Chapter Thirty
REID
THE DRIVE INTO Beaufort takes just under an hour if the boat traffic cooperates and the drawbridge doesn’t get stuck.
The Spanish moss hangs low over the two-lane causeway, forming a tunnel of green that holds the briny scent of the coast. I turn off onto a quiet side street, past pastel cottages and boats bobbing against the docks.
The parking lot to the VFW hall is half empty—it figures, I’m early.
I hate being early. It gives me too much time to think about turning back.
Every step I take into one of these meetings feels like walking through marsh muck, heavy and challenging, no matter how good I feel when I leave.
I kill the engine and sit for a minute, watching the gulls circle above the water tower across the street.
The VFW is a squat brick building with faded military flags flapping in the breeze and a sign that reads Veterans Always Welcome—Coffee’s Always Hot.
There was a time when this place felt like home to me, despite the demons it forced me to face.
It’s been far too long since I’ve set foot inside.
I make my way up the concrete ramp leading to the front door and push it open.
The air smells like burnt coffee. I pause in the foyer, scanning a corkboard displaying photos of soldiers, their arms around each other.
Job postings, fishing tournaments, and an old, tattered flyer about PTSD in vets.
I peer inside and see only my unit buddy, former U.S.
corpsman Sean McMillan, unstacking and lining up chairs for the meeting.
Sean has always been my lifeline—steady, compassionate, but still delivering tough love.
He’s now working at a VA clinic and dedicating his life’s work to helping others like us.
Sean glances up, a look of surprise spreading across his face. “Well, if it isn’t Reid freaking Morgan. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
“What’s going on, brother?” I ask, moving into the room and wrapping him in a hug.
Sean pulls back, giving me the once over. Then he grins, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about us.”
“Naw.” I wave my hand. “I know where my home is.”
I start lining up chairs and we work in silent unison for a few minutes before Sean breaks the silence.
“You still running?” he asks.
“Most days,” I mutter. “My knee is bothering me though. It’s hell getting old.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.” He gives me a look that tells me his memories haven’t faded. He too remembers everything I wish I didn’t. He’s checking on me because I haven’t shown up to one of these meetings in months.
I shrug, staring at the empty room. “Depends who you ask.”
The door creaks open, interrupting us, and the thick Beaufort heat rushes in behind Mike “Bama” Travers, a gregarious and foul-mouthed marine.
“I brought the good stuff,” he bellows, setting a box of donuts on the table next to the coffee. “Yo, Morgan. What’s up?” He claps me on the back.
“Bama.” I nod. “How you doing?”
Bama laughs in that easy way he always does, and I wonder how he manages to push aside so much of the darkness and only give off light. “I’m good, man. I’m real good.”
Luis Vega strolls in, swiping a donut from the box and shoving it in his mouth before looking around.
“Yo-o-o, Morgan!” he says with his mouth full. “How goes it?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “It’s good Luis, how about yourself?”
“Great, man. Good to see you.”
Sean tears into a bear claw, and the three of them trade easy jabs while I pour myself a coffee.
More vets trickle in slowly, some guys I know, some I don’t.
Small talk fills the room of VA appointments, boats, the upcoming Fourth of July, and a new barbeque place opening on the water.
I plop down in a chair, picking up on bits and pieces of conversation.
Before long, Sean plops next to me.
“You look better,” he says quietly. “You got someone keeping you busy?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Define busy.”
Sean smirks. “Well, you’re not snarling at everyone so either you found Jesus or you got someone keeping your bed warm.”
I take a sip of coffee, letting it burn my throat before I answer. “You always were a nosy son of a bitch.”
Sean chuckles, nodding. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint. Just don’t screw it up. The good stuff doesn’t come around too often for guys like us.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I know he’s right. When was the last time I let myself feel things for someone else? It’s been so long, I can’t even remember. Before I can answer, Bama claps his hands.
“Okay, okay, gentlemen, let’s get started.” He takes a seat in the chair at the front of the room.
Chairs scrape as we form a circle. I settle in, relief filling my chest. The last time I was here, I was feeling hopeless.
Like I’d never see my way through the fog of guilt and grief.
Today, I’m here because I knew I needed help.
Emery helped me see that. And even though the nightmares are back, this time, I know I’ll be okay.
IT’S LATE BY the time I cross the causeway back into Tidehaven.
After the meeting, Sean, Bama, Luis, and I grabbed a meal and a couple of drinks.
Minutes turned into hours of catching up, easy laughter, and the kind of conversation that doesn’t need explaining.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk to the guys who understand what it’s like to walk around with ghosts.
Somewhere between appetizers and dinner, I ended up telling them about Emery—not everything, not the danger.
But about our connection and how she went from driving me crazy to being someone I can’t imagine my life without.
The words coming out of my mouth surprised me just as much as they did them.
After the trauma I’ve faced, I’m not sure anyone expected me to ever let another person in.
I asked them about nightmares and what they do when they come back.
Sean said exercise. Bama said whiskey. Luis said both.
All of them agreed they’re brought on by stress.
I’ve had a lot of stress in my life since Emery showed up, but all of it revolves around keeping her safe.
And the nightmares are less with her by my side.
By the time I left the guys, I couldn’t wait to get back to her and tell her about today.
We haven’t talked much since I left this morning, a few text messages in the early afternoon, but the drive into town feels like an eternity.
I’m desperate to see her, to touch her. To feel the calm her presence brings washing over me.
