Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“Babe—” Bennett’s voice is urgent when he comes up behind me two days later.
“Hey!” I spin, dropping the latest art catalog from my favorite New York gallery into my lap. “You’re home early. What’s up?” I stand and wrap my arms around him.
“You didn’t hear?” he murmurs against my ear.
“Hear what?” I pull back, my smile fading as I catch the look on his face.
Bennett presses his lips into a thin line. His eyes flick past me, out to the wide stretch of ocean beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. “It’s Whit—”
“I just talked to her a few hours ago. We’re meeting for dinner later—”
“Babe—” His eyes fill, his head shaking slowly, like the words won’t come.
A cold weight settles in my chest. “What?” My voice thins. “What’s going on? Why are you home early?”
“Something bad happened.”
The words land between us, heavy and final.
I can’t speak. I just stand there, waiting.
“Whitney and Phillip were out on their boat—”
“I know, I talked to her—”
“There was an explosion.”
His hands hover near my arms, like he’s bracing for impact.
The room tilts. My fingers grip his forearms. “No.”
He nods. “I got a call from a friend at the marina.” He guides me back to the lounger, easing me down. “Phillip’s fine. Barely a scratch.”
I don’t want to ask.
But I do.
“What about Whitney?”
“Phillip hit his head. He’s having trouble remembering what happened.”
My breath sharpens. “But Whitney was with him. She told me they were going out for a quick cruise. She was with him, Bennett.”
He goes still.
“They can’t find her.”
The words fracture something inside me.
I bite down hard on my lip, but it doesn’t stop the tears. They spill anyway, hot and fast, my body trembling under the weight of it.
“She has to be there,” I whisper.
“The captain is dead.”
A broken sound escapes me. “No.”
“The Coast Guard is still searching. I’m sure she’s—”
“Dead.” The word tears out of me. “I’m sure she’s dead.”
Whitney’s voice echoes in my head, bright and careless.
See you later, sister. I love you to the ends of the earth.
Bennett pulls me into him, wrapping me tight as I fall apart. My sobs split the quiet, unraveling the last few hours, the last few words, the last normal moment.
“He did this,” I say finally, my voice raw.
“We don’t know that.”
“Whitney knew it.” The anger comes fast, cutting through the grief. “She told me.”
“Did she?” His tone is careful. Skeptical.
I nod, wiping at my face. “She said something was off. He just increased their life insurance—hers, his, the yacht. If that’s not proof, I don’t know what is.”
“That’s not proof,” he says gently. “They’ll find her. We just need to give it time.”
But I can hear it.
He doesn’t believe it either.
A rush of memories floods in, sharp and relentless. Whitney laughing. Whitney rolling her eyes. Whitney handing me the journals like it was a joke.
Like it wasn’t.
“No,” I whisper. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“I’ve known her as long as I’ve known you—”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” I cut in.
Silence settles between us.
He exhales, pulling me closer, his fingers sliding into my hair—the one thing that always steadies me.
“Maybe we should go to the marina,” he says after a moment. “See if Phillip needs anything. Help where we can.”
“No.” I inhale slowly, forcing the air deep into my lungs. My gaze drifts to the house next door, to the sharp line of Whitney’s roof just beyond the hedges.
Gone.
“No,” I repeat, quieter now. “There’s something I need to read.”
“Read?” Bennett frowns.
I don’t look at him.
“The journals.”