Chapter 25
CARTER
The power goes out just after midnight, and it grows quiet, other than the wind and sea. The rain keeps coming, hitting hard for half an hour, then pulling back like the storm is knocking before it enters.
We tried the generator twice. I pulled on it for ten minutes while Wendy held the flashlight. The thing puttered and coughed, then died again.
“It’s okay. We should probably go back inside.” She grabs my arm. “You tried.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, following her up the stairs.
We’re soaked from head to toe.
The lantern on the counter lights the lobby, and there are several candles lit in the living room and kitchen. We’re staying on the bottom floor because of high winds.
“Now what do we do?” she asks, smiling. “Want to start drinking?”
I smile. “Shouldn’t we be in our right mind in case shit goes down?”
“They call them hurrications for a reason.” Wendy moves to the kitchen.
I hear a cabinet door open and close, and then she returns with a bottle of Fireball. I look at the label and back at her.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Oh, come on. It only sucks at the beginning.”
“Sounds like some famous last words shit to me.”
Wendy unscrews the top and takes a long pull from the bottle. She offers me some, and I take it.
“This is peer pressure.”
“No,” she says, removing her wet shirt and shorts, standing in her bra and panties. “This is.”
I chug two big swigs and shake my head because it’s fucking awful. I set the bottle on the coffee table, and she walks toward me, removing the wet clothes from my body.
We’re standing in our underwear in the middle of the lobby.
“And what happens if your grandmother decides to come here?”
“It’s a risk worth taking. Plus, it’s hot without the central air.”
The house shakes like it agrees. The storm is still forty miles offshore, and the joints in the beams groan with every strong gust.
“The building was reinforced,” Wendy encourages.
“When?” I ask.
“Ten years ago.”
“Just tell me when you think I should be worried.”
Wendy sits on the couch, pulling me with her. Her hair is down and curly where the rain hit it. I sit beside her.
“Want to play cards?”
“Yeah, I’ll play you.”
I grab the jar of shells on the counter.
“Oh, we’re playing with seashells?”
“Help divvy them out,” I tell her, shuffling.
The lantern makes the room glow. The flame flickers, and our shadows dance against the wall. She looks fucking beautiful in this light.
“We each have twenty-seven shells,” she says. “One equals an ante.”
I pass the cards out, and we start playing. We drink and laugh, go all in and lose, then play some more.
Rain slams against the building in a burst so hard that the candles flicker. It lasts maybe ninety seconds and pulls back. The wind after it is louder than before.
“There’s no one I’d rather be with right now than you,” Wendy says. “We’re riding out a storm in a one-hundred-year-old house like idiots.”
“Okay, is this where I should be concerned?”
“Not yet.” She hiccups, glancing down at the radar. “It’s not classified as a Category One. Just a tropical storm. Can do a lot of damage, but it’s not going to blow the B&B down.”
“That’s what I assumed, too, but also, I don’t know how structurally sound this house is.”
The lantern gets lower, and we need more kerosene.
“Carter, the other day at the surf competition …”
I can feel the storm building. Not the one on the outside, but the one inside me. The truth is stacking in the silence that I can’t hold much longer.
“I didn’t say it because I can’t,” she admits. “Of course, there is the deadline, but this feels too fast, doesn’t it?” She looks at me. “Being in love with you scares me.”
I study her. “Do it afraid.”
A candle pops.
“That’s what my sister’s motto was,” I say. “She used to say it all the time. I think back through the years, about all the things that worked out and made me who I am right now, and each decision to do something was a risk. But if you really want something, you do it afraid.”
She lets out a shallow breath, and I close my eyes.
Do it afraid.
“Before this goes any further”—my voice goes shaky—“I have to share some things with you.”
Her brows furrow. “Why don’t I like the sound of your voice?”
“Fuck,” I whisper.
The color drains from her face. “Oh my God, you’re married!”
“What? No,” I say.
“You’re breaking this off right now,” she continues.
“No, I didn’t say—”
“You’re pregnant?”
This makes me snicker.
“You saved five hundred dollars by switching your car insurance?” she continues. “Better jump in here soon, or I’ll guess every possible scenario there is.”
I drink the rest of the booze and don’t taste a thing. “We shouldn’t have this conversation intoxicated.”
Her smile fades. “You can’t put the rabbit back in the hat, Carter.”
The name is like a punch to the gut.
“That’s not my name.”
I can feel her pulling away from me.
“It’s my middle name, actually.”
“Okay? That’s not a crime. People go by their middle names all the time.”
The wind outside shifts again, and something on the porch scrapes across the wood. She’s staring at me, and her expression hasn’t changed.
“My full name is Dyson Carter Banks. I’m the CEO of Banks Finance. It’s a financial management firm in New York.”
“Carter—”
“The name people know is Dyson Banks. I use my middle name as an alias because it’s harder to recognize.”
She blinks three times, and then a laugh escapes her. “You’re joking.”
“You know I’m not joking.”
Her smile fades. “I’ve heard of Banks Finance and the asshole who runs it.”
“That’s me.” I force a grin. “The firm manages close to two trillion in assets. I have a penthouse that overlooks Central Park that I escape to everyday. The board forced me to take a vacation because I was burned the fuck out and forgot what it meant to live.”
She stares at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because I knew you’d look at me like this.”
She turns away from me, like she’s trying to solve calculus in her head. “I should’ve known. Renting the Captain’s Room for two months, all the unnecessary requests, and that watch you had on the first day you arrived. I was stupid.”
