Chapter Eight
REID
CHRIST, SHE’S BEAUTIFUL. I keep telling myself to let her be, but I can’t. I’m drawn to her in a way I can’t explain. It’s probably because I haven’t been laid in a year. But I can’t seem to stay away from her.
I work at the marina for the morning, fixing a couple of engines, replacing nozzles, and bringing in a few boats. I refuel a couple center consoles before popping over to the bait shop to check on Tate.
He's busy assisting some tourists with kayak rentals, making me wait. I walk out of the bait shop and find my gaze landing on the research center. I fight the urge to go inside and check on Emery. I want to invite her to lunch, but I know that’s a bad idea.
Why is this woman the first person I’ve come across in years that makes me want to let my walls down?
I can’t explain it. She’s brilliant, that much I can see, but not particularly warm.
Her boy band playlist showed me she has a playful side—one I find myself wanting to see more of.
Tate interrupts my lusting with a slap on the back. “Lunch?” He tugs on a shirt. This guy never has a fucking shirt on.
“Sure.” We start for The Drift Net just in time to see Dale Langford making his way up the dock.
“Well, hell,” Tate drawls moving to face him.
I square my shoulders and follow him.
Langford is the owner of the boatyard and a former classmate of ours. His father and Tate’s late father didn’t get along, and it carried over. It was never just a personality clash. Men like the Langfords don’t feud—they erase obstacles. Penny was an obstacle.
What’s worse, Dale does everything his daddy says.
He has the power to change things, but he’s just as dirty as the rest of them.
I watch as this asshole marches his way up our dock like he belongs here.
Aviators, a crisp white button down, pressed too neatly for this town.
A cocky smile spreads across his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes—it never does.
“Afternoon, boys,” he says, his voice smooth and practiced. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“We own this place,” Tate growls. “Where else would we be?”
Langford ignores him and flicks his gaze at me. “Just passing through. I heard you have some new faces around here. Thought I’d try to be neighborly.”
New faces.
Emery. Fuck. Penny had been a new face once too. Right up until she wasn’t.
“Neighborly,” Tate repeats.
That’s what he called it when he wanted to know who was asking questions—and how loudly.
I don’t move but I narrow my eyes at him. “We’re not running a welcome center.”
“Damn, Morgan, you really are always a ray of fucking sunshine.” Langford grins.
“You’re at the wrong dock,” I say, my voice edged with steel. “If you’re looking for someone, use your fucking radio.”
Langford takes a step closer to me, testing me. I’ve seen this play before. Pressure first. Next, politeness goes. Problems handled quietly after that. I move closer, prompting Tate to put a warning hand between us.
“Figured I’d come see for myself,” Langford says. “Town’s a-changing. Can’t be too careful these days.” He makes a clicking sound with his tongue.
“Yeah well, you’ve got your own dock. And we all know you don’t take detours unless you got a reason.” I purse my lips. “You got a reason, Dale?”
Tate stays silent but I feel him bristle beside me.
“You two always this twitchy?” Dale counters. “It’s a public dock.”
“We’re just wondering what the boatyard owner needs at a recreational marina,” Tate finally says. “Unless you’re ready to sell me that dry dock and move on.”
Dale lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You couldn’t afford me.” Then he holds up his hands. “All right, all right, no need to get your panties in a bunch, gentlemen.” He fixes his gaze on Tate. “You run a tight ship, Maddox. I’ll be on my way.”
“Good idea,” I growl.
Langford turns and marches back down the dock the way he came.
When he’s out of ear shot, Tate says, “You think he’s trying to get a look at the new girl?”
I don’t answer immediately. My pulse is steadier, but the weight in my gut is lingering.
“They’re still up to their same shit,” I mutter.
“He’s looking for something. And he’s not going to stop,” Tate agrees.
“Not if I can help it.”
I MEET EMERY just like I promised at four p.m. on her little wooden dock, but the tension I feel from bumping into Langford hasn’t ceased.
I can’t tell if it’s from setting foot near Blackbird Cottage more times this week than I have since Penny…
or from Langford sniffing around the new girl.
Either way, I force it down and school my face into a neutral expression.
Emery’s already in the skiff, the motor running when I walk up. I step in carefully, so my weight doesn’t rock the tiny boat. She’s wearing a long sleeve gray T-shirt and a blue ball cap that reads Cape Atlantic University. Her eyes are fixed on the horizon.
