case. And I’d been saving them, wanting to wait for the perfect occasion to use them.
And now they’re gone.
“Is anything missing?” Rory asks.
I swallow; my throat tight with emotion as I squeeze Edgar. My lower lashes doing everything in their power to hold back the flood gates as it all comes crashing in. My wrist. Overdue bills. Medication I can’t afford. And now this break-in. All I want to do is get Rory away from me so he won’t see me lose it.
“No.”
“Probably some kids messing around, but we should still report it to the police.”
“No, it’s fine.”
Rory pulls out his phone and starts taking photos of the disarray.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Taking photos for evidence. For the police report.”
“No, don’t do that. I just want to put everything back.” His photo taking suddenly feels more violating than the break-in.
He doesn’t stop, though. I know he’s only trying to help, but the more he documents this moment, turning my cluttered belongings into evidence, the more it sinks in that someone I don’t know was in my space and the more anxious I become.
My hand wraps around his forearm. “Rory. Please. Stop.”
Slowly, he drops his phone into his pocket, then holds his hands up.
“Okay. Sorry. I thought I was helping.”
“Well, you’re not.” I clear my throat. “It’s been a long day, you should go.”
His warm eyes attempt to catch mine, but I can’t look him in the eye or I’ll break. “Summer, I’m not going anywhere. Your van was broken into. We don’t know who did it or why and your door is still broken.”
I bite my lip. I know he’s right, but that doesn’t stop me from hating the situation.
“Summer, please. What can I do to help?”
“You want to help?” I ask.
“Yes. I’ll do anything you need me to.”
“Go home.”
He bites the inside of his cheek.
“Summer—"
“I’m tired. Please go.” My tone is clipped, that’s all I can manage at this point.
“I hate the thought of you staying here alone.”
“I’ll be fine. I have Edgar.”
With a soft smile on his face, Rory scratches Edgar underneath his chin. “Nothing personal, buddy, but you’re not exactly a guard dog.”
I ignore his comment but I know Edgar won’t scare anyone away. He already failed once.
“You could park your van in my garage for the night? I’ve got plenty of room.”
I give him a withering look. Something about this man tells me he gets everything he wants. Gold medals. World records. And any woman in his bed.
He must read my mind with that last one.
“You and Edgar can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“We’ll pass,” I say, at the same moment Edgar whines in my arms.
Rory motions toward the door. “I can call a locksmith first thing in the morning.”
“You don’t have to. It’s not your problem.”
“It’s not a problem. I know a guy?—”
My sardonic laugh cuts him off. “Of course you do. You know everyone.”
Rory Shields has a ton of friends, connections, and fans. He’s got roots in Coral Cove which is just another reason to keep him at arm’s length.
“It’s really no trouble. I can make a quick call.”
“Rory,” I steel my voice before I continue, “I don’t need your help. Please go .”
I motion to the door before turning and setting Edgar down on his bed. Then I move toward the sink, putting my back to Rory to wash my hands.
“Sum—” he starts but I cut him off.
“Good night.” I emphasize the two words to give them the finality I desperately need.
After what feels like a lifetime of his eyes burning into my back, he finally relents. “Okay. Goodnight.”
Behind me the door opens, and a second later, it closes with a thud behind him.
I let out a caged breath, then tell myself to hold it together long enough to change into pajamas and brush my teeth. Knowing once I’m settled into my bed, I can let go.
I’m patting my face dry on a towel when there’s a loud thump outside the van. The sound has me jumping a mile and banging my head on the cabinet above the sink. Edgar stirs in his bed but promptly lays his head back down.
Rory was right, Edgar is not a guard dog and after the night he’s had, has no trouble sleeping through what could be a second break-in.
Anger is white hot in my veins. Not only from the bump forming on my head, but because I hate feeling vulnerable. And if the person who rummaged through my van earlier has dared to come back, they’re going to be sorry.
With one hand rubbing the throbbing lump on my head, I reach into my closet for the single golf club I acquired from a golf course’s clearance sale a few years ago. With the club raised above my head in preparation for swinging, I yank the door open.
