Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
The early morning sunlight filters into the shipyard, casting a warm glow over the scene.
I’m alone, except for Saylor, who leans casually against the table covered with tools.
His posture is relaxed, yet his eyes have an unmistakable attentiveness, as if he’s quietly absorbing everything I’m doing.
Sitting on the floor beside the boat, I focus on reassembling the motor parts I had disassembled earlier. The silence between us is surprisingly comfortable, interrupted only by the rhythmic clinking of my tools and the soft hum of the radio playing in the background.
I’m tackling the repairs on the other boat with motor problems. Technically, I didn’t need to be here this early—I could have gone for my usual morning run instead.
But the lingering embarrassment from yesterday still weighs on my mind.
I’ve chosen to come in early and put in the work, determined to prove that I’m not just trouble.
I don’t want to give North the slightest chance to grumble at me today.
I wanted to use the spare key to get into the back door again, but the door wasn’t even locked, so I have no guilty conscience whatsoever. And since we are alone, I deem it safe to talk with Saylor and pry a bit more.
As I tighten a screw on the boat’s motor, I venture, “Have you thought about your unfinished business some more?”
Saylor’s playful tone masks a hint of hurt as he replies, “Why? Do you want to get rid of me?”
I look up from my task and meet his gaze, telling him honestly, “No, I want you to find peace, Casper.”
He grins from ear to ear, his dimples becoming more pronounced.
I knew he would love that.
“I’m the friendliest ghost you know,” he singsongs with a playful lilt in his voice as he crouches down beside me. His words draw out a warm chuckle from me. “Can I keep you?” he asks, his expression earnest while his gaze is intent on mine, searching my eyes for an answer.
I recognize the movie reference, and yet, in that moment, it feels like more than just a line. It’s as though he’s reached into my chest and gently nudged my heart, making it flutter unexpectedly.
My mind races, searching for the right words. The silence stretches on because I have no idea what I could say to that.
If I’m honest, I want to keep him too, but that would be purely selfish.
And dangerous.
“That’s my jam! Make it louder, please,” Saylor exclaims suddenly, his enthusiasm breaking our stare off. His face lights up with excitement as he stands straight.
I glance at the radio, and the familiar tune of “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics fills the room. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I tease, “You weren’t even alive in the eighties.” Despite my words, I stand and turn the music up a notch, the catchy melody filling the space.
“I’m not alive now either,” he retorts with a cheeky grin. Without missing a beat, he begins to dance around me. As he sings along, he beckons, “Come on, dance with me, Boo!”
“Why?” I ask, but my amusement is evident in my voice.
Now, Saylor is dancing even more animatedly in front of me, wiggling his eyebrows.
He’s so fucking cute.
“Because I asked you to,” he says with a playful smile, twirling around on the spot.
Fuck it, we are alone here anyway.
I give in to his infectious energy and start dancing alongside him.
We laugh, our voices mingling with the lyrics of the song.
I grab two wrenches from the table, using them as makeshift drumsticks.
Saylor’s laughter grows louder, and he belts out the song with even more gusto.
I join in, closing my eyes and letting myself get lost in the music and the sheer joy of the moment.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this carefree.
I can’t even remember the last time I was happy.
As that thought crosses my mind, the music abruptly stops.
The remnants of my off-key singing hang awkwardly in the air.
I open my eyes in surprise and turn around, only to find North standing right in front of me, his hand resting on the radio.
His face is a mask of anger, a vein pulsating ominously on his temple.
Well, fuck.
“What do you think you’re doing?” North demands, his voice low and filled with barely restrained fury.
“It’s just a little dance session. She’s not even on the clock yet. Chill out.” Saylor tries to calm him down, but of course, North can’t hear him, and his impatience grows with every passing second.
“I-I came in early to work on the motor,” I stutter, trying to keep from blushing.
That shit was embarrassing, even for my standard.
“This didn’t look like working on a motor,” North retorts, his tone icy.
Saylor releases a terse breath. “I’d say get that stick out of your ass, brother, but I know you enjoy it being there.”
I have to stifle a laugh, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Do you think this is funny?” North seethes, his eyes spewing fire at me.
“It was fun before you showed up,” Saylor replies nonchalantly, earning a side-eye from me. North catches my glance, and our eyes lock for a tense moment.
“If you were working just now, it shouldn’t be a problem to have that boat done and on the water before lunch, right?” North challenges, obviously counting on me not being able to do that.
I nod, biting back a retort.
Fuck, this is going to be a race against time again.
As North glares at me, his disdain evident in his eyes, he adds with a hint of condescension, “You better get back to work then… Blue.” His gaze travels down to my overalls with a look of distaste.
“My name is Sloan,” I state firmly, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to let his disrespect slide.
His gaze comes back up to meet mine, and we lock eyes for a moment longer, a silent battle of wills. Then, without another word, he turns and heads up the stairs, shutting the glass door to his office behind him with a little too much force.
