Chapter 13
CORA
Rex comes to find me at noon.
I see him from the Snack Hut window first. The travel bag sitting beside him on the dock steps, canvas and well-worn, the kind that's been to actual places rather than just closets.
He's sitting on the top step in the sun with his long legs stretched out and his arms resting on his knees, looking at the lake.
My chest does something complicated.
He's been my anchor all summer. Hell, for the past several years. The safe harbor while I processed Muir's departure and return, while I figured out what was real and what was four years of unfinished longing. He held the space for me to be a mess without requiring me to explain it.
He threatened Muir with bodily harm and then invited him to dinner. He's been exactly what I needed, which is family without blood relation, and now he's leaving.
I come out of the Snack Hut. He looks up.
He's wearing his good shirt. The navy one he keeps at the back of his wardrobe for occasions. His dark hair is combed again, which is two days in a row now and statistically significant. The morning light catches the hint of fang when he smiles.
I look at the bag.
"You're going," I say.
He lifts his hand to his chest, pressing it there like he's checking for something. His fingers spread across his ribs, and he holds it for a moment before dropping his arm.
"Toward warmer water," he says. "The islands. Been thinking about it for a while."
"Hawai'i?" I ask. I hadn't been for ten years now. We were kids growing up there, and the thought of carefree summers running around makes me sigh in longing for those days.
"Going back for the breaks," he confirms. He stands, unhurried, and puts his hands in his pockets—but not before I catch him rubbing his sternum again, that same unconscious gesture. "Long enough since I've been back. Long enough to see my family. They've been asking about me. About you, too."
"They love you, Cor. You know that." His voice is easy, matter-of-fact. "You're welcome anytime. Bring Muir if you want. When you want. They'd like to meet him."
Something in my throat tightens. "Rex."
I recognize it because I know that feeling. That pull from the water, from home. The way it lives in your chest like a second heartbeat, insistent and undeniable. The way you can't ignore it even when you want to stay.
"I was here because you needed someone steady," he says. "And I'm glad I could be that." He pauses. "But this—us—that's real. That's family. Doesn't change because I'm following the water home."
"I know," I say quietly.
"You're ready for him now. And I'm ready to go where I'm called." He shifts his weight. "Both of us following what we need to follow."
I walk down the dock steps and put my arms around him.
He's very large to hug. It requires a particular physical commitment.
But he returns it the way he does everything, with the steady uncomplicated warmth of someone who loves without complication.
His arms come around my shoulders and he holds me for a long moment in the noon sun with the lake bright below the dock and the sound of the Snack Hut's loose awning moving in the breeze.
I can feel his heartbeat. Steady and slow, the rhythm of something that lives in deep water and knows how to be patient.
"Thank you," I say, into his shoulder. "For all of it. The backing up and the covering and the fake dating and the, all of it."
"What are best friends for," he says.
"You know what I mean."
"I do." He's quiet for a moment. "He's good, Cor. He's who he said he was." A pause. "I made him tell me the whole thing before I decided how to feel about him."
"I know you did."
"Just wanted you to know I checked."
I laugh, muffled against his shirt. "I appreciate the due diligence."
He sets me back at arm's length and looks at my face. Whatever he finds, it settles him. He nods once.
"Good," he says. Simple and complete.
I walk him to the shore path. His bag over his shoulder, his shoes on, his truck keys in his hand, and the easy rolling gait of a man heading toward something rather than away from it. At the bend in the path he turns once.
"Tell Muir if he hurts you I'll know," he says.
He holds my gaze when he says it. Not joking. Not casual.
The air between us shifts. This is the were-shark speaking now, not the golden retriever himbo. This is the predator who threatened to tear Muir apart and sleep soundly.
"I'm your family, Cor," he says quietly. "That doesn't change because I'm in a different ocean. You call me—any time, any reason—and I'll be there. I'm your brother. That's what brothers do."
It's both tender and genuinely solid. The kind of promise that comes from someone who loves you enough to mean it.
"I'll tell him," I say quietly.
"Good." He shifts back to easy warmth, the Rex I know. "And get a card reader for the Snack Hut. It's the twenty-first century."
"Goodbye, Rex," I say.
He lifts a hand. He goes.