Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Reeves
The Cut: The moment the dirge breaks open and becomes something else entirely. The band does not announce it. They simply know.
The empty space stares back at me. There's no mistake, no confusion. I parked my truck here, walked down to the beach, and now it's gone.
I walk the row one more time, checking between a white sedan and a red pickup like I might be wrong, or it's somehow in a different spot. But I know. It's been fucking towed.
The yellow sign mocks me from the entrance. Emergency vehicles only. How did I fucking miss that? I was so focused on getting out to Benjy that I must have had tunnel vision.
I pull out my phone and dial the number printed at the bottom of the sign. It rings four times before someone picks up.
"Gulf Coast Towing."
"Yeah, my truck was towed from the beach access on Magnolia. Black Hummer. I need to pick it up."
"Hold on, let me check the log." Papers rustle in the background. "Yeah, got it. Came in around three thirty this afternoon. You can pick it up tomorrow morning when we open."
"Tomorrow? What time do you open?"
"Eight AM sharp."
"I need it tonight. Can someone meet me at the gate?"
"Sorry, no after-hours service. Yard's locked up tight."
My jaw tightens. "Look, I've got places to be. How much is the fee? I'll pay double to get it tonight."
"Sir, I understand your frustration, but the facility is closed. We don't meet after hours, I'm sorry."
"My keys are in the glove box. They better still be there when I show up tomorrow."
"Everything stays exactly where it is. The lot's gated and monitored. Your keys will be right where you left them."
The line goes dead.
Son of a bitch.
I stare at the phone, then at the empty parking space, mapping out the fastest way to fix it.
Charli has already moved Benjy down toward the water. She’s giving me space without making it obvious.
Smart. The last thing I need is to be the guy losing his temper in front of a five-year-old.
And not just any five-year-old.
I drag a hand over the back of my neck and run through the problem once, clean. The yard opens at eight. Keys are in the glove box. The only way to deal with it is a ride back tonight and another trip in the morning.
A couple of hours on the road for a mistake that took five seconds.
Annoying, but manageable.
I pull out my phone and scroll, then text Keller.
Can you send a driver to Bay St. Louis? Truck got towed. Need pickup tonight.
Where exactly?
Beach access parking on Magnolia.
What about your truck?
Yard opens at 8. I’ll deal with it in the morning.
Jesus. What kind of mess you gotten into? Never mind. I’ll call a driver.
I slide the phone back into my pocket. Handled.
Charli has Benjy occupied far enough away that he doesn’t catch any of it. She does it without looking like she’s doing anything at all. She always had a way of managing a situation before it turned into a problem.
I watch her for a second longer than I mean to.
This isn’t my girlfriend stepping in anymore. It’s the woman who built a life without me, protecting her kid from a version of me he doesn’t need to see.
I head down toward the water. Benjy looks up as I get closer.
“Did you find your truck?”
“No, buddy. Tow truck got it. I parked in the wrong spot. That’s why you always check the signs.”
Charli glances up at me, reading past the words. “What’s the plan?”
“Yard opens at eight tomorrow. I’ve got someone coming to pick me up, and I'll just come back tomorrow.”
It comes out clipped, letting my frustration leak out toward her. I didn't mean it like that. I start to say something to soften it, but I don't know what.
“Reeves! Look! Now, when someone steps on the sand, the stick falls, and we’ll know they got caught.”
I drop into a crouch beside the pit he built out of reeds and shells, pushing everything else aside.
“Looks like you’ve got it handled.”
He lights up like I handed him a medal. Then his head snaps toward the shoreline.
“Wait—look at that!”
A cluster of sand crabs skitters across the wet sand. He takes off after them, arms out, already shouting.
“Reeves! They’re everywhere!”
The trap is forgotten in an instant. I watch him chase them along the waterline, all energy and instinct, like the whole stretch of beach belongs to him.
For a minute, the truck drops out of the equation, too.
He laughs when one disappears into a hole, pivots, and goes after another without thinking twice about it.
I stand there, tracking him, and my attention is captured for a different reason.
