Chapter 9
Enough
Jake
I don’t sleep.
I lie on the couch in the dark, and every single second of it is its own special kind of torture. Because on the other side of that wall, she’s awake, too.
I know she is. I hear her moving. The soft creak of the bed, the pad of bare feet across the floor, the faint sound of water running in the bathroom at 2 AM. She’s not sleeping any better than I am, and it’s my fault, and I lie here knowing that and hating myself thoroughly for it.
It’s not you.
God, I actually said that to her. The oldest, most useless line in existence. I watched her face go from confused to humiliated to carefully, painfully neutral in the span of three seconds and I just sat there like a coward with my hands in my lap and my cock fucking weeping for her.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The problem isn’t that I don’t want her.
The problem is the opposite. The problem is that I’ve been thinking about her since the second I walked into that bathroom and saw her in that mirror and couldn’t look away.
The problem is dinner on the couch, the walk to work, and the way she laughs like she forgot she was allowed to.
The problem is now I know what it feels like to hold her while she falls apart in my arms. And I’d burn the whole marina down to feel it again.
I also know exactly how this ends.
You’ll never be enough, Jake. Not for a real life. Not for someone who wants a future.
Meghan’s voice flickers awake in the depths of my subconscious. Four years gone and still living rent-free in my skull like a cockroach I can’t kill.
I was twenty-three. She was twenty-two. We’d been together since junior year of high school and I thought that meant something. I thought it meant we were different, solid, the kind that lasts. But she wanted the white picket fence, a career, a man with a 401k and a five-year plan.
And I wanted the water.
I can’t keep waiting for you to grow up, she said the last night.
Standing in the doorway of the boathouse we’d shared for two years, her bags already packed, her mind already somewhere I couldn’t follow.
You’re going to be broke and alone on that boat forever, and I won’t let you drag me under with you.
I didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. I stood there while she walked out and told myself it was for the best. That she was wrong. That the boat would be enough.
Some nights I almost believe it.
I shift on the couch and my back protests violently.
Four hours of lying here and I’ve got nothing to show for it except a growing list of reasons why Peyton deserves better than me.
And a deepening conviction that stopping her last night was the only decent thing I’ve done since I walked through her front door uninvited.
She’s starting over. Fresh city, new job, grieving her mother alone. The last thing she needs is a broken charter captain with a cracked engine block and a divorce under his belt cluttering up her fresh start.
I’m doing her a favor, I repeat until I almost mean it.
Her alarm goes off at six. I hear it through the wall, that same upbeat melody, cutting off after a few seconds. Then the quiet movements of her getting ready, sounds I’ve already learned the rhythm of without meaning to.
I keep my eyes closed and my breathing even when she comes down the hall.
I don’t know why. Pride, maybe, or cowardice. Or just not being able to look her in the eye after last night.
She pauses near the couch. I feel the slight hesitation in her step, a breath held a beat too long, like she’s deciding something. Then her shoes are at the door, it opens and closes softly with a click, and then she’s gone.
I’m at the marina by seven-thirty.
I work until my hands ache and my back gives me no choice but to stop.
Replacing gaskets, cleaning out the cooling system, cataloging the parts still on order.
Knot Working is coming back together slowly, bone by bone, and normally that would be enough.
Normally the work would quiet everything else.
Today, it doesn’t touch it.
Luke shows up around noon with lunch and takes one look at me before he says, “What happened?”
“Engine work,” I say, not looking up. I toss down the wrench with a clang.
His brow furrows, but he doesn’t press me further. He sits on the dock edge and hands me a sandwich. We eat in silence for a while, gulls circling overhead. A fellow charter boat pulls out of the far slip, headed toward open water, and I watch it go with a familiar ache.
“She’s different,” I say finally, because apparently, I can’t help myself.
Luke doesn’t say anything.
“She’s not—” I stop, take a deep breath, then start over with a weighted shake of my head. “I keep trying to talk myself out of it.”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
He nods slowly.
