Chapter Twenty-Two #2
I glance down at the sand beneath the wall. Footprints—big ones, likely made by a pair of boots.
Rage floods my chest, hot and sharp. “Who the fuck did this?” I mutter, voice shaking more than I want it to.
The gulls scatter overhead at the sound, but no one answers. I can’t get to her fast enough.
She hears me coming and shifts over just enough for me to drop down next to her.
I crouch close, knees brushing hers and she rests her head on my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My palm finds the side of her head, fingers slipping into her hair, my thumb tracing circles on her temple.
“Who would do something like this?” Her voice is so low, I almost don’t hear her.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I don’t know. Are you okay?”
Emery straightens, eyes snapping to mine—bright and angry. “I’m fucking pissed.”
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Pissed is better than scared.”
She exhales through her nose. “Who do they think they are telling me to leave? I’m not going anywhere.” Her gaze drifts to the water. “All they did is ruin my cute little house.”
A bitter laugh slips from me. “Emery, this is the warning. It’ll be worse next time.”
“Then let it be worse.” Her arms cross over her chest, defiant and trembling all at once.
I drag my hand down my face. “How about you let me take you to get something to eat? Maybe a drink.”
This woman isn’t going to give this up, and now I know I’m going to stick by her through it all. That’s the hold she has on me already.
She studies me, lips pressed together like she’s weighing whether she’s conceding or just tired. Finally, she nods. “Sure. I’d like that.”
I stand then, reaching for her hand to help her up. Her fingers slide into mine, warm, steady. Neither of us lets go as we head up the dock. The sun glints off the bay, scattering gold over the water, and for a second, the world feels deceptively calm.
Her hand tightens once, like she knows what I’m thinking.
I shouldn’t want her like this. Not when things are getting dangerous.
But I do.
And every step away from that vandalized cottage makes it harder to pretend otherwise.
THE DRIFT NET sits on the edge of the marina, its wood planked siding weathered by salt and sun.
By the time we walk up, the parking lot is full.
The place is alive with regulars and tourists alike.
Music drifts out through the open walls, and laughter and conversation spill across the lot.
Ceiling fans whirl lazily over the porch, stirring the smell of beer, fried shrimp, and low tide.
It should feel easy. Safe. We don’t get too many tourists here in Tidehaven, but on summer Fridays, the locals turn out.
The restaurant area is filled with dockhands fresh off their shifts and couples clinking their bottles together in cheers for the weekend.
Kids with sunburned cheeks chase each other around the outdoor tables while a bluesy guitar hums through the speakers.
But something feels off. It’s too loud, too cheerful.
Too forced, almost—like I’m watching the set of a movie play out.
Emery walks beside me, her fingers still laced in mine.
She’s trying to look relaxed, but her shoulders are tense.
She scans the faces while we wait for a table.
A few people look up with the kind of idle curiosity that small towns thrive on, but one pair of eyes sticks. And it sends a shiver down my spine.
Willie waves from behind the bar, and I catch sight of Tate, Colt, and Griffin Monroe sitting in the corner.
I lean toward Emery, my voice low. “Want to just eat at the bar?”
“Sure,” she murmurs, gripping my hand tighter as I lead her through.
The place is crowded and close, thick with chatter and salty air. When we reach the corner, my friends fall silent—beer bottles halfway to their mouths, eyes flicking between me and Emery.
“Evening, boys,” I say, pulling out a chair for her.
“Reid.” Colt nods at me before flicking his gaze to Emery. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Deputy Chief Colt Riggs.” He holds out a hand to her, and she has to let go of mine to take it. I immediately miss it, a foreign feeling for me.
“Emery Caldwell,” she says, her voice quiet, as if she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself.
“Well, Emery, if you need anything, you be sure to let me know. I run these parts.” Colt grins and lifts his beer in salute. I look at him, still in uniform, completely at ease. He’s probably this town’s most eligible bachelor and he’s totally oblivious to it.
“There’s…no actual chief?” Unease crosses her face. “Just a deputy?”
