Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Three Weeks Later
Trent had been nursing the same beer for forty minutes, and it had gone warm a while ago.
He didn't care. Drinking wasn't the point. Sitting here, in public, surrounded by people—that was the point. That was the promise he'd made to his mother right before she took her last breath.
Try harder. Be better. Less sharp-edged. Less alone.
Some nights, the promise fit like a sweatshirt.
Tonight, it dragged like a blade against bone.
Not because he didn’t want to crawl out of the grief that had swallowed him, because he did.
He was tired, and the last thing he wanted was to slip back into living on the fringe between right and wrong like he had for so many years after his father had died.
However, the town notice sat on the table in front of him—taunting him—creased from where he'd folded and unfolded it a dozen times. He'd found it tacked to the bulletin board outside the general store this morning, right between a flyer for the church bake sale and a lost dog poster.
NOTICE OF PUBLIC HEARING: Sovereign Resources Inc. hereby provides notice of intent to file for mining permits in the Calusa Cove watershed region. Proposed limestone extraction operations would be located in Sections 12, 13, and 24 of Township 53 South...
Section 24. That was right next to Mallor's Landing. That was his home.
Trent had read the notice so many times that the words had lost their meaning.
Mining permits. Limestone extraction. Environmental impact assessment.
It all sounded so clean, so clinical, as if they were only talking about paperwork instead of blasting and excavation, and artificial lakes carved into land that had been wild since before humans had a name for it.
He knew the impact of mining. He'd seen the aftermath up near Lake Okeechobee—moonscapes where wetlands used to be, water tables poisoned, wildlife scattered or dead.
The companies always promised minimal impact.
They always promised restoration. And then they took what they wanted and left the land bleeding.
Bad enough he'd just buried his mother. Now, some corporate bastards wanted to gut the only thing he had left—the only connection he had to his father. The very same thing his father died trying to protect.
Worse—it brought all the guilt he’d carried for the past twenty years to the surface like heartburn collecting in the center of his chest.
He took a slow swig and scanned the bar.
Massey's Pub hadn't changed since he'd been a kid.
Same warped floorboards groaning under every step.
Same ceiling fans chopping through air too thick to move on its own.
Same neon Budweiser sign buzzing in the window like a dying insect, throwing red light across the bottles lined up behind the bar.
The place smelled like it always did—spilled beer soaked into wood, fried grouper from the kitchen, and underneath it all, the river.
Always the river. You couldn't escape it in Calusa Cove. The water got into everything. Your clothes, your skin, your dreams—though he wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted anymore.
Trent sat at a high-top near the back wall, one shoulder angled toward the door out of habit. As he scanned the bar, contemplating whether he was actually going to try his hand at being social or not, his gaze landed on the Hendersons’ three tables away.
Shit. This couple was going to drive him crazy.
They’d left him alone after his mother’s funeral, but two days ago, they decided to send him a letter with another offer to purchase Mallor’s Landing.
They tried to sweeten the deal by suggesting he stay on as the alligator farm’s manager.
As if being employed on his family’s land was enough of an incentive.
Beau eased from his seat and sauntered across the bar. “Good evening, Trent. How are you doing?”
“Fine. Yourself?”
“Just came down for a long weekend. We’re staying at Harvey’s Cabins. What a wonderful little establishment.”
“Can’t go wrong there.” Trent took a sip of his beer, reminding himself that his mother would expect him to be kind. That being a dick got him nowhere in life.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if you’ve had a chance to look over our offer.”
And there it was—pushy asshole. “I don’t mean to be rude, but no amount of money or job opportunities would make me want to sell my home—or my business. I’m sorry.”
“I hope you’ll take another look.” Beau stretched out his arm toward Trent. “It’s a good offer.”
“The answer will always be no.” Trent took his hand and shook it. “Have a nice evening.”
Beau returned to his table and hopefully, that was the last he’d hear from them regarding the sale of his home.
Juniper's laugh rang out from behind the bar, sharp and bright, cutting through the low murmur of conversation like a bell through static.