Charli sits a few feet away with her arms wrapped around her knees, watching him.
The wind shifts her hair across her shoulder, lifting it just enough to expose the curve of her neck before it falls back into place.
Sand clings to her calves, and my eyes catch on the line of her legs before I drag them away.
She hasn’t changed.
Or maybe she has, and I just didn’t realize how much until now.
There’s a quiet focus to the way she watches him, like the rest of the world falls out of frame when Benjy’s in it. It pulls my attention off the water and back to her, where it sticks longer than it should.
After a moment, she pushes to her feet and walks over, stopping close enough that our shoulders nearly line up.
Up close, the salt on her skin mixes with the warmth coming off her, close enough that it prickles under mine before I can shut it down. My body registers it first, a low, immediate awareness that has nothing to do with the situation and everything to do with her being right here.
“You’re sure the tow yard is already closed?”
“Yeah.” I glance toward Benjy, then back at her. “No after-hours access. Yard’s locked up.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m sure they’re still towing cars. They just don’t want anyone there dealing with it.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I tried.”
She exhales, shaking her head, then looks back out toward the water.
“You said you’ve got someone coming to get you?”
“One of our drivers. Keller’s lining it up for me.”
Her gaze shifts back to me and holds, steady and assessing, like she’s working through something she hasn’t decided whether to say.
“So you’re going to leave, drive back to New Orleans tonight, and then turn around and come back here in the morning?”
“What else can I do?”
Benjy jogs back over, breathing hard.
“Are you leaving now?”
There’s no accusation in it, just curiosity, but the way he’s looking at me makes me want to assure him I’ll never leave.
But I know I can’t make that assurance, and that breaks my heart.
“Not yet,” I tell him. “My ride’s still on the way.”
His whole face brightens. “Good. We still have time to play.”
He’s already turning back toward the water before I can say anything else.
I watch him go, but I’m aware of her again immediately. Of how close she’s standing. Of the fact that neither of us has moved to create space.
“Reeves.”
There’s something in her voice that pulls my attention back to her.
I lean back on my forearms, stretching my legs out in the sand, grounding myself before I look up at her.
“You don’t need to drag some driver out here tonight and then make him do it again in the morning,” she says. “That’s ridiculous.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
I keep my mouth shut because the easiest solution is the one that puts distance back where it belongs.
“You could stay at my house tonight.”
The words land between us and shift everything.
“You can take the sofa. I’ll drive you to get your truck in the morning, and then you can head back. Unless you’ve got somewhere you need to be, it just makes more sense.”
For a second, everything else drops out.
Stay at her house. Inside the same walls. Close enough to hear her moving around. Close enough that this stops being contained.
I push up from the sand, brushing it from my hands, putting a few inches of space between us that feels like the only thing holding the line.
“I’m sorry about all this,” I say, keeping it controlled. “I don’t want to impose or make things awkward for you. You don’t have to fix it.”
She makes a quiet, impatient sound and steps closer again, closing the space I just put there like it doesn’t count.
“You need to zip it right now. It was an accident. And it’s not awkward. It’s practical.” She tilts her head, holding my gaze in a way that’s a little too steady. “You need somewhere to stay for a few hours, and I have a couch.”
“Charli, I can’t just—”
“Can’t what? Sleep on a couch?” Her expression shifts. It’s sharper now, like she’s pushing on purpose. “You’ve slept in worse places than my living room.”
She’s not wrong.
That’s not the problem.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
The words come out steady, but it takes more effort than it should to keep them that way.
“Why not?”
Because standing this close to her already feels like stepping back into a dynamic that never stayed simple. Because another few hours in her space makes it harder to keep the distance I’ve barely managed to hold since I got here.
I don’t say any of that.
“I just don’t.”
She studies me for a long second, like she’s deciding how far to push, like she knows exactly what I’m not saying.
The waves roll in behind us, steady and slow. Down the beach, Benjy laughs as another crab disappears into the wet sand.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
My phone buzzes against my leg.
I pull it out and glance at the screen.
Vince is free. He can head your way in ten.