But there’s no intruder.
There, lying on the ground outside my van, is Rory.
I drop the club to my side.
“What the hell, Rory?”
He winces at my scowling face.
“Sorry. I was getting comfortable and I bumped my shoulder into the door.”
“Why are you lying on the ground?”
He sits up, arms casually draped over his knees like him being here is the most natural thing in the world. “I’m sleeping here.”
“What?” I can’t believe what he’s saying. “No, you’re not. I said I’m fine.”
“I know you did,” he swallows, his comforting eyes drop to the golf club in my hand before meeting mine again, “but I won’t be okay if I know you’re sleeping here alone in a van that doesn’t lock.”
I press my lips together, slowly shaking my head.
“You need to go home, Rory.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not going home, Summer.”
My jaw tightens at his refusal.
Who does this guy think he is? Hasn’t he done enough today? It’s like he thinks his job is to make everything right with the world. I don’t need him to fix anything for me. I know how to look after myself. I’ve been doing it for years.
I could call the camp site manager to have him removed but then that will bring up the issue of why he’s here and I don’t want to deal with the break-in right now. And, technically, he’s not doing anything wrong unless you count being irritatingly concerned for my wellbeing a violation.
“Whatever.” I slam the door on Rory’s handsome face, then toss the golf club onto the dining nook bench.
Beneath the bench, Edgar jolts awake. He’d fallen asleep in the few minutes since I’d been in the bathroom. Must be nice.
“If he wants to sleep on the hard ground, let him,” I tell Edgar. “I told him to go home so it’s his fault that he’s being stubborn.” I rage chug a glass of water, then climb up into my loft bed.
I lie there waiting for my heart rate to slow and my breathing to even out. Between the break-in and Rory refusing to leave, my body has been through a rollercoaster of emotion in the last half hour that is making it impossible to relax.
A few minutes of tossing and turning, and I can’t stop thinking about Rory lying outside on the ground. I’m torn between annoyance that he’s not listening to my wishes and gratitude for him not leaving. It’s a tricky place to be. I don’t know this man at all, yet there’s something so utterly comforting about him. It’s infuriating.
Finally, I throw back the covers and wielding the golf club again, I yank open the sliding door.
Rory is still on the ground, exactly where I left him.
“Fine. You can sleep on the floor in here,” I announce.
Without a word, Rory dusts off the debris that’s accumulated in his hair at the back of his head, then rises to his feet to follow me inside. For the second time tonight, I climb into my loft bed, but this time I toss Rory down a pillow and a blanket.
From my perch, I watch as he folds the blanket in half as a makeshift mattress, then fluffs the pillow once, twice, three times before he tucks it under his head.
A few minutes later, I’m settled back into bed, but sleep is nowhere near.
“Summer?” Rory calls out, interrupting the quiet between us.
“What?”
“I’m sorry today was rough.”
I swallow thickly, Rory’s words bringing up the emotion I’d been working hard to suppress.
“I’m here if you need me.”
I suck in a silent, shuddering breath.
The tears I’ve been holding back are too heavy to keep at bay any longer, so I bury my face into my pillow and let everything out.
“Hey.” Rory’s soothing voice floats over my side. He’s standing at the side of the loft. “You can tell me to fuck off, but I can’t lie down there and listen to you cry.”
“Because it’s too loud and you can’t sleep?” I sniffle.
“No. Because it’s breaking my heart.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip to stifle the emotion that his words bring.
“What do you need, Summer?”
It’s a moment of weakness, which for the last four years I’ve been determined never to show.
What do I need?
A new lock on my van.
Health insurance.
Money to pay for my medication.
Safety and security.
But all those things come with a price. And if there’s one thing I learned from my family, letting someone take care of you is a debt that you end up paying with your soul.
I can’t need Rory for anything that will cost me my independence.
“A friend,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he replies, settling in beside me.
With Rory lying beside me, rubbing gentle circles against my back, I Iet all the stress and worry and disappointment flow from my eyes until there’s nothing left. We don’t speak again. The sound of his rhythmic breathing and his warm palm on my back finally lulls me to sleep.