She stood with her elbows planted on the scarred wood, leaning into an argument with Fallon, Buddy, and Sterling that had apparently been going on long enough to draw an audience.
"I'm just saying," Juniper, the owner of the pub, said, jabbing a finger at Buddy, "you don't mess with a name that's part of a town's history. Massey's means something."
Buddy Ballard, an Aegis Network operative and Fallon Reeves' boyfriend, lifted his beer, unimpressed. "Massey's means a criminal nobody wants to remember and a sign that's been repainted so many times you can't read it from the road."
"It's got character." Juniper crossed her arms.
"It's got termites." Sterling laughed at his own joke. For a confident, badass former CIA agent now employed by the Aegis Network, Sterling lost his ability to act like an intelligent man whenever he was around Juniper.
Sterling shifted against the bar. "I don't understand why you don't rename the place Juniper's Pub. You own it now. And it's a cool name. Fits in with the vibe around Calusa Cove."
"It is a good name." Buddy smiled. "Besides, some have already started calling it Juniper's."
"Especially Sterling," Fallon teased.
Trent didn't laugh. On another night, he would’ve. He’d lean against that bar, engrossed in conversation. But the notice sat in front of him like a summons, and the beer had gone sour in his stomach.
He watched the group from his corner, something tight and nameless sitting in his chest. The four of them looked easy together. Comfortable. Like people who hadn't spent the last three weeks learning how to breathe around a gaping hole in their life.
Fallon caught his eye across the room. Her smile was soft, but questioning. As if to say, Are you okay over there?
He lifted his bottle a half-inch and smiled.
She pursed her lips, which meant she was worried. However, she knew him well enough to know that if he were about to lose it, she'd be the first person he called. Fallon turned back to Juniper without pushing, and he was grateful.
However, he wasn’t thrilled about the reporter making her way through the maze of people and heading right for his table.
Stacey had a sweet smile and kind eyes, but nothing about Stacey was genuine.
Everything about her was a mask, and she didn’t care about anyone but herself.
It shouldn’t shock him that she hadn’t managed to find her ticket out of Calusa Cove.
At first, she was all about her career. All about that big network job.
Now, it was about finding a rich husband so she didn’t have to work anymore, and she could settle down and have children.
“Good evening, Trent.” Stacey leaned against the table, which pressed her breasts together.
She tapped her finger on the notice. “Isn’t that exciting?
I’ve heard such wonderful things about Sovereign Resources.
They’re going to bring a lot of jobs to our community, and I heard that Congressman Dutton plans on making an appearance.
I’m hoping to get an interview with him. ”
“Good for you.” He folded the notice and shoved it in his back pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m getting ready to head out.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“Because I’m not,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have the time for this.”
“You get a pass because of all that you’ve been through.” She stood tall. “Take care of yourself.” She turned and disappeared into the crowd.
He pushed aside the warm beer and was reaching for his wallet when the door swung open, and in walked Dove.
She stood silhouetted in the doorway for half a breath, doing that thing she always did, scanning the room corner to corner before letting herself settle.
Dove spotted Buddy and Sterling first, lifted a hand in greeting. She wore form-fitting jeans, a dark tank top, and a killer smile. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on. And she was smart and funny—everything he admired and almost everything he might want in a partner.
But she had an aversion to reptiles, and those were not only his bread and butter, they were also his passion.
Her gaze swept the back wall. She paused, smiled, and stood for a long moment without moving a muscle.
Trent had spent months telling himself the thing between them was over. Finished. Nothing more than a few dozen nights that didn't mean anything and a mutual agreement to walk away before it got complicated.
His body hadn't gotten the memo.
Dove headed straight for him.
A man followed.
Tall. Sixty, maybe sixty-five, but carrying it well. Silver at his temples, steel in his posture. A faint hitch in his gait—so slight most people wouldn't notice, but Trent did.
And his stomach dropped.
"Hey," Dove said.
"Hey, yourself."
Her mouth curved into a playful smile. "You look like hell. More than usual."
"Been a day." He fell into the easy half-teasing. He was sure he didn't look like his normal self, and his mood had been crappy for the last few hours.