“We share a chief with Hollow Creek,” I answer for Colt. “Small towns like this, we get by with a deputy chief and a small department.”
Emery nods slowly. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”
The comment hangs in the air briefly before Colt speaks. “Don’t worry. We know what we’re doing.” He chuckles but the air feels taut again.
I clear my throat, ready for a subject change. “Em, you’ve already met Tate. This here is Griff Monroe.” I gesture to the older gentleman on the end with gray hair and kind blue eyes. “Griff was the harbormaster here for many years. He’s since retired.”
“Hello,” Emery says, a polite smile on her lips. Then her brow furrows curiously. “Who is the harbormaster now?”
Tate lets out a low chuckle. “Griff was irreplaceable. ‘Fraid the job will be open indefinitely.”
Willie comes over, a teasing glint in his eye. “Well look what the tide dragged in. Haven’t seen much of you lately, Morgan.” He plants a cold Miller Lite in front of me. “The old lady keeping you locked up?”
Emery and I exchange confused glances before Willie laughs and slaps the bar. “Kidding, man. Just kidding. And who’s this pretty thing?”
“I’m Emery,” she says, as Willie places a menu in front of her. “Could I have a white wine please?”
“White wine, huh? Classing up the joint. Coming right up.” Willie disappears and I take the seat next to Emery.
The group quiets again. “So, what’s going on?” I ask, sensing the weight hanging between them. “Guys…”
Tate’s the first to speak. “Langford was around here earlier. Poking around like he owns the place.”
Emery stiffens beside me, and my hand finds her thigh under the bar, a reassuring anchor.
“I hate that guy,” Colt growls. “I wish I could charge him with something.”
“You’ll never touch him,” Griff says, voice rough. “Not as long as his daddy is still around here pulling strings.”
Tate nods. “Best to just steer clear. Play nice.”
My jaw tightens. “Is there something else?”
The three of them glance at each other, but no one answers. The silence says enough. Whatever it is, they don’t want Emery hearing it.
Before I can push, a voice cuts through the din behind me.
“Well, I’ll be damned if it isn’t Reid Morgan in the flesh.” A hand claps me on the back so hard I jolt forward.
I know who it is before I see him. I spotted him across the bar when we first arrived. Atlas Rourke, an old SEAL buddy—though I use the word loosely—who I haven’t seen in years. We were in some Veterans groups together before he seemingly dropped off the face of the earth.
I don’t flinch. “The world is full of surprises.”
He barks a laugh, sharper than the easy smile he wears. “I thought you lived around here. Still got that dry sense of humor, I see. Some things never change.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say, taking a sip of my beer.
Atlas glances around the bar, taking stock of the place. He nods at a few strangers who clearly don’t know him. “Tidehaven’s a nice town. Quiet. Maybe a little too quiet if you catch my drift.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, casting my eyes toward my friends who are watching the scene with great interest.
“Don’t think we’ve met,” Atlas says, directing his attention to Emery.
She offers a thin, polite smile. “I’m Emery.”
“Emery, what a pretty name,” Atlas says easily. “Must be new in town.”
I bristle, cutting in before she can answer. “She is. And she’s busy.”
Atlas’s grin doesn’t fade, but something sharp flickers behind it. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to say hey.”
“Hey,” I echo flatly.
Atlas gives a short laugh like I’ve told a joke only he gets, then taps the bar twice with his knuckles. “Good seeing you, brother.”
He turns and strolls off toward the door, all easy swagger and superficial smiles. The second he’s gone, the noise in the bar feels thinner, like the air’s been sucked from the room.
Emery’s still watching the door when she speaks. “Old friend?”
“Something like that.” I keep my eyes on my beer.
“He wasn’t discharged the way the rest of us were.
Lost his clearance. That doesn’t happen for nothing.
” What I don’t add is he’s the kind of guy who finds work where rules don’t apply and the fact that he’s here can’t be good.
My gaze lands on the muddy boot prints fading toward the door.
Familiar. A cold weight settles in my gut, and suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.