Chapter 2
Ethan
The next morning, I’m up early and at the marina with my Blue Heeler, Bandit, just as the sun is coming up. The boats shift on the small waves slapping against their sides, and I take a moment to lean against the external wall of my office, waiting for her . Bandit lies at my feet, staring down the boardwalk like he’s waiting, too.
A long drag on my vape. Smoke curls lazily in the salt air. Then Blake appears on the boardwalk on her way to the market to buy supplies for the Tavern. We usually cross paths at this time a couple days a week. Not that I need to be here this early, but she doesn’t have to know that.
She’s a vision, as always, the dawn sun catching her hair and sending flames of brilliant red through her ponytail. She’s slim and only comes up to my shoulder, but there’s something about her—so full of enthusiasm and energy—that makes her seem larger than life.
As she continues toward me, a cheerful look on her face, the usual familiar reaction echoes through my body: intense attraction followed by a slight nervousness, which always leaves me disconcerted. Women don’t usually have that effect on me.
Blake stops a few feet away, her emerald eyes roaming over me as Bandit sniffs her and waits patiently for a pat, his tail thumping against the ground. She’s so pretty I just stare at her like an idiot, taking in the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, her tanned skin that practically glows. She’s wearing her standard work outfit of jeans and a tank top, holding a black apron in one hand.
“Morning, boys.” She scratches Bandit behind the ears and his tail wagging increases in enthusiasm.
“Morning. How are your moms doing?” Blake’s adoptive moms own the Tidal Tavern.
Something flickers behind her eyes. It’s only there for a moment, but I can tell she’s forcing her voice to be light when she replies. “They’re great. Nothing to report.”
“Say hi from me.”
“Will do. You really should quit smoking, you know.” There’s a hint of genuine concern in her voice.
Opening my mouth to respond, trying to come up with something witty, but the words get tangled on my tongue. “Yeah, well... old habits die hard,” I finally manage. “At least I’m vaping now. Better than cigarettes, right?”
Blake just laughs, the sound bright in the quiet of the morning, and shakes her head. “You’re hopeless, Ethan. And I don’t get you at all. You run your business like you’re in the military, but you smoke and jump out of planes like it’s nothing.”
“I guess I’m just an enigma.”
“You should do something that’s actually spontaneous and unplanned. It would do you the world of good.”
“Maybe.”
She shakes her head one last time, and the world narrows to the full, soft of her lower lip. I can’t stop staring at her mouth as she gives Bandit a final pat and me a small wave, continuing on her way to the Tavern, and I watch her go, unable to drag my eyes away.
She disappears into the bar and I take another drag from my vape, the taste not as satisfying as it was a moment ago, still thinking about Blake.
She’s a force of nature—unpredictable and completely captivating, totally wrong for me. And for reasons I can’t fully understand, I want her. Even though there’s no chance of that ever happening.
“She’s so pretty, isn’t she, boy?”
Bandit gives a woof, like he completely agrees.
Blake and I have known each other since high school, and she’s always had this energy. She’s fiercely independent, never wanting help from anyone—but there’s a sadness there too, a vulnerability, especially since Danny died.
She hasn’t dated since Danny, and every time I think about wanting her, guilt hits me all over again. Danny was my friend as well as her boyfriend, and it feels wrong to want her, like I’m betraying him somehow. Anyway, I’d never actually make a move on her, so it’s a moot point.
I head inside the office, a small room we rent from the guys who run the marina, and get a start on some paperwork while Bandit promptly falls asleep on his bed in the corner. He’s getting older now, sleeping more.
Liam turns up an hour or so later, his trademark grin in place as he crouches over Bandit, giving him a tummy rub. He’s a good-looking kid, with dark blond hair and blue eyes—a taller, lankier version of his brother, Patrick.
While Liam and I are close, Patrick and I just about tolerate each other. Things have been better lately, ever since he started dating his now fiancée Emmy, but we’ll never be best friends.
