All the Ways You Break Me (Sandy Harbor #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

PRESENT DAY

Josie

When my rental car breaks down about a mile from my destination, I can’t help but think it must be a message from the universe.

I stare at the cloud of smoke rising up from the hood, obscuring the archway of the bridge that connects the mainland to the island I left over a decade ago. Maybe I’m not meant to go any farther.

It’s not that I don’t want to be here to support my sister, Madeline, as she finally marries the man of her dreams. It’s that I don’t want to be here. On Sandy Harbor Island. The one place I swore I’d never return to.

I climb out of the driver’s seat, hoping to get an idea of what’s wrong with the car.

I’m definitely stalling, because my degree in Art means I have no more idea how to fix a smoking rental car than I do how to perform brain surgery.

But I lift the hood anyway, peering inside at the greasy coils of metal and tanks of fluid, waving away the smoke.

Cars zip past on the road next to me, their trunks piled high with beach chairs, umbrellas, and coolers full of drinks.

I’m not bothered that nobody seems to want to stop for me.

Their eagerness to get to their destination only highlights my reluctance.

A few more cars pass before a pickup truck comes into view and pulls up behind me. The sun is beating down and I can almost feel the freckles forming across my nose, so I guess I should be grateful when a man swings the door open and hops from the truck, calling out, “You need some help with that?”

And then he closes the door and his features come into view. I blink, slowly taking in his sky-blue eyes, head of dark hair, and broad shoulders. My heart pitches sideways.

Ian Langley.

I’ve only seen him once since I left the island over decade ago, on the weekend I came back for Madeline and her fiancé Garrett’s engagement.

But there was no moon hanging over the beach that night, just the flicker of firelight across the sand.

And I was too busy not looking at Ian to notice what I can see now in broad daylight.

He was tall when I first knew him, but he’s bigger, broader, muscular in a way that he wasn’t at eighteen.

His once closely cropped dark hair is longer, a bit unruly, waving off his tanned forehead and shoved behind his ears like he couldn’t be bothered to get it cut.

And instead of the country club-issue white, red, and blue sailing uniform he used to wear, he’s dressed in bright orange and pink board shorts, a pair of flip flops, and… not much else.

My gaze slides over the taut, tanned skin of his chest and then drifts lower to his sculpted abdomen and the thin line of hair that disappears into his shorts.

I don’t know quite what happened in the last decade, but he changed from preppy private school boy to chiseled surfer dude, and the heat pulsing through me has absolutely nothing to do with the relentless sun beating down.

Ian’s eyebrows slowly rise as if it’s dawning on him who I am, and his gaze sweeps over me just as mine did to him.

Is he comparing me to the eighteen-year-old version of Josie Sullivan?

I still wear my red hair long, though I have choppy bangs skimming my eyebrows now.

The breeze blows in from the bay, teasing the hem of my ruffled white flowered mini dress and jingling my dangly gold earrings like windchimes.

I imagine my transformation probably isn’t as dramatic as his.

I still look pretty much like the artsy girl who nobody would have predicted would catch the eye of the clean-cut son of the island’s richest man.

Except that I did catch his eye. And for a few magical weeks, I believed we could last forever.

“Ian, hi,” I say, forcing an extra-bright smile onto my face as if seeing him is a fantastic bit of luck. When in reality, it’s anything but. “What are you doing here?”

“Ellery and I were just driving by, and I saw the car smoking. I figured whoever you were could use some help… or at least a ride.”

I lean around the hood of the car to look into the front windshield of his truck.

I’m expecting to see an attractive woman—Ian’s girlfriend or maybe his wife—but instead, a little girl with dark curly hair grins back at me from between the seats.

She’s holding a dripping red popsicle in one hand and gives me an enthusiastic wave with the other.

Ellery is a kid? Is she Ian’s kid?

Madeline didn’t mention that Ian had any children, though I do my best to change the subject when his name comes up, so it’s not like I gave her much of an opening.

It occurs to me now that maybe I should have encouraged her to tell me more about his life, so I’d have a better idea of how to avoid him during this week of wedding events.