“I never had the urge to strangle someone before, but he has my hands itching to wrap around something and squeeze,” I mutter to Saylor as I turn the radio back on, albeit at a more subdued volume.
She’s sitting on the ground while working with her back to me as if she wants to shield her beautiful face from my eyes.
Who works sitting on the ground?
When she pushes one of her braids behind her shoulder, I could swear I saw her talking while she turned slightly.
Is she talking to herself?
Why am I even surprised? The girl is crazy.
I try to focus on my work, but my eyes keep drifting to where she is reassembling the motor parts. Half an hour passes, and I give in, canceling my meetings and everything else that should have been done today.
She needs a fucking babysitter.
I told Hunter that all she would do was mess up or hurt herself, but he wouldn’t listen. So now it falls to me to watch out for her.
I had been on the phone yesterday when I glanced out the window and saw her dangling from that rope. My heart nearly stopped. The memory of that moment alone sends shivers down my spine. I can’t help but wonder how close she would’ve come to killing herself if Nash hadn’t gotten there in time.
I rushed down the stairs the second I saw her, letting my phone fall to the floor and leaving our overseas partners on the line like idiots, but I still would have been too late.
Always too late.
I can’t stop watching her. It’s as if I’m compelled to keep her safe, to make sure nothing bad happens to her on my watch. It’s frustrating, making it impossible to focus on anything else. I can’t get any work done like this, and it’s driving me insane.
She has to go.
I pick up the phone and call Hunter, who picks up on the second ring. “What’s up?” he asks absentmindedly.
“She danced,” I complain, nearly hissing it through my teeth.
“What are you talking about? It isn’t even eight a.m.” There is some shuffling on his end before he mumbles away from the phone, “Lio, please, I told you we’re gonna do that later.”
I sigh a heavy sigh. “Hunter, I need your focus for a second.”
“Don’t get your panties twisted. I’m here. Who is dancing where?” he asks, and I feel like I’ve finally got his attention.
“She… she was dancing in the shipyard. Don’t even ask me how she got in here at this hour, but she was there, dancing around and singing like she was at a club or some shit. After everything that went down yesterday, I think she proved she isn’t made to work here. I gave it a try, Hunter, I—”
“The only thing I got out of your little monologue here is that you should finally get your shit together and get a new security system installed if it bothers you that she gets inside the yard on her own. For the other part, she danced, oh my God, call the police. North, honestly, I know you don’t want her there, but Nash told me how that boat purred again like a cat after she fixed the motor.
The way I see it, we got ourselves the mechanic we needed so desperately. ”
My frustration and anger build. I know I can’t say anything against the job she did.
It seems she really does know her way around some things concerning motors, but that just isn’t enough.
“And Nash and I told you how she wanted to get that boat in the water on her own and nearly killed herself trying!”
The silence from Hunter is telling. He knows. He knows this isn’t just about protocols or safety measures. It’s about my own damning history, the times I’ve been just a step too late, the memories that haunt me, that turn every potential mishap into a catastrophic what-if in my mind.
If I had gotten Saylor back in time…
If I had been home when I told her I would be…
“Well, you know I don’t like to say it, brother, but whose fault was that?” Hunter finally answers.
Mine, it is always my fault.
I can’t seem to keep anyone around me safe.
“Who is dumb enough to hold on to a rope that holds a ten-thousand-pound boat!” I nearly growl, my despair turning to anger.
It’s the only emotion I can handle anymore.
“And who is dumb enough not to give the new employee a run-through of their job?” he counters. “Suck it up, buttercup. She stays.”
Hunter ends the call, leaving me standing there, phone pressed to my ear, the weight of his words sinking like an anchor in my chest. The silence that follows the beep is heavy, and in it, the echoes of my past failures ring out, taunting me.
I’m the one who’s supposed to have control, the fucking captain, the one to make the calls that keep everyone safe, and yet…
I can’t keep the strain from my voice, the edge of defeat, as I admit into the silence to no one but myself, “You’re right. It’s on me.”
The admission is a bitter pill, a reminder that I failed before, with consequences I can’t shake.
He’s gone.
She’s gone.
I lower my arm but grip the phone tighter, my knuckles whitening, the anger at myself a gnarled knot in my stomach.
Everything in here is my responsibility, which includes Sloan now. It’s my penance, my way of making up for what I can’t undo.
And she’s just oblivious to the dangers, reckless even.
She makes this even harder than it already is, and I despise her for it.
And at the same time…
My gaze drifts to where Sloan works, oblivious to the turmoil she’s causing inside me. Hunter was right. I can’t keep her safe if she doesn’t understand the risks. I can’t keep her out when she’s a permanent resident in my waking thoughts.
I let out a slow breath, trying to dislodge the tightness in my chest.
Nothing is going to happen to her.
I’ll make sure of it.