Chapter 12
Twelve
July — Noah Cyrus
W e were drinking wine on the patio of Nora and Rowan’s house. The summer breeze was taking its last breath, the days slowly getting darker as fall crept in. I was eager for it. Colder weather resonated with me more.
And I had made myself familiar with the local fishermen’s schedules, which was the reason I hadn’t seen Elliot in over a week. He was out. Fishing. The season began at the end of June and carried on until the end of fall.
Although I kept busy with work, trying to find a way to salvage my life by untangling it from organized crime and Jasper—something that kept me up into the wee hours of the morning—and babysitting, I still found myself with time to think about Elliot.
To want him.
I didn’t miss him.
My body had finally found a man in Jupiter Tides worth fucking, and my vibrator didn’t match up. That was it. Nothing more.
“I heard something from a friend I went to high school with today.” Nora was arching to stretch her back, her hand on her protruding belly.
She was a week overdue which meant she was uncomfortable and that my brother wasn’t ever beyond arms’ reach.
He was constantly shifting underfoot, beer in hand, talking to Kip and Kane with his gaze darting over to Nora every ten seconds.
I was only partially listening to what was said, my mind creeping to the ocean and the man somewhere on it. Worry clutched me as I looked at the waves, unpredictable and unforgivable, even on a mild summer day.
Worry. About Elliot. More accurately, his dick, I told myself.
I’d have to attempt to find another man around here, which I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do. My presence in Jupiter was already messy enough without adding a man to the mix. Which I’d already done. But I was finished with Elliot, wasn’t I? For his own good.
My thoughts triggered memories of that shallow grave, the one that visited my nightmares. Which made me think about Jasper’s radio silence—meaning he’d skulked back into the shadows or was waiting to strike again.
“She saw Calliope drinking at the bar at Shaw Shack last week.” Nora’s words seized my attention, my gaze shooting to her as everyone at the table looked at me.
I narrowed my eyes at her, only swallowing my barb because she was my sister-in-law, my very pregnant sister-in-law who, up until that point, I’d never had the occasion to get irritated with.
Nora had the kindest and softest heart of anyone I knew. There was no malice inside her, so I knew she was not bringing this up at the table to shame me. There was no possible way that she knew about my connection with Elliot Shaw.
Though when my eyes wandered to Fiona, she was sipping her wine, brows wiggling at me in a way that communicated knowledge.
I ground my teeth together. Kip had told her, not unsurprising.
But I had figured she would’ve come to me.
Fiona was a no bullshit woman. She was one of my best friends.
And before Jupiter, I hadn’t had friends.
Women I worked with correctly ascertained that I was a bitch, and I didn’t befriend people I worked with.
I had acquaintances I saw at gallery openings, galas, but none of that Sex and the City bullshit. Work was my life.
In recent months, I had come to realize how much I treasured the female friendships that I hadn’t really had … ever.
Fiona shot me a knowing and cheeky grin before I turned my attention to Nora.
“You had a ten-minute-long diatribe about how much plastic cups offended you last time I even mentioned going there,” Tina chimed in from beside me.
I narrowed my eyes at her this time, but not in hostility. Not just because I considered Tina another friend, but she was a badass bitch, one I did not want to have to cross or offend.
“I was bored.” I lifted my glass to my lips, only to find it empty.
Still, I clutched it tightly in my hands, feeling unsteady.
Normally, if I was sitting at a table, challenged with information I didn’t want revealed, I would bite back.
Draw blood. Tear people apart and ensure they never did that again.
It was second nature. But you couldn’t exactly do that with family.
Well, you could, but it made holidays awkward.
And I didn’t relish in hurting my family.
“You don’t get bored,” Rowan argued, obviously shamelessly eavesdropping. Not because he was nosy, but because he needed to be able to hear if his wife had so much as a swift intake of breath.
“You told me that boredom was a sign of a low IQ,” Kip offered, also within earshot.
Not because he was watching for his wife to go into labor—though he always watched her with an intensity that made my heart hurt a little because it spoke to how easy he knew it was to lose her. But because he was nosy.
At least I could direct a scathing look at him. “I’d be careful with what you interject, buddy,” I shot back. “You’re only standing because I like your wife and daughter.”