“Her mom died six months ago. She moved here alone for a job, she doesn’t know anyone.” I stare out at the open water, the sun glimmering off the calm seas. “She’s just starting to come back to herself. I’ve been there, and I don’t want to be the thing that sets her back.”
Luke is quiet for a moment. “Does she get a vote?”
I don’t answer.
“Because it sounds like you’re making a lot of decisions about what she can handle.” He takes the last bite of his sandwich. “Sounds a lot like something someone did to you once.”
I go very still, his words dropping heavy in my chest.
He finishes his sandwich, crumples the wrapper, and stands. He claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “Go home, Jake.”
I hold out until 5:50 PM.
Then I pack up, wash the grease off my hands, and walk back to the apartment building. The whole way I tell myself I’m going back because I’m tired. Not because I’ve been thinking about her all day, or how desperately I want to see her.
The lobby hits me like a patriotic fever dream.
Red, white, and blue streamers cascade from every surface.
Tiny American flags line the entryway in neat rows.
A banner reading HAPPY 4TH OF JULY! stretches the full width of the lobby in letters large enough to be seen from international waters.
There are star-shaped balloons everywhere.
And unless I’m losing my mind, the elevator doors have been decorated to look like an oversized firecracker.
I have no choice but to stop walking to take it all in.
“Jake!” Danny materializes from seemingly nowhere like he’s been waiting for me. He’s wearing a red polo, white slacks, and an expression of pure delight. “You’re just in time.”
“For what?”
“I’m finalizing the rooftop party details.
” He clasps his hands together in front of him.
“Every year we do a gathering up top to watch The Tides’ fireworks display.
Best view in town, I promise you that. Cocktails, music, the works.
” He beams. “I was just about to deliver an invitation to Peyton’s door. ”
I glance at the elevator, then back at Danny.
I vaguely recall Luke mentioning the ridiculous number of parties the landlord here throws—any excuse to get everyone together.
But I’m not usually around on the Fourth.
I prefer to watch the fireworks from the water, like always. “She know about this party?”
“I mentioned it briefly when she moved in, but I wanted to formally extend the invitation, since you’re staying with her and all.
” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with that particular brand of innocent mischief I’m learning to recognize—and distrust. “I don’t suppose you’d be joining her?
The fourth is next weekend, you know. Plenty of time to make plans. ”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Mmm.” He nods slowly, in the way that means he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “Well, the invitation stands. For both of you.” He smiles. “Separately or…together. Whatever the situation calls for.”
I stare at him.
He holds out a small, flag-themed envelope—the invitation sealed with a gold star sticker—and I take it.
“Be on the roof by five if you’ll be joining the barbecue portion of the evening.
Games start at three for the kiddos and the fireworks start usually around ten.
” He’s already turning back toward the mailroom, waving a hand over his shoulder.
“Oh, and Jake? Wear something nice. Peyton strikes me as a woman who appreciates the effort.”
I glare at his retreating, stout frame.
“Enjoy your evening!” he calls, disappearing with the energy of a man who accomplished exactly what he set out to do.
I stare down at the envelope in my hand. My name written on the front in Danny’s loopy handwriting alongside Peyton’s. I shake my head and head for the elevator.
When I reach the apartment door, I realize it’s unlocked.
I push it open and freeze, not expecting her to be home so soon.
Peyton’s on the couch, curled into the corner of it, knees pulled to her chest. She’s changed out of her work clothes into a pair of loose shorts and a camisole.
The coffee table in front of her is covered in papers—documents alongside a manila envelope torn open at one end.
Her phone lies face down beside her hand.
She doesn’t look up when I come in.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Hey.” Her voice is flat, hollow.
I close the door and toe off my boots before I cross the room and sit down beside her on the couch—not too close, not too far—and look at the papers.
She stares at the coffee table for a long moment. “The estate’s finalized.”
