Chapter 9
A few days later, Hayes hip-checked the back door of Fletcher’s house open, balancing a bundle of firewood against his chest. As usual, he was the one building the fire.
Being the guy who knew how to light them—and often the one putting them out—made him the default fire master.
He never minded. Then again, he rarely minded anything.
That was kind of his thing. Go with the flow, don’t make waves, don’t complain.
Just show up, do the work, and stay quiet about it.
He crouched by the fire pit and got the kindling going, expertly stacking the logs as flames sparked and smoke curled upward. Normally, this was the kind of task that calmed him—simple, steady, and quiet. But tonight, something felt off. His mood had soured, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.
Over the last few days, Hayes had been juggling a never-ending list of errands and obligations.
Everyone assumed he had the most free time, which wasn’t even remotely true.
He’d just come off a forty-eight-hour shift at the fire station.
Granted, it had been a slow one—he’d helped rescue a cat, relocate an alligator, and assisted Dawson when Trent Mallor, the infamous snake wrangler, had celebrated his birthday by launching illegal fireworks.
No fire, luckily. Just pissed-off neighbors and one night in lockup for Trent.
Still, Hayes was exhausted.
With two of his closest friends about to get married, the heavy lifting—both literal and figurative—had fallen to him and Fletcher.
And Hayes didn’t mind that either. He was happy for them.
He wasn’t bitter or resentful. But between the wedding prep, working Everglades Overwatch tours all day, completing paperwork for the potential Crab Shack deal, and diving deeper into the serial killer investigation with Chloe… Yeah, he was worn thin.
Maybe that explained his crankiness.
He added another piece of wood, watching as the fire stretched long red-orange fingers toward the twilight sky. Normally, nights like this helped him shake off the world, quiet the noise in his head, and breathe. But not tonight. His thoughts kept drifting back to Cole Delaney.
Cole hadn’t left his little hideaway in the Everglades.
Fletcher was keeping tabs on him, and Nahele had taken over supply runs—dropping off food, water, even wood.
Which meant Cole hadn’t had to show his face in town or personally deliver Chloe’s owl carving to the marina. Nahele had done that, too.
Hayes and Chloe had both been stunned by the craftsmanship.
The piece was beautiful—haunting, even. Cole was incredibly gifted.
It felt like a waste to see that kind of talent hidden away.
But guilt only twisted through Hayes for a moment before logic took over.
Cole might have snapped. Or maybe he’d always been unstable.
They’d learned his wife had left him while he’d been deployed, and then she’d gone missing four years later, after she’d remarried.
To this day, she hadn’t been found, but Bonnie Delaney hadn’t been on their radar because she’d lived in Virginia.
Cole also hadn’t seen his daughter in over fifteen years.
That kind of abandonment could hollow a man out.
Then again, not everyone broke under the weight of grief.
Hayes’s father hadn’t crumbled—but he hadn’t stayed the same either.
The first time Hayes had come home from deployment, arm in a sling, his father hadn’t asked what happened.
He hadn’t offered a hug, or an apology, or even a welcome home.
He’d just looked him in the eye and said, “Are you ready to accept God? Because if you’re not, I’m not sure what else there is to say. ”
That moment had marked the distance between them—a distance that had lingered for years. But something had shifted since then. Not a complete transformation, but enough. His father saw Hayes now. Maybe not fully, maybe not in every way that mattered—but there was recognition. Respect, even.
They talked more these days. Not about anything deep, but the conversations had moved beyond pleasantries. His dad asked about the firehouse, the guys on his crew. Asked how Hayes was sleeping, if he was eating enough. Asked without pressing, which was his version of trying.
He still talked about the church, still believed that community and God came first. That wouldn’t change. But he no longer acted like Hayes was lost simply because he’d chosen a different path.
The church itself had also begun to evolve, albeit slowly, under the guidance of a younger generation of elders. But the roots ran deep, and Hayes doubted it would ever fully break from the past.
And maybe that was okay.
Hayes poked at the fire again, now burning bright in the pit behind Fletcher’s weathered family home.
Ever since the B&B had reopened, their group hangouts had moved here.
Fletcher had resisted, claiming the place was a mess—and it was.
