Chapter 22
22
Sloane
Oh.
No.
He.
Did.
Not.
But he did, didn’t he?
He just said that.
And now Davis is staring at me with panic in his eyes while his left leg starts jumping up and down and he rubs his hand down his right thigh over and over and over again.
Mr. Expressionless, Mr. Stillness, is freaking out right now.
I squat and put one hand on his left knee and the other on his right hand, feeling the tingles of my own panic attack starting.
He’s wrong.
He has to be wrong.
“Davis—”
“My mom is a direct descendant of the real Thorny Rock. When her mom died two years ago, she inherited a safe-deposit key to a box at the oldest bank in Copper Valley. We didn’t know it existed. She had letters. She had maps. She had the captain’s log from the ship. He called it the Helter Skelter. Not the Escape Hatch like you have in the museum. Escape Hatch is what Walter Bombeck wanted to call it. The real Walter Bombeck. The real Thorny’s cousin and first mate. My grandma also had the manifest of everything that was on the ship when they docked in Norfolk. The handwriting on the map matches. Your map. At the museum. That’s how I knew it was from Sarcasm.”
Forget helping him calm down.
I plop down on my own butt and stare at him.
His leg bounces again.
He rubs his palms down his tattooed thighs, seems to catch himself, and crosses his arms over his bare chest instead.
Peggy rubs against me, meows, and then leaps into Davis’s lap.
I stare at the man while I attempt to process everything he’s just said.
If he’s right—if this is true—Tillie Jean.
My god.
Tillie Jean would have half of her life ripped out from beneath her. Being mayor of Shipwreck, continuing on the traditions and the folklore—that’s what she was born to do.
And Grady being Shipwreck’s baker. And Cooper being Shipwreck’s public spokesperson.
This is their history.
Their heritage.
Who they are .
And Annika—Annika, who grew up in Sarcasm—what would Annika say?
Fuck history .
That’s what Annika would say because she loves Grady more than she loves town feuds and more than she cares which pirate founded which town.
I think.
I hope.
For once, Davis doesn’t look at me. “You can’t tell your friends.”
“Absolutely not. Are you?—”
“Yes, I’m serious, and yes, I’m sure.”
“How?”
“Research. Tracing genealogical lines. Old paintings. Drawings. Gossip sheets and newspapers from London from before Thorny Rock left on his adventures. His real name was William George. Third son of a baron. Failed military career. Prone to drinking too much and fucking too much and losing his temper too much.”
“ Oh my god , Annika’s mom’s last name is Williams.”
“No relation. But her boyfriend probably is.”
“How do you know?”
He sighs and frowns down at Peggy like he doesn’t realize he’s been petting her. “Research. Tracing genealogical lines…”
So this is what dumbfounded feels like. “Are you sure?”
“Already been over this.”
“But sure sure?”
“I like Shipwreck, Sloane. Fun town. Brings good things to the world. People here treat me like a normal guy. They don’t take my picture and sell it to the tabloids.”
I flinch.
I took his picture and told my family he was my boyfriend.
He ignores my reaction. “Beck’s happy when he’s here. Ellie and Wyatt fell in love out here. This one?” He points to a frog peeking out from the top of a palm tree on his left pec. “Spent a weekend playing Frogger at Beck’s place maybe eight years ago. Best weekend I’d had in ages. All the guys were there. Like old times. I fit here. I have good memories here. I like it here. If this gets out—we can’t hurt Shipwreck. I’ve done—we just can’t.”
I pull my knees to my chest and look at the tattooed, crazy-haired, tense man on the chair in front of me. “This is a lot.”
“Would’ve preferred to not have to burden you with this, but you needed to know.”
“Does Pop know?”
“Likely.”
“Does he know you know?”
“He’s not stupid.”
“And that’s why he doesn’t like you.”
“Partially.”
“What are the other parts?”
He stares at me, and then his lips quirk to the side.
Like he’s almost smiling.
“He hates my motorcycle and my tattoos.”
I squeak.
Pop is my grandma.
Except Pop has never — “ Oh my god , are you making that up?”
“Ever seen Pop on a bike?”
“No. But he has tattoos.”
“Mine are cooler.”
This is definitely not the full story. “This is why Vanessa told you to show me your family tree.”
“Yes.”
“She believes it?”
“She’s in the information business and also believes I’m correct in my understanding of the real history of this place.”
“That’s a lot of words that lead to a lot more questions.”
“That aren’t mine to answer.”
“Why can’t anything be simple and straightforward?”
“Because people are inherently good, but they’re also inherently selfish and greedy.”
I can’t go back to town tonight.
I need a game face first. There’s zero chance I could walk into Tillie Jean’s house or Grady and Annika’s house or any of the businesses that the Rock family runs around town without one of them asking me what’s wrong, and there’s no possibility that I could answer that question, even with a lie, tonight.
I growl at Davis.
He doesn’t react.
Probably anticipating me coming to the conclusion that I’m trapped here with him if I don’t want to betray my friends.
With the truth.
I rise and dust what I can of his hair off of my hands and clothes. “I’ll tell Giselle I’m staying,” I mutter.
“I’ll take the couch.”
“If you double-cross me with this treasure stuff?—”
“I’ve already done all of the shitty things I intend to do for the rest of my life. Least harm is the goal.”