I stay quiet.
“The house sold last week. The life insurance paid out.” She reaches out and touches the edge of the manila envelope, not picking it up. “Everything’s been…sorted. Legally. Officially.” A long exhale. “She’s gone like she was never here. She’s only…in pictures and my memory now.”
The words land soft and devastating.
I don’t try to fix it. I don’t reach for something useful to say. I sit with her in the moment.
After a while she says, “Sorry. You just got home from a long day and I’m…” She waves a hand weakly.
“Don’t apologize.”
She looks at me then, for the first time since I walked in. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her mascara long since cried off. She looks exhausted and raw and so unguarded it makes my chest crack open.
“Tell me about her,” I say.
She blinks. “What?”
“Your mom. Tell me something about her.”
Her smile is slow and soft as she brings her knees tighter to her chest. “She made terrible coffee. Like, genuinely undrinkable, but she made it every single morning without fail and she was so proud of it.” A half laugh, half sob escapes her.
“I used to pour it down the sink when she wasn’t looking. ”
I smile.
“She had this laugh,” Peyton continues, quieter now. “You could hear it from three rooms away. And she laughed at everything. Bad jokes, sad movies, the weather channel.” She pauses. “I still hear it sometimes.”
We sit with that for a moment.
Then I say, “I was married once.”
She wipes her damp cheeks, glancing at me beside her.
“Her name was Meghan. We were high school sweethearts.” I keep my eyes on the coffee table, finding it hard to meet her gaze. “We got married young. Thought we had it all figured out.” I pause. “But she wanted a different life than the one I was offering.”
“What happened?”
“She left me after a few years. I couldn’t blame her for leaving,” I admit, clearing my throat.
“Until she said I’d never amount to anything working on a boat.
That I’d be broke and alone forever and she didn’t want any part of it.
” I let out a long, slow breath. “She wasn’t cruel about it, but hell if she didn’t mean it. Which was somehow worse.”
Peyton is quiet beside me.
“I told myself she was wrong,” I continue. “I worked every season, saved, built the business, bought Knot Working. Then last week the engine blew and I’m back on a couch with nothing to show but a repair bill.”
Her voice is soft. “Jake.”
“I’m not saying it for sympathy,” I cut in. “I’m saying it because…” I finally look at her. “Because you deserve to understand why I stopped last night.”
The air between us changes.
She holds my gaze. Steady. Waiting.
“You’re starting over,” I say. “You came here to rebuild something. You don’t need me complicating that. You deserve someone stable, someone who can give you that white picket fence over a bunk below deck.”
“That’s why you stopped?” Her voice is quiet. “Because you decided what I deserve?”
The words land exactly where she means them to.
My jaw tightens. “I’m not looking for a man with a plan, Jake,” she says, her voice unwavering.
“And I’m not asking you for anything except—” She stops, her shoulders sagging.
“That first night when I came home, I was so relieved when you did, too. That’s all I want.
Someone who shows up, who cares, who…makes me feel like I’m not alone in this world.
” Her watery gaze holds mine. “You’ve been showing up, Jake. ”
The crack in my chest splits wide open.
“I don’t have a lot of money,” I say, low, like a warning.
“I know.”
“I’m older than you.”
“I know.”
“I’m sleeping on your couch.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “I know.”
“I’m not—” My voice drops to the pit of my stomach. “I can’t offer you much, sweetheart.”
She reaches out and puts her hand on my jaw, warm and sure, guiding my face toward hers. Her eyes are clear as she says, “You offer me more than you realize.”
I look at her for a long moment, my chest wound tight at her words, their implication. And I can see it in her eyes. How did I not see it before?
Her gaze is as blue and deep as the ocean I crave—I love.
And I’m not a man who believes in coincidences.
I close the distance between us and kiss her, holding nothing back.
If this is all I can offer her…
If love is all she’s after.
Then I’ll love her like no one has ever loved her before.