Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHLOE
I strangle my phone as I stare at the message on the screen.
Lola
Hey, Doll
Sorry for the late text
Rick showed up again an hour ago
I’m trying to close up, but he’s refusing to leave
David wants to call the police
Said I’d text you first
I can’t believe this.
Actually, I should rephrase that.
I can believe it.
I finally arrived home late after a long day of work and what felt like hours getting Mugs storm-ready, only to find my cottage empty.
Nothing unusual there—Rick has been known to skip town without a word of goodbye.
Except his tennis shoes were still sitting beside the couch, along with one of his T-shirts, and his shaving kit was on the edge of the sink.
I’d asked him countless times to keep his stuff contained in the spare room, but he never listens.
My house is small. Any bit of mess only makes it feel smaller.
So I figured he hadn’t skipped town, but he wasn’t at my place either. I was about to panic when my phone chimed with the message from Lola.
The sky outside grows darker with each passing minute, and all I want is to curl up with my romance novel and a glass of wine and let the sound of the rain hitting the windows and the steady sway of the house rock me to sleep.
Instead, I have to head back out into this disaster and drag my dad out of a bar.
It feels like high school graduation all over again.
Poor Lola. I hate that Rick has put her into a position where she’s having to stick around longer than is safe. Maybe I should let her call the police. A night in a jail cell could be just what Rick needs to get his act together.
Ugh. I can’t let my dad sleep on a cot in a cold cell. Plus, the police will be on call tonight for actual emergencies.
With a curse, I throw on a hoodie and head back outside.
Lightning flashes on the darkening horizon, but the storm must still be some distance away because the rumble of thunder is only faint.
I reverse out of the driveway and start for town.
The sun hasn’t set yet, but the streetlights are already glowing orange, and a thick layer of black clouds looms above our tiny island.
Inner Shores before a storm always reminds me of those post-apocalyptic movies set in an abandoned town. Empty. Eerie.
I don’t believe in ghosts, but right now, I could imagine some pirate specter stumbling ashore to search for his buried treasure.
When I drive by Mugs, one of the shutters is flapping in the breeze.
Shit, I could’ve sworn I closed the damn thing. It’s going to be gone by morning if I don’t fasten it properly.
What is it with this day?
Not wanting to delay Lola any longer than necessary, I keep going until I reach the Sand Dollar. Sure enough, Rick’s truck is one of the only cars still in the lot. The clouds start to spit rain as soon as I duck inside. All the shutters are closed, and the neon lights have been switched off.
Lola is standing beside the bar, trying to talk some sense into dear old Dad. David, her on-again-off-again “boyfriend” (even though Lola would never call him that), glowers at Rick from behind the register, his massive arms folded across his broad chest.
The door swings shut with a loud clap, and everyone jumps, then turns toward me.
Rick smiles from his barstool like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Hey, kiddooo.”
Kiddo? Really? “Come on, Rick. It’s time to go.”
“Sssign on the door saysss the place is… open till midnight.” He twists his arm and peers at the dull gold watch on his wrist. “That’s quite a few hours away.”
“There’s a storm, remember?” I grit through a tight smile, not wanting our audience to see exactly how close I am to snapping.
If this storm hits like they’re predicting, it could mean a lot of damage.
I should be able to afford to fix anything that goes wrong with the money I have stashed away, but those funds have been earmarked for my outdoor space, so I really hope it doesn’t come to that.
Rick slides off his stool, stumbling into the one beside it.
David shoves a black checkbook across the counter. “You need to settle up first, jackass.”
Lola casts an apologetic glance my way. I have no doubt that if David weren’t here, she’d be the one paying Rick’s bill. It’s not the first time this has happened.
Rick tugs his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, clumsily fishing through it. Even from here, I can see that he only has a twenty. I drag my wallet from my purse and hand Lola my card.
Wordlessly, she sticks the thing into the card reader. When it asks for a tip, she hits “No” and returns my card.
“Lola…” I say. She deserves double whatever his tab was for dealing with him.
“Chloe…”
I owe her big time. “Thank you. Text me when you get home, okay?” If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive my dad. She nods, and I nudge Rick toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Outside, the rain is steadier, but not torrential. Yet.