He curled his lips up in response, not appropriately afraid of me. He knew I’d gone soft. Fuck.
“Why did you go to Shaw Shack?” Fiona asked, drumming her fingers against her chin.
“I’m going to rethink my stance on liking you,” I muttered.
“She doesn’t have to answer if she doesn’t want to.” Avery—who was seated beside me—came to my defense in an act I appreciated.
Though I found it hard to see myself in any of these women—a compliment to them—I related to Avery most. Until recently, she’d been a world-renowned chef living in New York City. At the pinnacle of her career, she’d had to harden herself in a way that I recognized in order to get to the top.
We were kindred spirits in that way.
Then she fell in love with the bad boy of motocross, had his baby and retired from the Michelin star cooking scene. She was building her own restaurant, but I could recognize that her edges had softened quite a bit. Being a mother. A wife.
Though she still had some of that ice queen persona lingering, she had a man who nurtured those edges.
Too many men wanted a successful woman until they married her, then they wanted her sweet and pliable.
Not Kane. He wanted Avery whole and exactly who she was.
You could see it in their every interaction, the way he looked at her, calling her ‘Chef’ in a way that somehow felt sexual and affectionate at the same time.
“I have nothing to hide,” I lied with a wink to Avery who was adjusting her daughter Mabel’s shoe that was about to fall off as she happily sat on her mother’s lap, eating shredded cheese from a bowl.
“You have everything to hide,” countered Rowan, his expression going stormy as he made it clear that he had not given up on his new quest of getting to the bottom of my problems and saving me from them.
I glared at my brother. “Shouldn’t you be manning the grill and tending to your fragile masculinity? This is women’s business.”
The corner of Rowan’s mouth twitched. “Isn’t your whole thing about dismantling misogyny and the very idea of ‘women’s business’?”
Fiona barked out a laugh from across the table while Nora shook her head, grinning knowingly at her husband.
“Since when does who I fuck matter to any of you?” Frustrated, I reached to the middle of the table for the bottle of champagne I wished was a Xanax.
Now that I’d detoxed off both coke and benzos, I was back to just booze to regulate myself.
Not healthy in the slightest, but my goal wasn’t to be emotionally healthy.
That ship had sailed. I was aiming for staying breathing and moderately sane.
“Who you fuck ?” Tiffany, Tina’s wife, repeated from down the table. She leaned forward, her long blonde curls coming with her. “Who have you been fucking at Shaw Shack?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, immediately regretting honesty as my policy. Lying was best with family and friends.
“Well, I doubt it was Beau since he hasn’t been cooking regularly for a while now,” Nora mused, rubbing her stomach.
“And, Louie, the main bartender, is gay,” Fiona added with twinkling eyes.
Why she was adding to this when she knew exactly who the fuck I was talking about was anyone’s guess. She must have been secretly sadistic underneath that Australian accent, blonde hair and newfound motherhood glow now that she was actually sleeping a solid five hours—a miracle, according to her.
“Fuck.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, leaning back in my chair.
It was a matter of seconds before the women figured it out, since there was only one fuckable person at Shaw Shack. In my opinion, at least. Unless they were going to start counting the women.
I instantly noticed the man coming around the side of the house. Though I’d been drinking wine with the women, I also had the awareness of the men—the overprotective alphas who also immediately went tense as the figure walked toward the children playing in the grass.
My skin went taut with fear for a split second, fear clutching the back of my throat as I thought that that was it, that was the moment my actions ruined not just my life but endangered the lives of the people I loved more than anything.
Then I recognized the curls. The easy gait, the breadth of the shoulders and the crooked nose.
My mouth fell open for a second before I composed myself, choking the glass in my hands. Elliot’s eyes found mine first, warming with intimacy before focusing on Kip, whom he clasped hands with before going in for a man hug.
He was wearing a faded tee, a cardigan, jeans and fucking Birkenstocks. How a man could look fuckable in Birkenstocks and a cardigan was a mystery to me, but he managed it.
My entire body felt electrified. And worse, alighted with a comfortable warmth at that knowing smile on Elliot’s lips, the knowledge that he obviously hadn’t died at sea in a perfect storm since he was there, in my brother’s backyard.
“Holy fuck,” Tiffany stage whispered, looking from me to Elliot.