35. Fisher #2
“I’m not the one who made the bet with him.” Cortney, the calmer of the duo, rolls his eyes as he steps behind him.
“What?” Libby, who’s been silent beside me, finally chimes in.
“This one”—Beckett thumbs over at the blond six-foot-six giant towering over him—“hired your guy to do a network security check.” He frowns. “That I didn’t think we needed. So I made a bet that he couldn’t hack into our system.”
Cortney brings a fist to his mouth and chuckles. “Not only did Fisher get in, but he sent the entire company a photo of Beckett from back when the kids and I put purple dye in his soap and turned him into an eggplant for two days.”
“We got you back good, though. Your face when your car started burping bubbles was priceless.” Beckett laughs.
“Not so priceless, really, after the cost to fix it,” Cortney grumbles.
These two are something else. Though if I’d understood their dynamic beforehand, I might have turned down the job. The two of them have been blowing up my phone nonstop for weeks. Apparently they like me enough to have created a group chat between the three of us.
“Make yourself at home, but I’ll be watching you.” Beckett puts two fingers to his eyes and then points at me.
Libby blinks up at me. “I’m so confused. Do people pay you to hack into their own stuff?”
“Wait…” Beckett squints at her, then me, arms crossed again. “You don’t know what he does? Is this a new relationship?” The way his voice lifts hopefully at the end is weird as fuck. Why is he so interested? From what I dug up about him online, the guy is happily married.
“Oh, here we go.” Cortney flops back onto the sofa.
“He says he makes people crazy by ruining their days. And he mentioned hacking.” Libby shrugs. “I guess I didn’t ask many questions. All I really see is the work he does as the island sheriff.”
I sigh. Libby should probably know the truth. “I’m a network security specialist. People hire me to find the weak spots or holes in their firewalls and to upgrade their systems.”
Cortney snorts. “He created the best software in the industry. He works with 90 percent of the financial community, half the airlines, and a handful of your big ten. The guy’s a computer genius.”
I pull at my neck to relieve the unease growing inside me. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would. And I need to know, is this a first date?” Grumpy Beckett has vanished. I swear the man is almost giddy now. “A first date because of my bet?” He claps his hands. “I am the ultimate matchmaker.”
I scoff, at a loss for how to respond to the nonsense he’s spewing.
Cortney angles forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Let him have it. Trust me, it’s easier than arguing about it.”
“Hey, Man Bun, you can’t complain. I found you the perfect wife.”
The blond holds up both enormous hands. “I have zero complaints about Dylan.”
As the two men bicker back and forth, Libby looks up at me. “They’re a lot, but I kinda like them.”
Head hung, I sigh. “At least one of us does.”
After two innings, my head is about to explode. The guys have yet to shut up. Libby, my hero, suggests we sit in the open- air seats for a while. God, I love the woman. Even the humid August air is refreshing after so much time stuck listening to their never-ending conversation.
“This is fun,” Libby says as we sit hand in hand.
I have to agree. The only thing better would be if Sutton was with us.
Looking over at the woman beside me, a woman that can’t possibly be stuck on an island twelve miles from land forever, I think about the possibility of a lake house.
And the boat. Maybe it’s time for a change.
Guilt and responsibility collide in my mind, making my head pound.
With a deep inhale, I will my racing thoughts to settle.
For now, I want to just enjoy the moment.
As if reading my mind, Libby gives my hand a squeeze. “Don’t think about it now.”
By the top of the sixth, the Revs have taken a six-to-nothing lead and the energy emanating from the stands is contagious.
“Look at your dad throwing the fire.” On the other side of the brick half-wall separating the boxes, a dark-haired woman appears. The toddler in her arms is sporting a number thirty-five jersey. “Oh, sorry,” she says. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”
“That’s okay.” Libby leans over and grins. “Aren’t you the cutest? How old are you?”
With a bashful smile, the toddler tucks her head into the woman’s shoulder.
“Eighteen months old and driving her parents crazy. I’m lucky I’m just Meme.” The woman tickles the girl’s tummy. “So I get to give Delaney back to Mom and Dad after the game.”
The little girl holds out a stuffed puffin to Libby.
My girl runs a finger down the soft fabric and smiles. “I love puffins.”
“So do her parents.”
My heart thumps oddly in my chest as I watch Libby bop the little girl’s tummy with the puffin, making her giggle. She’s so good with kids. It’s easy to imagine her with one of her own down the road. And Sutton would be a great big sister.
My lungs seize up at that thought. Is that what I really want? Watching Libby in this moment, I know it is. But is it possible to make that happen while still honoring all the things my brother wanted for his daughter?
The little girl snakes a hand out and pulls on Libby’s pink hat.
“Oh.” Libby tips her head, and her sunglasses clatter to the concrete.
Delaney keeps the hat firmly in her grasp, yanking it toward her.
“You like my hat, huh?”
The murmur of the crowd turns up a notch, then another. Only when I hear someone nearby whisper-yell “Elizabeth” in a way that makes her sound like Sutton do I scan our surroundings and realize Libby and Delaney are on the Jumbotron.
“Oh, shoot. Sorry. I should have warned you. This is Christian Damiano’s daughter. The fans love to see her. So she ends up on the big screen all the time.”
Libby’s eyes go wide as she searches for her glasses, but it’s too late.
“Oh my god, it’s Elizabeth Sweet.”
It’s a known fact how quickly a celebrity can be mobbed by fans, but until this moment, I didn’t understand just how jarring it is. Within thirty seconds, people are moving in the aisles below us to get a better view and calling up to Libby.
“Are you signing autographs?”
“Can we get a picture?”
Libby plasters a smile on her face and waves like she’s used to it.
“I’d keep her away from the baby. She might lose it on the poor kid and throw something.”
I frown down at the man who makes that comment.
“Can’t share the screen with a toddler either?” This from another person nearby.
Next to me, Libby’s body has gone rigid.
“You going to demand that we air-condition the great outdoors, princess?”
“Thought you were too good to grace us with your presence anymore.”
What the fuck? One after another, the nasty comments pummel her.
“Finally over the coke problem?”
I don’t understand. How are these rumors still floating around? And why the fuck has she not done anything about it? Especially if she knows people like Zara Price.
I move to stand up, but Libby grasps my thigh, her nails biting into my flesh through my jeans. “Go inside.”
In one quick move, I pull her to her feet and rush her through the door. Once safely inside the box, I pull her into my arms.
“I want to leave.” She blinks back tears, her body trembling.
“I’ll get you out of here, but then we have to talk.” Because I want to know exactly what happened to her before she showed up in Monhegan.