Behind us, the door slams shut and the locks click into place. Thankfully, Lola lives close by. She’ll probably be home before me, since I have to swing by Mugs.
Instead of following me to my car, Rick starts for his truck. “You’re not driving,” I call out over the rain.
“I’m fiiiine,” he shouts back.
Don’t tell me I have to steal his keys to get him into my vehicle. This is the last straw. “I said you’re not driving.” Is he trying to get himself killed? “The fire department and police will have enough to deal with tonight without having to haul you out of a ditch.”
Rick’s shoulders slump as he turns and slinks toward my car, stomping right through the puddles collecting in the pitted driveway.
He falls into the passenger seat with a huff and refuses to put on his seat belt.
I don’t have time for his tantrum, so I tell him that if he wants to fly out of the car and die on the pavement, that’s his choice.
By the time I pull out of the parking lot, his seatbelt is fastened.
When I get to Mugs, I tell Rick to stay put and throw my car into park right outside the front door.
I lift the hood of my sweatshirt, but it falls back down the moment I step out of the car.
Wind rips at my hair and rain batters my face as I fight to get the damn window shutter fixed so it doesn’t get torn clean off.
I still love this island, even when there are storms. Because no storm lasts forever. The morning after one of these blusters blows in always has the most beautiful sunrise. The beaches will be covered in shells and Inner Shores will go back to being the paradise it is.
Right now, though? I’m cursing the weather gods.
Stupid damn shutter won’t stay—
Ouch! Dammit.
A splinter in my finger. Isn’t that just great?
Icing on the damn cake. I throw all my weight against the shutter, and it must take pity on me because it decides to give up and let me latch it closed.
I’m a drowned rat by the time I get back in the car, but my darling dad doesn’t seem to notice.
He’s too busy pouting about being kicked out of the bar.
The palm trees on either side of Main Street bend and twist, wind tearing at their fronds. Streetlights flicker and an angry black sea churns in the distance.
Despite a few branches littering the road, we make it back home safe and sound. I open the front passenger door, and Rick stumbles out. I’m about to follow him up the stairs when the mat Ethan bought me takes off like a freaking kite.
In the grand scheme of life, a doormat really shouldn’t matter, but for some stupid reason, it does to me. I slip on my way down the stairs to catch it, banging my butt on the bottom step. That’s when I see my surfboard cracked in two pieces beside one of the shuddering palms.
You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me.
I texted Rick five times, asking him to please put it away, since I accidentally left it on the back porch. He promised that he would take care of it, and now it’s broken.
Lightning flashes, thunder booms, and my heart splinters in two.
I need to go back inside; it’s not safe to be out here. But right now, standing in the pouring rain sounds a heck of a lot better than seeing my dad passed out on the couch like every other night this week.
I’m done being let down by him.
I’m just fucking done.
I clutch my new mat to my chest, climb into my car, and slam the door shut.
Lightning forks through the sky, highlighting the wall of sandbags stacked on the far side of my house. Sandbags I’m ninety-nine percent sure my dad didn’t put there.
Which means Ethan—a guy who barely knows me—must’ve used his own money to prep my house for a storm, while my own dad couldn’t even bother taking the time to keep one of my most prized possessions safe.
A dark shape moves in the corner of my eye. Before I can twist in my seat, the car door opens wide.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Ethan gasps, rain pouring down his stubbled cheeks.
“Getting a tan.” What does it look like I’m doing? I’m sitting in my damn car.
He shoves his sopping hair back from his forehead. “For fucks’ sake, Chloe. Go inside.”
“Stop telling me what to do!” It’s stupid, and neither of us should be out here, but we are, and I’ll go inside when I’m good and freaking ready.
Ethan’s brow lines as he leans closer than before, smelling like rain and men’s soap. His voice turns soft. “Chloe, what’s wrong?”
I clutch my mat a little tighter. “I don’t want to be in that house with him.” For as long as I can remember, that cottage has been my sanctuary. The last time Rick came to town, he only stayed for a night, and he’d been sober.
I just need time to calm down and get control of myself.
Ethan reaches into the car and tugs my mat from my iron grip, tossing it on the passenger seat. Then he gently takes my hand and urges me to my feet. I let him because I don’t have it in me to fight anymore.