Chapter 30
Thirty
C ooper
I wake up in Bree’s bed the next morning, my head pounding and mouth as dry as sandpaper. I let her take me to her place. There was no way I was getting behind the wheel, and she swore she wasn’t drinking. As a personal rule, I don’t fuck drunk women, especially not drunk strangers.
I’m half in and half out of Bree’s yellow comforter. She’s gorgeous and leggy, with her hair fanned across the pillowcase like a raven’s wing.
I feel nothing for her. I barely even know the girl, and I’m not staying for breakfast. I shouldn’t have come home with her at all. I know better than to hook up with a clingy woman when I have zero intentions of making her my girlfriend.
Sliding from her warmth, the woman’s eyes pop open, and she sits up as I get myself dressed.
“Where are you going, baby?”
“This was fun.” I give her a smile. “But I need to get home.”
She holds up a hand. “Let me stop you right there.”
Well, shit.
“You probably think I want to date you, but I don’t.
I’m only here for the summer, and I want to have fun and be with whoever I want to be with.
” She gives me a coy smile. “I’ve heard you’re the same way.
As long as everyone uses protection, I shouldn’t be shamed for that, and neither should you.
We can have fun together and have fun with other people. What do you think?”
I chuckle, wondering if I’m a complete asshole for agreeing. “I would never shame you or any woman. Are you sure this is what you want?”
She tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “We’ve been friendly for years, Cooper, but we’ve never gotten to know each other.” She bites her lip, and what memories I have of last night rage through my body. “I think it’s time you and I get to be really good friends.”
I climb into her bed and kiss her. It’s not until a good half hour later I’m leaving her bedroom for real, a cocky grin plastered on my face.
I feel a million times better than I did last night.
Perry was right.
I hurry onto the street, heading toward the closest main road to call a car with my app. We don’t use a driver when we’re on Nantucket, and I didn’t drive last night, knowing my plans to get plastered.
I’m a few blocks away from Bree’s place when a streak of familiar red hair catches my eye. I stop, heart slamming and anxiety rippling.
Turning to take in an empty lot is none other than Sybil Laurence. She’s wearing a yellow hard hat and directing the crew around like a boss.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
This is not wishful thinking. It’s really her.
My Valentine.
I stand frozen, staring at her as she talks to the crew, knowing I should turn and walk away, but I can’t.
Suddenly, all I want in the whole fucking world is to talk to her. It’s an itch I can’t scratch, and it kills me. I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from pulling her into a hug. My teeth dig into my tongue to keep from yelling out her name.
As much as I want to see her, to talk to her, I also want to scream at her for doing what she did.
A brawny man with at least ten years on us struts over to Sybil, his thumbs hitched into the pockets of his jeans.
He sports a hard hat and a plaid shirt, a total walking cliché, but I bet women love his blue-collar look.
The two begin talking, heads tilted toward one another, and a streak of jealousy darts through me.
Her family must be building their Nantucket house.
It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. To see it happening despite all the bad blood makes my chest ache. Everything I’d numbed last night crashes into me all at once—pain, anger, sadness, hope, longing…
Do I want Sybil on Nantucket? Yes.
Can I have Sybil on Nantucket? Absolutely not.
Nantucket isn’t that big, not even with their house being on the other side of the island from ours. There’s no way this ends well.
Sybil laughs, her chin lifting high with her neck exposed as she releases the carefree sound. I used to take that laugh for granted, and now another man is making her happy.
Fuck. I’m still not over her.
How fucked up is that, considering we were never even together? This is unrequited love, and it’s bullshit I need to work through.
Like an idiot, I stride across the dirt lot, weaving through construction workers, standing a foot away from Sybil, her back turned to me.
My eyes roam her body, taking in her black tank top against her pale skin and the sexy curve of her ass in her jeans.
She turns to me with her adorable smile lighting her face and then goes still. Her smile drops, and so does my heart.
“Cooper.”
There are so many ways I could play this.
I pick the worst one.
I smirk, trying to appear unaffected. “Don’t look so surprised to see me on Nantucket.” I inch closer and nod to the construction site. Her sweet yet somehow spicy citrus scent is so familiar I nearly sink to my knees. “Is this what I think it is?”
Her green eyes flash with a million unsaid things. God, I want to hear them all.
She turns to plaid-shirt guy. “Rake, if you’ll excuse me. Cooper is an old friend, and we need to catch up.”
An old friend, huh?
I don’t know how to feel about her using that term for me.
We walk away, and I mutter to her under my breath, “What the hell kind of name is Rake? Is his brother named Shovel, and his sister named Backhoe?”
The Sybil I knew would laugh and elbow me in the ribs, but this Sybil does neither. Instead, she grabs my arm and marches me to the sidewalk, her nails digging into my bicep like cat claws.
“I never knew you liked to scratch,” I tease when we stop, smirking at where she’s left little indents on my skin.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t treat me like some girl you met at a bar. You wanted to talk to me, so tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I don’t think you want me to do that.”
“Whatever. You guys don’t own Nantucket, so don’t act like we can’t be here. Yes, we’re building our house. So what?”
I lean in, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t heard from you in seven months, and this is how I find out your family is building here? Don’t you think you could’ve at least given us a heads up? Not even a text?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I laugh. “You guys could have built your fucking beach house on some other island. You know how much Nantucket means to my family.”
Our beach house was my mother’s favorite place in the world. She even made sure one day it’d be mine and Ethan’s. It’s trusted to us.
Despite all the shit that has happened in our lives, Ethan and I agree; we’ll never get rid of the Nantucket house.
I expect Sybil’s face to soften, but it doesn’t.
She points behind her. “This is our property, and your property is your property. They’re on opposite sides of the island, and we don’t have to associate with each other. How about this for an idea? If you see me, walk the other way, and I’ll do the same.”
I wince. “Where did my best friend go?”
Hurt passes through her eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “This is the way it has to be.”
“Is it?”
She nods. “Don’t tell Ethan about any of this. He doesn’t need to know about the house until it’s done. And for fuck’s sake, don’t tell your dad unless you want more drama between our parents.”
“ Your parents,” I snap. “I only have one parent left, remember?”
She shakes her head, but her face is draining of color. “You know what I mean.”
Damn it.
She’s dead serious right now. She wants nothing to do with me.
“Wow,” I deadpan. “So that’s it, huh? We’re not friends anymore?”
So many things flash in her eyes at once—heat and hurt, and maybe even regret, but she pushes them all aside.
“Yup. That’s it. Please leave.”
I let out a dark chuckle to hide the pain. She drew the line in the sand and there’s no crossing it, but I don’t know if I can accept it.
“What happened to the girl I knew and loved?” I ask coldly.
Tears spring to her eyes, and that just pissed me off. This is her doing, not mine. Never in a million years would I push her away like she’s done to me.
“That girl had to make an impossible choice, and so she did.” With that, she turns and walks away.
I do the same, all the while thinking that Sybil chose her family. The thing she doesn’t understand, the reason I’m so hurt, is I truly thought Sybil considered me to be part of her family, too.