I race up the gravel drive to my cabin, my heart already thundering in my chest when I see her navy Prius reflecting the last glints of sun.
I take the front steps two at a time and turn the knob on the front door. Locked. Good. I told her to keep the door locked when I’m not here. I’m glad she listened. I fish out my key and turn the knob.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call, giving my best Ricky Ricardo impression.
Silence.
“Em? You here?” I shout again, scanning the kitchen, the living room. No sign of her.
It’s not a big house—surely she’d hear me. Her car is here.
I push open the bedroom door, spotless. The bed is made, no sign of Emery. I move to the bathroom, maybe she is in the deep soaker tub, unwinding from a day’s worth of writing.
Not there either.
“Em!” My voice comes out sharper now. I push through the hallway, each room emptier than the last. A cold knot forms in my stomach. “Where the hell is she?”
I move room to room, checking and then double checking. The house is empty. Emery is gone. I move back out to the porch, calling her name only to be answered by the sound of cicadas and tree frogs—not Emery.
“Fuck,” I mutter, patting my pocket for my phone. Only, it’s not there. In my rush to see her, I left it in the truck. I jog back down the steps, bolting for the driver’s side and sliding in.
I hammer out a text to her.
Me: Where are you?
But I don’t bother waiting. If she’s in trouble, I need to get to her. I start the truck and hit call.
“Helloooo,” comes a singsong voice after the first ring. “How’s my sexy sssseal?”
Her words are slurred. Laughter and music pulse in the background. Relief hits so hard I’m dizzy.
“Where are you?” I try my best to ease my racing pulse—to keep the bite out of my voice.
“The Rusty Anchor,” she purrs. “With Lena and Alan.”
Lena and Alan? I rack my brain trying to figure out who they are. Colleagues maybe? But down here?
“Do you need a ride?” I ask, already backing the truck out of my drive.
“Alan’s got us—don’t you, Alan?” she calls away from the phone.
“I’m coming.”
I hang up before she can argue. I can’t get to her fast enough.
THE RUSTY ANCHOR is lit up like a ship at sea when I pull in.
Glowing white lights strung across the deck, the scents of fried shrimp and beer heavy in the air, and a packed house.
The place hums with laughter and live music.
I spot her instantly, sitting under the glow of the string lights and giggling hysterically with a woman I assume is Lena.
Alan looks bored, staring into a half-drunk coke. He perks up when I approach.
Emery’s cheeks are rosy, her glassy blue eyes bright and a little unfocused.
“Emery,” I say when I reach the table.
She turns and her face lights up.
“You came!” she hops off the stool, crashing into my chest.
“I said I was coming.”
She loops her arms around my neck. “I know, but I thought you were mad,” she says, her words running together. She rests her cheek against my chest.
“I am a little,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “I didn’t know you were going out.”
“I’m safe,” Emery says in an exaggerated whisper, meant for her friends to hear. Then she whirls out of my arms. “Lena, Alan, this is Reid. My boyfriend and bodyguard.”
“Hot,” Lena whispers, not quietly enough.
“Excuse me?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Oh, sorry.” She laughs, a little flustered. “I’m Lena. Emery’s best friend.”
“Lena.” I nod, then turn to Alan.
“I’m Alan, Emery’s…erm, supervisor.” Alan’s face reddens. “We just dropped in on her this afternoon. Sorry if she worried you.”
“She didn’t worry me,” I lie easily.
“Reid doesn’t worry about anything,” Emery coos, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
If she only knew.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re both about four margaritas deep,” Alan says, chuckling. “Lena, I think it’s time we call it a night or you’re going to be arguing with me about heading up to Charleston at eight a.m.”
Lena’s lower lip juts out in a pout before she says, “Yeah, you’re right.”
Alan settles the check while Lena and Emery hug goodbye. I watch as Lena squeezes her tight, brushing her hair off her face. “I miss you so much, Em,” she murmurs.
“I miss youuuu,” Emery replies.
“Reid is hot,” Lena adds, her tone conspiratorial. “In that whole touch her and die way, yeah?”
“So fucking hot,” Emery agrees as if I’m not here.
“Okay, you two. Let’s keep it moving,” I say, fighting a grin.
“Bye Alan,” Emery says, squeezing him in a way that shouldn’t make me jealous but does.
“Call me if you need anything,” he says, giving Emery one last once over. Then holds out his hand to me. “Take care of our girl here. We’d like her back in once piece.”
“Will do.” I shake his hand, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that fills my gut when I think of giving her back.
A few minutes later, we’re in my truck, Emery’s head resting on the seat. Her eyes are slits, and she has a goofy, sleepy grin on her face.
“You came in there like a bat outta hell,” she murmurs, drowsy.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft now, fading.
“You can’t do that,” I say, quieter this time. “I thought someone took you.”
Her lashes flutter closed. “Okay, I promise.”
I glance over at her—the way her hair spills across her shoulders, her lips still curved in that sleepy smile. The fear that gripped me only minutes ago melts into something deeper. Something that up until now, I’ve been too afraid to name.
I was terrified something happened to her. That fear was immediately forgotten at the sight of her talking and laughing with her friends, replaced with a warmth that settled in my chest that hasn’t dissipated since I got here.
And then it hits me.
The ache in my chest. The heat in my throat.
I love this woman.
Emery.
I love her.
And for the first time in my life, I’m terrified—not of dying—but of losing the one thing I’ve ever had worth living for.