I believe him.
I don’t want to, but I do.
And I’m taking a guilt-inducing amount of delight in knowing that I butchered his hair.
It’s not his fault he found a story about the supposed real history of Shipwreck and Sarcasm, but I blame him for the role I suddenly have to play in it.
And then the shame descends too, making me feel like my skin is too tight for my body. “Would you have dragged me into this mess even if I hadn’t asked you to pretend to be my fiancé?”
He lifts his gaze to mine and holds it, those velvety brown eyes telegraphing the answer without him saying a word.
Yes.
Yes, he would’ve.
Because Patrick Dixon was already dragging me into it.
Because I made myself a target when I decided to make the museum my life.
An unwitting target, but a target nonetheless.
There’s no other way this ended than with Davis appointing himself my guardian and asking for my help finding the treasure.
I just made it easy for him when I asked him to be the pretend love of my life.
“Does Patrick know? About Thorny Rock and Walter Bombeck and their true identities?”
Davis’s eyes tighten. “I think he suspects, but he doesn’t know .”
“Are you really related to him?”
“Very distantly.”
“Through Thorny Rock. The real, biological Thorny Rock.”
“Yes.”
And if there was a clue hidden in Thorny Rock’s coat—which might be Walter Bombeck’s coat?—then Patrick might be ahead of the game.
Davis and I have to find the treasure.
“Where’s your broom? I’ll clean up the rest of your hair. You should go shower.”
“If it helps, I’m mad at myself for finding all of this out too.”
“And now I have to keep this secret from my friends forever.”
“Treasure first. Confirm what I think is in there. And then we’ll deal with the rest.”
He doesn’t move.
But he does keep petting Peggy. Scratching behind her ears and making her rub her head up into his hand. Stroking her silky body with his long fingers.
His hands aren’t tattooed. The ink stops at his wrists on both arms. But it dips below his waistband on his stomach and chest and rises above the hemline of his navy-blue cotton shorts.
And I realize what he said.
We .
We will deal with the rest.
Do not go there, Sloane. You know better .
There’s a knock at the door, and after a brief pause, Giselle’s voice comes through the door. “The Rocks sent food. If you don’t open the door, I’m eating all of it myself.”
Guilt slashes through my abdomen.
They’ve been my friends.
And now I know something that could destroy them.
“Don’t,” Davis says quietly. “Don’t feel guilty. You aren’t a pirate. You didn’t try to double-cross your first mate. You haven’t done anything wrong besides being in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’ll make this right. However we have to, we’ll make it right.”
“How? How do we make it right?”
“Treasure first. And then the rest will fall into place.”
“What will Patrick do if he finds it first?”
He squeezes his eyes shut, and his chest rises like he’s taking the heaviest breath he’s ever taken in his life. “We still have things he doesn’t.”
“Like what? What clues do we have that he doesn’t?”
“Not clues. Money. Fame. Power.” He shakes his head. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t—that’s last resort. I like to do things the right way. Not the privileged way.”
I head to the door and open it to find Giselle munching on a fried chicken leg that very likely came from Crusty Nut, Tillie Jean’s dad’s restaurant.
Giselle side-eyes me like she wants to tell me to come and get it if I don’t want her eating any of the food the Rocks sent.
“You more than earned all of it,” I tell her.
“Did you butcher the manbun?”
“Like a toddler turned loose with scissors.”
“Good job. You can have a breast.”
“This career is wearing on you, isn’t it?”
“Only some days.”
“You should really take that vacation. Everyone needs time off.”
“Humph.”
“Thank you for keeping me safe.”
“ That is my pleasure. You’re a good person. You deserve it.” She lifts a large brown paper sack with her free hand and gives it to me. “Eat up. Especially the vegetables. Good food, good fuel. You’re gonna need it.”
Heat creeps over my face. “Were you listening in?”
“There are certain things I never want to hear, and I avoid them at all costs.”
I’m initially relieved enough that I almost miss her implication. “Oh. Oh . Oh no, we weren’t?—”
“Not my business.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Hotel. Relief shift is on its way. I’ll be back in the morning.” She looks past me. “Nice haircut. Suits you. Don’t fuck with Chuck, or he’ll fuck you right back.”
“I can call in my own security team,” Davis mutters.
“But you don’t want to, or you would’ve done it by now.” Giselle hands me a card. “Call this number if you need me. Day or night. Vacation or not. I’m ordained to perform weddings too, and I’ve been known to lose the paperwork. If you need someone like that.”
“Can I hug you?”
“No. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
She salutes us with the chicken leg as headlights flash on the driveway.
Davis tugs my arm, pulling me back into the trailer.
And for one brief moment in time, my brain fills in an alternate reality where I trust men and this specific man with his terrible haircut courtesy of me and a few rabid raccoons, this man with the story of his life tattooed on his body who wants to do more than just pull me to safety out of a sense of obligation.
Where there aren’t pirates and treasures and ex-boyfriends hunting for things that could hurt my adopted hometown and my friends.
Davis shuts the door as Peggy leaps onto the kitchen counter and meows at me.
“Yes, sweet thing, you get chicken too.”
I don’t want to eat.
I want?—
Well.
Once again, it doesn’t matter what I want, does it?
Especially when I know I shouldn’t want it at all.