4. Meredith #2
“Old what?” he murmurs. “Old mistakes? Old habits? Old feelings?”
I don’t let him see me flinch. “Stay away from Eddie and me.”
“As I said, you don’t get to?—”
“You misunderstand,” I cut him off more forcefully. “That was a threat.”
His eyes light up at the challenge, leaning back on the couch in a show of appraising me.
However, I refuse to feel intimidated. “You’re welcome to stay in Nantucket and make whatever point it is you think you’re trying to make.” I step closer. “I don’t care. But you will stay away from my family, you will stay out of the Shack, and you will stay away from Eddie.”
“You haven’t told him yet, have you?”
I tell myself it’s just one kiss as he comes far too close. I tell myself it’s just an old, bad habit as my lips part to meet his, eager. I tell myself it’s just rage, as my mind goes blank.
I breathe out through my nose. “There’s nothing to tell him.”
There must be something incriminating in my voice, my expression, my stance, because he simply smiles, sniffing out weakness like blood to a shark. “Isn’t that interesting?”
It’s rhetorical, so I don’t answer. I couldn’t bring myself to, even if I wanted to. Denial would only be spun in favor of the narrative he’s clearly already forming in his head.
“Are you here for me?” I ask instead, suddenly very done with talking around the issue. “Just answer that, Mark. Is this about me?”
He studies me for a beat too long. “No.”
And God, he’s always been an excellent liar.
“You made yourself very clear in New York,” he says as if reading my thoughts. Bitterness and just a dash of performative vulnerability lace his tone.
“So why won’t you stay away?”
He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose like I’m the exhausting one. “Because life isn’t a courtroom, Meredith. You don’t get rulings that force people out of your orbit.”
“Don’t—”
“You filed the papers. You left. You moved on. You want to date the good guy? Great. Be happy. I genuinely”—his jaw tenses—“hope you are. But despite your apparent need to remain at the center of mine, this is not about you.”
I look away. “Then, why?”
With a sigh, he gestures to an armchair tucked into the corner. “Truce?”
It’s childish, but the response, “Why should I?” is out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
“Look, you came here to yell at me. You yelled, you got it out of your system. You’re very impressive when you’re furious.”
“I’m not flattered.”
“But it’s exhausting watching you stand there when you don’t have anything to prove.”
Silence spreads as a battle of wills plays out between us. It’s only because he looks away first that I hesitantly take the offered seat. I keep my eyes fixed on him as he moves to grab something from a nearby counter, as if he’s a wild animal set to attack at any moment.
The tension only breaks as he drops a manila folder on the table between us.
“Ashton’s case is still ongoing,” he says simply.
My stomach knots. “I’m aware.”
“And the longer this goes on, the deeper the feds are going to dig.” He gestures for me to take the folder. “Luckily for you, I work a little faster than the government.”
I take the folder without opening it, my mind already leaping from explanation to explanation toward a startlingly dark conclusion.
Mark spells it out before I get there. “The prosecution has eyes on any assets connected to him. And though the Shack is primarily in your sisters’ names, there’s still a direct investment from Ashton on the books. A considerable one.”
The room tilts. “You’re saying the Shack could be seized.”
“Could,” he confirms. “Will, if certain theories hold.”
I sink into the chair. “No. No, we knew about this before. We made sure the investment was anonymous.”
“Have you ever heard of Everwell Property Developers?”
My stomach sinks.
Memories resurface in an anxious flurry. Richard, trying to sell the Shack to developers—a private breakfast room at the Eastport Inn. Ashton, arriving at the last second to offer his financial aid. Everwell, unmotivated to get involved.
Unmotivated until Eddie and I sabotaged their chances of getting their rezoning proposal through City Hall.
“They wouldn’t.” I cling to the thought and hold it tight. “They don’t have any motive against my family. They don’t know that I was involved in the whistleblowing at City Hall.”
Mark almost looks impressed. “Is there any chance they might find out?”
Richard, my mind supplies easily. But no, he wouldn’t, would he? Not now, after everything…not when Mom is our priority.
But that doesn’t mean I trust him.
“The problem with this being a high-profile case, Mer,” Mark continues, “is that Ashton’s face is plastered everywhere.
An Everwell rep happened to be at a charity gala in Boston three weeks ago.
It was sheer luck that I overheard him claim to have met the so-called billionaire art forger. Right here in Nantucket.”
I swallow. How long will it take for them to put two and two together? Would they even remember a detail that small?
“And now you’re offering, what? Help? Out of the goodness of your own heart?” I try to distract with the question as my mind whirls.
He leans forward, forearms braced on his knees. And for a moment, the mask slips into something cruelly honest. “I’m offering to protect your family’s business. For free. No strings.”
I laugh one sharp, disbelieving breath. “You don’t do anything without strings.”
His jaw tics. “Maybe I’m trying.”
“Mark—”
“I’m not asking you to fall back into my arms,” he says, frustration cracking his tone. “I’m not asking you to marry me again. I’m not asking for anything except the chance to fix something that matters to you. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”
For a moment, the room feels too small, the air too thin, the history between us too loud.
“No,” I say, pulling the folder to my chest and pushing up from the chair. “We’re not doing this. I’m not letting you pull me into another one of your traps.”
His jaw tightens as he, too, stands. “It’s not a trap.”
“There’s always a trap.”
“You’re being unfair,” he argues lawyerly. “My father?—”
“If you cared for me, you wouldn’t have agreed to your father’s plan in the first place.”
He exhales sharply, like I’ve knocked the wind out of him.
“This conversation is over,” I say, moving toward the door. “Stay the summer if you want. Stay the year. But stay away from me.”
“Meredith—”
“I mean it.” I pull open the door, and the night air hits my face.
Before I step out, I turn back once, long enough to see him standing in the foyer. Looking like the man who loved me just enough for nine years, but never any more than that.
“I won’t let you do this to me again,” I tell him quietly.
He swallows. “I’m not the one doing anything.”
I slam the door before I can fall for the softness again.