Chapter 25
I don’t hearfrom Sully Saturday night.
I wake up several times, checking my phone for texts I might have missed, but there’s nothing.
Sunday morning passes in continued silence, until I begin to worry that something’s happened. Maybe her grandfather didn’t make it through surgery.
Or maybe…she’s recovering from surgery and too out of it to use her cell.
Fuck.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.
Yes, she was fine to text me yesterday, but that doesn’t mean her injuries didn’t take a turn for the worse sometime in the afternoon or early evening. The woman I love could be in a hospital bed right now, and I’ve been sitting here with my thumb up my ass because I was afraid of pushing her to pick me.
But fuck…I want her to pick me.
She’d be better off picking me. The Sullivans are an anchor, wrapped around her ankle, dragging her down, a fact proven yet again yesterday, when I learned the redheaded asshole from the boat is also a Sullivan.
A Sullivan with an anger management problem, who punched the deputy who showed up to question him about the incident on the yacht and ended up getting himself arrested…
I have to get Sully out of here, away from Sea Breeze and her criminal family.
She’s so much better than this. She’s an artist with a gifted eye, an incredibly hard worker, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. She deserves the chance to rise in the world, to make her dreams come true without this tangled web of insanity shutting her down at every turn.
With that in mind, I call the hospital to ask if a Gertrude Sullivan has been admitted. The woman says, no, and I sag with relief. When I ask about John Sullivan, she’s able to tell me that he’s in the ICU and in stable condition.
I thank her and end the call, my stomach in a slow, dread-filled free fall.
I’m relieved that Sully’s not lying in a hospital bed and that her grandfather is okay—obviously—but then, why hasn’t she called? Why did I sleep in that big king bed alone last night?
“Track her down and find out,” I mutter to myself, disgusted by my own lack of action.
This isn’t who I am. I don’t sit around, waiting for other people to solve my problems. I go straight to the source and address any issues head-on. Sadly, Sully and I haven’t reached the point in our relationship where we’ve enabled location tracking for each other, but there are relatively few places she could be.
And one of them is right across the highway from my hotel.
I pack my things and head for the elevator, checking out on my way through the lobby. At the hospital, I make my way directly to the ICU, where I know her grandfather is recovering, but it’s still a little while before visiting hours begin. The nurse on duty at the check-in desk encourages me to get a cup of coffee and come back at nine.
After leaving the ICU, I check the various waiting rooms scattered throughout the floor, but there isn’t a Sullivan to be found. I head to the chapel and yoga room next—also Sullivan-free and mostly empty at this early hour—before hitting the cafeteria. I grab that cup of coffee the nurse suggested and wander around the space, finally spotting a few familiar faces in the corner.
I linger beside the coffee station, taking my time adding cream to the burnt-smelling brew as I try to put names with faces. One of the women is definitely Sully’s aunt Cathy, from yesterday, but the older woman and the two middle aged men with her are unfamiliar to me.
The most important detail, of course, is that my Sullivan is nowhere to be seen.
The knowledge sends another wave of apprehension through my core.
If she didn’t stay at the hospital last night, why didn’t she join me at the hotel across the street? Surely, she knows she can call or text me any time of day or night, especially in a crisis.
Second-guessing the wisdom of putting coffee on my irritable, empty stomach, I dump it in a bin and head back to the car. Aiming the Subaru toward Sea Breeze, I consider calling Sully to ask if she’s at home, and if I can swing by to talk, but that feels wrong.
She hasn’t responded to my last message, why would she reply to another one? She’s clearly avoiding me, and the only way to put an end to that is to track her down and insist she tell me what’s bothering her.
She’s probably angry that you pressed charges against her cousin, right after she begged you not to press charges against her father, the inner voice says, but I’m not buying it.
I pressed charges against everyone on that boat, including my own nephew. And Sully isn’t the kind to condone destruction of property, especially when that property is a seafaring vessel. She’s a lobster woman. Her boat is her livelihood. A yacht isn’t the same thing, of course, but that yacht is my home in Sea Breeze. I can’t imagine her being okay with fully grown adults boarding my boat without permission and trashing it.
There has to be something else, something I haven’t thought of yet.
My stomach growls, as if suggesting perhaps the reason I can’t think straight is that I’ve barely eaten in the past day. I managed to force down some grilled chicken and rice last night for dinner, but the room service was bland and overcooked, and I was too worried about Sully to have much of an appetite.
But this morning, my stomach insists on sustenance, no matter how unsettled I am by my girlfriend’s disappearance.
Girlfriend…
I hope she hasn’t decided to end things. I know she must be worried about how she’s going to help care for her grandfather from New York, but that’s one thing about money—it can buy a lot of time, help, and freedom. I can get Gramps a full-time, live-in nurse. And Sully and I can fly back every other weekend to spend time with him.
I’m open to visiting Sea Breeze on a regular basis, but we can’t stay here. It isn’t good for either of us.
I’m reminded of how “not good” things have been as I pass the boat on my way into town and see a Happy Housekeepers van parked in the lot. Looks like Mark is making good on his promise to have cleaners in to take care of things. Hopefully, he’s taken care of hiring temporary staff for the Sullivan boat, as well. The sooner all those ducks are in a row, the sooner we can get out of here.
Fuck being here for the official reading of the will. I’ll attend via Zoom from my apartment in New York and deal with the rest of the estate issues remotely or during shorter, weekend trips to Maine.
I should have known better than to think I could make it through three to four weeks in this place. I wouldn’t stay three or four more minutes if Sully weren’t here.