The house was old, beat-up, and full of memories Fletcher couldn’t quite bring himself to erase.
He fixed what was broken, slapped on new paint here and there, but made no big changes.
It was like he was afraid to let the past go.
That surprised Hayes. If anyone was going to turn sentimental, he would’ve bet on Dawson. Maybe Keaton. But not Fletcher.
Hayes? He didn’t keep much. A couple of childhood photos of Max. His dog tags. That was it. Unlike the others, he didn’t let the past bleed into his present—and he sure as hell didn’t want it shaping his future—even though he knew that, deep inside, he’d carried it all with him.
The sound of the rusty back patio door springs filled the air.
Hayes glanced over the flames dancing toward the sky.
“Let me help you ladies with those.” He jumped around the campfire and snagged the tray of treats from Trinity’s grasp.
“I’m going to get myself slapped, but you can’t even tell you’re pregnant. ”
“That will get you a big fat kiss.” Trinity patted her flat stomach. “I can’t fit into my jeans anymore, so leggings it is.” She grabbed her breasts. “And Keaton says these babies are huge, and he no longer knows what to do with them.”
“Oh, my God. I never needed to hear you say that.” Hayes shook his head. “I expect things like from Audra, but not you.” He snagged a couple of carrots from the tray. “When does Foster and his new lady arrive?”
“They’re already here,” Trinity said. “Fletcher’s giving them the five-cent tour.”
Chloe set a couple of bottles of wine on the table next to the tray of food. “This Foster guy is Keaton’s cousin, right?”
Trinity smiled and nodded. “And the girl he brought, Mackenzie…well, she seems like a really nice woman. Perhaps we’ll all be heading out to Oregon for their wedding soon.” Trinity winked. “Or maybe having another one with you two.” She wiggled her finger between Chloe and Hayes.
“That’s not even remotely funny,” Chloe said, waving her hands wildly.
Hayes pounded his chest. “All I’ll ever be is the best man, but I didn’t even get to throw a decent bachelor party, and Audra is making me run my speech by her.
As if I’ll say something insanely embarrassing.
” He chuckled, catching Chloe’s gaze, whose cheeks were bright red.
They were barely an item, but everyone treated them like they were, just like they did with Baily and Fletcher.
The difference, though, was that Baily and Fletcher belonged together.
They loved each other, and everyone, including them, knew it.
However, there was a world of hurt between those two, and it would take a lot to heal it.
Hayes and Chloe were a different story altogether. Even if what they had could go the distance—which would never happen—he didn’t want kids.
That had always been the sticking point. And it wasn’t something he’d taken lightly, especially not since meeting Chloe. She’d once said that when the Ring Finger Killer was finally behind bars, she wanted the whole world. Love. Family. Children.
Hell, most of the guys on his team had wanted the same thing.
Even Keaton—who used to be the least likely candidate for fatherhood—was about to become a dad.
Dawson, though? Everyone was just waiting for Audra to make the announcement.
The man radiated “dad energy,” and he’d be damn good at it.
Fletcher, too. It was all he’d ever wanted—with Baily.
Hayes, on the other hand, was content to coast through life on the coattails of the people he loved.
He had a whole crew of siblings and more nieces and nephews than he could count, and he adored every single one of them.
That was enough. More than enough. His life was full—friendship, loyalty, a chosen family he’d die for. He wasn’t lonely. Not even close.
So why the hell was he questioning his choices now?
Why did he keep looking at Chloe and wondering if things could be different?
He told himself it wasn’t because of Tiana—the woman who’d lied about being pregnant, trying to trap him. That wasn’t what had scared him off. If she had been pregnant, he would’ve stepped up. No child of his would’ve been left behind. He wasn’t that man. But that wasn’t the point.
The truth was, the very idea of bringing life into the world made his chest tighten and cold sweat rise on his skin.
Because every time he thought about holding a baby—his baby—his mind snapped back to Max.
To the image of his twin brother taking his final breath.
That memory lived in his bones, stitched into every heartbeat.
He’d been six. His parents had told him to sit with Max. To hold his hand. To pray. And when Max had died—eyes locked on Hayes’s—no one else had been in the room. Not their parents. Not a doctor. Not even God.
Just Hayes.