Chapter 3 #2
I snorted and let the gate click shut behind me. “Haunted by what? Mosquitoes and drywall rot?” I reached into the cooler at his feet. “Nah, it’s all right.”
He grinned and clinked his bottle against mine. “I’m glad you came by.”
This was how we operated lately—light, easy, like we didn’t have years of missed birthdays and awkward history sitting between us. Brody was a man people looked at and immediately trusted. Solid. Sharp. Sheriff’s deputy of Star Harbor with the kind of reputation small towns carved into stone.
He was also the half brother I didn’t really grow up with.
We didn’t share a roof or happy memories. Just blood. He got the badge and the father who showed up at football games. I got a rusted-out motorcycle and a mom who taught me to dance in the kitchen but forgot to pick me up from school half the time.
Still, after a few awkward phone calls, I showed up here. A few months ago I rolled into town and conveniently stepped up to help out while Wes recovered. At least that was what I told people.
The truth?
I wasn’t exactly sure yet. I wanted to get to know my brother. Brody always seemed just out of reach—like a life I couldn’t have, but something about this place had started to feel like it might let me stay.
We talked about Wes for a while and how Hayes Darling hadn’t been the same since the accident either.
“He’s doing okay,” Brody said, flipping a burger. “Physically at least. Mentally? He’s pacing trenches in his backyard. Sometimes the guy can’t sit still. He thinks it’s his fault that Wes lost his leg.”
I nodded, not entirely understanding my brother’s friends, but trying. “Wes was in the army, right? Guys like that always come back stronger. Hayes probably needs someone to keep him from blowing the place up in the meantime.”
Brody nodded like he knew I meant it.
“Are you still playing ball?” I asked, knowing my brother was on a softball team that regularly got their asses handed to them.
Brody smiled. “Damn right. Twelve-inch slow pitch. There’s a game this week and we could use a player. You want in?”
I smirked. “Are you asking because you need another bat or because Cal’s too slow to run bases?”
“Yes,” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, I think I can make it.” I suppressed the cheeky smile that made me feel twelve years old again.
Brody flipped another burger, the sizzle sharp in the quiet. Then, like he hadn’t just dropped a grenade, he said, “You know you’re next door to Selene Darling, right? That’s Hayes’s sister.”
I took a sip of beer to buy myself half a second.
“I’ve seen her around,” I said. “Maybe met her once or twice.”
Brody nodded, like that was enough.
“She’s had a rough go of it,” he said. “She could probably use a hand. She’s been on her own since her divorce. He still teaches at the university. Big brain, no backbone. Word is he’s okay, but leaves her and the kid in the lurch sometimes. He shows up for PTA with espresso and excuses.”
I let out a low laugh, but Brody’s tone was anything but casual. “How do you know that?”
Brody shrugged. “People talk and I listen. Selene’s been doing it all on her own. Juggling the kid, her business, everything. I’ve never heard her complain, and she doesn’t ask for help. Which means—if she ever does?” He looked at me, something knowing in his eyes. “You say yes.”
My grip tightened on the bottle.
Yeah, well—I’d already said yes. With my mouth, my hands, every reckless inch of me that should’ve known better.
That night with Selene was the hottest night of my life, but maybe the most ill-advised, because Selene Darling wasn’t built for something temporary and I’ve never been anything but.
I gave Brody a tight nod and looked down at the label on my bottle.
Later that night I sat on the back stoop with a beer in one hand and my phone in the other, not really scrolling—just pretending to so I wouldn’t look like a guy staring across the yard, thinking about a woman who didn’t know she lived in my head.
I got up to pace the backyard and redirect some of the blood that had inadvertently gone straight to my dick at the thought of coming face-to-face with Selene again. She was so close it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.
The sun was melting down behind the trees, casting the whole yard in a thick, gold-laced light that made the world look warmer than it was. Crickets had started up in the hedges, and the scent of late-summer pine and cut grass drifted in with the lake breeze.
I looked up and saw her through the window.
She moved through her kitchen like a storm barely contained. A smudge of something smattered across one cheek. She was wrangling a backpack, a half-dressed child with wild hair and a plastic tiara, and what looked like a foil-covered monstrosity that might have once been a volcano.
I laughed under my breath, watching her try to shove something into the trash with one hand while holding a juice box aloft with the other.
She looked exasperated. Exhausted. Real.
And like she could still bring me to my knees with a glance.
I took a long pull from the bottle. The glass was sweating against my palm, but it grounded me. It kept me from doing something stupid, like crossing the yard just to see if she’d smile at me the way she had that night.
She doesn’t know I remember her, but I do.
Every minute. Every breath. If pressed, I could recall every damn leaf in that forest.
And now she was my neighbor.
Selene clearly needed help—even if she wouldn’t ask for it. I probably shouldn’t even offer any.
I wasn’t there to get involved.
I reminded myself of that as I crossed the lawn back to my place, step by step, as if distance could fix what memory wouldn’t let go.