Liam and I sit at my neat desk with a calendar spread out in front of us, preparing for the busiest month of tourist season, which starts next week. Pen in hand, I detail the specifics of each trip: we need to get this right to maximize our income and minimize any potential problems.
“The boat will be run back-to-back with minimal downtime. Every hour counts during the peak season.” Running my finger down the list of boat trips and jumps we’ve got planned, frowning. Liam’s got the laptop open, going through the bookings we’ve already received.
“Got it. Don’t forget to schedule in some time for fun. We don’t want to burn out.”
“You know me, Liam. Fun is jumping out of planes and diving into the ocean. Planning is part of the thrill.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I get off on filling out my planner for the next month, too. You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra help, especially with bookings and customer service. An assistant could take a load off our shoulders.” He leans back in his chair, looking at me over his computer screen.
“Last thing we need is someone else messing things up. It’s easier if we handle it ourselves.” What is it with everyone getting on my case? It’s not like things aren’t working around here.
Liam shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Just think about it, alright?”
I nod, but we both know the conversation’s over.
Later that morning, we’re on the deck of our charter boat, the Freedom , where it’s docked at the marina, preparing for the day’s first trip. The sun has fully risen, the heat of the day settling in as we check the equipment and ensure everything is in order. Bandit watches the seabirds as they circle overhead, calling out, and a warm, offshore wind gusts over us.
As we work, Bandit lets out a bark. I look up to see Frankie Baxter walking toward us, an older guy who works as a freelance photographer and spends a lot of his free time fishing. He’s done some photography for us and I’d even consider him a friend.
Normally Frankie’s got a quick smile for everyone, but today his weathered face is creased with lines of worry, his brows furrowed. He wears a faded, brimmed hat to shield himself from the sun, and one calloused hand grips a fishing rod, his gaze locked on the cell phone in his other hand, looking at something on the screen.
He catches sight of us on the boat and veers toward us, shaking his head.
Stopping what I’m doing, turning to face him: “What’s going on, fella?”
He stops on the decking beside the boat, hands palming his hips, still holding the fishing rod and cell. “It’s bad. Big oil spill close to us—beaches are already getting hit.”
My mind starts racing. Damn it. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. “What are we looking at?”
“A tanker accident off the coast of New Jersey, near Horseshoe Island. Oil’s floating right into Little Egg Harbor. Mechanical failure led to a massive leak. Thousands of gallons of crude oil have already been released. Tourists are being advised to stay away. It’s a mess.”
“Thanks for letting us know.”
“No worries. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
He walks away and I watch him for a few moments, processing the news, my chest tight. The immediate impact on our business and the long-term damage to the local ecosystem could be bad. Really bad.
Liam steps closer, his usual cheerful demeanor gone. “What are we going to do?”
“Let’s go inside and see if we can get any more details about what’s happened. We’ll need to call our clients and cancel today’s trips, at the very least. Then we’re going to help with the cleanup. I’m sure Patrick’s already been in contact with the mayor. He’ll call a meeting of the Valiant Hearts soon enough.”
Patrick is the fire chief here in Harbor’s Edge, and generally considers himself the leader of our little volunteer disaster relief group, the Valiant Hearts, created in Danny’s honor. I just let him get on with it. I’m not going to start butting heads with the guy over who gets to be the big shot. He’s got his thing, and I’ve got mine.
After checking the radio and relevant government websites and socials, which have nothing but bad news, and taking care of our bookings for the day, I turn to Liam, a grim determination settling over me. “We need to see this for ourselves. Let’s take the boat out.”
“Agreed. It’s not going to be pretty, but we need to know what we’re dealing with.”
Soon enough, we’re on the Freedom , heading toward the site of the spill, Bandit sitting on the deck with a mournful expression. The further out we go, the more the air changes, the salty freshness of the ocean replaced by an acrid smell, the pristine waters around Harbor’s Edge marred by slicks of oil, black and viscous, spreading like a plague across the surface.