As if summoned by my thoughts, my focus is suddenly drawn to a wavy blond ponytail bouncing down the street. I tap the brakes, waiting until the ponytail emerges from behind a pickup truck, to affirm that is indeed, Sully.
My heart squeezes tight.
She looks exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and no makeup on. She also looks…sad.
Or angry?
I can’t read her expression before she reaches the door to the Sweet Pussy Café and swings inside.
But that’s okay. I know where she is now. I’ll find out what she’s feeling for myself.
I pull into a parking space farther down the block and start back toward the café, skin buzzing with an unfamiliar sensation I can’t place. About ten feet from the entrance, I realize it’s anxiety, and exhale a soft huff of laughter.
If only my work colleagues could see me now: Weaver Tripp, the Ice King of Wall Street with sweating palms and a racing pulse. I’m famous for keeping a cool head, even when protestors set fire to the elevator shaft in our building and we had to evacuate down twenty-six flights of stairs.
But then, I’ve never had this much to lose.
As I push through the door, my heart slamming against my ribs, I’m struck by the realization that work isn’t as important to me as I’ve always thought it was. Neither is status or reputation or all the beautiful things I’ve accumulated after years of professional success. They’re all nothing compared to her, the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.
Even in a pair of gray sweats and a baggy white sweater, with one arm in a sling and her hair pulled back, she’s stunning. I step into the cinnamon and butter scented air and even though the café is hopping this Sunday morning, all I can see is her.
She’s seated at the small blue couch in the cat-friendly part of the café, a paper coffee cup clutched in her good hand and a fat gray cat curled up against her with a paw on her thigh, as if to tell her that everything will be okay. She’s sad now, but she won’t be sad forever.
She won’t be sad for another ten minutes if I have anything to say about it, cat, I think as I stride across the room.
Almost instantly, Sully looks up from the carpet, the sadness on her face morphing into a mixture of anger and betrayal that slows my steps.
I lift my hands at my sides, but before I can speak, she sets her coffee down on the table in front of her and jabs a finger at my face. “Don’t. Go away. Just…go away. I can’t deal with you right now. I have enough on my plate.”
I spread my fingers wide. “You don’t have to deal with me. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with myself, but we do need to talk.”
She shakes her head, rage burning in her eyes even as they begin to shine. “No, we don’t. I need caffeine in my system, and then I need to get back to the hospital to see Gramps before morning visitor hours are over. That’s all I need to do right now.”
“I’ll drive you,” I offer. “We can talk on the way.”
She exhales a sharp breath. “Are you hard of hearing? I said I don’t want to talk to you right now. Honestly, I’d be good with never talking to you again.”
“Why?” I ask, my own temper smoldering to life. “What on earth have I done except do my best to support you? You could have at least texted to let me know you were okay and wouldn’t be joining me at the hotel.”
“Sorry, I was too busy learning you put my cousin in jail for trespassing on your boat, even though Mark was the one who invited him on board.”
My brows shoot up and hope whispers through my blood, cooling my anger. “Is that what he told you? That isn’t what happened, Sully. I arrived to find your cousin and several other people pouring beer over everything, carving up the deck, and ripping open the furniture. I didn’t go below, but the sheriff’s deputy who came to the scene last night, documented extensive damage to the furniture down there, as well. They did tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of damage.”
She blinks, her gaze darting over my shoulder to where I’m sure the rest of the café is eavesdropping on our conversation, before she whispers, “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, that’s what happened.”
A frown claws into her forehead again. “But that still doesn’t excuse having Chris arrested and no one else. That’s not fair.”
“I didn’t have Chris arrested. A deputy went to question him and he assaulted an officer of the law. That’s why he ended up in jail.”
“It’s true,” a voice calls out from the other side of the café. “My brother’s the one he punched. Dumb move. Kid should’ve known better.”
“Oh,” Sully mutters. “That’s…not what I heard.”
“And I’m pressing charges against everyone who was on board,” I continue, grateful that at least a few people in town seem to be willing to back me up when it comes to speaking the truth. “And that includes my nephew. I’m not in the business of sparing idiots’ consequences, even if I happen to be related to them.”
She nibbles at her bottom lip, looking conflicted, but the righteous indignation is gone.
In hopes of further easing her mind, I ask, “Can we go somewhere private to finish this, please? I haven’t looked behind me yet, but we’re obviously causing a scene.”
“Huge scene,” Sully’s friend, Elaina, says from behind the counter, her voice cheery. “But please feel free to stay We haven’t had a show this good in a long time. The cats are cute, but the gossip isn’t nearly as juicy.”
Sully sighs as she pushes to her feet. “Can we go upstairs to your place?”
“Sure,” Elaina chirps. “Just be sure to yell loud enough that we can hear everything, please. I’ll turn down the music so we don’t miss any of the good stuff.”
Sully rolls her eyes before starting toward a stairwell marked with a “Do Not Enter” sign. She steps easily over the low rope blocking the door and starts up the stairs, not pausing to see if I’m behind her.
But, of course, I am.
I’m going to chase after her as long as it takes to prove that I’m never going to hurt her or betray her. I’m loyal to the fucking marrow, unlike the liars in her family.
It makes me hope Chris spends as much time as possible in jail. He must have been the one to tell her the false story of what happened yesterday.
God knows what else he said, but hopefully I can set that record straight as easily as I did the first one.
And hopefully Sully and I will be leaving here together.
Truly together, in a way that no bullshit story will ever be able to tear apart.