I know it will be hard with me serving as Madeline’s maid of honor and Ian as Garrett’s best man, but at least I would have been more prepared for the shock of information like he wears orange board shorts with no shirt and has a kid now.

“That’s so nice of you to pull over to help a stranger,” I say, infusing as much warmth into my voice as I can to hide the fact that this man’s presence is leaving me rattled.

Ian’s head tilts at the word stranger, which is of course what we are now.

He turns to the rental car where the smoke is finally clearing.

Bracing his hands on the frame of the car, he leans over to get a closer look, and I take the opportunity to shamelessly admire the ropelike lines of his triceps and the curve of his shoulder.

“Here.” He gestures toward a white plastic tank with a pool of pink liquid in the bottom. “Look at the gauge.” I lean closer, catching the warm scent of coconut sunscreen and sea salt carried on an ocean breeze.

My breath catches. I expected to have some warning before I saw him again.

Even just a few minutes to steel my heart from the memories of that one perfect summer that all abruptly fell apart.

What I did not expect is for him to pop up out of the blue—shirtless—and smelling like all of my best memories.

As I look at the gauge, my bare shoulder accidentally brushes his.

His skin is warm from the sun and slick from sunscreen and sweat, and the space below my ribs dips as if I’ve sped over a hill in my car.

Ian glances sharply in my direction, and then clears his throat and quickly focuses back on the mechanics of my car. “The—” He gestures at the tank. “The coolant is low. There’s probably a leak, which would explain the smoke.”

“Can I run to the gas station and buy some to top it off?”

Ian pushes himself away from the car and takes a step back from me, but it’s too late.

His scent lingers. “Probably not. If you did that, the car might run for a while, but if it’s leaking coolant, this will keep happening.

” He pats his shorts as if reaching for a phone.

“I have a friend who can tow the car for you. You can arrange for another rental, though I don’t know if you need to bother.

” He gives me a lopsided grin. “I can get you where you need to go for the wedding.”

I shake my head at the thought of spending the week riding around with Ian. This is exactly the reason I rented a car in the first place. “Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m sure they’ll give me another one, and then I won’t have to be a burden on you.”

“You would never be a—”

But I cut him off. “Let me just give them a call.”

I hurry around the car to grab my phone.

Ian wanders back to his truck, and I watch him open the door and say something to the girl in the back seat.

She’s covered in sticky red goop from her popsicle, but he doesn’t seem to be worried about the mess migrating to his leather seats.

He shakes his head, laughing as she reaches out to slap a hand in the center of his chest, leaving a small red handprint there.

I guess I’m not surprised that he’s unconcerned about the truck since it looks like it’s over a decade old and seems to have collected its share of dings and dents in that time.

Probably from the surfboards tucked into the bed or maybe the mishmash of tools sitting next to them.

I am surprised, though, that he drives this truck and not some sort of fancy Range Rover or electric vehicle.

When I was a kid growing up on Sandy Harbor, his dad owned the largest development company in the state, and Ian took over when he died.

A dark shadow drifts over me at the memory of that time, but luckily, I’m spared from thinking about it because the woman at the rental car company answers my call.

I explain the situation and confirm that Ian’s friend can pick up the car in his tow truck and they’ll take it from there. But when it comes to providing a new rental, she regretfully informs me that they won’t have anything available until Friday.

The wedding is on Saturday and I’m leaving first thing on Sunday morning.

“Please?” I ask, lowering my voice so Ian doesn’t hear me. “There must be something available.”

“I’m so very sorry,” the woman says. “Summer is our busiest time of the year, and everything is booked. I’ll obviously refund your money, and I can offer you a generous credit toward a future rental.”

I peek over at Ian, who’s still standing by the back door of his truck.

A breeze off the bay teases a lock of dark hair across his forehead.

In some other timeline where that one terrible day never happened, I’d be thrilled for the chance to spend this week with him.

In some other timeline, we might have spent the last decade together.

My heart aches at the thought of it, but I can’t afford to be sentimental.

Ian sees me hang up the phone and walks back over. “Any luck on a car?”