I grip the wheel tightly, scanning the horizon. The sight of seabirds struggling in the water, their feathers coated in oil, makes my stomach churn. We pass by patches of oil washing up on beaches, staining the sand with a dark, ugly smear, locals already gathering to see the disaster unfold.
“This is worse than I was thinking.” Liam shakes his head. “I knew it was going to be bad, but seeing it up close…”
I know what he means. This is our home, our livelihood, and it’s being damaged right before our eyes.
“Damn it.” Slamming my fists into the wheel. “This is going to affect everything. The wildlife, tourists, our business.”
Fuck . The cleanup effort is going to be long and difficult. Not what we need heading into peak tourist season. We turn the boat around and head back toward the marina, a deep sense of frustration tightening the muscles in my neck and shoulders. We’re halfway back when Bandit barks excitedly at the bow, his nose sniffing the air.
“What is it, boy?”
Bandit barks again, more urgently this time. I slow the boat, following his gaze, and spot a small seabird struggling near the boat, its feathers slick with oil. It’s a Common Tern, and if we don’t help it, it’s going to die.
“We can’t save them all, but we can help that little fella.” I grab a long net with an extendable handle that we use for our fishing charters.
Liam moves to help, grabbing my arm while I reach out with the net. The bird flaps weakly, clearly exhausted, but I manage to scoop it up, and Liam helps me bring it aboard.
“Easy there, buddy.” I strip off my T-shirt and wrap the bird in it to keep it calm and contained. It’s a younger bird, small and delicate, its once white and gray wing feathers coated in a sticky, black mess. The bird’s eyes beneath its partial black cap are wide and frightened, and it shivers slightly.
Bandit watches, eyes wide, but he makes no move to interfere with the bird. Dogs are the best, and Bandit’s the Best of the Best.
“We need to get it to the marina and try to clean it.” Liam’s voice is grim.
We head back, the engine roaring as we speed toward the docks. Once we’re berthed and on dry land, Liam quickly looks up what to do on his phone. “We need a sink or bucket and some dishwashing soap. Dawn is best.”
“The admin office is closed.” I peer through the dark windows, the bird held to my chest. “The guys are probably at the mayor’s office, asking what the hell is going on and when it’s going to be fixed.”
“Let’s take it to the Tavern. Blake will have what we need.”
Bandit runs beside us as I carry the bird to the bar, and we wait outside while Liam goes in. A few minutes later, he returns with Blake, carrying a bucket of warm water. She’s got a bottle of Dawn dish soap in her hands, a concerned expression on her face.
We set up on the boardwalk, and Blake carefully pours in the soap, our hands touching as we handle the fragile bird. I glance at her, the green of her eyes gripping me, not letting go. “Hold it steady.”
“Got it,” she replies.
The bird should be thrashing and biting. Any healthy tern would give us a run for our money, but this one’s all tuckered out and barely lifts its head to acknowledge us.
Together, we gently wash the oil from the bird’s feathers, the water turning black as the soap cuts through the grime. I’m acutely aware of Blake’s presence beside me, the warmth of her shoulder against mine.
“You’re almost done. Well done, guys.” Liam is crouched beside us, watching the clean up process, Bandit by his side, eyes just as round as they were on the boat.
We work for a few more minutes until the last of the oil is gone. The bird looks up at us, cleaner and calmer now, and I stroke the black feathers on his head before picking it up. “You’re going to be okay, little guy.”
Blake meets my gaze, her eyes softening. “You guys did good.”
“Thanks. We all did. I’ll drop the bird at the wildlife rehabilitation center on my way home. They’re going to have their hands full. There are a lot of affected seabirds out there.”
“This is just awful.” Blake stands, grabbing the bucket and bottle of Dawn, giving the bird another concerned look.
“Yeah,” I reply. “We could have a long road ahead of us getting this cleaned up.”
Silence settles over us and I glance at the bird in my hands. The oil spill is a massive blow, but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect our home and livelihood, and I know the others feel the same.