“Sup, Doc?” I say, unable to hide the twitch of my lips.
“For the love of God.” Emery groans, but she’s smiling.
“What? You don’t like Bugs Bunny?” I quirk a brow.
“Oh, everyone likes Bugs Bunny, it’s just…you don’t look like you’d like him.” She gives me a sideways glance.
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“Reid, don’t take this the wrong way but…you’re kind of cranky.” She winces, biting her lower lip. The sight of it sends a jolt straight between my legs.
“I’m not cranky. I just keep to myself.”
“Must be exhausting,” Emery says lightly.
I glance at her. “What?”
“Carrying all that solitude around,” she says. “Some people talk too much just to avoid it. Others disappear into it. And I think I know which one you are.”
Something about her read on me lands too close. It’s uncomfortable.
Suddenly I’m desperate to take the attention off me. “You speaking from experience?”
She shrugs but doesn’t reply.
The ten years I spent as a SEAL forever altered the course of my life and the person I have become.
I left after a terrible accident that haunts me every day when I look at the scar on my chest. Tate knew immediately upon my return home, to his couch, that I’d need help.
He found some veteran support groups in Beaufort.
My cousin Sophie in New Jersey found me a therapist I meet with virtually—now only as needed—but still.
It will take a lot for me to let someone in.
And somehow Emery clocked that in less than two days.
“Can I drive?” I ask, nodding toward her hand on the throttle.
She rises without a word, switching places with me. Once I’m settled, I guide us away from the dock. Neither of us speak as I guide us through the marsh, taking in the egrets stalking the shallows for fish, the reeds swaying in the breeze, the hum of insects filling the air like radio static.
Emery sits across from me, legs crossed at the ankles. Her eyes track my hands, my face, and the way I move the boat. She’s watching me the way someone does when they’re trying to figure you out rather than make conversation. “You always this quiet?” I finally ask.
“Only when I’m paying attention.” She smiles lightly, but she still doesn’t try to fill the silence.
I don’t return her smile but something in my chest tugs. Dr. Emery Caldwell keeps surprising me. Most people get restless out here. She seems to settle, content to observe nature in all its solace.
I guide us further into the estuary, where the water narrows and the green rises up on either side. I point up to a clump of grass breaking the current.
“Terrapins nest up there,” I say, pointing to the sandy area beyond the marsh. “You’ll want to come back when the tide’s lower. You’ll see tracks on the banks, sometimes the nests if you know where to look.”
She leans forward, eyes following where I point. “You sure know a lot about them. I thought you worked at the marina.”
“I do. I just pay attention.” I toss her a wink.
“But you know tide patterns, nesting seasons, where to find species others have missed for years.”
I meet her gaze. “I grew up here in these marshes. You learn things.”
She stares a beat longer, then shakes her head. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” She hesitates before speaking again. “Have you always worked at the marina?”
I stiffen, but the words come out before I can stop them.
“No,” I say. “I was in the Navy. I was gone a long time.”
Her eyes soften—not curious now, just aware. “That explains a few things.”
“It explains why I don’t talk much,” I counter. “Did you find anything in Dr. Young’s notebooks?”
“I found her notes,” Emery says carefully. “But pages are missing.”
“Torn out?” I ask, frowning.
“Yeah. Like…someone didn’t want them found.” Emery’s voice wavers.
I lick my lips and press them into a tight line. The skiff bobs lightly as we enter a narrow inlet. I kill the engine, letting us drift.
“You can come back on your own,” I say, changing the subject. “Long as you don’t get stuck. The choke is sticky sometimes, so bring oars. If you can’t get it started, you’ll be paddling out.”
“I’ll be fine.” Emery says, her voice clipped.
“I wasn’t asking.”
She cocks her head at me, brow furrowed. “Are you always this charming?”
I huff a laugh. “I try not to be.”
For a moment, the only sound is the water lapping against the hull. Our gazes lock and a shiver runs up my spine.
She looks away first. “We should head back.”
I don’t disagree, giving the choke a pull and turning us around. The whole way in, I feel her gaze lingering on me. Like she’s trying to figure out what I’m hiding.
She won’t find it. I buried it deep.
But something about her makes me want to tell her anyway.