48.
WARD
"Iam not faking my own death."
Ben Gilbert laughed, throwing his duffel bag over one shoulder.
"You could."
"I could not."
Scott Walter grinned.
"You've got at least two hours before we sail."
Mark Phillips nodded thoughtfully.
"We could make it look convincing."
John Edwards looked at me with mock sympathy.
"I'll miss you."
"You'll be standing next to me at the wedding."
"True."
He shrugged.
"I'll still miss you."
Laughter rolled through the marina.
Normally...
I'd have been the loudest one.
Today I just smiled.
It was easier.
Smiling kept people from asking questions.
Ben clapped me on the shoulder.
"You okay?"
There it was.
The question I'd been avoiding for weeks.
Months, maybe.
"I'm fine."
He studied me for a second longer than I liked.
Then he nodded.
"Good."
He knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Ben had led SEAL teams for years.
He noticed things.
He also knew when someone wasn't ready to talk.
Thankfully...
He let it go.
For now.
I looked past him toward the marina.
Luxury yachts lined the docks, gleaming in the early morning sunlight.
I'd spent most of my career on Navy ships.
Gray steel.
Function over comfort.
This...
This was something else entirely.
The yacht waiting for us looked like she'd been carved from sunlight and polished until she glowed.
Her name was written in elegant gold script across the stern.
Sea Whisper.
"She's beautiful."
I hadn't realized I'd said it aloud.
"She is."
The woman's voice came from somewhere above me.
I looked up.
She stood on the bridge with one hand resting lightly on the polished teak rail.
The morning breeze tugged loose strands of blonde hair from her braid.
She wasn't wearing a captain's uniform.
Just jeans.
A navy Sinclair Yachts jacket.
Deck shoes.
No makeup.
No jewelry except a simple silver compass hanging around her neck.
She looked...
Real.
Comfortable.
Like she'd been born on the ocean.
She climbed the stairs with the easy confidence of someone who'd done it ten thousand times before.
When she reached the dock, she offered her hand.
"I'm Storm Sinclair."
Her handshake was firm.
Confident.
Not the least bit hesitant.
"Ward Allen."
A tiny smile touched her lips.
"The groom."
News traveled fast.
"I'm afraid so."
One eyebrow lifted.
"That doesn't sound very convincing."
Before I could answer, another voice floated across the dock.
"Storm!"
A woman with dark auburn hair leaned out of one of the yacht's windows.
"Do we know if anyone has food allergies?"
Storm didn't even turn around.
"No shellfish allergy."
"No gluten."
"No dairy."
"No pineapple."
"No mushrooms."
"No cilantro."
"No olives."
The woman blinked.
"You memorized all thirty-eight guest preference forms?"
Storm finally looked at her.
"You didn't?"
The woman laughed.
"No, Captain."
"I'll print you another copy."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
The woman disappeared back inside, still laughing.
I couldn't help smiling.
Storm noticed.
"My sister Willow."
"The chef?"
"The best on the West Coast."
"Confident."
"Accurate."
I laughed.
"I like confidence."
"So do I."
There was no arrogance in the statement.
Just certainty.
Another sister walked down the dock carrying what looked suspiciously like a toolbox.
Her blond hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
There was grease on her cheek.
She stopped beside Storm.
"The starboard engine's happy."
"What about the port?"
"It was offended that I ignored it."
Storm sighed.
"Calle."
"I'm kidding."
Storm looked at me.
"She does that."
"Frequently?"
"Constantly."
"I'm standing right here," Calle called, climbing back into the engine room.
Storm smiled despite herself.
I noticed.
It changed her entire face.
For just a second...
The captain disappeared.
The big sister remained.
A movement near the end of the dock caught my attention.
An older woman stepped out of a small white building overlooking the marina.
She carried a tray of cinnamon rolls so fresh I could smell them from twenty feet away.
"Girls!"
Every Sinclair turned.
"Breakfast."
There wasn't a hesitation among them.
Storm's shoulders relaxed.
Willow smiled.
Hazel immediately abandoned her clipboard.
Even Calle emerged from the engine room, wiping her hands on a rag.
Storm looked at me.
"My mother."
"I thought your breakfast was onboard."
"It is."
She smiled.
"But nobody tells Mom no."
Ben walked up beside me, breathing in deeply.
"Please tell me those are for us."
Storm laughed.
"I suppose we can share."
Ben grinned.
"I suddenly love this charter."
I watched Storm walk toward her mother.
For just a moment...
She wasn't Captain Storm Sinclair.
She was simply a daughter accepting a warm cinnamon roll and a kiss on the cheek.
Something settled quietly inside me.
I couldn't explain why.
Maybe because I'd spent so much time chasing promotions, deployments, and expectations that I'd forgotten what something this simple looked like.
Family.
Real family.
The kind that didn't care what rank you wore.
Or where you'd been.
Only that you'd come home.
And for the first time in months...
I wondered if maybe...
Just maybe...
This voyage wasn't about escaping my wedding.
Maybe it was about finding the life I'd been too busy to notice.