“I wasn’t trying to be anyone but myself,” I say.
“What about the Palm?” she asks on an exhale.
“I have comps galore. That wasn’t a lie.”
She faces me. “I feel like I don’t know you.”
“I deserve that. But I’d be willing to say, right now, you know me better than anyone else in my life. Most see the title and money before the man. Every woman I’ve ever been with has used me for my connections and what I can do for them or their careers. Not you.”
Her mouth opens and closes.
“I’m so fucking sorry for not telling you.”
“Why are you now?” she asks.
“If whatever this is going on between us has a chance of continuing past August third, you have to know. Also …” I breathe out, knowing I need to be completely honest even if it will hurt. “There are pictures circulating of us together. Like a couple. And people are talking about that.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m confused.”
“I was too.” I tuck my lips inside my mouth, trying to choose my words very carefully.
Instead, I unlock my phone and see I have eighty percent battery left, so I open a web browser and type in my name. I hand it to her.
Wendy scrolls and stares, clicking on different pictures and articles.
My entire life has been documented on the internet, thanks to who my father and brothers are.
Her hand trembles when she sees the photos of us together, along with the articles and blind items. The internet wants us together, but they also want to know every detail they can about Wendy.
She reads through the comments, shaking her head.
After ten minutes, she locks the phone and pushes it away.
“This is too much,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be in the spotlight. I want to live the sweet life in Coconut Beach.”
“I’m so sorry.” That’s all I can offer.
The wedge between us grows the longer neither of us speaks.
She leans back on the couch. “Has anyone on the island recognized you?”
I nod. “Ryder.”
“Ryder?” She sits upright. “That little shithead! I’m going to kill him!”
“I think your grandmother knows. She’s made side comments. Possibly Mia, too,” I say.
“This is a lot to throw on someone. Oh, hi. I’m really important, and now the fucking internet is stalking you, but sorry, let’s still be together and forget any of it happened, even though this is going to change your entire life as you know it.
” She blinks at me a few times. “I’m actually stranded on an island during a tropical storm with a complete stranger whose name I didn’t even know until five minutes ago.
If this were a thriller book, I’d be the victim who was lured away by a hot guy. ”
I chuckle.
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t you dare laugh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I feel. Literally spiraling.”
“You don’t have to say or feel anything, Wendy.
” I let out a calm breath. “Know that if who I am outside of the island is the reason we don’t work out, I will understand.
You have to be sure you want to be with me.
Yes, I’m Coconut Beach Carter, but I’m also Dickhead Dyson Banks.
I’m ruthless in the financial world and in every aspect of my life.
I don’t think you can have one without the other.
So, if you choose me, you have to choose all of me. ”
The rain picks up again. It’s heavier now. I glance at the radar on my phone, and the gaps between squall lines are closing.
“I’m in love with you,” I say. “I mean that. I know you said no decisions and—”
“You don’t get to say that right now. You don’t get to drop a bomb like this and then follow it with I’m in love with you like it’s a bandage.” She stares at me. “You were selfish and were more worried about protecting yourself than trusting me. I don’t know if I want to be with someone like that.”
“I understand.”
“If you don’t have honesty, integrity, and protect your values, then you are the exact thing you believe people see you as. You become nothing more than a nepo baby with a fancy title and a trust fund.”
Her words hurt, but they’re the truth.
“And that’s the exact reason why I like you so much,” I admit.
“Don’t,” she sneers. “Don’t do that.”
“You aren’t afraid to tell it like it is, no matter who the fuck I am.
I don’t know anyone in my life who isn’t a yes man.
So, forgive me if I find it difficult to trust anyone.
I’ve been used a lot. I’ve been cheated on, lied to, and even had people try to harm me.
I don’t trust easily, and it takes me a while to warm up to people.
It took you over six weeks. It takes most people a decade.
You should be mad at me. I accept that. But know tomorrow, I’m going to keep fighting for you, for us, because this relationship means something to me.
Call it a summer crush, call it whatever the fuck you want, but being with you has changed me.
Being in the same room with you has completely rewired the way I think, the way I view the world.
I’m not the same man I was when I arrived, and it’s not because of this fucking building. It’s because of you.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. I reach forward and catch it.
“Please don’t.”
“I’m crying because I’m so pissed. Because you are the epitome of every single thing I hate in the world.
But you are also everything that I want in my life.
I’m fighting an internal battle, and I have a lot of conflicting emotions that I won’t be able to solve tonight.
Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe never. You wanted to know when you should be worried? ” She blinks up at me. “Right now.”
Her anger is alive, but underneath it is a woman who just had her entire reality change. I’m empathetic, understanding how big of a deal this is. It’s why I avoided it for so long.
“You promised me no decisions would be made until August third.”
She wipes her face. “I’ll keep my promise.”
We sit in silence for a long time, and she yawns. “I’m exhausted. I want to go to bed.”
Wendy moves toward the stairs and then turns back and glances at me. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
It’s an invitation that I selfishly take. We climb the stairs, still in our underwear, then enter her room. It’s pitch-black with the windows boarded up. The darkness captures us as we climb between the sheets.
She rolls onto her side, away from me, and I move close, molding my body into hers, holding her. With my eyes closed, I smell her hair, hoping this isn’t the last chance I get with her.
The storm makes landfall, and I know it’s somewhere around three. The wind drops an octave, sounding like a growl, and I stay awake through it all.
“I really hope you forgive me,” I whisper into the night.
She doesn’t respond.